Chapter Text
"I cannot be this thing you think you see in me." Astarion hissed back at the man in front of him. He had been at odds with the half-elf over the ritual Cazador sought to perform since they had learned of its existence but never before had he seen his words have such an effect as these ones did.
Ariat had always been stoic, even prideful, in his countenance, the way he held himself. Honest emotions rarely showed but when they did it was always significant, good and bad. He'd learned that much in the days he'd traveled at his side. He held himself as most Sorcerers did. Overly confidant in himself...practically a paladin in a wizard's skin, complete with shining gold scales that lined his skin like armor and hair that shimmered with streaks of that same metallic glint. That coupled with his almost overbearing, insufferable, need to help everyone they happened across had always rubbed Astarion the wrong way. Made him want to remove the easy smile from his smug face every time they spoke...regardless of how kind he was trying to be...or perhaps, because of that. Some self-hate maybe in those early days.
He recalled the night with the Tieflings when he'd drawn the man into conversation about wanting sex...seen the interest grow in his eyes...and enjoyed watching it dim when he'd cruelly rejected him in the next breath. That was the first time he'd seen the cracks in that perfect mask. The first time he realized that perhaps...there might be more to the man then the beautiful glowing perfection he put on display. The confused hurt that had bloomed oh so briefly in his eyes.
It hadn't been enough to change his mind about him of course...that had come much later.
It had started that one night. The night that Bard woman had run into their camp looking to join their party. He'd been against it if only because he couldn't think of anything more annoying than being stuck with yet another bubbly soft do-good personality...and the way Ariat had beamed at the woman. So happy to welcome her to their campfire...he could just imagine the headache the two of them together would cause him in the future.
So, when he woke in the morning to find the bard brutally torn apart in the middle of their camp...so close to his own tent that he was shocked he hadn't woken earlier...he couldn't say he'd ever been more surprised in his long life.
There was no question as to who had done it...with Ariat sitting on his bedroll looking as if he had literally bathed in the womans' blood.
The others had been outraged and fearful at first in various ways...but Astarion had simply been annoyed. He'd confronted him on not at least hiding the fact he'd killed the woman better. He'd never forget the way Ariat had looked up at him. The lost and fearful look in his eyes when he'd spoken.
"...it wasn't me...I...I didn't do that...I didn't..." He'd whispered, voice lacking all of his usual overbearing confidence.
His initial reaction had been to scoff at the obvious lie...but...he knew how to read people. Ariat hadn't been lying. Everything about him, the look in his eyes, the subtle shaking of his hands, told him that Ariat was as shocked by the murder as the rest of them had been. More so...given that he had apparently committed it, or...his body had at least.
That had been the first time but not the last, and Astarion had watched as the cracks had grown and the real person underneath had become more visible. The little moments when he could see his struggle for control when no one else cared to, and the times when that inner cruelty would slip its leash...and the guilt he'd be wracked with when he came back to himself in the bloody aftermath.
More and more Astarion realized that they were more alike than he had first thought. The mask was simply a shield against the fear he had towards himself and his lack of control though he didn't fully realize how much that was true until Ariat had revealed to him the truth about himself. He was a child of the god Bhaal. A Bhaalspawn of all things...
"I'm afraid, Astarion...I know what I want, and I know what everyone else tells me. That I can be good...but...my father...he wants me to do these terrible things. How do I fight this? How am I expected to fight against a God? How am I supposed to fight what's in my own blood? I don't think I can..." Ariat's voice was soft and gentle in its uncertainty, in ways he had never heard it before.
He could see Ariat faltering, looking as if he might give up and something in Astarion had snapped. They had never been truly close, the two of them, though their attitudes had certainly improved as time had gone on. They were friends certainly but, in that moment, Astarion had seen a mirror in the way Ariat slumped, in the tired resignation of his voice.
He'd grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to face him as he spoke. He could barely remember everything he had said that night, but he did remember the crux of it. Don't become a slave. Don't let anyone else control what or who he was. Not fear. Not the Gods.
"Don't become His!" He'd said and he'd never meant anything more in his life.
Ariat had become more of his old self after that night, only letting his darker self out when he thought it was useful to do so. He was in control. He was that confidant man he'd been when they'd first met...but somehow...it no longer bothered Astarion to see it.
"I cannot be this thing you think you see in me!" Astarion heard himself say in response to Ariat's insistence, yet again, that he not go through with the ritual, and he saw those cracks appear again in his friends' face. The way his head twitched up while his gaze stayed locked on his own. He'd learned to see the subtle signs of the Urge in his companion and this was certainly a big one.
The way his face went still and his eyes lost their warmth. Those gold green eyes of his that could hold such gentleness and affection...suddenly looking every bit as reptilian as the distant ancestor that had given them to him. The subtle way the scales on his cheeks flared up along the edges when he was excited. The look of a predator Astarion knew all too well. He'd admired it when it was directed at their enemies...
...not so much now that it was directed at him.
He'd flinched back but not fast enough to escape the man taking hold of his arm...and agile as he was, he was caught off guard by how strong the other man could be. Before he knew what was happening he found himself on the floor of his tent with the half-elf on top of him. He thrashed but the way Ariat straddled him across his chest, knees pinning his arms and one hand gripping his neck tight enough to make it impossible to cry out, was expertly done. He was at the mans mercy before he'd even fully realized he was in danger.
Gods, he'd heard what Shadowheart had said about the night she'd been forced to tie the man up, but somehow that still hadn't made him think Ariat could really be that much of a threat on his own. That she had been exaggerating how close she'd come to not being able to restrain him, and how easily she was sure he could have killed her had he gotten himself free. Of course, she would be caught off guard by someone she trusted.
He was regretting that assumption now.
Ariat's hand moved by his head and there was a flash of metal. A sharp pain lanced across his cheek and he realized he was holding a small knife. He wasn't even sure where he'd gotten it from but he could see it held in his free hand now, hovering over his face as it reflected the flickering candlelight within the tent. He could easily imagine his own eyes showing back at him in the blades surface as Ariat showed him the sharp edge.
He grunted and felt the blood dripping slowly down his cheek from the shallow cut, the way the pupils of Ariat's eyes became blown wide as he watched it. The sorcerer was breathing heavy and his body felt abnormally, uncomfortably, hot against him as he leaned down over the vampire. Astarion shuddered as he couldn't help but recall the mental images of the bards mutilated corpse...interposed with the many times he'd seen the Sorcerer become engulfed in flames when they fought. As if the combination of his draconic blood and his Bhaalspawn nature couldn't be contained within a single body without being loosed in some violent fashion.
Ariat groaned low in his throat, a sound that was too uncomfortably close to sexual for the elf he had trapped underneath him, and then he dragged his tongue over the cut on his face and Astarion hissed. He kicked his legs and squirmed in his captivity.
"...get...off of me." Astarion managed to get out through his constricted throat, and he looked up at the half-elf as he pulled back and met that cold lizard gaze with his own ruby glare, fangs bared. Ariat's face spasmed in a way that Astarion knew meant he was under the influence of the Urge, that he must be imagining all sorts of terrible things in regard to the person under the threat of his knife.
The knife came up and Astarion flinched, eyes closing, sure that he was about to lose his face...
There was a thud next to his head and when he opened his eyes he found the knife buried firmly in the ground next to his head...then the grip on his throat loosened and Ariat sat up, face pulling away from him. As he pulled away his expression became less severe, softer.
Astarion blinked in surprise and slowly came to a realization.
Had...Ariat purposely provoked the Urge and then denied it...to make a point?
"How...dare you...say that to me. ME." Ariat ground out, voice sounding like a growl in the wake of what he'd just done, "After all we have been through...after all you have said to me. All the times you have picked me up? Do you listen to yourself?! EVER?!"
"How dare you act like you have no choice before you. Like you cannot be better than you have been. Like you don't want to be. You don't fool me, Astarion! I SEE you! I KNOW you don't want this! You KNOW what it will do to you if you do, just as I do...and you DON'T want that!"
Astarion could only glare up at him and he considered trying to push him off but Ariat stood up before he could take the action himself and instead he was simply left laying on the ground looking up at him, trying to be angry and instead not knowing how he felt at all.
"You told me once not to become Bhaals slave...and I took those words to heart, so you listen to ME now."
"We don't have to be what others would make of us. I don't and you don't. WE are in control now. WE get to choose! YOU get to choose. Don't let fear make you into something you are not." he said, pointing at himself even as he angled himself down to address the elf, the light blazing in his eyes one of intense passion as they seemed to reflect the candle light in stark contrast to the look they'd held only moments before. The scales on his face glimmering like gold coins. Mesmerizing in a way that made Astarion unable to find the words to interrupt him.
"You're not alone, Astarion...we get to choose who we are now, and you're not alone in this. Never forget that." he said and then he turned and left the tent without waiting for the vampire to respond.
Instead Astarion was left to try and unravel everything Ariat had just left him with....unsure whether to curse or bless the man in the confused aftermath of what had just happened.
Only one thing was certain...he had a lot to think about...and not much time to come to any conclusions, if there were any to come to.