majayt
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He stares at the ground, seemingly unable to lift his head. Everyone else's eyes are on Mizora, waiting for the ambush—this is some trick, surely? She can't be letting him go? She must have some other ace, some other tactic? Just like that?—everyone except Astarion, that is, whose eyes he can feel boring into his newly unbound soul.
He thought they might have been… something, once. Something real, Astarion had called it. Somewhere between the Grove and the imposing edifice of Moonrise, they’d become more than friends.
Despite Astarion’s insincerity and Wyll’s learned caution, something genuine had kindled.
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An imagining of Wyll and Astarion's developing relationship in Act 3 onwards.