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A shock of ice stabbed through your chest and you stilled. Stopped frozen in your tracks. And then it was gone. Torn from your body.
It hurt to breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You gasped and your mouth filled with liquid. You were drowning. But no matter how much your brain screamed, you couldn’t fight it. Your lungs filled up until your ribs ached. It’s okay. That soon faded.
Maybe you were under water after all. Maybe this was all just a dream. Maybe it was river water you choked on. Maybe you couldn’t hear because everything was muffled underwater. Maybe… maybe…
Everything felt so heavy. A jolt shocked your system as you fell to your knees, but it faded with everything else. You thought you heard a scream. A voice, pressing just there at the edge of… the edge of something. Who was that? Why were they screaming?
Your vision spun and jostled and twisted and turned until you were staring up at the sky. A face, haloed by fluffy clouds. His hair almost blended with them as they floated by.
You tried so hard to focus… If you could just know what he was saying. His lips moved so frantically. Too fast. Too…
He looked so scared. So afraid. You wanted to hold him, tell him everything was okay, but your arms remained leaden at your side. No matter how much you fought, they wouldn’t budge. Or, you couldn’t feel them moving, anyway. You tried to tell him instead. It hurt to see him so distraught - if you could just comfort him-
The words got trapped in your throat. You needed to cough. There was too much water in your mouth, in your lungs, in your everything. You needed to breathe. His hand brushed your hair back. It felt so nice. So so nice… So……
You try to remember this man. He’s so beautiful. Was he a god? He had to be. And what were you? Just……
You can’t keep looking. You fight to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at his white hair and red eyes and beautiful, beautiful face. But you’re so tired. And you’re so weak. And a nap sounds so good. And when you wake up, you can find him again, and look at his face, and tell him it’s okay. You just needed a nap. Just a quick nap.
He jostles your body as your eyes slip shut. You can feel the liquid trailing down your neck and down the collar of your shirt, but the darkness calls to you so sweetly. Cold and warm and sad and happy and so, so easy. You fall into her arms without a second thought, as they fade with your life.
Astarion stares at the corpse in his arms. Your corpse. Drenched in blood, most of it your own. A gaping hole in your chest and blood pouring from your mouth. He’s disgusted by how sweet it smells.
His hands are covered in your blood as he cups your face, rubbing a thumb under your eye and begging for you to open them again. Please, just this one favor for him and he’d never ask for anything else. Just please open your fucking eyes. He doesn’t hear the words spilling from his lips, begging over and over and whispering your name like a spell. All he succeeds in doing is smearing blood over your skin.
They have magic - back at the camp. If they just carry you back, lay you down, you could be brought back. The hole would be sewn up, you wouldn’t have blood pouring down your chin like a vampire who gorged himself to an ecstatic death. It would be okay, it had to be. You had to be okay.
He’s inconsolable as he carries you. Your head is limp against his shoulder. Your arm hangs down and sways with each step. There’s blood all over him and all he can smell is you, you, you. The iron lingers in the air and hits his tongue and he wants to be sick. He keeps a brutal pace, everyone struggling to keep up behind him. Your cheek is cold against his skin and he wants to scream. Never in all these weeks knowing you have you ever been colder than him. And with each step, the warmth evaporates from you and the chill sets in.
He lays you down reverently in your bedroll. You cannot feel how gently he treats your body as he tucks your arms by your sides and brushes your hair from your face. And then in the blink of an eye he’s tearing the camp apart.
He digs through every bag he can find, every chest and pocket. He searches for just one fucking scroll. If he could just bring you back, then it would be okay again. He could stop feeling so fucking awful. And you’d be there! Warm and breathing and- and…
And he finds nothing. Withers is missing - wandered off or who fucking knows. Wyll goes to find him and Astarion can’t keep pacing around or he’s going to collapse. So he sits by your side. He can’t breathe. His chest is constricted. His eyes have burned for the last hour and it’s only now he realizes he’s been crying. Your blood dries and cracks on his hands. It’s already beginning to turn brown. He hesitates at first, but then he grabs your hand and pulls it into his lap and gods why did he have to feel so awful.
He doesn’t leave your side. He can’t. You’re already dead, but he fears that somehow you’ll disappear if he looks away for even a moment. If he so much as thinks about slipping between the trees for a bite, he’s consumed with fear and guilt and anger.
So he stays. Your hands get so cold before the sun’s even fully below the horizon. He can’t stop himself from holding them between his own and blowing the warmest breath he can manage, massaging the brief heat into your fingertips. It never lasts. Even the fire does not seem to touch you.
When Wyll finally drags Withers back, the sun is rising, and Astarion is too exhausted to shout. All he can manage is a glare as he tosses a bag of coin at his feet.
And when you at last open your eyes to the bright rays of morning, you’re pulled into his chest. You shiver and weakly wrap your arms around him. He can feel the heat slowly returning to your body. You try to pull away to ask what happened - it’s all a blur - but he holds you tighter. He presses his face into your neck and just breathes you in. You barely manage to whisper that it’s okay, that you’re okay, and he sobs.