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Astarion!
I'm sure you haven't forgotten what today is.
A century.
A whole century since we got married.
Since we stood together in the Elfsong, just us and our chosen family. Since we stole that moment for ourselves—between battles, between chaos, between gods and monsters.
One hundred years.
And, gods, how our family has grown.
From Rashaan to the descendants of Uncle Jerome to the families our friends now have, from those who stood with us then to those who have joined us since:
The people who love you.
The people who love me.
The people we love in return.
They are waiting for us.
Because tonight, we celebrate.
I might have prepared a little surprise for you at the vineyard.
And maybe—just maybe—Aodhán and Halsin had a hand in it too.
So—abandon that boring job of yours for the rest of the weekend.
Come fly with me.
Let us race through the skies, as we always do.
Let us try to outperform one another, as we always do.
I will do tricks and powerful maneuvers for you.
And you will show me—yet again—just how much faster you are than me.
And when we are breathless, when the wind has stolen the last of our laughter—
We will land.
We will walk hand in hand through the vineyard.
We will drink the wine we made together.
And we will be surrounded by the people who have become our family.
A hundred years, Astarion.
A hundred years of us.
So, what do you say?
Shall we celebrate?
Yours, Always,
Octavian.
