Astarion was afraid his past would catch up with him, grab his legs, and drag him back into his worst nightmare. But when you...sat like that on the bedding next to his tent, slumping your shoulders a little and leaning your head back, while his fingers gently passed between the strands of your long hair, weaving wildflowers into a very neat style, the elf couldn't help himself.

"I didn't braid it too tight?"

You had been everything to him since that conversation about your feelings, you had been the saving light in Astarion's dark nightmare of centuries. The candle stood on the small table beside you, illuminating a small corner for you in the pitch black of night, and it was quite comfortable after the campfire in the middle of the camp had been extinguished and the stars and moon had long since twinkled in the sky.