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Summary
"I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” Rowan glanced at Astarion out of the corner of his eye. “How far do you think you can throw him?” Shadowheart asked. An image involuntarily popped into Rowan’s mind of exactly just how far he thought he could throw that smug, delicate face. Or where he’d like to throw him.
Ever since he'd picked up that sorry elf from the mind flayer ship crash, Rowan had hated Astarion. He was mouthy, flirtatious, and an overall nuisance, and that was coming from a bard. So why, by the gods, did Astarion seem to carry that deep sense of connection that Rowan wanted so desperately to explore? For better or for worse, their fates were intertwined, and Rowan was determined to tug on that thread to find out what - or who - lay at the end of it.