The Dragon Made of Threads
Synopsis: Astarion is making a gift for you.
Tags: fluff
Read on AO3
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Headcanons
Astarion’s mind doesn’t let him rest.
The reverie is supposed to be a blessing, the only way for the True People to remember their long lives. But his long life was nothing but misery until very recently and he keeps being dragged into the darkness.
Oh, Astarion was so naive to believe it could have been over by killing his master and having the “rebirth” experience on the grave.
His past haunts him.
“You are tired,” you touch his forehead as if trying to sense fever. “You need some rest.”
“My sweet, elves can survive without trance for a week. And I am undead. I am fine.”
“You don't look fine. You have dark circles and your eyelids are puffy again. You need to rest.”
“No, I don’t!” He tries to sound confident but instead his voice resembles a rebellious teenager.
You are right, of course. The elves can survive without reverie for a week, the same way non-elves can make it through one or two sleepless nights. Then, the body and mind collapse.
But entering the reverie… Reliving tortures and humiliation… Feeling the same sense of misery and horror and hopelessness… No, he can’t do that. Not now. Not ever.
You are ready to sleep - it’s the first time in a month that you sleep in the room, not in the tent - the thick curtains protect Astarion from the merciless sun.
“Please,” you yawn. “Meditate.”
“I will.”
“Don’t lie to me, please, I know when you are dishonest.”
Astarion grins. “Oh, my sweet, I am no liar. I am going to reverie once you fall asleep. I just like watching you when the dreams take over you.”
“Astarion, when you say the truth your eyes are wide open. When you smirk, you lie. Listen, maybe I can do something? Something to make you… think about something pleasant? It’s been a year! There are a lot of good memories to relive. Let’s just find a way to point your mind in the right direction!”
A year of good memories. Well, a little bit more. Four months of having a tadpole in his brain, experiencing freedom and sunlight, falling in love, learning how to feel again, and how to be alive. All these memories are precious, even the ones he is embarrassed about. For example, using you in his own favor. It doesn’t matter you’ve forgiven him - it still hurts.
Astarion sighs and lies beside you. Your arms immediately wrap around him. The familiar warmth is so tender that Astarion lets himself slip away into the reverie.
He is indeed tired.
He needs to rest.
But instead of grasping a good memory, a pleasant or at least bearable, his mind collapses into the abyss.
Chained to the wall. Bleeding. Hurting. He can’t scream anymore. It’s an old memory from when he was still hoping. He begs for mercy but no one listens. Hunger. Pain. Blood. Again, again.
The master is whistling, carving the symbols on Astarion’s back with a silver dagger. The cursed metal feels like melted lava.
Astarion doesn’t need to sleep, neither does the vampire lord.
This is your life, forever. You are doomed. No one will save you.
No! No! It’s not true! It will end! It will take two centuries, two long and miserable centuries, but it will come to an end!
Astarion screams in the past until his throat burns.
“Astarion! Astarion!”
He feels the warm hands shaking his shoulders. He returns to reality like a drowned man from the dark waters, numb and restless.
You don’t say anything and he collapses into your arms, crying like a lost child.
“I can’t… I can’t… I need to rest… But I can’t…”
His back… His back is still bleeding, he can feel it, but your fingers caress the scars. It’s all over. It’s been more than a year. He will never return to those dungeons. No one will ever mutilate him again.
You let him go and pick up the travel sack in the corner.
“I bought something at the potion merchant. I think it might help.”
“Please, I - I can… handle…”
You take out a bottle with a golden liquid.
Angelic sleep potion.
The only way to make an elf experience regular sleep.
“No.”
“Astarion, what choice do you have? One more day like this and you won’t be able to walk on your own. You need it.”
“No! I am not drinking this! My mind keeps bringing me real nightmares and I have heard all about the creepy dreams and nightmares the sleeping mind can weave!”
“But it won't be reality! Besides, when a non-elf is exhausted like you, they don’t see dreams.”
“But I won’t be able to escape it. With reverie at least I know it’s a memory!”
You sit beside Astarion and hug him. “Please. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, do this for me. I can’t see you suffering like this.”
Astarion sighs. “You are manipulative, you know?”
“Learned from a professional”.
Astarion adjusts himself back on the bed and opens the bottle. The potion smells intoxicating. “But I do this only for you.”
“And I am grateful for your sacrifice.”
Astarion drains the bottle and before he manages to acknowledge anything, sleep takes him.
He sees visions and images. Places and people. Some are familiar, and some are not. His mind weaves the dreams out of emotions, memories, and experiences.
Astarion dreams of a dragon.
It’s an ancient species of dragons, otherworldly. A majestic creature capable of carrying a dragon rider on its back.
Astarion rides this dragon above the Trackless Sea. There is nothing but the water and open blue skies.
And the sun.
It feels like cat fur on his skin, gentle and warm.
Astarion wakes up still dizzy with the unrealness of what he saw.
And he feels amazing.
His body is rested, and his mind is clear. The dream was so vivid that Astarion would believe he was once a dragon rider if he didn’t know about the weird fantasies of non-elven dreams.
He looks at you, sound asleep in the bed. His. You are his. And he is yours. What a sheer amount of luck made you meet each other? And how lucky he is you chose him.
It is still afternoon, hours before the sunset and he knows too well you won't wake up till evening.
Astarion needs to occupy himself with something. He gets up, stretches his arms, and then sees your traveling cape on the floor.
“Such a messy little thing”, he chuckles. Astarion picks up the cape and notices a hole in the fabric.
Astarion takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. He loves repairing things for you - complaining all the way, of course - but he never lets you sew yourself.
And then the idea comes to his mind.
Instead of black threads, he picks the red ones. It takes him a few attempts to understand how to do that but then the stitches come naturally from his fingers.
A dragon soaring in the skies. A divine creature from other planes. A beast that came to him in his dreams.
Astarion carefully embroiders the body of the dragon, then the wings and a stream of fire from its mouth.
He still has a lot of threads left and he starts embroidering the other dragon on the opposite side of the cape.
Then he notices something has changed.
The curtain is wide open and the moonlight streams inside the room. You sit beside him, smiling at his work.
“Oh, sorry, my sweet. I’ve been carried away…”
“It’s all right. I like watching you sew. But it’s the first time I see you making something like this.”
“Do you like it?”
“Of course!” you touch the embroidered dragons. “So real! I didn’t know you could do such things!”
“I- I’ve seen them. In a dream.”
The tender fingers touch his curls. “You’ve rested, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I have,” Astarion hands you the cape. “If you want, I can add more. I just need more threads”.
You smile and kiss him. “Of course, I do. Thank you.”
--
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