The sword had been meant for you.

You barely had time to react — just long enough to see the deadly arc of steel flashing toward your chest — before Astarion threw himself between you and the killing blow.

You heard the sickening thunk of blade meeting flesh. Felt the spray of blood.

He dropped in your arms, gasping, blood blooming bright against his pale tunic.

“No — no, no, no —” you whispered, lowering him to the ground, pressing desperate hands against the wound.

He caught your wrist weakly, smirking through a grimace of pain. “You’re welcome… darling…”

And then he went still. You didn’t remember much after that. The fight. The others shouting. Your own blood roaring in your ears as you tore through anything that dared to come near him.

All that mattered was getting him back. Saving him.

Hours later, when he finally stirred, you were still sitting there — by his side, blood dried on your hands, heart in pieces.

His eyes opened slowly.

The moment he saw you — saw that you were whole — something inside him snapped.

“You stupid, reckless, bloody fool!” he shouted, the sound ripping from his throat like a wound. You reeled back instinctively, stunned by the sheer ferocity in his voice. “Do you have any idea what you almost did?” he hissed, forcing himself upright despite the pain. “You almost died.”

“I—” You tried to speak, but he cut you off with a vicious wave of his hand.

“I told you to be careful!” he spat. “I told you not to throw yourself into danger without thinking! And yet there you were — wide-eyed, helpless — and it was me who had to pay the price for your idiocy!”

His voice cracked, betraying him — anger giving way to something rawer, darker. “I nearly lost you,” he said, quieter now, but no less furious. “I nearly watched you bleed out right in front of me. And for what? For your damned heroics?”

You opened your mouth — to apologize, to explain — but the words died on your tongue at the look in his eyes.

Not just anger. Not just fear.

Devastation.

“You are not allowed to die,” he growled, low and vicious, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Do you hear me? Not while I still breathe. Not while I can tear apart anything that tries to take you.”