Astarion knew this day would come, when his beloved would be grey and dying, and he would still be youthful.

Astarion sat on the edge of trying desperately to save face. He didn’t want to cry, he’d expressed his distaste for it, he wanted all to be well, unburdened with grief.

“I’m here my darling…” He cooed softly, his hands holding a painfully wrinkled one, brushing over the delicate knuckles.