Prompt: "I never said it would be easy."

The campfire was warm and inviting that evening. Darkness laid ahead with this shadow curse, and everyone in camp seemed as though they were reluctant to leave it even for a moment.

"Falerin," Shadowheart said abruptly as the silence that fell in the group threatened to end in everyone agreeing it was time for bed. "Why don't you tell us about yourself?"

The half-drow looked up, surprised. "I…haven't I told you about me? Warlock in a pact with the Archfey." He tapped just beneath his odd-colored eye, a bright, unnatural purple. "That's really it."

Karlach snorted. "It is not. You keep going around and getting everyone's deep dark backstory. Come on, your turn, soldier."

Falerin shifted in his seat, making a face. "It really isn't that interesting."

"Well, you're drow, aren't you?" Wyll said, leaning forward. His head tilted slightly; seemed he was still getting used to his horns. "That must have been an unusual upbringing—well, compared to the rest of us."

"Half-drow," Falerin corrected, absently picking up the stick for the fire. "I didn't grow up with them. My mother raised me just outside of Neverwinter."

"Was she the drow?" Karlach asked. Falerin shook his head.

"No, she was human." He rolled the stick in his hands. "She always said my father was very handsome, but very meek. He died before I was born."

"Mm, that tracks among drow," Gale said. "They don't put much stock in males. Probably for the best you were raised away from that."

"And it's such a shame, because male drow are such pretty things," Astarion sighed, chin plunking in his hand. "Well, all drow are. I wouldn't say no to one…well, you know, so long as they weren't trying to kill us."

Karlach leaned back, eyebrows raising. "Really? So you're saying you'd fuck Minthara?"

"If she wasn't trying to kill us? Certainly." Astarion held up his hands. "Look, I never said it would be easy. There'd be a lot of thought involved to avoid getting myself cut to ribbons."

"O…kay, but why Minthara?" Wyll asked.

"I like a woman who can take charge! And she…struck me as such." Astarion paused. "You know, before we killed her."

"Tch'k. You wouldn't know what to do with a woman who actually took charge," Lae'zel growled out from the other side of the fire, eyes fixed on Astarion. "If I took you to my bed, you'd be weeping in minutes."

"Well, then let me rephrase. I like a woman who can take charge and has a less than fifty percent chance of biting off my cock."

Falerin squinted at him. "And you don't think Minthara would?"

"By my estimations," Gale interjected, "I'd put her at a solid 48.7% chance. So you're in the clear, Astarion."

Karlach's the first to snort at that, and there's a ripple of laughter that goes around the fire—a release of tension in the wake of what's to come. It's pleasant, warming. Just the thing to get through the cold, dark days ahead.