Work Text:
Astarion found himself thinking about her.
About Syanna.
What a walking contradiction she was.
On the one hand, she was so prone to being a bleeding heart that he found her infuriating in the beginning.
Barely off a crashed Nautiloid and she was picking up other survivors, himself included.
This was in spite of the fact that he had thrown her to the ground and threatened her with a dagger. All things considered, she had taken it surprisingly well, telling him she most likely would have done the same exact thing in his position.
Then she was agreeing to help the tieflings from the druid grove. And rescuing a child from being killed by the druid leader, Kagha. She even helped that bard, Alfira, with her song.
On the other hand, there was something else about her - she was also prone to violence, so much murderous violence, which she could not always control or resist.
She did always feel guilty afterwards though. Everything, from the squirrel she had kicked, to brutally killing Alfira once she joined their camp, had affected her greatly.
She liked animals, so it was easy to see why the squirrel incident had left her feeling horrible.
She was also genuinely excited to have Alfira join them, something that was snuffed out the moment she had murdered her, the bard laying in a pool of her own blood and insides as Syanna came back to her senses.
Whatever dark urges were compelling her clearly did not want her feeling anything even resembling happiness.
She had always been completely honest with all of them about how broken her mind was though, hoping someone might have some kind of advice or answer for her. However, instead of help, she was met with one version or another of ‘we all have those thoughts sometimes’ and how she should ‘focus them on their enemies’.
Naturally, she felt as if nobody took her seriously, not realising how severe things were for her.
She had been genuinely grateful when Astarion seemed to be the only one to notice how she was not well. How she was spasming and twitching sometimes, seeming almost rabid and sick. How, more often than not, she was tired, a fact made all the more obvious by the dark circles under her eyes. Or how she had bouts of swooning and swaying. But most importantly, she had been grateful that he simply did not judge her. Even after killing Alfira, he did not judge her. True, he had also told her that the look of guilt on her face was truly priceless, and that she should have been more subtle about it, which she certainly did not appreciate, but that was a different story.
The point remained; once everyone else had seen what happened to Alfira, she was immediately judged and blamed. The rest of their party were scared of her, telling her to keep her distance. Some even made a point of saying that they would defend themselves if she tried to hurt them next.
Still, she did not blame them for it.
Naturally, she began to distance herself from everyone. Astarion noticed how it started with smaller things at first.
During the day, when they travelled, she would either wander further ahead, or stay further back, away from everyone.
She would no longer get involved in conversations, unless she absolutely needed to. Whenever they stopped to rest, she would find her own spot further away from the rest of their party.
And during the evening, or at night? He noticed that she would take her bedroll to the small ruined building that was next to their camp, choosing to rest there instead, her reasoning being that it was fine, truly - the roof was at least partially intact, so she would be safe from the elements, and If anything, it would be an improvement over resting and meditating in the dirt, next to the campfire. And she could always use a spell to start a fire to keep herself warm.
In time, everyone else seemed to slowly warm up to her again. Probably due to her continuing to be a bleeding heart and her insistence to help everyone and every animal they came across, almost as if she wanted to redeem herself for what she had done before. Interestingly though, she did seem to favour his company the most.
One day, while searching for the goblin camp and possible ways in, they had found a dog named Scratch, near its dead owner. The dog was hostile at first, but soon calmed once Syanna had talked to him - she always made sure to have a potion that let her speak with animals on hand - even sniffing her hand and remembering her scent after she had told him that he can come to their camp later.
On a different day, they had found the so-called devil that Wyll was hunting. Except Karlach was not a devil, but merely a tiefling, who, as it turned out, had also been infected with a tadpole. Syanna had immediately taken her side when Wyll wanted to kill her, pointing out everything that had been shared between them through the tadpole - that Karlach was indeed telling the truth and would not harm anyone.
Astarion found himself approving of that. Hells, in time, there were plenty of other things she did that he approved of. Some were chaotically fun and hilarious to him - like when she had let him open the barn doors where the bugbear and ogre were enjoying themselves (and the fight that broke out afterwards). Or when, while at the goblin camp, she had twisted a goblin’s words around and made him kiss her foot instead.
Other things were on the practical side.
Others yet, were oddly heartwarming, even to him. Such as when she had taken in the owlbear cub they had found in the same goblin camp. Most people probably would not have done that, seeing it as nothing more than another beast to be afraid of, especially once it would be fully grown.
Syanna didn’t see things that way. Instead, what she saw was a young cub, scared of his surroundings, wounded and alone, his mother having been killed by the goblins who captured him for their own entertainment.
But perhaps the most important thing during that time was how she had not shunned or staked him when he had tried to feed from while she was resting. If anything, she had been surprisingly reasonable about the whole thing, even offering to let him feed on her anyway, telling him he could have just asked her.
She had also sided with him when the others weren’t particularly pleased with him being a vampire.
Then she had agreed with his idea of feeding off their enemies, seeing as he could fight with all his weapons, fangs included. But she had also extended an open invitation to him to feed on her, if and when he needed it.
It most certainly was a gift. One he would not forget.
More time passed and Syanna seemed to be doing better, although she was still reserved around the others, preferring his and Karlach’s company, along with the owlbear cub and Scratch.
Karlach had appreciated her help and trust when they met, as well as her bleeding heart, so in her eyes, Syanna was someone good overall, although tortured by her own demons. She had also been honest with the tiefling about her urges and what had happened with the bard, but Karlach had simply told her that if she had the guts to say it outloud, to feel regret, then she would be able to change. And if she was willing to resist those urges, as Syanna said she was, then surely she was on the right track.
Once the druid, Halsin had also joined their camp, he too became someone that she got along with. There was a certain wisdom and kindness about him that she also appreciated. And of course, she had been grateful when he offered to help her with her broken mind, once the tadpole was dealt with.
Still, it was obvious to everyone that Astarion’s company was the one she preferred, a fact which he knew would do nicely for his plan. All she had to do was fall for it.
Naturally, he had started to flirt with her, doing everything he could to charm her enough so that she would always be on his side, always willing to help him with what he needed. And if he had to resort to his usual tactics, so be it.
Seducing her had been easy - she already preferred his company and reciprocated his attention whenever he would give it, flirting and teasing, culminating with accepting his advances when he finally propositioned her one night.
What he hadn’t expected was for her to actually care what he wanted that evening, not willing to simply be a passive participant. Instead, she wanted to reciprocate.
To touch him.
To show him how he made her feel.
To bring him the same kind of pleasure.
It was surprising to him. Unexpected even.
Even more surprisingly, he found that he enjoyed himself during their little escapade. Not as much as he would have liked, as at one point his mind had gone somewhere far away (which she had noticed and pointed out the morning after), but at the same time, he couldn’t deny those moments before that.
All in all, his plan was moving along splendidly.
So he carried on: he continued to flirt with her, honeyed words dripping from him each time. He invited her back to his bed frequently, making sure each night would be unforgettable for her.
And she more than reciprocated each time. It still baffled him.
He’d even stolen her away during the party the tieflings had organised for their group once the goblin camp was defeated and their leaders killed.
Even though others seemed to have the same idea that night, she still went to him.
Excellent.
Eventually, she had started spending her nights in his tent. At first, it was something that happened after sex, when she would simply stay there, wrapped around him and comfortable. But then, she would simply seek out his company, wanting nothing else but to spend time with him.
Talking.
Or reading.
Cuddling.
He never had been one to cuddle, but having her so close and holding on to him, not expecting anything more?
It was nice.
Most shocking of all was the fact that those nights actually seemed to mean something to him, a strange sense of comfort starting to emerge whenever it was just the two of them.
And on the rare occasion she didn't spend the night in his tent? He actually found himself wanting her there.
Shit.
She had done him kindness after kindness on multiple occasions, not expecting anything in return.
Some things were smaller, such as when she had given him various things for his tent whenever they cropped up during their travels - a new bedroll, alongside a pillow and blanket for instance. Or when she would point out books she thought he would find interesting.
Especially the ones about Drizzt Do’Urden’s adventures. He enjoyed those in particular, and was always glad whenever Syanna found one lying about.
But he found that the things that truly mattered to him didn’t have anything to do with the material objects that she gave him.
No, what actually mattered was how she listened to him whenever he confided in her about something.
How she had pointed out his scars and the fact that they were written in Infernal.
How she had drawn them out for him to see, first on the ground and then twice in a notebook she had, giving him one of the drawings, so they could both research them more easily, promising to keep an eye out for any books, occult or otherwise, that could help in the matter.
How it wasn't her problem, but she still wanted to help him.
Or how she had acted as his mirror when she found him trying to look into one, telling him how she saw him (even if some of the things she told him sounded very…grandmotherly). Soon after that, she had the idea to cast a Mirror Image spell on him so he could actually see himself for the first time in centuries. And once that spell worked? She brought him spell scrolls for it so he could cast it himself whenever he needed to, and was always on the lookout for more, wanting him to have a steady supply of them.
He found himself being incredibly grateful for that. Seeing himself for the first time in centuries was something unexpected to him.
Just as unexpected was her willingness to help him with everything he needed, without asking for anything in return. Part of him was always waiting for her to do that, despite it never happening.
She had already started looking for anything that could shed some light on what his scars meant. And once Raphael had proposed his deal to Astarion? She did not hesitate to help him once more. And that she did, with Yurgir dead at their feet after convincing him to kill his merregons, his displacer beast and then himself. It was almost frightening how easily she managed to convince the orthon to do so. Frightening, but impressive. Regardless of the method, his end of the deal was done, and the mystery of his scars became clearer, but turned into something even more muddled at the same time. Still, Syanna immediately swore she would do everything she could to help him with dealing with Cazador and the ritual of profane ascension that he was meant to be a part of.
Then there was the way she had put that vile drow in Moonrise Towers back in her place when she treated him as nothing more than a thing to be traded or passed around.
Anyone would agree his nice, simple plan was a resounding success.
So why did he feel so awful?
Of course, he knew why.
He had started to genuinely enjoy her company the more time passed throughout their travels.
Astarion couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that happened or when he started to have feelings for her.
What he did know was that he would find himself thinking about her more often. And looking out for her in combat, his arrows always aimed at those who were too close to her, something which he initially brushed off as him being practical, seeing as she couldn’t offer him the protection and help he needed if she was injured or killed. He would also apply the same thought process whenever he was distraught about her being downed in battle, with him immediately on his way to help her, a revivify scroll and healing potion at the ready.
There was also the fact that he genuinely had fun with her, enjoying their little jokes, their banter and the teasing.
He especially enjoyed teasing her whenever she would be entangled by twisting vines, tsk-ing and saying that he was starting to think that she liked being restrained. She would always tease back, telling him to find out for himself later.
At the same time, he was genuinely concerned for her. She was almost always exhausted, often choosing to not rest out of fear of her nightmares returning and of the urges coming back. He could also see how those urges were eating away at her, how she struggled with them.
Sometimes, when she was finally too exhausted, she would actually fall asleep next to him, her face nuzzling his chest, an arm wrapped around his waist. Whenever that happened, he found that he would have much rather stayed there and let her sleep until late morning, not having the heart to move and risk waking her.
He felt like such a fool.
Most concerning however, was the night when she woke him up, not quite herself, but scared she would hurt or kill him, unsure of what to do to stop it from happening. Somehow she had managed to tell him what had happened, how that little shit of a butler came to her, telling her she had to kill the person she cared about most. The last thing she managed to tell him was to get to safety before collapsing in front of him. Quickly, Astarion moved, grabbing a length of rope and tied her up. He certainly was not about to leave her alone, not when things had gotten so murderously bad for her.
She should have talked to him about it before. After all, they were technically in it together, and whatever it was that was controlling her, they would both fight it.
It didn’t take long for her to wake up, and it was immediately obvious that she was no longer herself, all control gone. Immediately, she had started fighting against her bindings, all while threatening him. Screaming. Growling.
At the same time, she looked to be in pain and sick, almost as if she was trying to break through and regain control of herself. But it seemed so, so difficult for her.
It truly worried him, seeing her like that. He had been worried about himself at first, yes, but he was even more worried about her.
He was determined. He wouldn't let that thing have her. He wouldn't let it win.
So he spent the night with her, trying to comfort and encourage her where he could. Keeping her safe. Shooing away the rest of their companions whenever they came to see what was happening.
It had been a long, long night, but it eventually passed, bloodlessly. Syanna was laying on her side, still tied up, teary eyed, with a look of remorse on her face.
Astarion approached her and began to untie her, helping her sit up once he finished. He noticed how her wrists were raw and bloody from how much she had struggled, trying to get herself free. She was clearly exhausted, a sheen of sweat on her face, still looking pained and sick.
He hated seeing her like that.
He handed her a healing potion and listened to her as she recounted what had happened before she came to him, how it had only happened because she refused to kill Isobel and how she had been fiercely fighting against her dark urges.
Astarion felt for her, truly. Not being in full control of herself, not having a say in what was happening to her or what she did? It certainly was something he could relate to. After all, if anyone understood an internal voice forcing one’s hand, it was him.
So he reassured her that she was not alone in whatever that was, that she would get through it. And that he would be there to make sure she did, no matter how much she protested that it could happen again, and what if she hurt him then? Or that it would probably be easier if he simply hated her for what had happened that night and be done with her.
He could never hate her. Not when that wasn’t who she was. She actually gave him something to care for and that was worth the peril.
He also found himself wanting her approval, wanting her to think of him as something more.
He no longer wanted to keep up the lie or to manipulate her.
He cared.
He wanted to tell her the truth, as frightening as it was to him.
Still, what if she broke things off between them afterwards? What if she hated him for it?
Of course, he could just not tell her, letting things continue between them, knowing that his plan had gone out the proverbial window long ago.
It was real for him. Why risk ruining it?
No.
She deserved the truth. She deserved something real, something more. She didn't deserve his lies. She deserved to choose if she wanted to continue whatever was between them or not.
Having made up his mind, he walked over to where Syanna was sitting near the campfire. Noticing him, she set aside the book she was reading, greeting him with a smile.
“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.”
Gods, he sounded so concerned. Scared almost.
Noticing this, her smile fell, replaced by genuine concern.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just…feel awful.”
She frowned, standing up.
“You and I have a very different definition of ‘fine’, Astarion. Please, talk to me?”
Gods, why was she being so nice to him? She was always so nice to him.
“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.” He laughed nervously.
Syanna didn’t say anything, too taken aback by the sudden confession.
Astarion continued. He had to continue.
“It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it.”
He hated the way his voice started to crack as he continued talking. What he hated even more was how tears were forming in her eyes because of him.
This is it. Surely she would leave him. He would lose her.
Still, he carried on.
“And all I had to do was not fall for you…which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.” Astarion paused for a moment, gesturing towards her. “You…you're incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”
He looked at her, with sad, scared, but hopeful eyes.
“So…the time we spent together meant nothing to you then? All those nights, all those moments, were they just lies?”
“Of course they meant something - that's the problem! Or part of it.” He sighed. “Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him.” He made no effort to disguise the disgust he felt towards Cazador as he told her that.
“And even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.”
Disgust and loathing towards himself. Towards Cazador. Towards most of those he had to lure back to the palace. Towards those he was lent out to.
“I…don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”
He had said what he wanted to say. He looked at her, vulnerability obvious in his expression, waiting for a reply.
It terrified him.
“Astarion…” she swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “I’m not naïve enough to think that things were something…more between us when they started, but…” she took a breath to calm herself, to keep her voice from breaking any more than it already was. “But they actually became real for me. I thought…I hoped it was mutual. I wanted it more than anything.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Hells, I still do. I do care about you. Deeply. But I won’t lie, this…this hurts.”
Tears had begun to fall, rolling down her cheeks, but she still tried to keep herself as composed as she could.
Astarion truly hated himself in that moment for making her feel that way.
Worse yet, he didn’t know what to say to her. Could he even say anything to her? Something that would comfort her, in any way? He didn’t know.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I’d understand if you wanted to end things between us.”
It hurt him to say it, it was the last thing he wanted to happen. But he would not hold it against her if that was what she wanted to do. Which is why what she did next took him by surprise like nothing else had.
She hugged him.
Astarion was so taken aback by it that he didn't know how to react or what to do at first. He couldn't even remember a time when he had been hugged.
Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and found himself not wanting to let go of her once he returned the hug, her face nuzzled against him.
“That would hurt me even more.”
Her voice was a broken whisper, but he heard her nonetheless.
Syanna moved to look up at him, a weak smile on her face.
“And I literally just told you I still want us to be something more, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She cleared her throat.
“What I’m trying to say is I meant what I said. You do mean a great deal to me, and I want…us. Just us.”
He felt a gentle tug at his mind as Syanna’s tadpole tried to reach out to his own. Letting her in, he felt a sudden wave of genuine affection from her. Of warmth. He saw how she began to care for him more and more as time passed. How she enjoyed being with him, just being with him. Then, just as gently, the connection vanished.
Relief washed over Astarion at her confirmation. But he was still so, so nervous.
“I…just don’t know what ‘real’ looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing.”
He looked at her, as if waiting for a hint for what to do, how to proceed.
A small, nervous laugh left Syanna, as she placed a hand on his cheek.
“What makes you think I do?”
Gods, they were both such fools, weren’t they?
“We could just start over then?” She proposed.
“Really? Just like that?”
“Mhm.” Syanna nodded. “We could just get to know each other, actually know each other, and see where this takes us.” She paused for a moment. “And we don’t have to have sex, for as long as you need.”
“Hah, why, that almost sounds like a challenge.” He was nervous again. He didn’t know how to react. What else would he even be good for, what else could he even offer her?
“I mean it. I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Syanna looked into his eyes. “And, Astarion? I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for, darling?”
“That you felt as if you needed to force yourself to go through with this…plan. That maybe I had a hand in making you feel like that. That I didn’t realise it before. That–”
Astarion interrupted her.
“Darling, you had no way of knowing about it.”
“Still, I should have–” Realisation suddenly hit her. “Oh Gods, oh Hells, I did notice it, but I didn’t know what it was back then.” She stepped back from him, pacing anxiously. “That first night, in that clearing you took me to…that’s why…that’s why you seemed so far away, isn’t it?”
Oh. That.
He nodded, and Syanna looked mortified.
“Shit. I’m so sor-”
He interrupted her once more. “You don’t have to apologise.”
“But-”
“We’re starting over, remember? So let’s start over. Even if I have no idea what comes next.”
He didn’t want her blaming herself for what had happened before. It wasn’t her fault. If anything, she was following along with his plan and doing exactly what he wanted her to do.
Besides, her blaming herself would make him feel even worse about everything. And Astarion wanted nothing more than to start over and to make up for the lies and manipulation.
Syanna looked at him, her eyes still wide, still concerned for him.
Astarion took her hand into his own, a small smile on his face. He hadn’t expected the way things turned out, or Syanna’s reaction, but he was glad he decided to confess everything to her. What’s more, he was glad that, despite everything, he didn’t lose her.
He placed his other hand on top of hers.
What they had together was something entirely too precious to him. And this, knowing that there was still a chance for them? A chance for something real, built on honesty instead?
It was nice.