Work Text:
“Ghustil,” Lae’zel barked, blood running from between her fingers as she clutched at her arm. “I require you to do your job.”
Astarion watched curiously as their cleric stood from giving belated last rights to the battle’s victims. The half-orc wound and re-wound a length of scarlet cord around his wrists and palms like a penitent game of cat’s cradle as he went, a gesture he’d been performing for the past several minutes already. The rogue had seen this ritual of his before, usually when Uk’el was tending to his holier duties, but also while alone at camp in prayer or meditation or whatever other righteous veneer he preferred to paint his downtime with. It was only there, however, watching him devoutly turn from one bloody duty to the next, that the observance’s meaning struck the spawn.
“Ah, so that’s it. You’re a cleric of Ilmater, I take it,” Astarion said, wrinkling his nose with a wry grin that twisted the simple observation into an accusation. “Certainly explains a few things.”
A quick casting of cure wounds stopped the githyanki warrior’s bleeding, but Uk’el still took the time to inspect the wound before letting Lae’zel turn her attention to cleaning her sword. That had been his last spell slot for the day - Astarion always ensured he kept a close count of their healer’s resources. In this case, a good night’s rest would have to make the ends meet.
Crossing back to the shadowy corner of the priestess’s audience chamber where the elf was leaning against a pillar and watching the proceedings, Uk’el sneered with undisguised distaste as he wiped the blood from his hands. Not distaste at the gore, Astarion noted, but directed squarely at him.
“I’d rather not invite more conflict after we’ve just finished not dying to goblins, but okay. Good a time as any, I suppose. You have objections to my faith?”
“Not in specific” the elf drawled, gesturing vaguely. “If you lot get off on sticking your necks out for every jackoday who heaves a sob in earshot, who am I to spoil your fun? As long as you’re putting that magic of yours to good use keeping me from getting smeared all over the dungeon walls, I don’t care who or where you get it from. Or what you want to do with the leftovers.”
Leaning in, Uk’el whispered in a low growl, “I stick my neck out for you nightly. I’ll not withhold nor make that contingent upon anything, but I would appreciate some basic respect in return.”
When he pulled away, Astarion wasn’t exactly pouting - his eyes were too hard, too wary for that - but he certainly wasn’t happy. In a flash, however, a cheap smile wiped away any hint of what he might be feeling.
“Of course, Darling. You know I didn't mean anything personal by it. I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir here, but you know how tiresomely self-righteous some religious folk can be. They make it harder for both sides: the good ones,” he waved a hand at the half-orc, then indicated himself, “and the ones just minding their own business. As long as you aren’t the sort to go pushing it on everyone you see - and in fairness, if it took me this long to figure out who you serve, then you clearly aren’t - then neither of us need worry ourselves over it any further.”
The cleric huffed a curt sigh through his nostrils as he took a step back. Warm, brown eyes like polished agates searched Astarion’s face for something. But whatever he was hoping to find, the elf refused to give him. This journey to find a cure for their peculiar condition was going to be hard enough without having to worry about their - to borrow a splendid new word he had picked up from Lae’zel - she’lak sticking his tusks where they didn’t belong.
“I wish you’d just say what you want to say.”
Astarion smiled back, unflinching.
“Surely you’ve seen by now that I hardly hold my tongue on matters I find of import. If I’ve omitted anything, it’s because it’s of no consequence.”
’Or none of your business,’ he thought bitterly.
For a moment, he froze, suddenly remembering the abilities their tadpoles had granted them - namely, to peer into one another’s minds. The incursions never went unnoticed, but there was little hope defending against the initial assault unprepared, and even less in denying whatever the cleric might find there.
Yet, the prodding never came. Uk’el simply heaved another sigh.
“Fair enough. All right, let’s find a secure spot to set up camp. That was my last spell, and I’m not keen on getting caught around here with my pants down.”
“After you.” With a sweep of his hand, Astarion forced his smile to hold - against fear, against exhaustion, and against the unsettling sensation that Uk’el could see through him well enough without the parasite’s cumbersome prodding - until the cleric had finally turned his back on him.