![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[ It's a kind of look that makes Astarion uncomfortable โ not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that reminds him why he has generally been so averse to what most would call "good deeds" or "earnestness." He staves off the feeling with a huff of laughter and a half-shrug, as if to say, well, of course not.
He has the benefit of time and experience, he supposes, in that, had they met just months earlier, Astarion might have taken Rand's true nature as an enticement more than a statement of fact โ a power he could use to his advantage, someone he could sway to his side. Lucky, then, that they've met as they are now. (Then again, had they met any earlier, Astarion wouldn't have been able to feed on him, anyway, not without consequence.)
Then again, perhaps not. Everything he's experienced has bred a particular view of freedom that divorces a person from what's been imposed upon them โ from things like, for instance, endless cycles of reincarnation and the lives one is supposed to have lived before.
But there's no real way of knowing one way or the other, and it's not as though he's keen to roll the dice back in time. ]
I can say it does, if you'd rather, [ he says, a little wry โ an easier answer for him to give than what matters is you. ] Or I could feign awe. Well, not totally feign, but you get what I mean.
[ Then, sharp (but not mean): ] Whatever will get you to stop looking at me like that.
He has the benefit of time and experience, he supposes, in that, had they met just months earlier, Astarion might have taken Rand's true nature as an enticement more than a statement of fact โ a power he could use to his advantage, someone he could sway to his side. Lucky, then, that they've met as they are now. (Then again, had they met any earlier, Astarion wouldn't have been able to feed on him, anyway, not without consequence.)
Then again, perhaps not. Everything he's experienced has bred a particular view of freedom that divorces a person from what's been imposed upon them โ from things like, for instance, endless cycles of reincarnation and the lives one is supposed to have lived before.
But there's no real way of knowing one way or the other, and it's not as though he's keen to roll the dice back in time. ]
I can say it does, if you'd rather, [ he says, a little wry โ an easier answer for him to give than what matters is you. ] Or I could feign awe. Well, not totally feign, but you get what I mean.
[ Then, sharp (but not mean): ] Whatever will get you to stop looking at me like that.
[ Here is what Astarion knows about attachment, of any sort: it's best to be avoided. Even this is a risk, in that respect, despite his confidence that he can come out of a (real? fake?) date without catching feelings. When he'd still lived at the Palace, he hadn't really had to worry about it, considering that anyone he brought back would be gone in a matter of hours, if not less, and it wasn't as though he or his siblings held each other in particularly high regard.
(And the one exception to the rule had taught him better. One man, early on, who'd been so sweet, so earnest, so tailored to tug on Astarion's heartstrings, that he'd let him go. The consequence โ an entire year spent locked in a tomb, alternating between wishing for death and scratching his fingers raw and bloody against the stone โ hadn't, in his estimation, been worth it, and the lesson learned has made him unwilling, if not outright averse, to entertaining exceptions again, even if Cazador can no longer really do anything about them.)
But there's no real way around the fact that agreeing to go out on a whatever-this-is isn't motivated by anything other than curiosity and perhaps a little selfishness โ the desire to have fun and be admired on his own terms, to not have to give away anything more than a smile or maybe a kiss. ]
"Not so terrible"? Trying to make my heart flutter with praise, are we?
[ The second part of that message, he leaves well enough alone. What he knows how to be is what Cazador had made of him โ but he doesn't want that, anymore. ]
As you are, if you like.
[ It's not like he's actually going to set ground rules for something that's supposed to be an uncomplicated good time. Besides, he's had enough of being molded by someone else to feel very keen about doing the same thing to someone else โ or at least someone he actually likes. Well, finds interesting, anyway.
So: ]
Let's save the idea of demands for a second date, shall we?
[ And, just in case that alone is too much pressure on their commitmentphobic selves, a quick follow-up: ]
Unless this is your way of telling me you'd like to hear more compliments, as I'd be happy to oblige that particular request.
(And the one exception to the rule had taught him better. One man, early on, who'd been so sweet, so earnest, so tailored to tug on Astarion's heartstrings, that he'd let him go. The consequence โ an entire year spent locked in a tomb, alternating between wishing for death and scratching his fingers raw and bloody against the stone โ hadn't, in his estimation, been worth it, and the lesson learned has made him unwilling, if not outright averse, to entertaining exceptions again, even if Cazador can no longer really do anything about them.)
But there's no real way around the fact that agreeing to go out on a whatever-this-is isn't motivated by anything other than curiosity and perhaps a little selfishness โ the desire to have fun and be admired on his own terms, to not have to give away anything more than a smile or maybe a kiss. ]
"Not so terrible"? Trying to make my heart flutter with praise, are we?
[ The second part of that message, he leaves well enough alone. What he knows how to be is what Cazador had made of him โ but he doesn't want that, anymore. ]
As you are, if you like.
[ It's not like he's actually going to set ground rules for something that's supposed to be an uncomplicated good time. Besides, he's had enough of being molded by someone else to feel very keen about doing the same thing to someone else โ or at least someone he actually likes. Well, finds interesting, anyway.
So: ]
Let's save the idea of demands for a second date, shall we?
[ And, just in case that alone is too much pressure on their commitmentphobic selves, a quick follow-up: ]
Unless this is your way of telling me you'd like to hear more compliments, as I'd be happy to oblige that particular request.
[ just as well he didn't say what matters is you. there would've been no keeping rand from regarding him, thoroughly awestruck, like a strange, rare thing. as it is, rand reflexively contradicts, ]
I'm not looking at you like anything.
[ even as he obligingly casts his eyes down, looking instead at his own fisted hands in his lap. he makes himself unclench them, smooth them out, focusing on the task like it's terribly important. hard to say how good a job it does at taking that expression out of astarion's view, but. he's trying. ]
I'm sorry, [ comes after a moment, dissonant with his own denial. ] You don't have to feign anything. [ he'd really rather astarion didn't, and it shows in his voice. ] And I'd rather you didn't tell anyone, but...
[ he shrugs, still looking down. it doesn't ultimately matter, what he'd rather. you cannot escape your fate. the dragon declared over falme. destiny and prophecy and past lives. he's more concerned for the vampire spawn's safety, truth be told, than his own. but surely astarion wouldn't risk himself unnecessarily. not for the sake of someone he doesn't know well. ]
Was it bad? [ is it a stupid pivot? it's an easier thing to wonder, looking back at the vampire spawn now. ] The taste, [ clarified. ] You seemed surprised as soon as you bit me.
[ is he on the cusp of genuinely apologizing if astarion says he tasted bad? yes. is he wondering how astarion's assertion that you can tell a person's nature reflects on him? also yes. ]
I'm not looking at you like anything.
[ even as he obligingly casts his eyes down, looking instead at his own fisted hands in his lap. he makes himself unclench them, smooth them out, focusing on the task like it's terribly important. hard to say how good a job it does at taking that expression out of astarion's view, but. he's trying. ]
I'm sorry, [ comes after a moment, dissonant with his own denial. ] You don't have to feign anything. [ he'd really rather astarion didn't, and it shows in his voice. ] And I'd rather you didn't tell anyone, but...
[ he shrugs, still looking down. it doesn't ultimately matter, what he'd rather. you cannot escape your fate. the dragon declared over falme. destiny and prophecy and past lives. he's more concerned for the vampire spawn's safety, truth be told, than his own. but surely astarion wouldn't risk himself unnecessarily. not for the sake of someone he doesn't know well. ]
Was it bad? [ is it a stupid pivot? it's an easier thing to wonder, looking back at the vampire spawn now. ] The taste, [ clarified. ] You seemed surprised as soon as you bit me.
[ is he on the cusp of genuinely apologizing if astarion says he tasted bad? yes. is he wondering how astarion's assertion that you can tell a person's nature reflects on him? also yes. ]
Edited (typos,,,) 2023-11-17 17:42 (UTC)
[ Gods, he's sweet. His attitude almost feels less that of a hero than that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, subsequently told that the theft is of no great consequence. Except, in the latter case, the issue would be a willful misdeed, whereas in the former, it's hardly as though Rand has asked for the mantle he's been forced to assume.
(He'll wonder, later, what he'd do were he in the same position. To a degree, his initial reaction to the tadpole is answer enough โ given even the slightest measure of freedom, of power, his instinct had been to exercise it, to shy away from responsibility. On top of that, he's had enough of his life dictated to him that the ideas of fate and destiny are hardly appealing. What he wants โ what he prizes โ more than anything else is control over his own life.)
Quickly: ] Oh, no, my darling, not bad at all.
[ Still, he hesitates to elaborate, if only because he's searching for the right words to describe what is not exactly a common taste or sensation. ]
I'd compared the differences in taste to differences in vintages of wine, before โ drawing further upon that metaphor, your blood is a full banquet table.
[ But he understands, kind of, what's being asked, which is specifically about Rand, not the other lifetimes he carries with him. As strange as it may sound given the words that leave his mouth, he relents, letting his usual flirtatious tone drop in favor of something slightly more honest: ]
You โ you โ taste ... good. Sweet, palatable. Strong.
[ Then, with a degree of flippancy to cover up the fact that it's still sort of true: ] Were I still a boy, I'd be quite stricken with you.
(He'll wonder, later, what he'd do were he in the same position. To a degree, his initial reaction to the tadpole is answer enough โ given even the slightest measure of freedom, of power, his instinct had been to exercise it, to shy away from responsibility. On top of that, he's had enough of his life dictated to him that the ideas of fate and destiny are hardly appealing. What he wants โ what he prizes โ more than anything else is control over his own life.)
Quickly: ] Oh, no, my darling, not bad at all.
[ Still, he hesitates to elaborate, if only because he's searching for the right words to describe what is not exactly a common taste or sensation. ]
I'd compared the differences in taste to differences in vintages of wine, before โ drawing further upon that metaphor, your blood is a full banquet table.
[ But he understands, kind of, what's being asked, which is specifically about Rand, not the other lifetimes he carries with him. As strange as it may sound given the words that leave his mouth, he relents, letting his usual flirtatious tone drop in favor of something slightly more honest: ]
You โ you โ taste ... good. Sweet, palatable. Strong.
[ Then, with a degree of flippancy to cover up the fact that it's still sort of true: ] Were I still a boy, I'd be quite stricken with you.
[ "A maybe kiss of death," among forty possible endings in this edition of Choose Your Own Adventure. ]
A warm and fuzzy quaver, maybe. I thought there was a solid chance you were an insufferable prat who'd make me pay a toll fee for the conversation. [ aka he can reconcile vampiric dietary restrictions as part and parcel of the world, but the barest whiff of "most popular snob in high school" and the prejudicial torches and pitchforks of negging generalizations come out.
Guess we'll both see. It puts him in a similar boat, really, not expecting the conversation to run the length it has, or make the turns it has, if for different reasonsโbut he's willing to eat crow when wrong. Neither would he say he'd be disappointed continuing to be wrong.
He does his best not to linger on dead-ends or intrigues that fizzle, but on the opposite hand, dare he say he might even be a tad disappointed if the other backed down from their stand-off before knowing how it plays out?
As you are, he returns. Well! How can he say no with Astarion going to such pains to ramp up flutters into blushes? (Not today, Satan.) Despite the well of compliments to drop coppers into on offer, assumptions of a bloodless and willing encore barely fazes him beyond the burst of amusement that follows. After all, it'd seem to imply a high likelihood of shaking a legitimate confession out of Astarion that he's heart-struck by this handsome face atop his neck (or else determined to get close to him for another reason, but you know; let a guy have his fantasies it's always the former). ]
I was aiming along the lines of likes or dislikes, personal interests, venue picks, possibly vampire-related considerations I should know about... But hey, if you want to shower me in praise, knock yourself out.
A warm and fuzzy quaver, maybe. I thought there was a solid chance you were an insufferable prat who'd make me pay a toll fee for the conversation. [ aka he can reconcile vampiric dietary restrictions as part and parcel of the world, but the barest whiff of "most popular snob in high school" and the prejudicial torches and pitchforks of negging generalizations come out.
Guess we'll both see. It puts him in a similar boat, really, not expecting the conversation to run the length it has, or make the turns it has, if for different reasonsโbut he's willing to eat crow when wrong. Neither would he say he'd be disappointed continuing to be wrong.
He does his best not to linger on dead-ends or intrigues that fizzle, but on the opposite hand, dare he say he might even be a tad disappointed if the other backed down from their stand-off before knowing how it plays out?
As you are, he returns. Well! How can he say no with Astarion going to such pains to ramp up flutters into blushes? (Not today, Satan.) Despite the well of compliments to drop coppers into on offer, assumptions of a bloodless and willing encore barely fazes him beyond the burst of amusement that follows. After all, it'd seem to imply a high likelihood of shaking a legitimate confession out of Astarion that he's heart-struck by this handsome face atop his neck (or else determined to get close to him for another reason, but you know; let a guy have his fantasies it's always the former). ]
I was aiming along the lines of likes or dislikes, personal interests, venue picks, possibly vampire-related considerations I should know about... But hey, if you want to shower me in praise, knock yourself out.
[ rand is, of course, no hero. not really. born with the echoes of lews therin reverberating through his soul can't much count, least of all with all the harm he'd done three thousand years ago. going to the eye of the world doesn't count, by his estimation, either. maybe he'd been willing to give his life there, but he hadn't, and in the end had only made things worse. can falme count? why in light's name would it? no, there's no point to comparison, no point to seeing him as any better than he is.
(and no reason why he of all people wouldn't sympathize with wanting control over one's own life. thank the light that, at least, astarion has been able to reclaim some.)
a banquet table is, perhaps, an understandable extension of the metaphor. he can understand the meaning, he thinks, at least. far more flattering than he would've expected; but then astarion goes on, and becomes much more flattering than he would've expected. sweet, palatable, strong. delineating between him and everything else. it's like a knot in his chest, having this kind of care extended his way.
but he scoffs at the end, finally finding it in himself to look up, indulgently amused. ]
Come off it.
[ back in emond's field, he only had eyes for egwene for nearly as long as he's had eyes, and so had never had reason to assume anyone else ever noticed him at all. and selene โ lanfear โ was, well. she had her own agenda. the reasonable assumption, therefore, is that astarion really is just trying to make him feel better! which is kind but misguided. ]
Well, if you ever do need โ more, [ because light only knows how many people are offering astarion their necks, ] I don't mind helping. When I can, at least.
(and no reason why he of all people wouldn't sympathize with wanting control over one's own life. thank the light that, at least, astarion has been able to reclaim some.)
a banquet table is, perhaps, an understandable extension of the metaphor. he can understand the meaning, he thinks, at least. far more flattering than he would've expected; but then astarion goes on, and becomes much more flattering than he would've expected. sweet, palatable, strong. delineating between him and everything else. it's like a knot in his chest, having this kind of care extended his way.
but he scoffs at the end, finally finding it in himself to look up, indulgently amused. ]
Come off it.
[ back in emond's field, he only had eyes for egwene for nearly as long as he's had eyes, and so had never had reason to assume anyone else ever noticed him at all. and selene โ lanfear โ was, well. she had her own agenda. the reasonable assumption, therefore, is that astarion really is just trying to make him feel better! which is kind but misguided. ]
Well, if you ever do need โ more, [ because light only knows how many people are offering astarion their necks, ] I don't mind helping. When I can, at least.
You know, I hadn't considered the idea of a conversational fee before. It's not a bad idea โ but I'll waive it, at least, for you, even if your apparent initial impression of me is not one I would call flattering.
[ He stops just short of a precipice that he finds uncomfortable โ namely, bringing the idea of being paid of his time too far into the mix, considering the degree to which such a principle had been central to his life under the heel of Cazador's boot. But that's not stuff for polite โ or flirtatious โ conversation.
As for the latter part of Mat's message, wellโ it's nice, isn't it, to be asked?
It occurs to him, in a pathetic sort of way (pathetic to him, in how much he finds he likes it), that no one's really bothered to ask before. Part of it, he supposes he could chalk up to the fact that most interactions he'd had had been part of an active hunt, in which it was more his prerogative to suss such things out, but on the other handโ it's new, plain and simple. And, as such, he finds himself a little lost as to how to address any of it honestly.
He debates an I'm not picky to suffice, but that's not entirely true. ]
I'll admit to a taste for pretty things, but that's somewhat less imperative to me than, shall we say, a little fun. And as far as vampire-related considerations go ... so long as you aren't about to drive a non-metaphorical stake through my heart (the metaphorical sort, I can weather), I'd say there's nothing to worry yourself about.
[ The tadpole has taken care of quite a lot, after all, and thank the gods for that. Not being able to walk in the sun is a considerable hamper to almost any normal activity, as is the need to explicitly be invited into a home before getting up to mischief. ]
As for the latter consideration: besides, as far as prettiness and fun go, you have both in spades.
[ He stops just short of a precipice that he finds uncomfortable โ namely, bringing the idea of being paid of his time too far into the mix, considering the degree to which such a principle had been central to his life under the heel of Cazador's boot. But that's not stuff for polite โ or flirtatious โ conversation.
As for the latter part of Mat's message, wellโ it's nice, isn't it, to be asked?
It occurs to him, in a pathetic sort of way (pathetic to him, in how much he finds he likes it), that no one's really bothered to ask before. Part of it, he supposes he could chalk up to the fact that most interactions he'd had had been part of an active hunt, in which it was more his prerogative to suss such things out, but on the other handโ it's new, plain and simple. And, as such, he finds himself a little lost as to how to address any of it honestly.
He debates an I'm not picky to suffice, but that's not entirely true. ]
I'll admit to a taste for pretty things, but that's somewhat less imperative to me than, shall we say, a little fun. And as far as vampire-related considerations go ... so long as you aren't about to drive a non-metaphorical stake through my heart (the metaphorical sort, I can weather), I'd say there's nothing to worry yourself about.
[ The tadpole has taken care of quite a lot, after all, and thank the gods for that. Not being able to walk in the sun is a considerable hamper to almost any normal activity, as is the need to explicitly be invited into a home before getting up to mischief. ]
As for the latter consideration: besides, as far as prettiness and fun go, you have both in spades.
[ It's for the best, really, that Rand takes it as a joke โ Astarion wouldn't know what to do if he took it seriously beyond attempting to play it off. But whatever display of earnestness he's freed from as such is brought back into play by the offer that follows.
Granted, the feeling it sparks is not dissimilar to the way in which he's thrown off by almost every answer Rand gives him. To agree to one bite had already been quite the shock (not to mention the revelation that had followed on its heels), but to offer himself up as a meal in relative perpetuityโ
The look on Astarion's face is not unlike the expression Rand had worn just moments previously; awe, in some measure, though filtered into something more like uncertainty on the more permanently skeptical canvas of Astarion's face. He's not about to refuse the offer โ the assumption that people aren't exactly falling over themselves to give blood, as it were, is true, complicated by the status of vampires and their spawn as monsters โ but he also doesn't quite know how to accept it.
He settles on a breath of laughter, the sound carrying something life as he flops onto his back in the shade. ]
Careful, petal, else I'll drink you dry.
[ Of course, it's a jest โ as much as it's within his control, he's not trying to repay kindness with exsanguination โ but it's the only way he knows how to respond other than to be honest, which is a horrible prospect. Still, he swallows his pride, if only because Rand isโ well, Rand.
With each word measured: ] But ... thank you. Iโ I don't take such a thing for granted.
Granted, the feeling it sparks is not dissimilar to the way in which he's thrown off by almost every answer Rand gives him. To agree to one bite had already been quite the shock (not to mention the revelation that had followed on its heels), but to offer himself up as a meal in relative perpetuityโ
The look on Astarion's face is not unlike the expression Rand had worn just moments previously; awe, in some measure, though filtered into something more like uncertainty on the more permanently skeptical canvas of Astarion's face. He's not about to refuse the offer โ the assumption that people aren't exactly falling over themselves to give blood, as it were, is true, complicated by the status of vampires and their spawn as monsters โ but he also doesn't quite know how to accept it.
He settles on a breath of laughter, the sound carrying something life as he flops onto his back in the shade. ]
Careful, petal, else I'll drink you dry.
[ Of course, it's a jest โ as much as it's within his control, he's not trying to repay kindness with exsanguination โ but it's the only way he knows how to respond other than to be honest, which is a horrible prospect. Still, he swallows his pride, if only because Rand isโ well, Rand.
With each word measured: ] But ... thank you. Iโ I don't take such a thing for granted.
[ That same light softens her features further, hiding another scatter of pink underneath her blue markings, the stretch of a smile making it easier. You must tell me, and her eyes roll without any malice. To perhaps keep her hands busy, or to buy herself valuable time, Tav touches her own hair. Gently pulls the ties securing the braids together, undoing them one by one.
She hums. Considering, quiet. ]
Are you,
[ —happy? What a silly, trite thing to ask. None of them are very happy, not with the tadpoles that fester in their ocular sockets, how searching for a cure only leads to more and more obstacles. Tav isn't sure she is happy. Content, maybe. But they are so very close to Baldur's Gate, and how very long a pilgrimage it has been to get there, and soon there must be something better, clearer, on the horizon, something that means that life can feel less... less.
She could ask other things. What does he keep reading? Is there a story that is his favorite? Would he mind telling it to her? Was it true, that he can no longer remember what he looks like?
Those seem like real secrets. Indulgent and quiet. Tav looks into the crackling fire and feels the warmth spread through her chest. ]
You didn't like me very much, when we first met.
[ Well. There had been many extenuating circumstances. A knife to her throat, for example, and lies, which she didn't like; kindness, which Astarion liked even less than a refusal of coin. With an apologetic but truthful tone in her voice, she adds, ] I did not like you very much, either. [ But of course, life changes. As secure as the seasons, as beasts live and die, as an arrow slides true.
Maybe it is childish to ask. But like he's reminded her: just because someone asks doesn't mean you have to tell them. It would sound silly to say Do you like me, now? Is it still the same, do you think? and so she settles on, simply, ]
Has that changed?
She hums. Considering, quiet. ]
Are you,
[ —happy? What a silly, trite thing to ask. None of them are very happy, not with the tadpoles that fester in their ocular sockets, how searching for a cure only leads to more and more obstacles. Tav isn't sure she is happy. Content, maybe. But they are so very close to Baldur's Gate, and how very long a pilgrimage it has been to get there, and soon there must be something better, clearer, on the horizon, something that means that life can feel less... less.
She could ask other things. What does he keep reading? Is there a story that is his favorite? Would he mind telling it to her? Was it true, that he can no longer remember what he looks like?
Those seem like real secrets. Indulgent and quiet. Tav looks into the crackling fire and feels the warmth spread through her chest. ]
You didn't like me very much, when we first met.
[ Well. There had been many extenuating circumstances. A knife to her throat, for example, and lies, which she didn't like; kindness, which Astarion liked even less than a refusal of coin. With an apologetic but truthful tone in her voice, she adds, ] I did not like you very much, either. [ But of course, life changes. As secure as the seasons, as beasts live and die, as an arrow slides true.
Maybe it is childish to ask. But like he's reminded her: just because someone asks doesn't mean you have to tell them. It would sound silly to say Do you like me, now? Is it still the same, do you think? and so she settles on, simply, ]
Has that changed?
[ There she goes again, thinking.
He smiles a little โ a rare expression in that it's meant purely for himself, though it unfolds across his face for her to plainly see. His features only shift again when she speaks up, when she finds what she wants to say, because you didn't like me very much โ despite the very broad boundaries drawn by his prompting โ hadn't been very high on the list of things he'd expected her to hear.
What's also unexpected is the faint sense of guilt that accompanies it. She doesn't say it to scold him, hence the second part of her lead-up, which pries a laugh from his mouth, but he feels that twinge nonetheless. To be good still doesn't come completely easily to him, but he better understands the reasons why someone would choose such a path, rather than considering it outright foolish, as he once had.
And he better understands her, most importantly โ that what he'd taken for naรฏvetรฉ is instead a sort of strength. She's gotten them all this far, which is no mean feat, even if one accounts for an unusual helping of dumb luck.
So he looks at her in the firelight, at the loosened braid of her hair, the terribly earnest way in which she regards him, and says, ] Can you not tell?
[ Once, he thinks, he would have loathed answering a question like this, would have sidestepped it or supplied some sugar-coated lie. Every other question that occurs to her would have been preferable to having to confess or feign affection or care.
To that end, he understands his initial answer to be almost cruel, considering that she's given voice to something that ... to say she was worried about it would be to oversell it, and to say that she cares, well. It begs something more concrete, doesn't it? His gaze drifts into the fire, that small smile coalescing again on his face โ his voice is soft, as though betraying some sort of secret. ]
Of course it has.
[ A breath catches in his throat, as though he's stopped himself from saying anything further. From saying, do you think I would still be here if I did not care for you?
Instead, wry, a tease to set him back on a wavelength closer to his usual self: ] I find you quite tolerable, now.
He smiles a little โ a rare expression in that it's meant purely for himself, though it unfolds across his face for her to plainly see. His features only shift again when she speaks up, when she finds what she wants to say, because you didn't like me very much โ despite the very broad boundaries drawn by his prompting โ hadn't been very high on the list of things he'd expected her to hear.
What's also unexpected is the faint sense of guilt that accompanies it. She doesn't say it to scold him, hence the second part of her lead-up, which pries a laugh from his mouth, but he feels that twinge nonetheless. To be good still doesn't come completely easily to him, but he better understands the reasons why someone would choose such a path, rather than considering it outright foolish, as he once had.
And he better understands her, most importantly โ that what he'd taken for naรฏvetรฉ is instead a sort of strength. She's gotten them all this far, which is no mean feat, even if one accounts for an unusual helping of dumb luck.
So he looks at her in the firelight, at the loosened braid of her hair, the terribly earnest way in which she regards him, and says, ] Can you not tell?
[ Once, he thinks, he would have loathed answering a question like this, would have sidestepped it or supplied some sugar-coated lie. Every other question that occurs to her would have been preferable to having to confess or feign affection or care.
To that end, he understands his initial answer to be almost cruel, considering that she's given voice to something that ... to say she was worried about it would be to oversell it, and to say that she cares, well. It begs something more concrete, doesn't it? His gaze drifts into the fire, that small smile coalescing again on his face โ his voice is soft, as though betraying some sort of secret. ]
Of course it has.
[ A breath catches in his throat, as though he's stopped himself from saying anything further. From saying, do you think I would still be here if I did not care for you?
Instead, wry, a tease to set him back on a wavelength closer to his usual self: ] I find you quite tolerable, now.
[ Can you not tell?
Deft fingers push through the odd knot, continuing the untangling of her larger braids. Plucking at them, separating; the same, quick way she might for the fletching in her arrows. It is, now, a vie for time, but it happens yet again: a pleased smile, pitched not to the fire but the red of Astarion's eyes. Her own little flit of joy.
No. She cannot tell at all. But something inside of herself feels awfully rewarded, from cold to flush, now that he has handed her something very—
—well, concrete. ]
I am only so tolerable?
[ Mischief crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her hands drop to her lap, palms upward and relaxed. She leans, only the slightest fraction, into the circle of his space; sotto voce as she adds solemnly, the same way she might pass judgment on something much more serious: ] I believe you. [ Adds, with her own, very plain truth, ] I like that you do.
[ Tav wouldn't dare ask more of him, now. There are so many things she understands about the world, and so much more that she would like to — curiosity is her crutch, the thing that sends her peering at barrels and old shelves and standing before locked doors, thinking, only to mutter his name like a question — but, by the day, Astarion becomes that much clearer in shape.
She feels quite satisfied with herself, actually. Maybe that's terribly rude, but it buoys her. Her hands make short work of her loose hair, carding through quickly but haphazardly, rebraiding into two even parts. It takes a small beat of silence, but afterward, she wordlessly turns her head for him: a silent request to check that her work is even, since she only did so by feel.
And, perhaps, it is because her head is turned away that she can tell him: ]
That was a very good secret, Astarion. Thank you.
Deft fingers push through the odd knot, continuing the untangling of her larger braids. Plucking at them, separating; the same, quick way she might for the fletching in her arrows. It is, now, a vie for time, but it happens yet again: a pleased smile, pitched not to the fire but the red of Astarion's eyes. Her own little flit of joy.
No. She cannot tell at all. But something inside of herself feels awfully rewarded, from cold to flush, now that he has handed her something very—
—well, concrete. ]
I am only so tolerable?
[ Mischief crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her hands drop to her lap, palms upward and relaxed. She leans, only the slightest fraction, into the circle of his space; sotto voce as she adds solemnly, the same way she might pass judgment on something much more serious: ] I believe you. [ Adds, with her own, very plain truth, ] I like that you do.
[ Tav wouldn't dare ask more of him, now. There are so many things she understands about the world, and so much more that she would like to — curiosity is her crutch, the thing that sends her peering at barrels and old shelves and standing before locked doors, thinking, only to mutter his name like a question — but, by the day, Astarion becomes that much clearer in shape.
She feels quite satisfied with herself, actually. Maybe that's terribly rude, but it buoys her. Her hands make short work of her loose hair, carding through quickly but haphazardly, rebraiding into two even parts. It takes a small beat of silence, but afterward, she wordlessly turns her head for him: a silent request to check that her work is even, since she only did so by feel.
And, perhaps, it is because her head is turned away that she can tell him: ]
That was a very good secret, Astarion. Thank you.
[ Is this it? Is this the vampire spawn's confession he's been sitting on long-held feelings of smitten provenance? ๐ Ooooh, how do gothic romance protagonists handle the suspense? He'd be distraught to learn the other has a fleeting infatuation with his curl game only until one (terribly shaven, nearly bald) beefcake by the name of Rand al'Thor regrows those luscious red ringlets again. Utterly distraught. ]
Oh? What's this? You mean to say you were knocked off your feet the first time you laid eyes on me?
[ Give him an inch and he'll favorably and jestingly interpret a mile, all but confirming Astarion's point that teasing and dallying overlap to a synonymous degreeโand which side of the line it falls has been known to rest on how partial others are to it. Some don't warm to the crooked smiles, the slynessโbut then, Astarion's a sly shit, too, isn't he.
The honest truth, if he were inclined to serve it up without a tussle to drag it out of him, is he likes the vampire's propensity to gambol, loosening some of those early preconceived misgivings. It may in fact be a wonder he's survived as long as he has avoiding honey traps in the form of gorgeous faces, but finding a playful vampire interesting enough to stick his hand into the lion's maw. ]
I had no idea you were so sweet on me all this time. Don't be shy. Here you could've just said hello.
That's all, though? You're easy to please. Don't you worry. Hearts are delicate and the one thing you can't replace, I wouldn't handle them as roughly as that. Plus, that sounds like an awful lot of work, even more than the wash basin.
[ Seriously, a stake? Does that actually happen? Puts a new spin on a heartbreaker. He'll give Astarion another for free and refrain from throwing garlic or blessed water in his face short of only the most homicidal, life-preserving requirements. ]
Comparing our definitions of fun, thoughโthat I can do. I'll let you know.
Oh? What's this? You mean to say you were knocked off your feet the first time you laid eyes on me?
[ Give him an inch and he'll favorably and jestingly interpret a mile, all but confirming Astarion's point that teasing and dallying overlap to a synonymous degreeโand which side of the line it falls has been known to rest on how partial others are to it. Some don't warm to the crooked smiles, the slynessโbut then, Astarion's a sly shit, too, isn't he.
The honest truth, if he were inclined to serve it up without a tussle to drag it out of him, is he likes the vampire's propensity to gambol, loosening some of those early preconceived misgivings. It may in fact be a wonder he's survived as long as he has avoiding honey traps in the form of gorgeous faces, but finding a playful vampire interesting enough to stick his hand into the lion's maw. ]
I had no idea you were so sweet on me all this time. Don't be shy. Here you could've just said hello.
That's all, though? You're easy to please. Don't you worry. Hearts are delicate and the one thing you can't replace, I wouldn't handle them as roughly as that. Plus, that sounds like an awful lot of work, even more than the wash basin.
[ Seriously, a stake? Does that actually happen? Puts a new spin on a heartbreaker. He'll give Astarion another for free and refrain from throwing garlic or blessed water in his face short of only the most homicidal, life-preserving requirements. ]
Comparing our definitions of fun, thoughโthat I can do. I'll let you know.
[ I like that you do.
He could find it in himself to be annoyed at that sheer earnestness, to deflect it, butโ instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, only half-stopping the slight smile that spreads across his features in return. He knows, to some degree, that the warmth she offers to him now is worth hanging onto, if only because he'd experienced firsthand the way it had faded, changed in shape, in the first portion of their journey, when he'd still had more of an air of coldness about him โ when he'd found it easier to lie.
(She'd blushed for him so easily, once. Maybe that's not something he ought to be chasing, but, wellโ he's always been a little greedy. And it's hardly as though she lacks any freedom of choice.)
So, ] I thought it was only fair, [ is all he says in response to her thanks, as he scoots a little closer.
His fingers are gentle as they find her braids, teasing out one or two uneven spots โ as deft with her hair as with any lock or trap. Not that they really need so much adjustment, but she'd asked, and it's in his habit, now, to answer. Besides, he's a creature given to preening, and an extension of that trait to another isn't so much of a burden.
Other answers hang on his tongue โ don't get used to it; it's our little secret, alright; similar half-thoughts โ and he swallows them all, a long moment passing with just the crackling of the fire between them. Then his hands fall away, andโ he doesn't move any further away, instead only repositioning himself to face the flames. ]
โHas it changed, for you?
[ A question she's already sort of answered, but, in the spirit of asking such things, he allows himself to speak the words aloud. ]
He could find it in himself to be annoyed at that sheer earnestness, to deflect it, butโ instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, only half-stopping the slight smile that spreads across his features in return. He knows, to some degree, that the warmth she offers to him now is worth hanging onto, if only because he'd experienced firsthand the way it had faded, changed in shape, in the first portion of their journey, when he'd still had more of an air of coldness about him โ when he'd found it easier to lie.
(She'd blushed for him so easily, once. Maybe that's not something he ought to be chasing, but, wellโ he's always been a little greedy. And it's hardly as though she lacks any freedom of choice.)
So, ] I thought it was only fair, [ is all he says in response to her thanks, as he scoots a little closer.
His fingers are gentle as they find her braids, teasing out one or two uneven spots โ as deft with her hair as with any lock or trap. Not that they really need so much adjustment, but she'd asked, and it's in his habit, now, to answer. Besides, he's a creature given to preening, and an extension of that trait to another isn't so much of a burden.
Other answers hang on his tongue โ don't get used to it; it's our little secret, alright; similar half-thoughts โ and he swallows them all, a long moment passing with just the crackling of the fire between them. Then his hands fall away, andโ he doesn't move any further away, instead only repositioning himself to face the flames. ]
โHas it changed, for you?
[ A question she's already sort of answered, but, in the spirit of asking such things, he allows himself to speak the words aloud. ]
[ It's a little trancelike, at first. How warm it is, and how smoothly he rearranges the knots at the back of her skull. Her blinks slow, and then become slower still, like a moth coming to rest over light. She thinks, briefly, maybe impossibly, that this might be the last — the only, in some measure — another might do this for her. Who knows what awaits them in the city? After the cure, what will their lives look like? Hers will return, she is certain, to more of living just outside Baldur's Gate, to chasing birds and game through the woods, to Bosky's whines when he has mud on his nose. The two of them, just two, in amongst all the green.
But thoughts like that do so little to chase away the feeling that sits in her chest. It beats very strongly. It's that that emboldens her, makes her turn to look at him with a glint in her smile. ]
Yes. [ There's a laugh somewhere, tucked into the shape of her mouth as she echoes, ] Can't you tell?
[ Surely, it is very easy to guess, but he is speaking the words aloud anyway. It would be silly to mimic him much further, so Tav keeps her boldness. Offers more, and further. ]
I don't have anything very pretty to say. [ She hums lightly. ] I did not always see you very well. You are a very good liar. I did not always understand what you wanted, and it was very frustrating. Sometimes you are still very frustrating. And even when you said these things to me, about what you thought of, and what you needed, I could not always let myself trust them, because of the things I imagined you to be. It was very unfair. But I see you better now.
[ A fissure of something unpleasant worms its way past all that very solid surety. It always happens like this, in these times when it is more quiet at camp, late at night with her companions. Doubt. Self-consciousness. Her cheeks flush when she adds, a little haltingly, ]
I— think I see you better now. You let me.
But thoughts like that do so little to chase away the feeling that sits in her chest. It beats very strongly. It's that that emboldens her, makes her turn to look at him with a glint in her smile. ]
Yes. [ There's a laugh somewhere, tucked into the shape of her mouth as she echoes, ] Can't you tell?
[ Surely, it is very easy to guess, but he is speaking the words aloud anyway. It would be silly to mimic him much further, so Tav keeps her boldness. Offers more, and further. ]
I don't have anything very pretty to say. [ She hums lightly. ] I did not always see you very well. You are a very good liar. I did not always understand what you wanted, and it was very frustrating. Sometimes you are still very frustrating. And even when you said these things to me, about what you thought of, and what you needed, I could not always let myself trust them, because of the things I imagined you to be. It was very unfair. But I see you better now.
[ A fissure of something unpleasant worms its way past all that very solid surety. It always happens like this, in these times when it is more quiet at camp, late at night with her companions. Doubt. Self-consciousness. Her cheeks flush when she adds, a little haltingly, ]
I— think I see you better now. You let me.
[ He doesn't fear the idea of life after all of this โ but he finds himself relishing it less than he once might have. Against his better judgment, he's grown used to their little camp โ even fond of it, though he likely wouldn't say as much out loud. And he would miss them โ miss her โ were they all to splinter. The thought makes him uncomfortable, twists his gut into a knot he doesn't know how to untie.
Lonelinessโ he'd never liked it, per se (preferred it, perhaps, for the sake of self-preservation), but the idea of fearing it is somehow humiliating.
But she jokes, mimicking his cadence of speech, and it makes it easy for him to laugh, to roll his eyes, to think about other things โ to think only about how close they are to each other, about the blush that colors her cheeks (that he'd once thought lost to him). ]
It doesn't require flowery turns of phrase for one's words to be considered pretty, little dove.
[ He glances at her sidelong, letting her parse his meaning for herself. Then, an allowance โ a gentle confirmation:]
We see each other better, now. Besides, it wasn't so unfair.
[ A shrug, not argument so much as an understanding of what he is, how he works โ he'd presented her with an image of himself that had not been entirely genuine. That she'd noticed the differences between what he'd put forth and what he was is not a fault. ]
All that to say โ I'm glad of it. I suppose you'll do, as far as a mirror goes.
Lonelinessโ he'd never liked it, per se (preferred it, perhaps, for the sake of self-preservation), but the idea of fearing it is somehow humiliating.
But she jokes, mimicking his cadence of speech, and it makes it easy for him to laugh, to roll his eyes, to think about other things โ to think only about how close they are to each other, about the blush that colors her cheeks (that he'd once thought lost to him). ]
It doesn't require flowery turns of phrase for one's words to be considered pretty, little dove.
[ He glances at her sidelong, letting her parse his meaning for herself. Then, an allowance โ a gentle confirmation:]
We see each other better, now. Besides, it wasn't so unfair.
[ A shrug, not argument so much as an understanding of what he is, how he works โ he'd presented her with an image of himself that had not been entirely genuine. That she'd noticed the differences between what he'd put forth and what he was is not a fault. ]
All that to say โ I'm glad of it. I suppose you'll do, as far as a mirror goes.
[ as it turns out, it's no easier to be on the receiving end of a look like that. he swallows, shifts his weight, and finds himself relieved when astarion flops over. he breathes out, soft and slow, but finds astarion's huff of laughter contagious. ]
No, you won't.
[ contradicts without a lick of hesitation, mouth curving into a smile despite himself. astarion didn't do so today, after all, didn't even come close. maybe astarion has to battle the danger of losing control, but...so does rand, every day. and if the vampire spawn is ready to act like that's no large thing โ ready to believe, rand has to correct himself. there's no act to treating him the same. maybe rand struggles to believe that his identity โ light, his identity โ makes no difference, but he can believe in astarion. that is so much more easily done.
so he leans sideways, angling to prop himself up on an elbow; get closer to eye level, as it were. he has to move carefully, gingerly, mindful of the wound in his other side. a fine thing it'd be, to pull it open and begin bleeding right after making astarion this offer, right after letting him have some blood. well, he considers wryly, maybe it'd serve as proof of his sincerity. see, he really did mean that astarion could have blood any time.
but โ he gets there, anyway, stretched out in sweet-smelling grass. astarion is rewarded with a broader smile than before. ]
Well, that's good. I wouldn't offer to just anyone.
[ because he knows so many blood drinkers โ see, he's funny!!! he's hilarious!! in fact!!!!! ]
No, you won't.
[ contradicts without a lick of hesitation, mouth curving into a smile despite himself. astarion didn't do so today, after all, didn't even come close. maybe astarion has to battle the danger of losing control, but...so does rand, every day. and if the vampire spawn is ready to act like that's no large thing โ ready to believe, rand has to correct himself. there's no act to treating him the same. maybe rand struggles to believe that his identity โ light, his identity โ makes no difference, but he can believe in astarion. that is so much more easily done.
so he leans sideways, angling to prop himself up on an elbow; get closer to eye level, as it were. he has to move carefully, gingerly, mindful of the wound in his other side. a fine thing it'd be, to pull it open and begin bleeding right after making astarion this offer, right after letting him have some blood. well, he considers wryly, maybe it'd serve as proof of his sincerity. see, he really did mean that astarion could have blood any time.
but โ he gets there, anyway, stretched out in sweet-smelling grass. astarion is rewarded with a broader smile than before. ]
Well, that's good. I wouldn't offer to just anyone.
[ because he knows so many blood drinkers โ see, he's funny!!! he's hilarious!! in fact!!!!! ]
[ It's a pity, Astarion thinks faintly, that their paths cross each other rather than running parallel, at least for the moment; it robs him of the ability to go back to camp and immediately ask Karlach if he's correct in thinking that Rand's behavior is deranged, or at least deranged-adjacent, consult with Wyll as to whether or not this really is acceptable normal behavior, and generally gossip with people who have about a good a handle on the subject's behavior as he does. But, alas, Rand has yet to meet the little band of misfits he's been traveling with, and so he has no frame of reference to consult but his own.
As such, his expression goes from dubious at that no, you won't (confident!), to even more dubious at what follows, his brow wrinkling and his mouth pressing into a line that attempts to convey that the notion of laughing didn't even cross his mind once. But, really, it's a case of protesting too loudly โ he's grown fond, for better or worse, and the fact that he isn't immediately acquiescing to anything and everything is proof enough of that. ]
If I find out it's an offer you've extended to anyone else, I shall be extremely cross with you, [ is what he settles on as a response, spoken lightly enough to make it clear that he knows Rand isn't exactly encountering vampires left and right. Other sorts of danger, surely, butโ well, he wouldn't have been as curious as he was if Astarion's condition were a common one, would he?
Speaking of whichโ ]
Well, now that we've gotten the big one out of the way โ did you have any other questions for me? You won't have a better opportunity to ask whatever else you'd like about vampirism, I can guarantee you that.
As such, his expression goes from dubious at that no, you won't (confident!), to even more dubious at what follows, his brow wrinkling and his mouth pressing into a line that attempts to convey that the notion of laughing didn't even cross his mind once. But, really, it's a case of protesting too loudly โ he's grown fond, for better or worse, and the fact that he isn't immediately acquiescing to anything and everything is proof enough of that. ]
If I find out it's an offer you've extended to anyone else, I shall be extremely cross with you, [ is what he settles on as a response, spoken lightly enough to make it clear that he knows Rand isn't exactly encountering vampires left and right. Other sorts of danger, surely, butโ well, he wouldn't have been as curious as he was if Astarion's condition were a common one, would he?
Speaking of whichโ ]
Well, now that we've gotten the big one out of the way โ did you have any other questions for me? You won't have a better opportunity to ask whatever else you'd like about vampirism, I can guarantee you that.
[ The important thing is that, as far as Astarion can tell (and he fancies himself a rather good judge of character, though the truth may be less that and more an inherent unwillingness to give his trust away), the type of slyness that runs in Mat's behavior isn't born out of malice, or at least not any malice beyond a vague desire to see puffed-up fools appropriately un-puffed. Which is a matter of cosmic balance, ultimately, if one thinks of it a little more generously. ]
But hello is awfully boring, isn't it? Besides, I had to make sure there was something else to you besides a handsome face.
[ A truth โ or a half-truth, at the very least. Again, he hadn't really intended upon agreeing to anything more, let alone an actual date, and yet here they are. Miracles really do happen. ]
And I wouldn't describe myself as easy to please โ rather, let's say I've been taken by a generous mood. My present to you.
[ As much as his avoidance of any further heart-talk, lest they tread into too-sentimental territory for what is essentially a lead-up. (And, unfortunately, yes, staking really does happen, though one could sufficiently argue that a piece of wood driven through one's heart would be enough to dispatch pretty much anyone or anything, vampire spawn or no.) ]
Well, then, petal โ I'll be waiting. Don't dally too long.
But hello is awfully boring, isn't it? Besides, I had to make sure there was something else to you besides a handsome face.
[ A truth โ or a half-truth, at the very least. Again, he hadn't really intended upon agreeing to anything more, let alone an actual date, and yet here they are. Miracles really do happen. ]
And I wouldn't describe myself as easy to please โ rather, let's say I've been taken by a generous mood. My present to you.
[ As much as his avoidance of any further heart-talk, lest they tread into too-sentimental territory for what is essentially a lead-up. (And, unfortunately, yes, staking really does happen, though one could sufficiently argue that a piece of wood driven through one's heart would be enough to dispatch pretty much anyone or anything, vampire spawn or no.) ]
Well, then, petal โ I'll be waiting. Don't dally too long.
[ Turning his own ribbing around on him? The audacity. ]
As long as you DO admit, on record, once and for all, I'm a handsome devil.
I'm a fair person, too, [ sources needed ] if you need suggestions to add to that list. I would've called us even for budging on that point, but since you're feeling generous... why, yes, thank you, I have substance for days. I'll wow your metaphorical socks off instead.
[ Blithe as the words may read, he's smiling, pleased for all the mock quibbles along the way. ]
And let you get cold(er) feet? You're not getting off the hook that easy.
As long as you DO admit, on record, once and for all, I'm a handsome devil.
I'm a fair person, too, [ sources needed ] if you need suggestions to add to that list. I would've called us even for budging on that point, but since you're feeling generous... why, yes, thank you, I have substance for days. I'll wow your metaphorical socks off instead.
[ Blithe as the words may read, he's smiling, pleased for all the mock quibbles along the way. ]
And let you get cold(er) feet? You're not getting off the hook that easy.
Page 5 of 5