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“Looking at something?”
The sudden comment from Astarion makes them jump; his hearing probably is better than most people’s, true, but they’re still a good distance from him as they try to work out what is in his hand.
“Oh! Sorry, I was just… Um, how did you know I was here?”
A soft, “Hm,” comes from the vampire, not yet turning to meet them as they walk closer. “The only benefit to a mirror when you have my… condition. It doesn’t quite make up for the lack of a reflection, mind you.”
He holds it up slightly, and they can now see the gilded hand mirror he’s directing his words to. Cracks run through it, Astarion has it angled so they could see themselves fragmented in each piece. But, true to his word, he’s not there himself.
It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in his words. And, to be fair, they can’t imagine not having a reflection. They’re not particularly vain, especially not out here, but it’s a simple part of a routine. Tidying their hair, looking for any post-battle scars, checking for any mind-flayer signs. And, yes, sometimes to admire themselves on a particularly good day.
“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face, I mean?” They’re aware that this may be too personal a question. Astarion does like talking about himself, and it’s not like their conversations had never gone beyond surface level, but this feels… strangely intimate. And they’re aware that they’ve crept a little closer to him.
At first, he’s still. But then he turns to face them, lowering the mirror. “Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity?”
If this was anyone else, they might worry they’d angered him. But they knew Astarion by now (well, a little, anyway), and he's not angry. Not at them, anyway.
“Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”
They feel a little moronic for not realising that the deep, beautiful ruby colour hadn’t always been there. Though there's such an air of mischief and mystery around Astarion that why shouldn’t his eyes be naturally red? They suit him so well, after all. “What colour were they before?”
“I…” He looks surprised by the question, and whatever mirth had lingered in his sharp features drains away. For the first time since they’d met him, he looks… He looks so sad. “I don’t know. I can’t remember… My face is just some dark shape in my past.” Before they can react, the mirror is thrown to the ground. The frame remains intact, but glass spills out like water from a dropped jug. “Another thing I’ve lost.”
They're seized with a strong desire to give him a hug. Knowing that it's definitely a step too far, they resist, but can’t help but wonder how long it has been since someone had held him. Genuinely held him, with all the comfort and care that so many need but so few get.
Another small step closer to him. He's taller, so they peer up at him, taking in every detail as they force their hands to stay at their sides, not move to either side of his face as they want to.
“... What are you doing?” he whispers. Not afraid, just curious.
“I- I’ll be your mirror.”
They half expect him to start laughing. But no, he holds their gaze, one eyebrow slightly crooked as he ponders something. “I… I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me.” It could be vanity, of course, but there’s something else there, something they’re not used to seeing from Astarion. They saw it that night, before he held them tight and gratefully sank his fangs into their neck. Vulnerability. “I want to know what you see.”
Suddenly, they are acutely aware that they are, in fact, at camp. They don’t sense any eyes on them, but they’re standing so close to Astarion now, eyes locked, and anybody could see. Somehow, they find they don’t care.
His eyes are the natural place to start. They’re striking, of course they are, not just in their colour but in their intensity. Unbelievably, they find themselves saying just that. “You have very strong eyes, piercing. When I look at them for too long, I feel like I could get lost. I feel like I wouldn’t mind if I did.”
“Oh? Go on.” The mirth is back. And, while the softness is new, it is lovely to see him smile in that impish way. His eyes have narrowed now, he’s looking at them expectantly. There’s something about that expression that makes their stomach flip.
“Um…” An awkward cough. The corners of his lips are still turned up. They look so soft… “Your… You- You have a very dangerous smile.” Is it hot in this forest, or is it just them?
Now there is a laugh. But it’s gentle, pleased, and the colour on their cheeks deepens slightly when they hear it. “Dangerous?” Astarion echoes. “How so?” His current smirk reflects exactly what they’re talking about.
“Because it’s hard to read for a lot of people, I think. And because I-” Another little cough. “I think some people would do anything to see it again.” Astarion has to know how pink their cheeks are. He doesn’t need the dim firelight for it, he can probably just sense it.
And when he steps closer, one hand coming up to skim cool fingertips across their warm cheek, they think for a second that this is it, that he’s going to kiss them, and they don’t care that others are there because he’s here and he’s going to kiss me …
But then he pats their cheek and grins, stepping away. “Very good… Now, just tell me I’m beautiful, and we can call it a day.”
There’s half a temptation to play along with him, to joke and tease like the two of them are used to. But not this time. Because knowing it is one thing, but hearing it from someone else is another. And who knows when they might next get a chance to tell him?
“You are beautiful.” Their voice is soft, almost nervous, and gentle eyes meet Astarion’s crimson ones. “More than beautiful, you’re… You’re ethereal. Like starlight.”
Astarion looks down at them, the slightest hint of surprise in his expression. But he covers it well, another satisfied chuckle tumbling from his soft looking lips. “Observant,” he remarks coolly. “Mirrors aren’t much use, but being reflected in someone else’s eyes? Well, I could do worse… You’re nice too, of course,” he adds with a wink. From anyone else, it might have felt like an afterthought, perhaps even an insult. But from Astarion, it’s the highest compliment they’ve ever had.
For a moment, they just look at each other, the earlier comment about Astarion’s eyes being proven true as they have to fight not to lose the world in them.
But all moments have to end, and soon Astarion is breaking their gaze. “I’d better get some beauty sleep if I want you to keep talking like that.” And then he’s off, walking past them towards the fire. But he stops briefly, the back of his hand just touching theirs. “That was sweet of you, darling. Sleep tight.”
And their cheeks flush pink again as they watch him walk away.