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“Do you have a moment? I - I think we need to talk.”
Thalia’s brow furrowed in confusion. Astarion hadn’t spoken in such a tone to her before. To anyone, especially her, he rarely ever lowered his voice. He had all but whispered these words, low and hesitant. And, he had just stammered. Something was deeply wrong. Thalia knew it, before she had even risen and had brushed the grime from her hands. The brush she’d thrown in the fire crackled behind them, and the warm light danced across Astarion’s form. The folds of his elegant white shirt, the snowy curls of his head, and . . .
Gods above, his face. He looked like he was going to be sick; truthfully, he had just sounded as much, too. Thalia felt her eyes open wider in alarm as she extended a hand. “Are you alright?”
He gave the redhead a sharp smile, but it was not his genuine one. “Oh yes, I’m fine,” he assured, with some of his usual cavalierness, but not with enough to convince her. “I just…feel awful.”
The half-elf looked him over intently. Unless it was due to the persistent ache in the skull and eyes that the flayers had inflicted upon them all, Thalia couldn’t think of anything else that would make him feel so. Or . . .
She swore softly. “You don’t think any of the game’s blood was tainted that I found, do you? I could have sworn they were all healthy, they looked so.”
The vampire laughed, but it stayed closed and subdued in his throat. “No. No, pet. That’s not it. You haven’t done anything.”
Thalia didn’t betray the beginnings of panic that had risen in her. Astarion was a bastard through and through, he was decidedly in her party for his own gain, and it truly wasn’t in her best interests to trust him as much as she did. And, she was already stupid enough to have slept with him.
But, blast it all . . .
Vampire or not, Thalia was fond of him. She knew she was. She really was. Agitated, Thalia pulled a calloused finger through her curls. She wondered what he was thinking now. Whatever he had done before now, he hadn’t . . . hurt her at any point when they had lain together. Not the first time, or at any point after. And though the marks of fangs on her neck and arm would undoubtedly scar from the times she had fed him, she had at least done something to help him.
And he had never drained her when she’d allowed him to feed from her when game was scarce in the areas they camped in. Her trust for him had grown, bit by bit, as he had lately told her things about himself — about his sire, and what that bloody sadist had done to his spawn. Thalia crossed her arms, exhaling lightly. The poor bastard, he’d undoubtedly been through every level of the Hells, and worse. But surely, Astarion knew that if nothing else, he could trust her ? Surely, he knew she wouldn’t have poisoned him for anything. Even accidentally.
“Look, I had a plan,” he was saying suddenly, gesturing loosely with both hands as he was wont to do when he spoke. “A nice, simple plan: seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so that you’d never turn on me. It was . . . easy. Instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it, and all I had to do was not fall for you. Which”—he faltered, as his voice began to lose the elegant cadence once more— “is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”
The only sound for an uncomfortable few breaths was the chirrup, chirrup of nighttime insects, the crackle of the campfire, and undoubtedly, Thalia’s halting heartbeat in his ears as she stood there, frozen in place. “You’re . . .” Astarion faltered once more. “You’re incredible. You deserve something real,” he said with a softness that made Thalia feel sick, sick at what she suspected he was about to say; sick that he was about to do what she’d feared he’d do for weeks now . . .
But it didn’t happen. Instead, his autumn-colored eyes only looked more purposefully into hers. “I want us to be something real.”
Thalia blinked. She had heard every word Astarion said, but it seemed she had inhaled it all. She had inhaled this insane revelation, and it stuck in her lungs; heavy and all but choking her with the weight of what this meant. He hadn’t flirted with her, hadn’t flattered her because he actually liked anything about her. She had just been . . . she had just been another notch upon his non-existent bedpost. An opportunity he was waiting to make use of.
Manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me, he’d said. Thalia swallowed bile that had risen in her throat. Oh, and how well it would have worked.
The gods forbid that such a set of circumstances would have come about, but Thalia knew, she knew with a smarting and stinging pain that Astarion was right. She . . . she wouldn’t turn on him. She wouldn’t have, before this. She knew it in her heart.
She felt at times she saw him as no one else had, even when he was alive. And other times, though she felt she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him — yet really, he didn’t have more than a few inches on her; she was quite certain she could throw him if the need called for it — he was still on her side, more often than not. Antithetical to her own disposition in almost every way, but they got on alright. But, he was . . . he was actually saying that he . . .
She swallowed again. What they had, this little arrangement based on convenience, it wasn’t purely physical to her. Oh, it was supposed to be. She knew that. But . . .
Was he really saying that it wasn’t to him, either? Not at all, if he was to be believed this time. Yet, Thalia felt a clarity so certain and deep that it was almost ominous, and she knew he wasn’t lying to her. Her lips stayed tight as she stared at him; she was mute and, in all honesty, in utter shock.
The only thing in her mind was a delayed, foolish little reply; a weak What?
She nonetheless tried to say it, but the word died in her throat and never reached her closed mouth. She stared up at him, and finally she felt that weighted air leave her.
And as it left, clarity and a furious blush rushed to her head. Thalia swallowed again.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” she said hoarsely. “You just . . .” she cleared her throat forcefully, dreading the rising emotion in her chest. With every profanity, and petitioning every deity she’d ever heard of, she mentally cursed her own naïvety.
All the honeyed words he’d whispered to her, all the nights when they were alone, she recalled them now. He’d said things to her that no other man had. Compliments of her figure, her features; even the part of her hair all came rushing back to her. Every kiss, every playful bite, even the gentle and not-so-gentle ones . . .
Thalia had never considered herself much to look at; no one had ever given her a reason to think thusly. Rough-hewn men were what she had been raised with, and had spent much time around. Men who didn’t care for a lasses’ looks, only how good she was in the bedchamber at conceiving and bearing babbies. She had never known much else. But, for what it was worth, Astarion had truly made her feel beautiful. Whether he had meant any of those words or not. Being with him, she had felt desired, not just as a means to an end. She had felt wanted for herself, as if she was worth someone’s pleasure. She couldn’t deny that.
She tried again. “Were . . . were you even attracted to me? Or was that a lie, as well?”
He looked at her in disbelief, a bold look considering what he’d just confessed. “Of course, I was attracted to you. Look at you, for goodness sake,” he extended his arm, fingers open. “You’re a vision . And . . . you’re so much more than that.”
Numbly, Thalia exhaled, hoping it was just the smoke from the campfires making her blink so rapidly. She had to be mature about this. She would be. If there were tears in her eyes now, she’d never be able to get through it. “And . . . the nights we spent together,” she continued. “They didn’t mean anything?”
Astarion’s eyes were both incredulous and pained as he leaned towards her. “Of course, they did,” he assured her, with a small smile. He was sincere, unbearably so. “That’s the problem. Or, part of it.”
Damn him. He was still so disarming. But, she stood her ground. “Meaning?”
She never in a million years expected what he said next. Astarion’s eyes still held hers. “Being . . . close to someone,” he explained, “any kind of intimacy, was something I … performed. To lure people back. For him.”
Him. Cazador. Her lungs clenched, and her stomach dropped. Astarion was saying this was something he had not only done before, many times, but had done so that he might bring people to his sire. So that Cazador could . . .
Thalia didn’t have a word for the immense sickness that she suddenly felt as the full meaning of what he was saying hit her.
She did her best to fight a wave of nausea as he continued quickly, as if to assuage what he rightly suspected she was thinking. “Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels … tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I . . . I don’t know how else to be with someone,” he confessed. “No matter how much I’d like to.”
He fell silent. Miraculously, the horrid sensation in her stomach had passed, and Thalia exhaled. Unstable, and unconsciously. In, and out. She focused, intently, on that one action. Again, and again. Her eyes closed briefly. Since he’d approached her, Astarion had given her a good few feet of space, and she was glad of it. Whether it was because he suspected she might be armed, or because he was on his guard anyhow, she didn’t know for certain; though she suspected it was both. At present, she was actually afraid of what she might do to him.
And, wonder of wonders, she realized it was not because she was angry with him. No, more than anything, at that moment, she didn’t hate Astarion. She hated herself.
She hated herself so much that, for a moment, she imagined her fists slamming into his chest; imagined her voice tearing from her throat, raw and raging. As wildly, unreasonably, she screamed again and again that she was so stupid, so stupid . . .
She wanted to run. She wanted to turn away, to flee. He could stop her, she knew he could. But she doubted that he would. All the smugness, all the bravado was gone. There was nothing there of Astarion that she had seen constantly since the day they had met. He now stood there, looking at her like there were no other beings on the planet, and that if she turned away, she would vanish. Leaving him to nothing, nothing but himself. He stood there, staring at her like he had a wound in his chest, and she was holding a binding. Waiting for it, begging for it, hopeless hope practically bleeding from those stunning eyes of his.
Thalia swallowed. Damn him. Damn him to the Hells.
She couldn’t believe what she was thinking, what she was considering. This was . . . She hadn’t the words to describe what him telling her all these things had done to her. She suspected she wouldn’t ever learn how to express it, not really. But . . . Damn him, and damn her; damn them both a thousand times over. She still cared.
She knew it was no good, but she did all the same. She cared for Astarion, she truly did; she liked him. She liked his banter, his bitching, his effortless walk; his attitude and his stupid, pettish laugh. He was charming, hilarious, hopelessly dangerous, and lethal in a fight. He was smart; he challenged her, frustrated her, and constantly surprised her. And he was . . .
He was utterly beautiful. Fell and fair, cold and dangerous, but not a fraction as unapproachable as he seemed. In pain, a pain he almost never implied even existed. He was not nearly as strong as he seemed, but then again, neither was she. He was . . .
In the wildest of ways, Astarion was all she never knew she wanted. And as hopeless as their situation was, as stupid as anyone would have told her she was for this, she cared for him. She didn’t just like him. She looked forward to seeing him every day. Every hour, every night. Whether it ended with them wrapped in each other or not, she enjoyed him. For all his faults, she still found she couldn’t imagine a day, a week, a month or any longer span of time without him in it.
When he was with her, when he looked at her, he didn’t know what others had known about her. He didn’t see what she lacked, or what made her incomplete. If he did know, and still wanted her, then she suspected he really didn’t care. If he felt such for her, and she didn’t want to be without him, did this mean that they could . . .
Thalia had never actually said the word, she realized. Not to herself, not in thought, not to Astarion or any other. Was she afraid to? Was she a coward? She supposed she was, after a fashion. Because he had just admitted all this horror to her, he had revealed all his intentions. There was now a brutal, hurtful, teeth-gnashing honesty between them, and somehow . . .
It made every difference, yet no difference at all.
Thalia turned her head aside from Astarion, exhaling roughly. One hand came up to brush away the tears that she’d forgotten about trying to stop from falling. She was sure she’d just smeared dirt on her cheek, but she was long past caring. She sniffed, and sighed. Astarion stood there, in front of her, and she still held the binding. She knew it, they both knew it. She only had to extend it.
What if I decide I don’t want to, she thought. Why can’t I just let myself hate him?
But that was futile. She couldn’t hate him now, or ever, even if she tried. And this, what he had poured out to her, how he stood, he had never revealed. Not like he had right now. This wasn’t what he had shown when he revealed he no longer remembered what color of eyes he had been born with; not when he had been with her the first time, or any time afterward. This was the vulnerability that he would pretend he didn’t have, this was what she had glimpsed when he haltingly told her of how Cazador had tortured him the most because his screams sounded sweetest.
Thalia bit back a sob, shaking her head. No. She had to. If she was going to forgive him, then she . . . she had to forgive him. Here. Now.
If I walk away now, I won’t come back. I can’t. If I go, I lose him forever.
Astarion’s pride wouldn’t allow it, not yet. He was confessing, this was only a tentative pinky in a deep pond, as it were. If she walked away, he wouldn’t understand. But, did he somehow want her to tell him it was all alright? She didn’t know. She also didn’t know who else would ever give her this. A breaking that she could scarcely wrap her head around, a pain she could hardly breathe for. She didn’t want that, forever. But, she knew what she did want. She wanted . . .
“You,” she whispered, before she realized she’d said it aloud. Astarion’s eyes followed her as she turned back to him. There was no room in her head or in her heart to even begin to tell him what she was thinking, so she said it in the simplest, barest way she could. “I care for you,” she admitted. “Deeply.”
His face remained passive, as if he were undecided on how he should respond. As if he could, or should, believe her. But, his eyes still spoke for him. They were undimmed, and brimming with both agony and hope. “Really.”
It wasn’t quite a question, not quite a statement. And he still didn’t look as if he truly did believe her. But, Thalia knew his voice well now, if nothing else. That tone he had adopted countless times already, it was her window. Her hope. Whether it shattered her completely, or healed her, she had to grasp it.
She smiled up at him, and with two steps, closed the distance between them. Resting her head on his shoulder, she gently wrapped her arms under Astarion’s and embraced him. She inhaled the scent that she’d come to associate with him alone, even as his arms stayed away from her torso. He didn’t return the embrace immediately, but by the time it occurred to her that he might not know how, she felt his body relax against hers. His shoulders rolled and both arms came down, and wrapped around her.
Astarion exhaled, pressing one hand and then another to her spine and the small of her back. She was now, truly, in his arms. He held her. She held him.
And it was the first time they had actually done so, she realized, pressing her face into the fabric of his shirt. Every night they had been together, there had never been anything more than the act itself. They had gone their separate ways, save the first time when she’d caught him standing in the warmth of the sun. It was the only time he’d been there when she awakened. He had never held her like this.
For as many seconds, then minutes as she could, Thalia remained where she was, unwilling to break the spell. Astarion’s head had lowered, he inhaled the scent of her hair until she lifted her hand to the back of his head. Gently turning, she pressed her lips not to his face, but to his shoulder; closing her eyes as the scent of bergamot and rosemary filled her head. Astarion allowed the kiss, and with a gentle motion separated himself, but only enough that their eyes might meet.
“You,” he murmured, shaking his head lightly as she smiled up at him. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” It was such an understatement in light of every emotion he’d put her and himself through, and it was the last thing she expected; Thalia might have laughed had he not beaten her to it. “Honestly,” he said, almost giddily as he leaned forward a little, “I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.”
Thalia shook her head. “Neither do I.”
She didn’t. But somehow, she realized she was fine with that. Strangely, serenely alright. Her world had fallen apart and been rebuilt in as many minutes, and here she stood. Alive, and with him, and somehow whole.
She half-laughed at the insanity of it all. “Neither do I,” she echoed.
“No,” Astarion agreed, pulling away at last and, for the first time, carefully offering her his opening right hand. Thalia hesitated, but slowly reached for it. Her fingertips had scarcely settled in the coldness of his palm before he brought his left around to clasp over it. “But I know that this . . .”
Thalia gazed down at their hands, entwined as he trailed off. When she looked up, he was smiling down at her. Closed, content. Genuine. “This is nice.”
She returned the smile, and he suddenly chuckled, bringing one hand up to his face. His thumb briefly disappeared between his lips and then came, cool and wetted, to her own face. Thalia realized what he was doing, and closed her eyes, biting back her laughter; Astarion echoed it before wetting his thumb again and, with rapid a flick of his arm, allowing his sleeve to fall.
“I would have rather died a moment ago than to tell you that you had something on your face, precious,” he murmured. The soft fabric came up to wipe her flushed cheek and Thalia smiled. Both of Astarion’s cool hands came up to frame her face, and wipe the space under both eyes. “There, now,” he murmured, parting her hair and bringing his lips to her forehead. “Better?”
Thalia nodded, leaning into the caress. She gently brought both hands up to his upper arms, lightly holding them. “Thank you.”
“Are - are you alright?”
She suspected she would be. Not immediately. But she would be. “I will be. Are you going to be alright?”
A chuckle stayed in his chest, but she heard it all the same. “I believe I will be, yes.”
She hoped he meant that, and she hoped she might say the same of herself. But, for now, this sufficed. It more than sufficed. It was its own special kind of fulfillment. “Will you stay with me tonight?” Thalia whispered, exhaling as they held each other, carefully and intently. “Only to sleep?”
He was still for so long, she thought he would decline. But, at last Astarion nodded slowly, his hair brushing against hers. “I would like that.”
He did. And so did she, she realized, when she awoke the next morning to find she still held him, that his head still rested on her chest and his hand still lay on her waist. They had talked like this, she remembered, for hours it had seemed. Half in wakefulness, half in sleep, Thalia only brought one hand up to rest in his hair. She breathed him in, she breathed deeply and fully. She breathed him out again, and closed her eyes to the oncoming, earliest sensations of dawn.
This moment would have to end, she knew it.
But not now. Not yet, she thought drowsily, contentedly. Let him sleep. Let us have this.
Thalia couldn’t pretend she knew what the future would hold for them. There would have to be a lot more talking between them. As she raked her fingers through his curls, Astarion sighed in his sleep. And to the cool air, to the morning dew, and to the vampire that slept peacefully in her arms, Thalia whispered the words she was no longer afraid to say.