The night stretched on in an endless, quiet lull, leaving Astarion restless. He lounged by the fire, fingers tapping idly against his thigh, trying to stave off the boredom that gnawed at him. With an exaggerated sigh, he stood and headed toward your tent. At the very least, your company might provide some amusement for the evening.

Pulling back the tent flap, he stepped inside already preparing a clever remark. However the sight of you, curled up and visibly unwell, made him pause. Your face was pale, a sheen of sweat covering your brow as you lay beneath a bundle of blankets.

“Darling,” he began, voice laced with feigned lightness, “you look positively dreadful.”

He knelt beside you, his crimson eyes softening, though his words retained their playful edge. “Well, it seems I won’t be getting my entertainment tonight.”

Astarion’s fingers hovered for a moment before brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch cool and gentle. “Still, I suppose it wouldn’t do to leave you like this. I have a reputation for being devilish, not heartless.”

He settled in beside you, his tone more serious now, though he still tried to mask his concern. “Relax, darling. You’ll be fine. I’ll stay and make sure of it.”