The moment Onyx crossed the threshold of the Last Light Inn, Astarion slipped off his back and half-dragged Rolan down with him, the tiefling groaning softly between gritted teeth. The air inside the inn reeked of blood, smoke, and the sharp tang of healing potions - dozens of wounded sprawled on cots, their clothes cut open to expose burns, slashes, and punctures. Light flickered unevenly from lanterns hung crookedly along the rafters, casting a sickly glow over the chaos.
Jaheira was already moving, her hands firm as she caught Rolan under the arm and guided him toward an open bed. Halsin joined her, sleeves shoved to his elbows, his hands still slick with someone else's blood. Astarion followed at a measured pace, not for lack of urgency, but because his eyes darted over every face in the room, searching.
He didn't see her.
Rolan was eased onto a thin mattress, his face tight with pain but his jaw set in silent determination. Jaheira immediately went to work, fingers pressing around the edges of the bite, whispering words of healing.
Astarion lingered at the edge of the room, leaning into the doorway with casual indifference, one ankle crossing over the other. His arms folded across his chest, posture lazy enough to look like he belonged anywhere but here.
His fingers tapped restlessly against his sleeve.
Behind him, soft footsteps broke into a rapid patter. He turned just as Mirkon shot toward him, the boy's grin wide enough to split his face. Mirkon skidded to a halt, arms half-raised, energy vibrating through his small frame. Astarion raised a brow, eyes narrowing slightly at the look of barely-contained longing written across the child's face.
With a long-suffering sigh, he rolled his eyes and crouched down, arms held out to either side. "Oh, fine. Let's get this over with."
Mirkon launched himself forward, arms locking around Astarion's neck with enough force to make the vampire wheeze.
"Ow! Watch the ribs - they're barely holding together."
"Sorry," Mirkon mumbled into his shoulder, grip loosening slightly but not letting go entirely.
Over the boy's head, Astarion caught Jaheira watching him with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth - less amusement, more the quiet satisfaction of someone seeing through all his carefully constructed defenses. Heat crept up the back of his neck and he gently pried Mirkon off him, standing up and smoothing down his cuirass like that would somehow erase the moment.
He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Right then, where's Ashara?"
Mirkon's face scrunched slightly, thinking. "Outside, in the woods, I think. Said there were too many people around."
Astarion's jaw tightened. "But… she's alright?"
Mirkon nodded quickly. "She just looked tired. Not hurt."
That tension didn't fully ease, but it loosened slightly. Behind him, Onyx padded up, the great wolf bending his head to nuzzle the top of Mirkon's curls. The boy giggled as Onyx's breath puffed across his scalp.
"She's centering herself," Onyx said quietly, his voice low enough that only Astarion could really hear it. "Everything that's happened - the fight with Bâlorak, facing her past - she needs time to settle the storm."
Astarion's fingers curled at his side, restless. "Then I should—"
Onyx sniffed sharply, his head tilting as he eyed Astarion up and down. His nostrils flared, and the wolf's muzzle wrinkled in theatrical disgust. "Though, if you're planning to see her, might I recommend washing off… all that first?"
Astarion blinked, then looked down at himself for the first time since they'd returned. His leathers were crusted with layers of gore - silver ichor from mind flayers, black rot from undead, his own blood dried dark against his ribs, and a lovely smear of Durge's along his sleeve. His hair hung in loose tangles, slicked back against his skull with sweat and god knows what else.
He inhaled. The smell hit him like a slap.
It said something, didn't it? That he'd been drenched in blood for so long that it barely registered anymore.
He exhaled sharply, forcing out a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fair point. I suppose it would be poor form to greet her smelling like the floor of a butcher's shop."
Mirkon giggled and gagged loudly. "You do stink."
"Thank you, brat. Your honesty is so appreciated."
Astarion's lips pressed into a thin line. As much as he hated wasting time, showing up to see Ashara looking - and smelling - like a corpse dredged from a battlefield wasn't exactly the reunion he had in mind.
Astarion took the stairs fast, each step too loud for someone who usually moved like a ghost. The door to their borrowed room stood slightly ajar, and he pushed through, shutting it behind him before leaning back against the wood for a breath he didn't realize he needed.
He crossed into the cramped washroom, a corner space walled off with uneven planks and a curtain too thin to offer real privacy. The basin waited, full of cloudy water someone had probably fetched hours ago. His hands went to the straps of his armor, peeling the pieces away, leather stiff with dried blood and ichor. His shirt clung wetly to his side where his own blood had leaked beneath the armor's edge. That, too, he stripped off, leaving it in a crumpled heap.
The water was cold when he splashed it over his skin, and the cloth rough as he dragged it over his chest and arms, wiping away layers of gore. Red streaked into the water alongside oily smears of silver and black. He didn't flinch at the sting where the cloth scraped over fresh cuts. Pain kept him steady. Something to focus on.
He washed his hair next, using what little soap was left, fingers combing through matted curls until the water ran clear. His scalp burned from the effort, but it left him feeling cleaner, if no less worn down. After drying off, he tugged on a clean linen shirt and breeches that smelled faintly of cedar and old smoke. The fabric was soft, familiar, something mundane to ground him.
As Astarion pulled his boots back on, his gaze landed on Isobel's dresser. Among the vials and knicknacks, a slender bottle caught his eye. Perfume, faintly floral, with a sharp herbal undercurrent that wasn't too far removed from the cologne he favored. He rolled it between his fingers, debating, then shrugged and gave himself a quick spritz. It wasn't quite him, but it was better than nothing.
At the door, he reached for the handle - and the floor tilted beneath him.
He stumbled back onto the bed, hands braced on his knees, breath coming too fast. His body trembled, the aftershocks of battle catching up at last.
He could still hear Durge's voice in his skull, yanking his limbs like a marionette. Bâlorak's talons against his throat, the searing heat of dragonfire. The wet snap of bones beneath Myrkul's servants, the sickening drag of teeth through flesh, Ashara's whimpers of pain, Rolan's blood.
The feel of Durge's sword sinking into his gut...
Astarion pressed his hands over his face, fingers digging hard into his temples.
He could handle pain. He could laugh through fear. But this - this helplessness - threatened to hollow him out from the inside.
He bent forward, elbows digging into his knees, fingers twisting into his hair and pulling hard enough to sting. His breath rasped, too fast, too shallow. His ribs felt tight and fragile, as though they might crack with the next inhale. Tremors ran through him, small at first, then stronger, until his hands shook hard enough to blur his vision.
The mask was gone. No audience to charm, no enemies to provoke. Just him and the silence.
His mind spun, clawing for purchase, for control, for anything to anchor him - but all it found was the memory of helplessness. Of being powerless under Durge's command, of lying broken in the dirt, of the gods refusing to hear him, again and again.
He forced his eyes shut, teeth clenched so hard they ached.
Breathe.
One hand dropped from his hair to his chest, pressing against his sternum as though he could physically hold himself together. The other curled into a fist so tight his nails bit into his palm. He didn't have time for this. He couldn't afford to feel. Not yet.
Ashara was waiting.
That thought - her - became his anchor. Something real to hold onto.
He dragged in a breath, shuddering but steady, and pushed himself upright. His hands still shook, but he could hide that. His smile would be sharp enough to cover the cracks.
For her, he could pretend to be strong.
He straightened his collar, wiped the damp from his eyes with the heel of his hand, and walked out the door.
Astarion followed the path Mirkon had pointed out, his boots stirring up thin curls of mist where the earth stayed damp beneath the tree cover. The forest was still twisted, its bones warped by years under the shadow-curse, but now something new stirred in the edges - tiny shoots pushing through cracked bark, flecks of green against the brittle grey. Life was clawing its way back, stubborn and unrelenting.
He reached out once, fingers brushing over a leaf soft as silk, marveling that after everything, the forest wanted to live. Nature didn't retreat. It fought. Quietly, but relentlessly.
Movement ahead caught his eye, pulling him from his thoughts.
Ashara stood beneath a tree that might have once been a willow, its bark split and blackened with age. Her hands pressed against the trunk, fingers splayed wide, faint threads of magic flickering between her palms and the wood. The tree shuddered under her touch, branches trembling as bright green tendrils sprouted from their tips, cascading down in a curtain of new leaves.
Astarion stayed back, watching, breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
She wasn't just healing the land. She was giving it life.
He pushed through the fresh veil of green, the leaves parting around him like water, and cleared his throat loudly.
Ashara jumped, her hands dropping from the tree. Her shoulders tensed, but when she turned and saw him, her whole body shifted - startled panic melting into something brighter, warmer, her lips splitting into a smile so radiant it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Astarion couldn't help but return it, his own smile softer, quieter. The fear, the exhaustion, the doubts gnawing at his edges - they slipped away as she stepped toward him.
Then her face crumpled, joy collapsing into something raw and trembling, and she closed the distance in a rush, her arms locking tight around his torso. Her sobs hitched between breaths, muffled against his shoulder.
Astarion froze, his body stiff with shock at the intensity of her relief. It was so immediate, so real, no mask between her and the depth of her grief. It took him a heartbeat too long to react, but then his arms came up, holding her close, his hand cradling the back of her head like she might break apart if he let go.
Her voice broke against his ear, words broken apart by hiccupping breaths. "I thought - I thought you were d-dead. When Bâlorak - your head - it..."
She couldn't finish. She just held him tighter, nails digging into his back as though if she loosened her grip even slightly, he might vanish like smoke.
Astarion's throat tightened, the easy charm he usually wielded slipping through his fingers. That he - a creature born from cruelty, shaped by Cazador's hand, tempered in the fires of survival - mattered this much to anyone still shook him to his core.
He forced a smile, aiming for levity, for deflection, anything to keep himself from unraveling alongside her. "Please, darling. You should know by now - I'm far too stubborn to die. Besides…" His voice dipped into something lighter, teasing. "You still owe me a new shirt. I will be collecting."
Her laugh burst out between hiccuped sobs, raw and breathless, but real. When she lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, her smile returned, softer now. But her eyes, the way she looked at him…
There was nothing guarded in her gaze. No mask. No reservation. Just adoration, unhidden, a kind of devotion that terrified him more than any blade or spell ever had.
No one had ever looked at him like that. Not once. Not in all two hundred years of his cursed existence.
Her eyes dipped to his mouth, then back to his eyes, asking a question without words.
Astarion couldn't answer, could barely breathe.
When she leaned closer, her breath brushing against his lips, his instincts betrayed him. He closed the gap, their mouths meeting in a kiss so tender it made his heart ache. Her lips were soft, hesitant, the touch unpracticed but honest, tasting of salt tears and trembling hope.
He followed her lead, letting her set the pace - slow, gentle, testing the waters of something fragile. Warmth bloomed in his chest, foreign and delicate, but beneath it, something cold stirred.
It started as a whisper - Cazador's breath in his ear, the cruel hand on his neck, the weight of chains dragging at his wrists. Memory twisted into sensation, the press of bodies who had never asked for permission, hands pawing, mouths hungry, treating him like a thing to be consumed. Faces blurred together, each one taking a piece of him until nothing had been left except the hollow smile and the pretty lie.
For a breath, he almost pulled away.
But her touch was too soft. Her kiss too sincere. This wasn't hunger. This wasn't taking. This was something he didn't know how to name, something so fragile it might shatter if he flinched.
Then her arms drew tighter around his neck, her kiss changing - eager now, breath catching, her need spilling out faster than either of them could stop it. There was no calculation in it, no hesitation, only raw affection, too much to hold back.
That desperation twisted sharp inside his chest, cutting through the warmth and leaving something cold in its place.
For so long, she had been his sanctuary. In her presence, he had felt seen - truly - seen. Not as a tool, not as a plaything, but as a person. Her laughter had warmed him, her kindness had disarmed him. With her, he could be, stripped of performance, allowed to exist without owing a debt for the very air he breathed.
And though he had caught the occasional flicker of admiration in her gaze, she had never looked at him with the kind of lust that turned his stomach. She had wanted his companionship, his friendship. He had been safe with her.
But now…
Now, there was hunger in her kiss. Not the hunger he feared, not the cruel, careless appetite of those who had used him before - but hunger all the same. It pressed against him, soft at first, then insistent, then desperate. It tasted of thresholds crossed, of innocence left behind. With every fervent movement of her lips, every eager press of her body against his, that fragile sanctuary began to crumble.
So… this is to be the night then. The moment everything changes. The night innocence dies.
The bitterness curled deep in his gut, thick and sour, but Astarion kissed her harder anyway, burying the dread, trying to drown it in her warmth.
He turned her, pressing her gently against the willow's bark, the roughness a contrast to the silk of her hair spilling over her shoulders. She gasped against his lips, and the sound vibrated through his chest, setting his nerves alight. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers threading through curls still damp from his rushed washing, tugging him like she feared even now he might slip away.
He pressed closer, his body molding to hers, his hands sliding down her spine until they found her hips. Familiar motions - his hands knew every step of this dance - but none of it felt familiar. Not with her. That was the cruelty of it.
For a moment, Astarion let himself pretend. Pretend her touch didn't scrape against old wounds. Pretend her kiss didn't drag up memories he'd buried under centuries of earth. Pretend this was a moment untouched by survival or performance or pain.
But every kiss had teeth behind it. Every touch came with expectation.
He had spent two centuries hating the hands that touched him, hating the mouths that whispered his name. He had learned to hate himself for the way his body obeyed no matter how much he wanted to recoil. He had survived those touches by hollowing out, letting them pass through him like water through a sieve. He couldn't do that now.
Not with her.
How can I love you, when every step brings me nearer to hating you for wanting me?
When they finally broke apart, their breath mingled in the space between them, hers fast and uneven. Her lips were swollen, her face flushed, eyes bright and unguarded. She beamed at him, free and weightless, like this moment had lifted something heavy from her shoulders.
The smile hit harder than any blade ever had. Because for her, this was healing. For him, it was a slow drowning.
He gave her a smile in return, all easy charm, the mask sliding back into place so smoothly no one would see the cracks beneath.
Not even her.
"Well, you're full of surprises, aren't you?"
The words left his mouth too easily, polished smooth by years of practice. Teasing. Effortless. Not a crack in sight.
Before she could answer, he leaned in again, capturing her lips once more. If he kept kissing her, if he stayed inside the act, maybe she wouldn't notice the way his mind pulled back, step by step, putting distance between himself and his own body.
I don't want this…
Her hands found his hair again, tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. She pulled him closer, eager, trusting. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, a test. She shivered, breath hitching for half a second - then she parted them, welcoming him deeper. Astarion's mind screamed.
Please don't make me do this…
He clung tighter, fingers curling into her hair, the kiss turning sharper, desperation bleeding through the cracks. If he kissed her harder, if he poured everything into this - the fear, the longing, the dread pooling heavy in his gut - maybe he could make himself believe he wanted it.
He pulled back just enough to lower his lips to her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the warm column of her neck. She shivered under him, tilting her head to give him more. The quickened rhythm of her pulse beneath his lips, the heat of her skin - he let himself focus on that, on sensation alone. If he didn't think, if he didn't let himself remember what he was doing, he could endure it.
Oh gods… I have to do this…
His hand moved on its own, ghosting beneath her shirt. His fingers skimmed up her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin, the flutter of muscles tensing under his touch. His knuckles brushed the edge of her bandeau, then slid beneath, fingertips searching for the softness waiting there.
The shift was instant.
Her body locked up against him, rigid, like a bird taking flight at the crack of a twig.
"Wait… what are you doing?"
The words struck like ice water dumped over his head. His hand froze where it rested, confusion slamming into him.
Her voice - small, startled - dragged him back into the moment, tearing him out of the carefully constructed distance he had wrapped around himself. His mind lurched, trying to bridge the gap between what he had expected and what was actually happening.
He pulled back, just enough to see her face.
Confusion. Uncertainty. A flicker of something close to fear.
The trust he had seen so often in her gaze had fractured, replaced by a dawning realization that made him feel faint.
He had miscalculated.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, withdrawing his hand as if burned and taking a half step back. "I… I thought you wanted this?"
"Wanted what?" she asked, her voice pitched higher, almost cracking.
Astarion found himself momentarily stunned into a rare moment of speechlessness. "I thought you were initiating… you know…"
The look of confusion on her face only deepened, and he frantically searched for a way to explain himself. He ran a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling further.
"Um… sex?" he finally managed, his usual eloquence completely failing him.
Ashara's eyes widened in shock, and she stumbled back, bumping against the tree trunk with a faint yelp. "What! Why would I want to do that?!"
Her words hit him harder than a slap. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no sound came out. Eventually, he choked out a flustered, "Then why were you kissing me with so much… enthusiasm?!"
Ashara's hands flew to her mouth as understanding - and horror - dawned on her face, along with a bloom of pink on her cheeks. "Wait… that's what kissing is for?"
His jaw slackened slightly before he blinked, scrambling for clarity. "Well... that kind usually is, yes. Why, what did you think we were doing?"
Her blush deepened to a furious crimson, and she hugged herself tightly, her voice dropping to a mortified whisper. "I just… I just wanted to show you how glad I was to see you. I thought that's how people - how they show deep affection, like hugging."
And just like that, the ache in Astarion's chest shifted. The bitterness, the regret - it all softened under the weight of her innocence. For the first time, he truly realised that she had wanted nothing from him, nothing more than what he had already given. It was a revelation that left him breathless.
"So when you were kissing me just now," he asked cautiously, "all you felt was affection? Nothing… else?"
She shook her head vehemently, her voice small. "No… nothing else. Just happiness."
He tilted his head, letting out a surprised and faintly bewildered. "Huh…"
But Ashara's embarrassment spiraled into something darker. She began to pace, her hands tangling in her hair as her words came in a rush. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know. When I saw you walk towards me, I was just so relieved to see you, that I had this overwhelming urge to hold you. All this joy was bubbling up in my chest and I thought kissing you would release it."
Her voice cracked, and she looked at him with haunted eyes. "And now you think I wanted - you think I'm like everyone else. Like... those orcs."
Her words sliced through him, and he stepped forward, his hands raised in a desperate attempt to calm her. "No! No, no, no. That's not what I'm thinking at all, Ashara!"
But she didn't seem to hear him. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her voice breaking. "I just wanted to show you love," she whispered. Her eyes met his one last time, shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm sorry."
And before he could stop her, she turned and fled, her figure vanishing into the shadowed forest as the mist swirled in her wake. Astarion reached out instinctively, his voice sharp with desperation as he called after her. "Ashara, wait!"
The words seemed to dissolve into the night as she disappeared among the trees. For a moment, he stood frozen, the faint echo of her retreating footsteps drowning out the pounding in his chest.
The silence that followed was deafening. Astarion staggered back a step, then dropped to his haunches, his fingers curling into his hair as his mind raced. "Shit, shit, shit! What do I do?!"
For once, his sharp mind offered no immediate answer. He pushed himself to his feet, the decision made almost instinctively. He needed to find her. His instincts told him to give chase, but reason warred against it. What if I make things worse?
The forest stretched around him, shadows deepening as his mind churned with guilt and panic, each step punctuated by recriminations. He knew Ashara was socially lacking, but this... this level of raw naivety was something he hadn't anticipated.
Shame clawed at him for assuming her touch was laced with desire, for failing to see her intentions for what they truly were. His breath hitched as he berated himself silently.
Why do I always have to assume the worst?
The flicker of firelight through the trees pulled him from his thoughts. He emerged into the inn courtyard, the familiar sight of their shared sanctuary doing little to ease his turmoil.
A campfire crackled softly in the center, casting warm hues against the surroundings. But the figure he sought was absent. Instead, the courtyard was silent - empty except for Onyx - who lay sprawled near the fire, the great wolf's fur shimmering faintly in the firelight as he dozed.
Astarion sighed sharply and stomped toward the flames, his frustration flaring anew. "Onyx, wake up, you lazy lump. I need to talk to you."
One of Onyx's eyes cracked open, his gaze locking onto the vampire with a calm, almost dismissive air. "I'm listening."
Astarion began pacing, his movements erratic, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. "In all the time you spent teaching Ashara the finer points of social interactions, did it never occur to you to explain to her the rules of intimacy?!"
Onyx's second eye snapped open, his head lifting sharply as a low growl rumbled from his chest. His hackles rose visibly, and his amber gaze sharpened. "Why…" the wolf said, his tone dangerously soft, "have you been teaching her this lesson?"
Astarion froze mid-stride, a cold sweat prickling along his neck as he turned to meet Onyx's piercing gaze. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah… perhaps I should clarify that particular sentence."
"I think perhaps you should," Onyx replied, rising slowly to a seated position, his ears flattening slightly.
Astarion coughed, trying to regain his footing. "It's just that she… she doesn't seem to realize that certain acts of intimacy can lead to, well… other acts of—" He stopped, realizing too late that he was digging himself deeper. "This isn't going any better, is it?"
Onyx rose to his full height, taking a deliberate step closer. Astarion took an instinctive step back, holding up his hands in placation. "It's not what you think! Nothing untoward happened - we just kissed!"
The wolf paused, his piercing gaze unrelenting. After a long moment, he sat back down. "You may proceed… carefully."
Astarion exhaled a shaky breath, fumbling for words. "She wanted to show me affection, and thought kissing me would do that."
Onyx tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but probing. "And did it?"
A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at Astarion's lips. "I certainly felt adored," he admitted softly, the memory of her earnestness warming something deep within him. Catching the wolf's raised brow, he cleared his throat and added quickly, "But the point is, I don't think she understood how… passionate she was being, or what it could have led to. What I thought she wanted it to lead to."
"I see," Onyx said, his tone unreadable.
"And now she's run off, all red-faced, probably thinking she's ruined everything between us," Astarion continued, his pacing slowing as he ran a hand through his hair. He stopped by a broken bench and sank down onto it, his frustration ebbing into weariness. "But I'm the one at fault. I slipped back into old habits and made assumptions without a seconds thought. I need her to understand that I…"
His words trailed off as he stared into the fire, the crackling flames offering no clarity. "I don't know. I just… need things to not be awkward between us."
Onyx regarded him thoughtfully before speaking. "Brenen - her adopted father - was unconventional. He was a mute who lived much like a wolf. I suppose it never occurred to me that he wouldn't teach her that humans are less… tactile than wolves. Nor how certain gestures can be misinterpreted."
The wolf's ears flattened slightly, his tone carrying a note of regret. "I should have realized this and warned you. I owe you both an apology if my lapse placed you in an undesirable situation."
Astarion's lips quirked upward despite the tension. "I never said I didn't completely enjoy it," he murmured, almost to himself.
Onyx's head whipped around, his sharp gaze narrowing dangerously. Astarion quickly looked away, feigning intense interest in the fire's flickering embers. The wolf stared at him for a long moment before speaking, his tone thoughtful but pointed. "What are your feelings toward Ashara?"
Astarion blinked, the directness of the question catching him off guard. "My… feelings?" he echoed, stalling for time. He opened his mouth to respond, but Onyx cut him off with a sharp glare.
"Do not deflect or try to deceive," the wolf warned, "either me, or yourself."
Astarion snapped his mouth shut, his thoughts swirling. He rubbed his hands over his face, struggling to organize the whirlpool of emotions threatening to spill out. Onyx's steady gaze didn't waver, waiting with a patience that was almost unnerving.
Finally, Astarion let out a low, resigned sigh. "I… don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I just know I can't imagine what my life would be without her. And I can't bear the thought of her hating me."
Onyx nodded thoughtfully. "Then decide, Astarion. Decide whether your answer is best spoken to me… or to her."
Astarion stared into the flames, the orange glow licking the edges of his thoughts, burning away the last remnants of his half-abandoned plans. The carefully crafted mask he wore - the manipulative charm, the calculated allure - had been stripped away, piece by piece, by a warmth he hadn't expected. Ashara's loyalty, her unguarded kindness, and her unshakable trust had undone him.
Each flickering ember illuminated a memory. The sound of her laughter echoing in the quiet moments, the strength of her embrace when he needed it most, the sharp sting of fear whenever she stood too close to danger. The feeling she described earlier - that unbidden swell of affection - suddenly didn't seem so foreign. It was there, bubbling beneath his own guarded exterior, waiting for release.
The realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He straightened, his breath catching in his throat as clarity washed over him. His heart pounded, and for once, it wasn't from fear or hunger.
He surged to his feet, startling Onyx. "I need to find her!"
Onyx sniffed the air, his nose twitching slightly before he nodded. "I believe she has returned to the place you were before."
Astarion didn't wait. He turned and sprinted into the forest, the underbrush clawing at his legs as moonlight tried to weakly filter through the gloom. His mind raced faster than his feet, berating himself for the thousand mistakes he'd made tonight. He should have understood her better, should have recognized what her kiss had truly meant.
By the time he reached the willow, his breath was ragged, though not from exertion. The tree's branches swayed gently in the night breeze, and beneath its sheltering canopy, Ashara sat, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her back pressed against the trunk, her shoulders hunched as if bracing against an invisible storm. Even from a distance, Astarion could see her face was streaked with tears.
Astarion stopped short and ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself.
Get ahold of yourself, you fool. Over two centuries old, and here you are acting like some giddy schoolboy with a crush.
He took a steadying breath, straightened his posture, and approached her at a more measured pace.
Ashara looked up as his footsteps broke the stillness. Her face twisted into something halfway between relief and apprehension. She scrambled to her feet, opening her mouth to speak, but Astarion raised a hand to halt her.
"Ashara," he said, his voice softer than she had likely ever heard it. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't do anything wrong... I did."
She froze, uncertainty flickering in her tear-streaked eyes. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking as he reached for her hands. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly as he clasped them in his own, pressing them against his chest.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he repeated, his tone steady but carrying an edge of regret. His other hand lifted, tentative but deliberate, to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed gently against her skin, wiping away the remnants of her tears. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have assumed I knew what you wanted from me. I shouldn't have let my own fears and… expectations get in the way."
Ashara's gaze searched his, as if looking for something she wasn't sure she would find. "I thought… I thought I ruined everything," she whispered. "I didn't know how to explain. I didn't know—"
"You didn't ruin anything," Astarion interrupted, shaking his head firmly. "If anything, you've shown me something I thought I could never feel again. You've made me… realize something."
Her brow furrowed, confusion and hope warring in her expression. "What do you mean?"
He sighed, his hand dropping from her cheek as he stepped back, needing the space to gather his courage. The next words lodged in his throat, tangled with dread. But he had to say them. She deserved the truth.
"I need to tell you something," he began, his voice quieter now, laced with trepidation. "And I'll understand if… if you hate me for it, but you deserve to know."
Ashara's brows knit together, confusion darkening her gaze, but she remained silent, waiting.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "I had a plan," he admitted, each word lodging in his throat like broken glass. "A nice, simple plan. Seduce you. Sleep with you. Manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was instinctive - habits from two hundred years of charming people."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't speak. He pressed on, the words spilling out like poison he needed to expel. "It should have been easy. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was… not fall for you."
A nervous laugh escaped him, brittle as dry leaves, and he raked a hand through his hair. "But, of course, I was completely unprepared for you. For how genuine you are. You weren't like the others, and then… well, Onyx's constant fatherly glowering didn't exactly help my plans either."
He trailed off, his voice faltering as his courage waned. Unable to face the potential disgust in her gaze, he stared down at the ground, his hands flexing nervously at his sides.
Ashara's voice broke the silence, soft but steady. "I don't understand," she said, her brow furrowing. "Why did you even need this… plan?"
Her tone lacked accusation, but its quiet confusion cut him deeper than any blade. He felt the words building in his chest, twisting and heavy, as he grappled with the vulnerability her question demanded.
"Because," he began, the word rough and jagged. He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. "Because I needed protection. I didn't know how else to survive. When we met, I didn't fully trust you - or anyone. Trust gets you killed, used, discarded. Manipulation?" His lips twitched into a bitter smile. "That's safe. Predictable. I know how to navigate that world. And I thought the only way to make sure you'd never betray me was if you and I were… sleeping together."
Her expression flickered briefly with bewilderment, and he felt compelled to clarify, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "Which is another way of saying, uh, having sex… just to be clear."
Ashara's eyes widened in realization, her mouth forming a small "oh." She seemed to mull over his words, her expression briefly distracted as her head tilted to one side. "Why call it sleeping, though, when it's not about sleep?"
Astarion's lips twitched despite himself, struggling to keep his composure. Her innocent curiosity, so genuine, felt utterly disarming. Before he could formulate a response, her eyes widened again, snapping back to him with sudden urgency. "Wait… In the cave, when I said we could sleep together if you wanted to—" She cut herself off, her face turning a vivid shade of crimson. "Did you think I meant…"
Astarion couldn't hold back his smile, his amusement bubbling up despite the gravity of their conversation. "For all of ten seconds… yes," he admitted.
Ashara groaned audibly, burying her face in her hands as though trying to will herself out of existence. He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and she peeked at him through her fingers, half mortified, half indignant. "Don't laugh," she protested, her voice muffled by her palms. "I didn't know!"
He raised both hands in mock surrender, his smile softening. "I promise, no more laughing," he said, though the mirth in his eyes betrayed him.
She sighed, her hands dropping to her sides, and turned her gaze to the ground. The shadows of the willow's branches danced across her face as she spoke again, her voice quieter now. "I still don't understand, though. I'd already promised to protect you when we first met, so why did you think… sleeping together would make a difference?"
Astarion's smile faded as he studied her. He let out a soft, rueful laugh, shaking his head. "The fact that you can even ask that question sincerely," he said, his tone tinged with bittersweet irony, "is exactly why I could never go through with it."
Her confusion deepened, her brow furrowing as she waited for him to elaborate. He hesitated, the words catching in his throat, but he pushed on, his voice quieter now. "When we first met, you asked me if I'd ever been given anything without someone expecting something in return. Well, that something that was usually expected was… my body."
Her eyes widened, and she took a small step closer, her lips parting in shock, but she said nothing. He pressed on, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Cazador would send me out into the city to hunt for him. And I learned quickly that the easiest way to gain someone's trust, to lure them back to him, was to use myself as bait. It didn't take much - a smile, a touch, a promise of something fleeting. It's astonishing, really, how the promise of a night of passion with a beautiful man can make people abandon all sense of caution."
Ashara's mouth opened, then shut again, her expression stricken. He turned his gaze away, unable to bear the look in her eyes. "Even when I wasn't hunting for him," he continued, his voice quieter now, "simple things like a warm coat or a roof over my head… they always came with a price. And more often than not, the only currency I had to trade was—" He broke off, his voice faltering. He clenched his fists at his sides, staring into the ground as though willing it to swallow him whole.
When he looked back, Astarion's breath caught at the sight of Ashara's face, her expression raw with shock and anguish.
"Astarion… I would never ask that of you!"
Her distress left him momentarily speechless, and he took an instinctive step closer. "I know… I know that now." His lips curved into a wry smile. "It's just taken this long for that fact to work its way through my thick skull."
Ashara's lips twitched upward in a small, uncertain smile. It wasn't much, but it steadied him. She hadn't turned away yet. He latched onto the fleeting glimmer of hope and pushed on.
"The more time I spent with you," he began, his voice softer now, "the less my plan seemed to matter. Until eventually, I forgot all about it. But earlier, when you kissed me, it all came rushing back. And I - mistakenly - assumed that the time had finally come to… pay you back for everything you've done for me."
Ashara's arms wrapped tightly around herself, a protective gesture that made his stomach churn. He lowered his head, shame pooling in his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm sorry. Sorry for thinking you'd expect that of me. You're unlike anyone I've ever met, Ashara, and I didn't know how to deal with that. So I just… fell back on what I do know."
She chewed her lip, her gaze drifting toward the ground. The silence that followed was agonizing, stretching taut between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. "Do you… want to have sex with me?"
The bluntness of her question made his chest tighten. He blinked at her, shaking his head almost immediately. "Not really," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "At least… not anytime soon. I don't want you to think of me in those terms. I don't know if I want anyone to. Is… is that a problem for you?"
Her reaction was subtle, but he didn't miss the slight slackening of her shoulders, the soft exhale of relief she didn't seem aware of. It sparked a fragile hope inside him, though he dared not lean too heavily on it.
"No, it's not." Ashara shook her head and looked away for a moment as if searching through memories. "I haven't been with anyone in that way - at least not in this lifetime - so it's not as if I'd know what I was missing out on. And to be honest, I don't really care."
When she turned to face him again, her gaze was steady, though her voice remained soft. "But… you were willing to force yourself to do something you didn't want," she asked, "just because you thought I wanted it?"
Astarion nodded silently, unease tightening his throat. She stared at him for a beat, and then, to his utter surprise, she stepped forward and gave him a light swat on the side of the head. "Don't ever do that again," she said, her tone half-scolding, half-exasperated.
He stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded, before a slow, genuine smile crept across his face. "I'll try not to," he said, his voice soft but tinged with amusement.
Ashara narrowed her eyes at him in mock severity, crossing her arms over her chest. "Good," she said firmly.
He tilted his head, his smile widening. "You're angrier about that, than about the fact I tried to manipulate you?"
Her expression faltered slightly, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck as she glanced away. "I probably should be angry about that too," she admitted, "but I can't seem to be. If that's what you're used to doing - and what you expect from people - then I can't be mad at you, any more than I could condemn a wolf for hunting a baby deer to survive."
Her words left Astarion momentarily unmoored, her understanding more than he felt he deserved. He swallowed hard, trying to find his footing. "I don't have to live like that anymore though," he said softly, the admission feeling heavier than he'd expected. "You've shown me that. You've shown me I can be more than what Cazador made me. And I want… I want us to be more."
He hesitated, his voice faltering as the vulnerability of what he was about to say threatened to overwhelm him. He looked at her, his crimson eyes searching her face. "You deserved the truth. And you deserve something real. I want us to be something real. Because I… I…"
"I love you," Ashara blurted out, her voice loud and startling in the quiet of the night.
The words hit him like a hammer. He froze, his mind blank as he stared at her. Her face flushed a deep red, her wide sapphire eyes flickering with uncertainty, but she didn't look away. Relief surged through him, sharp and almost overwhelming, but caution tempered it, holding him back from the edge.
"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that," he said, his voice trembling with sincerity. "However - and I apologise for asking this, but I'm never quite sure with you - do you know what that actually means in this context?"
Ashara tilted her head, her gaze soft but thoughtful as she mulled over his question. Her lips parted slightly, and she spoke with a quiet certainty. "I love Onyx, and I loved my father, Brenen." Her voice held the weight of those bonds, steady and sincere. She took a step closer, the cool grass whispering beneath her feet. "But they never made me feel like this."
Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing his before she gently guided his hand to her chest. Beneath his palm, he felt the wild rhythm of her heart, quick and unsteady, mirroring the emotions that hung heavy in the air. His breath caught in his throat before he released it in a quiet exhale, the knot of tension in his chest unraveling.
Ashara's gaze locked with his, unflinching despite the faint flush warming her cheeks. "And I certainly never wanted to… kiss them like that," she added, her voice softer now but threaded with a quiet determination.
A laugh escaped Astarion before he could stop it, a bright sound in the stillness. "Thank goodness for that," he said, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "I'd be… deeply concerned if you did."
Her grin came quickly, a brief flash of warmth that faded as she dropped her gaze. Her expression grew introspective, her brows drawing together. "I may not feel things the way others do," she admitted, her voice hesitant, "but I just know in my heart that I want to be with you. I don't fully understand what that means, or what I'm supposed to do with these emotions, but I can't seem to stop them either."
Astarion's chest tightened at her words, a mixture of joy and affection surging within him. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her without hesitation. She fit into his embrace as though it had always been meant for her, her warmth bleeding into him in a way that felt as vital as blood.
"Don't you dare try to," he murmured, his voice low but firm. He felt her arms slide around him, pulling him closer. Her cheek rested against his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded - the shadows of his past, the weight of his regrets. There was only this, the quiet press of her against him and the steady rhythm of their shared breath.
Ashara's voice came, muffled against him but still clear. "What happens now?" she asked, her words vibrating softly through his chest.
He exhaled, his lips twitching into a rueful smile she couldn't see. "This is all new for me too," he admitted. "So, honestly? I have no idea. I just know that this… this is nice."
A soft hum vibrated through her chest, her agreement unspoken but felt in the way she nestled closer. Her forehead brushed against his collarbone, and he tilted his chin to rest gently against the top of her head.
"It is…" she murmured, her voice trailing off into a contented silence.
The corners of Astarion's mouth lifted slightly, an unfamiliar sense of peace settling over him. "For the record," he said, his tone lighter now, almost playful, "I did rather enjoy the kissing."
He felt Ashara's breath hitch slightly, her fingers tightening against his back. Her voice, soft and shy, barely carried above the night's quiet breeze as she tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "So did I…"
Her words sent a thrill through him, and before he could second-guess himself, he tilted his head down. His lips brushed hers, a feather-light touch that carried none of the urgency from before. This kiss was different, unhurried and deliberate, a quiet affirmation rather than a demand.
She hesitated for the briefest of moments, her hands tightening slightly against his back. But as his fingers came up to cup her cheek, she relaxed. Her sigh was barely audible, a gentle sound that seemed to dissolve into the cool night air as she leaned into him.
Astarion deepened the kiss just enough to savor the warmth of her response, then broke away before the moment could tip into something heavier. He rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness.
"I love you too, Ashara."