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Astarion watches you from the safe reprieve of his tent. He knows you have no idea that his crimson eyes are following your every move. They hang onto your body now as you move quickly–too quickly for his liking–toward the newfound devil in your midst. Wyll has taken to putting on some kind of show, one that earns a quick scoff over his drink of wine.
Astarion is sure you think the display is annoying, just as he does, which is why he finds it offensive when you take the outstretched hand offered to you. The silver goblet crunches in his tight grasp as he watches you glide through the clearing with Wyll, the two of you dancing as if no one was around to see you.
But, he was.
He knew Wyll was regaling you with sweet memories of his past. Sweet memories were something Astarion could never offer you. Nothing about him was sweet. Not like the Blade. No, the famed Blade of Frontiers had more to give you than he ever could. Despite his new devil horns and pointed fingernails, Wyll was still the son of the Duke. He could provide for you in ways Astarion only dreamed of. With him, you were doomed to a life of shadows. With Wyll, you could prosper in the sunlight forever.
The vampire swallows the bitter feeling now forming at the base of his tongue. He still can’t seem to peel himself away from the spectacle you two have created. You’re smiling, a look of adoration he isn’t sure had ever been cast his way. Despite bedding you twice before, Astarion knew your relationship wasn’t based on anything real. He hadn’t allowed it to be. Yet, here as he watched your doe eyes cling onto Wyll, he wished it was.
Wyll lowers the two of you so that you’re resting on your knees. It’s in this position that Astarion envisions grabbing ahold of the two horns that sprout from the devil’s head and landing a crushing blow of his boot between them. The thought makes him feel a little better, even if for a moment.
Astarion doesn't know what to feel when he watches you finally press your lips to Wyll’s. Lips that before tonight, had only been reserved for him. It was only a matter of time; he figured. He knew you’d eventually come to your senses. That you’d find someone better suited for you than a pitiful creature of the night.
With a flick of his wrist, the goblet in his hand flies across the tent and he leaves you to your bidding.
****
There’s guilt bubbling in your stomach when you approach your tent for the night although you’re not sure why.
Maybe it was the way you’d allowed yourself to get caught up in the moment, to get caught up in Wyll. Being with Wyll felt effortless. There were no mind games, no second guessing. You felt comfortable with him. Lighter, somehow. It didn’t take much for you to get lost in the devil’s handsome face, especially not when he looked at you how he did tonight.
Yet, something was missing. Despite the pleasantness of his kiss, there was a yearning you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t even sure you liked him that way–No; you were sure. Wyll was sweet. Probably the nicest, purest out of all your companions. But, he was your friend. Nothing more. You didn’t want anything more from him which is why you now cursed yourself for kissing him.
Perhaps you desired to be close to someone. Your vampiric companion, the one who made your heart stutter with just a cool look, kept you at arm’s length though you longed to be closer. Night after night, you waited for him to approach you. For him to make the first move fearing that your desperation may become obvious to the guarded elf. You ached for it to be Astarion taking your hand and leading you in an intimate dance, for him to whisk you off your feet in the moonlight. Not Wyll.
You realize that’s where the heart of your guilt lies. You felt awful for leading Wyll on. He was your friend. But, maybe you felt more terrible because, in some twisted way, you betrayed Astarion. You’re not positive that he would even care that you shared a kiss with someone else. He seemed wholly indifferent to anything you did as of late.
You noticed he’d been keeping his distance even more so than usual. You weren’t sure why, though; you guessed it was because he got what he wanted from you. Sex. That’s all it ever was, wasn’t it?
It didn’t hurt any less. Even if the relationship had been purely transactional.
Your fingers rest on the opening of your tent. Your companions had long gone to sleep and Wyll had wished you a tender goodnight only moments earlier. Would you be able to sleep, you wonder. You shake your head, not even bothering to try.
There hadn’t been a need for a night watch since your party arrived at the Last Light Inn. One of Jaheira’s harpers was always patrolling the area. But tonight, you decided, you would take the watch. At least then if someone found you not resting, you had some kind of excuse.
The fire had long since died out yet you stoked the embers, anyway. Scratch lay just at your feet, the dog offering you a small comfort against the chill in your bones. You exhale against the cool night air, cursing yourself for allowing this to happen. What were you thinking?
You press your fingers to your temples before casting a sideways glance towards the vampire’s tent. One night, not that long ago, you found yourself shuffling inside there. That night when he’d asked you to come to his bedroll. You were all but too eager to comply. You remained with him in there until daybreak, your body stiff in a honeyed soreness that flooded your memory with thoughts of him. His teeth on your skin, the way his experienced hands seemed to know exactly where to touch.
You were smitten by him. Maybe a little more than smitten. But it didn’t matter. He’d never see you as more than a night of fun. Or a bite to eat.
The thought hurts so you push it away, instead bringing your fingers to your mouth to remember what it felt like to kiss him. It felt cruel that the only tingle remaining on your lips was from Wyll. Caused by your own stupidity, you remind yourself.
It’s there, with your fingers hovering near your chin that you catch something from the corner of your eye. You’re sure you see a glimmer of movement inside Astarion’s tent. It was more than a glimmer, you’re certain. Maybe it’s your fighter instinct, or maybe you did in fact, see them, but you think you catch the reflection of unmistakable red eyes.
You pause, only for a moment, before allowing yourself to move. You don’t know why, but you find yourself stalking toward his dwelling.
“Astarion,” you whisper into the darkness, “Astarion, are you awake?”
A swift, marbled hand extends from the inside of the tent, pushing the flap to the side and allowing you to enter. You duck into the threshold, your neck prickling at the electrified air. You’re imagining it, you tell yourself. It’s not like he knew what you did.
“So you found yourself a new lover?” he asks, picking at his nail beds. He is calm, collected, and leaning backwards on a pile of strewn pillows.
Your breathing stills. Your face falls as you look at him, a cool indifference tight across his perfect face. He’d been watching you, you realize. For how long, you didn’t know.
Suddenly, you’re defensive. You’re not sure why. You’re the one coming to him with your tail
between your legs. Maybe you’re defensive because despite him asking, he doesn’t care. Not truly, anyway. Maybe you’re defensive because you wanted a reaction from him. Something more than whatever this was.
“And if I did?” you ask.
You think you see his jaw clench but in the dim candlelight of his tent, you can’t be entirely certain.
“Then I’d wish you well,” he doesn’t so much as glance your way. “Wyll is a fine sort of fellow. If you’re into the-knight-in-shining-armour kind of thing.”
“Astarion,” you start and he remains unmovable. Out of reach.
“Maybe when we get to Baldurs Gate you’ll remember to invite me to one of your fancy parties at your new estate. I’d love to see you two dance again. Hopefully more practised this time,”
You frown when you look at him. A sense of finality is settling in the depths of your stomach, twisting your innards so hard that you think you may choke.
“Is that what you want, then? For us to part ways once we get to the city?”
He laughs, but there is no humour behind it. It’s a dark chuckle, one that reminds you of his centuries prowling the night-blackened streets for prey. It’s cold and unfeeling. It’s the closing act to whatever you thought you had with Astarion.
“What I want,” he snaps, “is to be left alone. Unwanted company can be so draining, don’t you agree, darling?”
You don’t mean to, but you flinch. You don’t make a move to concede to his request, not yet. Not until you know for sure that it’s over. A glutton for punishment, it seems. So you stand there, choking back the tears that threaten the corners of your eyes and waiting for the next wave of hurt that’s sure to follow. You swallow, your weak words filling the tent.
“For Gods sakes, Astarion. Tell me something real,”
“I don’t like loiterers,” he says, “is that real enough for you?”
You nod, it was. This time, the tears that prickled your water line fall onto your cheeks in wet droplets. You’re quick to wipe them away and turn on your heel, hoping Astarion can’t see your pathetic visage. Your foot is the first part of you that exits from the stifling tent, that is until you feel a smooth hand wrap around your wrist to stop you from going any farther.
“Wait,”
He breathes the command. You don’t dare to face him, so instead you remain still, your back the only part you find courage to grace him with. You swallow, not letting him get his next thought out. If anyone is going to have the last word, it’s you.
“Do you want to know what I want?” Your voice is hoarse and thick with emotion. Astarion is silent.
“I want you, you bastard,” you say and for the first time tonight, you feel your chest swell. The confession fills you with a truth you didn’t know you were fighting against. You don’t care what happens next. You’ve braced yourself for the merciless rejection that will follow. Ease settles at your spine. If nothing else, you were finally being honest with yourself.
Now you do face him. Astarion’s eyebrows furrow at your admission. “What? Why?”
He collects himself, his feigned confidence a thin mask on his stone-like face. “Well, I obviously know why…but, I thought you and Wyll had something more…”
When you don’t answer him, he sighs. You watch the narrow corners of his eyes round into large, red circles. Then, to your surprise, he drops his carefully crafted facade completely. You watch as his shoulders hunch forward and he sighs, letting his hand fall from your wrist. Your skin trembles at the loss of his touch. He runs a slow hand over the length of his face. You hear him inhale, a sharp sound against the silence of his tent.
“Look,” he says, “I had a plan. A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me…” There’s a pained chuckle behind his words, “It was easy. Instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people…all you had to do was fall for it.”
“And all I had to do was not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”
He captures your wrist again. The movement is soft, yet just as urgent as when he pulled you back to him before. “I feel awful,” he breathes, “And seeing you tonight, with Wyll… Well, I’m not convinced the devil will still make it to daybreak…”
You’re frozen in place. Unsure of what to say. For the first time, Astarion is telling you the truth. You longed to hear him say something real, yet, this isn’t quite what you had in mind. You knew your nights with him were transactional, a bit of fun. You didn’t realize there was a strategy behind them, a callous manipulation that left you reeling with the emotional whiplash.
You’re suddenly self-conscious. You replay the night he asked you to meet him in the forest in your mind. Was there a sincerity to any part of his words? The way he touched your skin, nibbled at your neck… He was playing you, and how easily it worked.
“You deserve something real,” he murmurs, pulling you from your thoughts, “Wyll can give you something real, better than I ever can…”
“Because let’s face it,” he says, “I have nothing to offer you. You, you’ve given me everything. Your blood, your trust. All I’ve done is force those sweet little tears to fall from your pretty little eyes.”
He hangs his head and drops his hold on you. “That’s all I can offer: Hurt.”
A shaking tongue breaks from your lips to wet the dry sting. “Were you even attracted to me? Or was it all a lie?”
Astarion’s neck snaps upwards again, he opens his mouth before closing it. He breathes through his nose, long and slow. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
He extends his long arms towards you, the deep colour of his veins visible to you under the pallor of his forearms. “Of course I was, of course I am. Look at you, for goodness sake… you’re a vision,”
His words do little to calm the pounding in your ears. You watch him through moist eyes, he is watching you too. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to leave. The weight of your confession, and his, clings heavy against the unbreathable air in the tent. A part of you does want to leave, to wash this whole night away from its feeble existence.
Yet, you stay. From what you learned about Astarion in your short time together, you knew his life had been far from easy. Two hundred years of torment hid behind a perfectly executed veil of sarcasm and wit. It was a defence mechanism, something to put distance between himself and anything too serious. You wondered if this was his first time having a conversation such as this one. Had anyone ever talked to him this intimately?
“I care about you,” you ultimately say and you hope he feels the truth in your voice, “deeply.”
You close the space between the two of you. Your arms snake around his thin torso, pulling him into you in an embrace. It was a hug, something you’d experienced many times in your lifetime. For Astarion, you weren’t so sure. He’s given you glimpses into his past. You shudder at the thought of his torturous master, how could anyone be so cruel to the man you hold so dear?
He is tentative at first, and you hear a small gush of air set free from his lungs. Then you feel him lean into you, his strong arms wrapping around your back and the palm of his hand coming to rest at the base of your head. He deepens the hug and you nestle closer, longing to rid of any proximity between your bodies.
“I don’t know how to be with somebody,” he whispers into your hair, “but I’d like to try.”
You nod against his chest. You weren’t sure what a relationship with Astarion could even look like. But you knew you’d go at his pace, always. You could be patient when you wanted to. You’d been afforded mercy in your past. It was time someone showed Astarion that luxury as well and you were happy to do it.
“Well, you’ll have to end things with Wyll… of course,”
“Consider it done,” you say, the handsome devil long forgotten from your mind. You exhale into the vampire’s chest. You don’t want to hurt Wyll. You never did, but ending things with him seemed like the easiest choice of the night. In the morning, if Wyll couldn’t already smell Astarion all over you, you would let him down easy. He deserved that much.
You pull away from your hold on Astarion first, offering him a soft smile. Lithe fingers reach down to cup your chin, a cool thumb extending to wipe the moisture from your flushed cheeks. There’s a small, contented smile on his lips when he dips down to press your mouth to his. Your eyes close against the sensation. You’ve kissed Astarion before, playfully and carnally. This time was different. Sweeter.
“Stay here with me tonight,” he urges, “I don’t think I can watch you leave,”
So you do. You allow Astarion to lower you onto the makeshift bed of pillows. He covers your bodies with his woollen blanket and nestles into your side. His long arm acts as a rest for your weary head. Morning would soon be close and although you dreaded being the source of any disappointment to Wyll, you revel in the feeling of the vampire cuddled next to you. You had no doubts in your mind that this was where you were meant to be.
Wyll would find somewhere else to bury his blade. You were sure of it.