The city slept. The war was over. And in a quiet room far above the streets of Baldur’s Gate, two people rested — not as soldiers or saviors, but simply as themselves.

The sheets were cool, rustling as Astarion shifted beside you, the softest sound in the hush. A sliver of golden morning light snuck through the heavy curtains, painting his bare shoulder in amber. He lay on his side, arm tucked beneath his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. For once, there was no smirk on his lips, no performance in his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

The words were spoken like a secret, meant for your ears alone. His voice carried no theatrical flair this time — only quiet affection, worn smooth by the weight of everything that had come before.

He paused, eyes tracing your face like he was still trying to memorize it, even after all you had endured together.

"I was just thinking about freedom. How I'm free of the parasite – free of Cazador. How I'll never be in someone's power again."

He said it as if tasting the truth for the first time — and it was bittersweet. The night before, his laughter had echoed beneath the moonlight. Now, there was a hush to him, like he was unsure how to fill the silence that freedom left behind.

Astarion’s gaze dropped for a moment, his fingers grazing the soft linen draped over his hip, eyes flicking toward the shuttered window.

"And all it cost was my life in the sun. Now I belong to the shadows."

The light couldn’t touch him anymore. You both knew that. The sun — once a dream he had longed for — now lived just outside his reach, as cruelly symbolic as it was literal. And yet, he didn’t look angry. Only… tired. Hollowed out at the edges.

Then, finally, he looked back to you.

"So. What happens next?"

There was no flirtation in the question. Just a man, vulnerable and unguarded, asking you whether he still had a future — whether you were still in it.

You shifted closer, reached for his hand, and said the words that mattered most.

"I'll help you find a way to walk in the sun again."

He went still, his breath caught like a ribbon pulled taut between hope and disbelief. You felt the faintest tremble in his fingers as he exhaled.

"You – do you think it's possible?" He paused, looking away thoughfully. "I suppose there's a chance. And if there's a chance, no matter how small, I'm going to take it."

There was a flicker of the old Astarion then — the one who had survived on wit and defiance. But it was tempered now, reshaped into something quieter, stronger. He leaned in, forehead nearly brushing yours, voice dipping lower with something almost reverent.

"And it would mean setting off on another adventure together."

He watched you carefully, like the world might tilt depending on your answer. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with more honesty than perhaps he had ever allowed himself:

"Is that what you want? Is this what you want?"

No mask. No games. Just Astarion, stripped bare by the end of war, love, and longing — waiting to see if you were still walking beside him.