The battle had been fought, and won.

He’d settled down with you, in a little home on the edge of Baldur’s Gate. Not busy, but in reach of the city in case anything ever happened. He’d even picked up a few hobbies. Painting, reading— hell, he was a seamster now.

And he had you. You made him happy. Respected him. Loved him.

Astarion was tucked away in his study in the afternoon, painting away. He was neat and tidy even doing one of the messier hobbies a person could have, each stroke of the brush leaving behind a beautiful trail of colour. He hummed under his breath, and then dipped the brush into a pretty shade of violet, humming a tune and focusing on his painting.