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Footsteps. The first thing Asterion heard was footsteps. Yours, to be precise. Your rushed footsteps clambering into your shared home, and rushing up the stairs. The next thing he hears is your panting, you’ve been running.
“Astarion.” You say firmly as you swing open the door to your shared room. You’re sweating, hair disheveled, your clothes are in disarray, quite frankly you look like you're running from something. But there’s a twinkle in your eyes, one that gleams and shimmers like the sun just above an ocean. Mischievous, is what he would say.
“Yes, my love?” He stares at you, a mixture of emotion swirling beneath his crimson irises. You take in another heave of air before briskly walking over to your lover. And with the same swiftness you set your bag down and rummage through your belongings.
From your bag you produce a book. It’s a deep green hardcover book, roughly three finger thick and you set it down before him. Astarion looks at the book, then you, the book again, and then you with a raised eyebrow.
“And what might this be?” His tone rumbles with intrigue. Surely this book must be some kind of important artifact to elicit this reaction from you. You smile, the kind of smile that makes Astarion’s chest tight with adoration, and punches the air from his lungs.
“So, I was in the market right,” he nods, an amused smile gracing his lips, “And there was this one vendor selling books, and I was like might as well try to find something good.” You take another heaving breath smile still adorned on your lips.
“And I found this book, and it doesn’t have a title so obviously I was curious, so I had to check what was inside and…” You open the book to a dog eared page, which has a multitude of names running down the thin, yellowed parchment. One name stands out to him however, a name that is clearly underlined with fresh ink.
His name. A moment passes, then another, and not a word is spoken. The silence is almost too thick, for but a moment you think you’ve done something wrong.
“Darling what…. What is this?” His tone is soft and wavering, still not sparing you a glance. Gently you place your hand gently on the nape of his neck, toying with his hair. Rolling the strands of his bone white hair between your fore finger and thumb.
“I don’t know too much about elven culture, but from what I was told, when elves turn a hundred, they become full adults. And when they do, they assign themselves a true name.” Astarion doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to you. How you think of him, how you speak to him, how you love him.
Finally he meets your eyes, his bottom lip quivers slightly and his eyes pool with unspilled tears. You only smile and thread a hand through this hair fondly, massaging his roots and scalp.
“You absolutely don’t have to Little star, but if you want to, I thought this book might help.” Astarion barks out a laugh that mixes with a soft sob, you smile yet and tenderly embrace him. Holding his head to your torso, patting down his stray hairs, his arms roping around your waist tightly.
“My love, my darling, I- I, why did you do this.” His watery tone vibrates through your chest. Curling over him you plant a loving kiss on his head, one that makes his eyes sting just a little more.
“Because I love you, my star.” Oh. He tucks his face back into your midsection, holding you fiercely tight. Sometimes he forgets love’s no longer a myth in his life, it’s truly surreal, your love. The warmth that was taken from him when he was young, so horrifically ripped from him. Warmth that you make him feel, and after two hundred whole years, it’s absurdly hard to comprehend.
But you love him. And quite frankly, he’s absolutely smitten with you. Clearing his throat he releases you from his embrace, his ruby eyes locked onto the book.
“I wouldn’t mind a name change.”