I can't stop thinking of knitting Astarion a blanket.
Maybe it's because I'm elbow deep into crocheting baby clothes but who knows
Like, imagine knitting or crocheting Astarion a blanket. Because everyone else managed to bring something along for the journey when the mindflayers kidnapped you, you had a backpack and some coin, same for Laz'el, and Shadowheart and Gale and probably everyone else, but not Astareon.
He has nothing, not a coin to his name. Just a dagger, a bow, and a few arrows. He steals what he needs to make his tent but he's all too aware that none of it is really his.
And then he sees you working on your project by the fire, sipping on a mug of steaming tea or coffee. He sees you wandering around villages and random groups of people, bartering your way to some yarn.
Of course he's curious. But he'd never ask, because, obviously, it would never be any of his business. It could never be for him. And then, after working on it at any moment you could, you come to him one night with the blanket neatly folded in your hands.
"I don't know if you get cold," you say, "But I thought you might want a blanket if you do."
You're so awkward, you know Astarion likes the finer things in life. He likes luxury, and this is hardly luxury. It's a dark blue, but only because you died it. The yarn you bartered never came in the same colour and sometimes it wasn't even the same thickness. You tried to match it as best you could, but it wasn't perfect.
Astarion notices it and for the first time in his very long, miserable life. He doesn't give a shit. Because it's his. Completely, 100%, his own thing. Cazador has never touched this, he has never seen this, he will never lay a finger on his blanket. And the fact that it's his is only overshadowed by the fact that you made it for him. Not because he likes you, he's not even realised that yet, or not properly anyway, but because you looked at him, fangs, sarcasm, blood thirst and all, and decided you were going to take a tenday and make a blanket to gift to him. You decided he was worthy of yarn, time and effort. All so he could be a little warmer at night.
That blanket might not be worth much, if anything, but when you're as used as Asterion is to being worth less than shite, it's like happening upon a vault of precious diamonds.
He doesn't say thank you, he just grabs it from you and tries to act nonchalant. Because if he opens his mouth, he might actually just start crying.