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The fire had burned low. The others had drifted off. Halsin among them, stretched out beneath the quiet canopy of trees, utterly at ease in a way that felt almost offensive tonight.
Scratch and Sniff were curled up together, a tangled mess of feathers and fur, both snoring happily beside the dying fire. Content and oblivious. Not far off, Riven’s raven familiar, Quothe, ruffled his feathers and nuzzled deeper into the thick pelt of her wolf companion, Corre. In turn, Corre sighed and stretched, closing his big golden eyes and relaxing into sleep.
Riven envied them. Their worlds were simple. Clear. Their instincts never steered them wrong.
But then again, animals were always easier. It was part of the reason why she preferred them, and the wilderness. She always knew what an animal was thinking. Animals never hid or deceived. They were honest. She could trust them to show their nature and then stay true to it.
People were harder. Much, much harder.
She crossed the camp, heading straight for Astarion’s tent. He would still be awake, and the weight in her heart wouldn’t allow her to put this off any longer.
He lounged against a fallen log, one leg stretched out, a goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. Even here, completely relaxed on the ground, he carried a refined sort of grace that often took Riven by surprise. He didn’t look up as Riven approached, but the corner of his mouth curled.
“Well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t my very popular little adventurer.”
Riven stopped a few steps away. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Mmm. Shocking.” He took a slow sip, then finally glanced at her, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “I suppose I should thank you. I never realized just how… talented our dear druid is. You’ve been keeping him all to yourself. Positively criminal.”
There it was. Easy. Polished. Effortless.
A performance. Riven had learned by now to recognize when he was performing, and when he was being genuine.
Or, she thought she had, anyway. Today, she’d been very, very wrong. And she hadn’t realized until far too late.
She didn’t return his smile. She didn’t respond with her usual snark and sass. Their usual game of trying to one-up the other in teasing wasn’t what she wanted now.
Something in her silence must have landed, because his expression flickered, just for a heartbeat, before settling back into that familiar, practiced ease.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to get shy on me now,” he continued lightly. “After all that? Bit late for modesty, don’t you think?”
“Astarion.”
She said his name softly, but it cut through the air like a blade.
He stilled. The goblet paused halfway to his lips.
“…What?” he asked, quieter now, though the edge hadn’t quite left his voice.
She took a step closer. “When we were there. With the twins.”
He paused for a heartbeat. Then his gaze slipped away, drifting somewhere over her shoulder. “Yes, I recall. Hard to forget, really.” That familiar smile, the flirtatious look he gave her, the look that normally set her blood on fire, now made her skin crawl. “You were quite the spectacle.”
“You weren’t there.”
That got his attention.
His eyes snapped back to hers, sharp, assessing, a flicker of something wary beneath the surface.
“I was right there, darling,” he said, a touch too quickly. “Unless you’ve suddenly taken to hallucinations. Though I suppose stranger things have happened lately—”
“You checked out.”
Silence. It stretched, thin and taut as a drawn wire.
Astarion’s smile didn’t vanish. It just… froze. Like a mask that had slipped slightly out of place.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Riven studied him. Watched the way his body went still. The way his eyes sharpened with a frantic, almost frightened look before he slammed his playful demeanor back into place.
She’d seen that in his face enough to know that he was feeling cornered. He’d get defensive if he felt like he was being attacked.
So she knelt down beside him and put a reassuring hand on his.
“You went distant,” she said gently. “Like you weren’t really there anymore.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he might laugh it off again. Turn it into a joke, a tease, something easy and untouchable.
Instead, he looked away. He wasn’t just still anymore, but tense. Rigid.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not.” She kept her voice low, calm. Steady. She kept her hand on his, her thumb gently caressing the back on his hand. “And I’m not angry.”
It always felt so strange to hear herself say those words.
Of course she wasn’t angry. She hadn’t been angry when he’d asked to slow down the sexual part of their relationship, she hadn’t been angry when he’d confessed his feelings for her and admitted to using her in the beginning, and she hadn’t been angry when he’d lost himself to the abuse and helplessness he’d suffered when they’d infiltrated Cazador’s palace and killed him.
And she wasn’t angry now. But she’d learned that it usually helped him to hear her say the words, as strange as they felt to say. Because he was used to anger. Used to that anger turning sharp, and hitting him where it would cause the most pain. He was used to keeping those walls up around all his most vulnerable parts, in an effort to protect against pain.
And tonight, she needed that vulnerability. Which meant she had to be careful with her words, she had to reassure him that he wouldn’t be hurt, that he was safe with her.
“I just—” She hesitated, choosing her footing carefully. “I want to understand what happened. That’s all.”
He flashed her his most charming smile. “Is that all?” he asked, that playful disguise on full display now. “That’s easy. We had the most delightful time with some very delightful people. Didn’t you enjoy it? You certainly looked like you did. Sounded like it, too.”
“Astarion.”
He scoffed, the pleasant disguise vanishing in an instant. “This is the part where you’re supposed to laugh and tease me about being even louder.”
“Astarion.”
There was another long pause.
The night hummed softly around them, crickets, distant wind through the trees, the faint crackle of dying embers.
Astarion exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
“You really do have a talent for ruining perfectly enjoyable evenings,” he muttered.
There it was again. Deflection, sharp and practiced. But softer now. Thinner. Riven didn’t rise to it. She squeezed his hand.
“Talk to me, my love.”
Astarion closed his eyes. Just for a moment.
When he opened them again, the usual brightness was dimmed, like a curtain had been drawn back just enough to glimpse something raw underneath.
“…It was nothing,” he said, though the words lacked conviction. “Just a moment. People drift, darling. It happens.”
“Astarion, I know what it looks like when you’re doing something you don’t want to do,” she said, letting the faintest hint of bite into her voice. “You slept with me when you didn’t want to. More often than when you did.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “Absolutely not,” he started to protest. But he stopped when he saw the droll look she gave him.
He faltered, then tried again. “It was never like that with you.”
“You didn’t care for me at first,” she reminded him. “You didn’t even like me. Which is fine, because I thought you were a smug, entitled little shit. You seduced me, even though you didn’t want it.”
“You could have made it a little more difficult,” he muttered, still grasping for humor. Normally, Riven would have bitten back with her own playful barb, but tonight, she let the comment go unanswered.
“I know what it looks like when you don’t want it,” she said again. “And do you remember what I told you after we met Araj?”
“Surely you don’t expect me to remember every word of every conversation we’ve had.”
“I told you that I will never, never try to push you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” he asked with an easy laugh. “My dear, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You haven’t pushed me to do anything. I’m the arbiter of my own destiny, and it’s marvelous.”
Riven sighed. Usually, it wasn’t nearly this difficult to get him to open up. “If you don’t want to talk about it now, I’ll respect that,” she said quietly. “But we do need to talk about this. I need it.”
Astarion was quiet for a moment, studying her. Then, after a long moment, he rolled his eyes.
“Might as well get it out now, then,” he said. “What is it you want to say?”
He was still guarded. Still defensive. Still trying to deflect. Riven knew she wouldn’t be able to get any real vulnerability from him until she showed him a little of her own, first.
“I don’t ever want to be a moment you have to force yourself through. I’d never be able to forgive myself for making you do something you didn’t want to do. But today, I feel like that’s exactly what I did.”
His eyes widened, his face slack with genuine shock. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice lower now. He turned more fully to her, setting the goblet down to take her hand in both of his. “No, my love. You’re the one who freed me from that. I could never feel that way about you. I want you. I will always want you. Mind, body, and soul.”
“You didn’t want to today,” she said. “And I didn’t see it. I didn’t realize what was happening until it was over. I pushed you into that, and… And I didn’t…”
“Riven, stop.”
He was silent for a moment, staring at her. Then, his eyes lowered.
“…I thought I wanted it,” he said finally.
No charm. No flourish. Just truth, stripped bare.
“I did want it,” he corrected himself quickly, almost defensively. “Or at least—” He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I did at first.”
Riven stayed quiet, giving him space to sort through his thoughts.
“I said yes,” he went on, his voice tightening. “Enthusiastically, if I recall. Hard to miss, really. I wasn’t exactly subtle about it.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to keep saying yes,” she said gently.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “I know that,” he snapped, a flash of irritation breaking through. Then, quieter, “I know that.”
Another pause.
“…I just don’t always know when I shouldn’t,” he admitted.
There it was. The heart of it.
Astarion let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking slightly as if something inside him had finally loosened its grip.
“For two hundred years,” he said, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the firelight. “Wanting didn’t really factor into it. There was… what was expected. What was necessary. What kept me… safe.” His mouth twisted faintly. “Or as close to safe as I was ever allowed to be.”
He lowered his gaze, to where he still held her hand in his.
“And now I’m free, and suddenly I’m supposed to just, what? Know the difference?” he scoffed softly. “Between wanting something and… thinking I should?”
Riven began caressing the back of his hand again. Slowly, reassuringly.
“I didn’t mean to push you into something,” she said.
“You didn’t,” he replied immediately, sharp and certain.
That, at least, he didn’t hesitate on.
“You asked,” he continued, quieter now. “I said yes. Repeatedly, enthusiastically, and with what I’m sure was considerable flair.” A faint ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “If anyone’s to blame for my questionable decisions, it’s me.”
But Riven shook her head. “No,” she insisted. “This isn’t something you have to carry on your own. I’m here, Astarion. I can help you. I want to help you.”
His eyes flicked to her again, a soft smile curling the edges of his lips. “That is… kind of you.”
“Do you want to slow down again?” she asked gently. “On sex?”
But he shook his head decisively. “No,” he answered. “No, that is something I do know, with unwavering certainty. I want you, my darling. Always and forever.”
“So maybe we can slow down on including other people.”
He hesitated, pondering that. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “As much as it pains me to admit, your pet druid may be growing on me. And even the twins were beautiful, and remarkably talented. I… I don’t think today can be summed up as simply as not enjoying the partners.”
“What was it, then?”
He rolled his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said, frustration roughening his voice. “That’s the damned crux of it. I don’t know what happened. What changed between thinking I wanted it, and realizing I didn’t. I don’t even think there was a specific conscious realization.”
“I shouldn’t have put you in that position in the first place.”
He scoffed. “I’m not a child, darling. I am capable of making my own decisions.”
“Are you?” she challenged. But she regretted the words, and the sharpness in her voice, as soon as she’d asked the question. “No,” she said quickly, before he could answer. “That was unfair of me.”
Astarion gave her a gracious smile. “I understand,” he said softly. “And perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m still learning the difference between what I want and the role I’ve been conditioned to play.”
He nudged her shoulder, a hint of that playfulness coming back. “Though I also think you’re putting too much weight on this.”
“On making you have sex with four other people, when you didn’t want to?”
He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t make me do a gods damned thing,” he said. “I said yes. At no point was I coerced or forced into it. It was my choice. It was just the wrong one.”
He flashed her his usual charming grin. “But look at me. I’m still my same, glorious self. I’m not off somewhere, crumbling into a thousand pieces, making angels weep with the depth of my agony. I’m fine. And I have to admit, I did genuinely enjoy parts of it. Halsin was… quite thorough in his attentions.”
Riven bit her lip, hesitating. Astarion saw, and squeezed her hand. “Would I rush off to participate in another orgy tomorrow? Probably not, but I don’t regret it. I don’t blame you, or anyone, for what happened. I misjudged my own feelings about the situation, and that’s unfortunate, but you’re sitting here, all sour and gloomy, as if this is some terrible trauma I’ve been forced to endure at your hand. Trust me, if the occasional orgy with a group of very beautiful and generous lovers is the worst thing to happen to me for the rest of the century, I’ll be a very happy man.”
Riven knew he was trying to lighten the mood, trying to make her feel better. “Your consent is important to me,” she said.
“I did consent,” he pointed out.
“Your enthusiastic, continued consent is important to me,” she corrected. “And it’s alright if you don’t know how to give it, yet. Perhaps it’d be better to slow down, until you’re more sure what that means.”
His stare went hard. “No,” he said firmly, his voice almost a growl. “Cazador has taken enough from me, and now he’s dead. I’m not letting that dead bastard take this from me, too.”
“You’re not losing anything,” she urged. “There’s nothing I want more than you. You know that. Waiting doesn’t bother me. You’re still mine, and I’m still yours. That won’t change.”
She moved closer, reaching up to take his face in her hands, turning him to look at her. “That will never change, Astarion. I’ll keep saying it, as many times as you need to hear it.”
He sighed, leaning into her touch, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t always know what I want,” he admitted, his hand moving to rest on her wrist as she touched his face. “But I know I want you. I know I want this.”
“I’m yours,” she told him. “This is yours. You don’t need to earn it. It’s yours.”
He took a deep, shaky breath. “That matters to me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “More than you could possibly know.”
He straightened up, then, moving away just enough to be able to meet her eyes. A mischievous glint flashed in those red depths. “But I promise you, your body is a delicacy that I truly savor. I’m not willing to give it up. Not for anything.”
“It’ll be just us, then,” she said.
“I think I’d be interested in including your druid again. Occasionally.” His eyes went a bit distant. “He’s… Oh, I don’t know, he’s different. More honest, maybe. It was… refreshing.”
Riven was unsure. “Astarion…”
But he straightened all the way up, pulling away from her. “I am not a child, my dear. I may still be learning what I want, but I am allowed to figure that out on my own terms. I don’t need coddling.”
Riven sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He offered her a gentle smile. One of his rare genuine ones. “But it helps,” he said, reaching for her hand again. “Knowing that you’re here, by my side. That you’ll be here to help me figure it out.”
That brought a smile. “Always.”
They were silent for a moment, and she could almost feel the weight around his heart. It may be lifting, yes, but still there. Perhaps a hint of it would always stay with him. Perhaps two hundred years of unimaginable, unending torture just wasn’t something a person could every truly heal from.
But that was alright. He’d won. He’d broken that vicious cycle of pain and abuse, and his life was now his own. He'd have all the time in the world to figure out what that meant.
He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm. “Stay with me tonight,” he requested, his voice almost casual.
Riven smiled at him. “Of course, my love.”