Chapter Text
They all play by the campfire. Someone tells a joke and the others laugh. Some push and shove, petty fights devolving into chasing around the group.
Astarion is no stranger to fools. He’d spent the better part of the last two centuries luring them. And by the gods, they all act like fools, but none of them would’ve taken his bait.
All of them are stronger than they seem. Smarter.
And yet, they look to one before the rest. Their fearless leader.
Who is so very different from them, so different it’s painful. How did she become the leader? She pretends to be good and kind and the others eat up her whole charade. She plays as one of them, and once she’s done enough to cement her status, she falls back.
Different from the others indeed, but so painfully familiar.
But her performance is pitiful. She blunders through half of her interactions. Even now, she sits and simply watches the fire instead of maintaining her status. How does she do it?
How can she put so little effort in and still reap the rewards?
It’s unfair.
It’s unfair that she is who he must target. Because she has the others wrapped around her little finger and if he could attach himself to her, the others would be forced to keep him.
It’s unfair that his target has become his opponent. That she understands that this is a game and she’s so horrendous at it. She treats him as if any of this is real. She acknowledged the game, and yet she still plays it on the same terms.
It’s insulting. She thinks she can beat him without even trying.
It’s infuriating that he doesn’t even know what she wants from him. Why does she bother? He has nothing more to give than his daggers in battle. He’s used to using his body as a bargaining chip, but he’d rather not go there yet. He can hardly stand speaking to her, much less sleeping with her.
She’s given so much: her sword, her “kind” words, her blood. All he can do now is wait for her to collect her favors and hope he can endure them.
He must, after everything he’s done.
What’s the worst she could ask of him?
She stands now, moving and jumping and calming the wizard. Then she scurries away.
She approaches Astarion now, bowl in hand. He is ready for the next round of the game.
So he fixes himself, unassuming, yet enticingly up to no good.
She stands before him, silent. Astarion takes the lead and throws out a witty line.
But she doesn’t respond as she should. Instead, she stumbles through the dance. How can someone be so arrogant?
Though, it’s not exactly stumbling. She seems more like she’s in a daze, eyes staring far beyond him.
How utterly peculiar.
So he invites her to sit, to properly begin the game. Yet she still won’t participate, only ignoring him. Honestly, why is she even here if she isn’t going to play?
He prompts her once more, and then there she goes, acknowledging the game to his face. It’s mockery. It can’t be anything else. How can she say such things and pretend they hold no weight?
He keeps his annoyance firmly beneath his mask, and prompts more conversation. As long as she’s talking, she’s giving him information. If she talks long enough, maybe there will be something of use.
Finally, she gives him something to work with, saying, “Because I need to be alone.”
But what is he supposed to do with that? Is that supposed to be some kind of poorly-formed innuendo? What does she want from him? He’s known both sheep and wolves in his long unlife, but she doesn’t fit perfectly into either category.
She is watchful, like him. She knows exactly what to say and do to keep the others content. She has the senses to sniff out other predators in her midst. Yet she acts so pathetic, brazenly displaying all her vulnerabilities to the world. Especially when there is nothing for her to gain from it. It’s like she’s asking to be devoured. It would’ve been so easy to deliver her to Cazador.
But sheep don’t beg to be slaughtered.
So it all must be an act.
And the act is flawless, which is what pisses him off the most. He can’t get a solid grip on what exactly her true intentions may be. He senses nothing malicious, but nothing quite altruistic either. Like him, she wants something selfish; if only he could figure out what it is.
Infuriating, but he still plays his part. “And yet you’ve come to me,” he muses, an indirect attack.
Her elaboration reveals nothing. Why is this the narrative she’s chosen? Playing the poor, broken soul. How can she acknowledge his nature and still pretend she wants, what? His pity? It’s a hilariously ridiculous ploy. He must not be seeing the whole picture because what could she possibly gain from his pity?
They have a quick back and forth. Presence seems to return to her as she bickers with him. It’s an easy roll for him to fall into, the sarcastic, comedic companion.
But then she says something baffling, as she always does. “I don’t mind that you’re looking for weaknesses. Something to use against me, should the need arise. It’s alright.”
On his last nerve, he decides to play her game, to toss around the hot coal that is the truth. “And isn’t that fascinating?”
She has the gall to play stupid. “What is?”
He’s had enough of this. He pushes in with a direct attack, answering, “That you would put yourself at a disadvantage for seemingly no good reason.”
She shrinks away, in what he can only assume is offense. But then she speaks, insisting on her ridiculous story. “Oh. It won’t matter in the end. I’ll likely give you whatever you’re angling for regardless of what cards you play. The flirting and scheming really is a waste of your time. It’s all rather unnecessary.”
The words scream defense, like his blow landed how he intended, but all he can read is that incessant hopeless act. He’s going to rip out his hair at this rate. How can she be like this?
“And you’d just give me whatever I want for nothing in return?” He practically screams.
Then she drops her face into her hands, crying. Her tears seem so eerily real… He can almost believe that she’s being genuine. But who could say the things she says and not be lying? Who could reveal themselves like that so foolishly? She just goes on and on about how weak and pathetic she is. But one line settles uncomfortably in him like a putrid rat.
“Please,” she sobs, begging, pleading, “please use me kindly.”
She says the words like she’s staring into the open maw of the wolf. A lamb waiting to be sacrificed on the altar. So utterly complacent in her own slaughter.
Like she’s already dead.
The realization is like ice sliding down his back. She hasn’t been playing at all. She’s been humoring him. Standing in the rain as the storm rolls in, ready to be swept away.
She’s so ready to be swallowed whole, yet now she begs the wolf for mercy, putting her fate in his jagged claws.
It’s the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter. She said it herself, she really is the perfect target.
He’s never had a choice before. He still doesn’t, not truly. He needs this group to survive. Despite all her willingness to give up, he needs her strength and status. And why should he be kind anyway? It’s not like he ever got a break because he asked nicely.
And to think he thought they were similar in any way. The idea gnaws at his stomach, like a beast clawing its way out of him. No. They are not the same.
He can’t bear to think about it, so he acts.
He reaches for her, unsure exactly how to give her what she wants. Comfort was never something he had experience with.
She follows his hands, crawling into his lap, burying herself into him. One hand trails up to play with her hair in a way he knew most conquests enjoyed afterwards. His other hand holds her close to him.
Her tears seem to calm at the movements, so he figured he was doing something right.
This is… bearable. The proximity is uncomfortable, but merely holding her is far from the worst thing he could be doing. Though his muscles tense, his insides threaten to tear apart, his chest tightens.
He will use her however he needs in return for this… intimacy. Yes. This is something he can do.
“Alright,” he finally answers. “I accept your terms.”
The way she trembles and cries in his arms reminds him of so many memories he dare not entertain.
He will do this. He will do this because he must. Once he’s done, once he’s free, he’ll leave her where he found her and wipe his hands clean of the mess he’s about to make.