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It was a clear and serene night.
The campfire crackled at the center of the campsite, while crickets chirped in the distance. From the trees, the sporadic hoot of an owl could be heard.
The full moon shone brightly in the sky, its light gently filtering into the tent, softening the space with a delicate, muted glow.
Astarion lay on his bedroll, his gaze fixed on the fabric above him. He wasn’t used to sleeping for long. After all, he was a creature of the dark. He had spent the last two hundred years wandering the streets like a ghost.
Alone. Completely alone.
Surrounded only by shadows.
Wrapped in the solitude that came with being both a vampire and a slave.
A sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them. He raised a hand, gently resting it on Nesta’s hair.
The sorcerer slept soundly, her head resting on his chest. Sometimes, she too struggled to sleep for long, waking in the middle of the night from light slumber. But this time was different. In fact, it might have already been a while since she’d begun to rest more easily.
How long had it been since being with Nesta had become so natural? So effortless?
He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment as his mind wandered through his memories.
Yes, he remembered their first meeting, when they had stood outside the nautiloid. He remembered the wild boar rustling through the underbrush. He, dagger clenched in his fist, ready to press it to her throat if she proved hostile. But none of that had happened. Nesta had been kind to him from the very first words they exchanged, calming him with her voice and offering her help.
Astarion had been undeniably surprised. Accustomed to distrust and always prepared to defend himself, he hadn’t expected the elf with the long raven hair to speak to him with such effortless warmth.
He lowered his face, burying it in her hair, inhaling the scent of pomegranate and pink pepper. Even that fragrance had become a cherished memory. He had first noticed it on the night they spent together in the woods, long before he could have imagined, even remotely, that he would one day, incredibly and unexpectedly, fall in love with her.
To be close to someone, to share any kind of intimacy, was something he had always performed solely and exclusively to charm, lure, and lead people into Cazador’s hands.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, overcome by a nauseating disgust at the mere thought of his master.
He wrapped his arms around Nesta, seeking comfort in her warmth, her scent, her breath. He tried to stay anchored in the present, attempting to push away the cold sensation that maliciously slithered beneath his skin.
One night, he had a terrible nightmare, so real that he woke up with a start, screaming, overwhelmed by anguish. In that dreamlike fog, he had dreamt of meeting Nesta in another time, in another place. Outside an inn shrouded in thick mist, she was alone in the heart of the night, walking through the streets of a city, her footsteps echoing muffled on the cobblestones, covered by a veil of moisture. A perfect stranger with an elegant and refined figure, possessing all the characteristics that fell within Cazador’s preferences. She had unwittingly fallen under the predatory and sharp gaze of his master. The bastard had ordered him to capture her and take her to his palace, to add her to his collection.
What if it had really happened? What would have happened if he had failed to save her?
Imagining her imprisoned, in chains, covered in blood, caused him indescribable anguish. He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut, trapped in the web of his torment.
Nesta stirred in her sleep, suddenly pulling him out of his dark thoughts. She snuggled closer to his chest, bringing a hand to his shoulder, as if instinctively sensing his torment, unconsciously wrapping him in a reassuring embrace. The elf suddenly opened his eyes, not daring to breathe. He strained his ears to catch any sound, any rustling, but all he heard was the steady breathing of the sorcerer, who continued to sleep peacefully, clutched to him.
A liberating sigh escaped his lips as he sank his head deeper into the pillow. He took a deep breath through his mouth, then another, until he felt slightly calmer. He grabbed a corner of the blanket, pulling it up to Nesta's shoulder. Even on the warmest nights, she wanted to sleep feeling protected, wrapped in something warm. What he would have given to offer her silk sheets. To see her sleeping safely, in a real bed, on a feather mattress, surrounded by soft pillows, safe in his arms. In a world where danger wasn’t lurking around every corner. In a world where he could court her properly. Giving her flowers, walking hand in hand in the sunlight, dancing under the stars, and kissing her until he was out of breath.
He leaned down to brush her hair with a kiss, smiling gently.
“When did you become so important to me?” he murmured to himself.
They had already shared so much: adventures, setbacks, and even some madness. There had been precious moments between them. Nesta had stood by him with kindness, patience, and thoughtfulness, never hesitating. She hadn’t held back from courting him, even when, at first, he had been wary.
It was she who had won him over, one step at a time: with her kind words, her gentleness, with laughter and shared drinks by the bonfire. And then, with those thoughtful little gifts.
He remembered the time she had given him the oil perfume he now always wore. His indispensable little habit.
Nesta had used an approach that seemed natural, but in reality, it had been carefully calculated. It had happened at the market, on a clear day, under a blue sky dotted with clouds that, from time to time, blocked the sun.
The sorcerer had stopped in front of a stall where glass vials and powdered spices were elegantly arranged. She was talking to the merchant, a cheerful, good-natured man dressed in flamboyant clothes. From their gestures, it was clear that the conversation was pleasant. He handed her some vials, carefully slipping them into a cloth bag, while she gave him some coins.
Intrigued, Astarion approached, also drawn to the merchandise. He had always been fascinated by beautiful things, and that stall, with its precious items and vibrant colours, was meticulously curated.
“Did you buy anything, darling?” he asked as soon as he was beside her.
“Yes,” Nesta replied, slipping the bag into the saddlebag tied to her belt. “I stocked up on my pomegranate and pink pepper perfume. I can’t live without it.” She closed the bag and looked up at him. “I feel naked if I don’t wear it,” she added with a mischievous glint, fixing her gaze on him.
Astarion returned her gaze with a playful smile.
“How could I forget,” he replied. “You’re enchanting, wrapped in nothing but your perfume,” he added, punctuating his words with a small snap of his tongue.
“Thank you, Astarion,” she replied, resting a hand on her waist in an easy, relaxed motion. “I vividly remember every time you've said that to me.” She took a step closer, narrowing the already minimal space between them. “And it’s always a pleasure to hear you say it,” she whispered softly.
Astarion let out a satisfied hum. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “I can clearly catch its trace on your skin.” He stepped closer, shrinking the distance further, leaving just a breath of space between their faces. “And now, I sense it even more vividly,” he finished in a velvety tone.
Their eyes locked, playful smiles curving their lips as the air between them grew thick with palpable tension.
“Tell me, Astarion,” she began, tilting her head slightly. “Have you ever taken an interest in the world of fragrances?” she added, gesturing elegantly to the array of scents displayed before them.
The elf pursed his lips in a thoughtful expression, then slowly shook his head. “Not particularly,” he admitted, resting a bent finger under his chin in a contemplative gesture. “I enjoy scents, of course, but... I must confess it’s not a field where I’d consider myself knowledgeable.”
Nesta smiled, tilting her head toward him with a mischievous expression. “You know,” she began, brushing her fingers over one of the vials elegantly arranged on the stall, “I have an idea for a fragrance that might suit you perfectly.”
Astarion raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Really?” he asked, with an amused half-smile. “And what makes you think this essence is perfect for me? Have you already worked out a theory, my dear?”
Nesta chuckled softly and picked up a small vial from the stall. It was made of light blue glass, with a finely crafted metal stopper. “When I saw it, I immediately thought of you,” she confessed, holding it in her hand. “But to be sure... I need to see how it reacts on your skin.”
Astarion tilted his head slightly, watching her with a faintly defiant expression, then extended his wrist towards her in an elegant gesture. “Very well, let us see if you are right,” he said, his voice low and tinged with a certain smugness.
Nesta carefully opened the vial, letting a drop of the essence glide onto the elf's wrist. Then, with her fingertips, she spread it across his pale skin.
Astarion lifted his wrist to his face, inhaling deeply. The scent was soft yet enveloping, with a mysterious, cool note that seemed to harmonize perfectly with his aura. He paused for a moment, savoring it, before slowly nodding.
“It’s... captivating,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “What flower is it?”
Nesta looked at him with satisfaction. “Night-blooming jasmine,” she replied, her voice slightly lower, as if sharing a secret. “It’s a white flower. It’s called that because it blooms at night.” She looked up at him, meeting his ruby-red irises. “I knew it would be perfect for you. However...” She poured another drop onto her finger. “You feel it better if you put it here.”
She brushed his face, bringing the tip of her index finger behind his ear. Astarion remained still as she leaned closer to him, inhaling the scent. He felt the warmth of her skin as soon as they were a mere centimetre apart.
“Absolutely perfect,” concluded the sorcerer in a pleased tone.
She placed the vial back in its spot on the counter, among the other perfumes. Slipping her hand into her purse, she drew out an identical vial. With a natural motion, she opened the lapel of Astarion’s jacket and tucked the perfume into the inside pocket. She smoothed the fabric, placing her palm over it and leaving it there for a moment.
“Good,” she murmured. “I’m very, very happy you like it,” she said in a satisfied tone.
The elf found himself momentarily speechless, surprised by the turn of events.
“Enjoy your gift,” she told him softly, lowering her hand. “See you later.”
The sorcerer shifted her gaze towards the merchant, raising her hand in a greeting. He, who from a discreet corner of his counter had not missed a single moment of the scene, reciprocated by waving his hand, smiling beneath his moustache.
Astarion remained thoroughly perplexed as Nesta walked away towards the other stalls. He brought his hand to his jacket, feeling the presence of the perfume stowed in his inside pocket.
“What the hell… just happened?” he wondered, as the perfumer approached him, chuckling good-naturedly.
“Ah, your lady definitely knows her stuff,” said the man, his eyes sparkling with complicity.
Astarion remained motionless, utterly stunned.
“You know,” continued the merchant, “it’s not often that a lady knows how to choose a perfume for her husband so well. She came asking which of my scents contained the coldest essences, and then she chose the night-blooming jasmine. She specifically asked for it in oil, like the one she got for herself. You only need a drop on each side, whether you want to wear it on your wrist or behind your ears. Oil perfumes last a long time, you know.”
Astarion roused himself from his stupor, coughing slightly, clearing his throat. “I...” he began, replying to the perfumer. “I am not her husband.”
The man smiled, raising his hands in apology. “Ah, pardon me, sir. Then you are the fiancé,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Astarion stared at him, even more confused. After a moment, he gave up retorting, as the merchant turned away, heading toward a person calling him from the other side of the counter.
“Hold tight, sir,” the perfumer added, in a tone that betrayed subtle wisdom. “It’s not every day you meet someone who knows exactly what essence suits you. The world of perfumes is vast and fascinating.” He gave a brief nod. “Say hello to the lady for me,” he concluded, turning his back on him and returning to his work.
Astarion brought an open hand to his face, stifling a soft laugh. He lowered his fingers, bringing them to the level of his nose and lips, as a smile spread across his face.
He opened his eyes, gazing at the top of the tent above him. He was so immersed in the memory that he forgot he was at the camp.
The soft moonlight surrounded the room, giving it a muffled tone. He found himself chuckling softly again, moving his hand away from his face and bringing his arm above his head, resting it on the pillow.
A murmur caught his attention, followed by a movement. He lowered his gaze to Nesta, who was still sleeping close to him but seemed on the verge of waking up.
The sorcerer moved her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest. She squinted, bringing a hand to her face to rub it. Her expression was still sleepy as she lifted herself up, bringing Astarion's face into focus. He smiled softly at her, running a hand through her hair in a gentle caress.
“Did I wake you, my dear?” he asked in a whisper.
Nesta answered him in a still muffled voice. “No,” she murmured, lifting a hand to rest it on the one he had in her hair. “No. I... I’m thirsty,” she added, her expression somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.
Astarion enveloped her in a hug, holding her close. He buried his face in her hair, allowing himself a gentle kiss on her neck, followed by a cascade of quick, playful kisses on her cheek.
Nesta laughed, letting herself be overwhelmed by that outpouring of affection.
“Gods, you’re too sweet right now,” he told her, between lip smacks. “You’re irresistible. I want to devour you with kisses.”
She laughed, overwhelmed by those effusions.
“I’m so happy that you’re here with me,” the elf continued, holding her tightly. “That you’re here,” he added, giving her one last kiss on the cheek.
Nesta ran her hands around his chest, returning the embrace and holding him close. “You’re so sweet, my love,” she murmured, caressing him. Then she pulled back slightly and looked up at him. “Can you pass me a drink?” she asked.
Astarion loosened the embrace but kept one arm wrapped around her back. With his other hand, he grabbed a leather pouch filled with water, sealed with a stopper, and handed it to her. Nesta took a couple of sips, then ran the back of her hand over her lips.
“Thank you, love,” she told him, returning the smile. “Were you awake?” she added, lovingly tousling his silver curls before caressing his cheek. The elf took her fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing them.
“You know I sleep very little,” he replied softly. “But that’s not important. All I need is for you to take your beauty nap, undisturbed by anything.”
“I have you to protect me,” Nesta rested her forehead on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment. “Nothing can scare me.”
Astarion smiled, squeezing her hand tighter. She lifted her head and, with the index finger of her free hand, gave his nose a playful tap. “And you have me,” she added softly. “You have me to protect you.” She placed a kiss on his lips, holding him close.
He responded to the kiss, wrapping her in an embrace. Holding her close, he gently laid her down in their bed, adjusting the blanket to wrap around them both. Nesta hid a yawn behind her open hand, snuggling into her beloved's chest.
“With you to protect me, I fear nothing,” Astarion murmured, cradling her gently. “I think I'll sleep a little too. I don’t want to risk losing my beauty title without a good night’s sleep.”
Nesta laughed softly, her eyes now closed. “You’re always beautiful,” she told him, her voice now a whisper.
“So are you, my dear,” Astarion replied, but she had already fallen asleep. The elf closed his eyes, feeling lighter, safe, protected. He slipped into sleep, holding his sorcerer in his arms and sinking into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
The end.