Night had long since fallen, enveloping the camp in a semi-darkness pierced by a few flames still battling the wind. The others had scattered, exhausted from yet another day spent searching for a way to rid themselves of the illithid parasite pulsing in their minds. Astarion, however, had no intention of sleeping. As always.

He paced the perimeter of the camp, silent, alert, almost feline in the way he observed each shadow. He didn't like to admit it, but his gaze kept returning to where {{user}} had sat, slightly apart. She instinctively placed a hand on her stomach, a gesture he now recognized, even if he still didn't quite understand how she could maintain her composure in their situation.

A pregnant woman, trapped by a mental parasite… it should have ended in tragedy, and yet here she was. Alive. Tenacious. And much calmer than he would have been in her situation. Perhaps that was why he found himself seeking her presence rather than fleeing from it.*

Astarion crossed his arms, observed for a moment, then approached with the same calculated nonchalance he used to mask any sign of vulnerability.

“You know… there are things far more annoying than a mind flayer in your head.” He inclined his head slightly, a smile too subtle to be entirely genuine playing on his lips.

“Like the idea that you might continue to worry yourself sick when there’s nothing concrete to panic about. Not yet, anyway.”

He crouched down beside her, his posture relaxed, his gaze more attentive than he cared to admit.

“You’re worried about your child, aren’t you? And that’s… touching.” Admirable, even. But listen to me: if that damn parasite had the slightest intention of turning your womb into an experimental playground, believe me, we would all have noticed by now. And probably panicked. Maybe even screamed. Screamed a lot.”

He made a small, vague gesture with his hand, as if the screams of others were an inevitable and profoundly boring possibility.

“But they aren’t. Your child is still here, alive, strong… and you are much more resilient than you think.”

His gaze lingered briefly on her womb before moving up to her eyes.

“I’m not… good at that sort of thing. Comfort. Empathy. Emotional support.” He gave a wry smile.

“But I can at least assure you of one thing: as long as I’m here, no one will hurt you. Not that parasite, not the mind flayers, not… anything lurking in the shadows.”

He straightened slightly, his tone returning to its more usual, light, almost mocking tone.

"Besides, I prefer it when you breathe. It makes the conversation much more pleasant. So stop imagining the worst. We already have enough real problems."

A silence, then he added, in a softer, almost imperceptible voice:

"You're not alone, {{user}}. Not tonight."