Chapter Text
Astarion took a deep breath as he prepared to subject himself to what he anticipated would be a convoluted confrontation at best and a full-blown game of verbal lanceboard at worst. Unnecessary a function as breathing was for an undead, going through the motions was still somehow comforting.
’How hard could it be?’ he asked himself, well aware of how ridiculous it was for him of all people to be nervous. Getting others to want to do things for him was his bread and butter, and the fact they were party members would surely grease the wheels even further.
Putting on an unassuming smile, he walked over to the other’s tent.
“Lae’zel, dear.” The githyanki’s head flicked to him, her eyes narrowing as her hands froze mid-drag of a whetstone across her blade. It seemed he’d caught her at a good time: the sword’s tip was pointed to the side, rather than at him. “Surprising as this may sound, I was hoping to get your advice on something.”
“It is not the need for assistance that surprises, but that you have enough sense to recognize as such,” she hissed.
Astarion crossed his arms, smile dropping. Her immunity to charm was steadfast as ever. A swift shift in tactic would be required.
“Look, I’m trying my damnedest to be pleasant here. If you could meet me halfway, that’d be great.”
“I will do no such thing,” she scoffed. “You are the one seeking my counsel. I’ve no reason to meet you anywhere but on my own terms.”
With a small sound of exasperation, Astarion collected himself.
“Fine. If anything, I suppose this’ll go all the faster without the pleasantries. Have you noticed any…changes in Uk’el recently?”
Setting down her work, the githyanki warrior stood to meet his eye.
“He has forgone his chain mail for full plate armor. This compliments the shift in his preferred battle positioning towards the front lines. Also, he keeps casting spirit guardians as of late. I suspect the added defense from the heavier armor affords greater reliability in maintaining spell concentration.”
“No, no, no.” Astarion waved dismissively. Of course the only thing on her propaganda-added mind was combat. “I’m not talking about in battle. I meant more…” He gestured vaguely, unable to find words suitably emotionally detached from his concerns. “...personality-wise.”
“Not particularly. Why? What suspicions do you harbor? I am not fond of guessing games.” Despite the assertion, her eyes lit up with urgent suspicion. “A doppelganger?”
“What? No. He-” This was getting messy. But he couldn’t gracefully cut and run now, not with Lae’zel under the impression that their de facto leader had been quietly replaced by a skinwalker. “Well, he’s been looking at me strangely as of late. It used to be, he would melt at my slightest flirtation, looking at me like he couldn’t do without a regular dose of my affection. Lately, though, he gets this sad look when I turn on the charms, like I’ve tossed a handwritten poem into the fire.”
“Perhaps he has finally realized what a massive arsehole you are, and your sycophantic coquetry sickens him.”
“Wouldn't he just tell me off then? Or get short with me? No, he’s too honest for his own good and too straightforward not to simply come out and say that sort of thing. Ugh, or more likely want to have a talk about it.” He rolled his eyes in case the air quotes weren’t enough to communicate his disdain for their cleric’s dedication to healthy communication. “No, I’m losing him. I just don’t for the life of me understand why.”
“Why have you burdened me with this of all people? I recognize I am an odd choice for comfort.”
“Well, for one: I’m looking for information, not emotional support, and I knew I could get your completely honest opinion without having to pull teeth.”
“Ch’tk. As though you could get within an inch of my mouth before I would separate your head from your neck.”
“Second, I know you’re not the type to gossip.” ’Especially if it’s posed as a challenge,’ he thought snidely. “Of everyone here, I knew you could be trusted to keep this all under your hat.”
His plan worked: Lae’zel squared her shoulders and the fire of pride lit up her eyes.
“An unexpectedly wise decision for you, spawn. Hm…‘sad,’ you say. Tell me, this expression of his: was it akin to the look of a kicked pup? Eyes filled with pain and betrayal?”
Astarion winced at the comparison. There was an uncomfortable truth to it he’d been able to avoid so long as the blame for the change lay with Uk’el and not himself. Astarion had done nothing wrong, nothing different from usual, at least. It had to be something external.
“Eh, kind of?” he equivocated.
“I ask because - some nights ago - he and Wyll shared a midnight dance together.”
“What!?” Astarion blurted out in shock. “Not that I have any claim staked necessarily, but… He’s been sleeping with Wyll?”
“Not sleeping,” Lae’zel clarified, exasperated. “Dancing.”
“Oh, you meant that literally. I should have known.” Astarion sighed with a relief he would rather not examine too deeply.
“However, when Wyll attempted to consummate the courtship, Uk’el refused him in no uncertain terms. I only mention it because the expression you described fit Wyll’s disappointment there to a tee.”
Much as he sympathized with the poor warlock, Astarion was at least heartened to know that their cleric’s odd behavior wasn’t due to a conflict of romantic interests.
“Tough luck for him, but that still doesn’t make Uk’el’s behavior make any more sense. I haven’t rebuffed him in the slightest. Quite the contrary.”
“I am well aware,” Lae’zel sneered. “In fact, if the pair of you could take your lovemaking further from camp next time, I would appreciate it.”
“Aww, what’s the matter, Sweetness? Feeling left out?”
The githyanki snarled at him menacingly. A pleasing reaction, but one he knew not to push much farther.
“Be gone. I’ve no further insight to offer on the subject. Such matters of the heart are outside my interest and a waste of my time.”
“Clearly. Still, you’ve given me something to work with. Much obliged.”
“Ch’tk.”
While he said that, Astarion still felt very much lost as he left Lae’zel to her own devices; not quite back to square one, but nebulously stranded between it and any meaningful progress. And now he was out of clever ideas. The only recourse left - if he were truly desperate for an answer - would be to ask the man himself. And while that would be the most efficient means, it would also unfortunately largely defeat the purpose of the subtle manipulations he’d been weaving over Uk’el that he was now trying so desperately to preserve.
That was, unless he could find just the right angle to approach it from. Too honest, and he might foil his own designs. Too forward, and he might exacerbate whatever negative reaction the cleric was already having towards him. No, this would require a bit of a crooked touch.