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They were gathering up the valuables that used to belong to their most recent opponents when Serra had a thought.
“Have you ever shot a longbow?” She raised the one she was holding (which was only a little bloody, still perfectly sellable) and gave it an experimental draw – or tried to, anyway. She winced and released it carefully. These things didn’t fuck around.
Astarion blinked at her from his crouch next to her ex-archer’s mildly dismembered friend. “Pardon?”
Fair enough, she’d sort of pulled that out of nowhere. “There’s a sharpshooter I work with sometimes, back in real life. She's a lot like you, actually – beautifully lethal, and even more so when your target doesn't know you're there, though of course there’s no competition.” She threw in a dreamy sigh and a heated glance. Astarion gave her a smirk and an ‘oh, stop it, you flatterer’ flick of the wrist while continuing to unbuckle the dead man's armor with his other hand.
Serra grinned and turned back to her corpse while she continued. “She’d been a ranger, of all things, before she got into my line of work, so she favored a longbow. Packed more of a wallop with the higher draw weight. A bit bulkier and more difficult to transport discreetly, but it's not like our little group is discreet to begin with.”
“You don't say,” he drawled, reaching across his corpse to wipe somebody’s blood off her cheek with his thumb. Which he then slowly licked clean, with significant eye contact, because he was a menace.
Serra watched appreciatively and then leaned over to kiss the side of his chin, which was one of the few clean spots on his face. “Exactly. Anyway, this reminded me of her, which made me think of you, and I thought a longbow might suit your style, if you wanted to give it a try. Just an idea.”
He frowned, thoughtful but a little hesitant. “If you think I should…”
She held up a hand to stop him. “Ah-ah! Still not your boss.” He gave her an exasperated look, but she could see the smile hiding behind it. “There’s no wrong answer. It's just about whether you want to try something new. I don't think anyone would dare suggest you're not perfectly lethal just the way you are.”
“You always say the sweetest things, darling,” he purred, but it was at least half reflex. The little wrinkle between his eyebrows was still there.
It took him a while to make decisions sometimes, especially subjective ones, so Serra turned to her dead body again and kept her voice light. “Think about it as long as you like. I'm sure there's at least one ranger with the Harpers that Jaheira would let us kidnap for lessons. Just let me know if you ever decide you’d like to give it a try.” She focused harder than she strictly needed to on a pouch with a tangled drawstring. “Or if there's anything else you'd like to learn, really. With our crew and all their connections, I'd bet we could find an expert in pretty much anything who owes one of us a favor.”
He was quiet and still for a few more moments before he returned to normal, healthy activity (rummaging through a dead man’s pockets). Serra let the subject stay dropped and passed him the fun arrows from her corpse’s quiver.
***
A day later, they were scouting ahead in the fucking sewers when he brought it up again.
“You think I could?”
“Hmm?” Serra had no idea what he was talking about at first, because that was not a helpful opener. She was also staring at the ground, looking for the quietest and least disgusting spots to place her feet. It required a lot of focus.
“Learn the longbow. Do you think I could?” They were both using the near-silent whisper they'd perfected ages ago for situations like this, when they needed to pass the time so they didn't die of boredom, but also needed to be quiet so they didn't die, period.
Serra looked up and gave him her absolute worst grin. “I think you can do anything if you try hard and believe in yourself.”
Astarion rolled his eyes, palmed the side of her face, and shoved her sideways. Serra caught her balance with no trouble and giggled silently.
“I do, though. I certainly see no reason why you couldn't,” she said a moment later, staying casual. “You're already a glorious terror with shortbows and reasonably-sized crossbows. You’d just be building on that.”
“Flatterer.”
“I mean, it's you. How could I be anything else?”
“You do make a compelling point, darling.”
Serra was playing a very long and very unsubtle game with the end goal of building up some actual self esteem under his protective veneer of exaggerated ego. Her current strategy was to just pile on the compliments so thick that some of them would have to stick, eventually, in theory. And in the meantime, they both had fun and it drove everyone around them insane, so really there were only upsides.
They continued for a few moments in a silence that she would have called comfortable if they weren't in the fucking sewers.
“Brute strength isn't exactly where I shine brightest,” he said eventually, sounding more tentative than she expected. “You don't think that would be a problem, with the draw weight?”
Serra abruptly became even less comfortable at the reminder that this was a man who was very new to certain concepts, such as you are allowed to not be perfect and failure does not always have nightmarish consequences.
She did not take a deep breath, as much as one might have helped, because they were in a fucking sewer.
Instead, she sidestepped an ominous lump that she would not be looking at more closely and shrugged. “My sharpshooter always said it’s more about technique than muscle. And if a little extra muscle would help, well, practicing the activity you want it for is probably a good way to build it.”
He was quiet for a few more moments, and Serra had a concerning thought.
“You can always try it, and if you decide you don't like it, you can stop.”
And then she was very glad she'd said it, because from the way he went still for the smallest moment, it hadn’t occurred to him. It was another new concept, after all.
Serra kept her face and shoulders relaxed, closed her eyes briefly, and gently set the rage to the side. It would keep for later, when she could work through it on her own time. (Which was usually an hour or two in the middle of the night, with a large number of cheap daggers and one very unfortunate tree.)
Astarion gave her an almost believable casual nod and retreated back to his thoughts.
Though he spotted the tripwire, thank the gods. She was still a bit distracted.
***
Six days later, Astarion collapsed face-first onto the bed next to her with a dramatic groan of pure suffering. He managed to land hard enough that she bounced, which was actually pretty impressive.
Serra set aside the sock she was darning and ran her fingers through his hair. He almost managed to not purr. “Your first longbow lesson was that fun, then?”
“Speaking as an expert, that so-called ‘ranger’ is a monster,” he announced, gravitas only slightly impaired by the fact that he was muffled by a very fluffy blanket. “I may never move my shoulders again.”
“That would be a tragedy. They're such nice shoulders.”
“Exactly. Utterly monstrous.” He turned his head a little to direct her hand behind his ear and her heart gave a little wobble. Every once in a while he'd do something like that – seek out affection he wanted like it was the most natural thing in the world – and it would hit her all over again how far they'd come.
Serra pulled herself together. “You can always tell them to fuck off, you know.” She said it lightly, but watched him carefully.
“No, no. I'm afraid it's a challenge now. I won't be defeated so easily.” His tone was relaxed enough, so she just made a mental note.
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, if it's a challenge, I suppose I'm honor-bound as both your fearless leader and your whatever-I-am to make sure you're at your best when you face it.”
He turned his head a little more, just enough to uncover one eye and twinkle up at her. “That would be the decent thing to do, darling. And we both know what a thoroughly decent, honorable, selfless hero you are.”
She narrowed her eyes, gripped his hair, and shoved his face back into the mattress. A muffled yelp and a lot of flailing ensued, followed by muffled threats. Serra was sure they would have been very intimidating if she could have understood them. And if there had been fewer muffled giggles. And if he had been making any actual effort to escape.
Eventually she took pity and released him. He turned his head the same minimal amount he had before and pouted up at her. It was surprisingly effective, considering she could see less than half his face. “I take it back. You're a monster, too.”
She grinned, fixed his curls, and gave his head an encouraging pat. “Well, my favorite monster slayer, how about we get you some nourishment to keep up your strength, and then I can rub those marvelous shoulders to help with the aches?”
A passing god must have chosen that exact moment to bless him with a healing miracle, because suddenly he was draped over her lap, fatigue gone, smile wide, and tongue very deliberately running over his fangs.
“Did I say monster? I meant absolute treasure,” he purred, and leaned in.
She smiled, tilted her head, and resumed petting his hair. “Obviously.”
***
Three days later, Serra and Astarion were in front of the hearth in their room, as close to the warmth as they could manage without scorching something, following a routine they were slowly inventing. He was straddling a chair backwards, forehead resting on his folded arms, and she was working the knots out of his upper back.
He'd come back from his lesson tonight with a newly purchased bottle of lavender-scented oil and a shy, hopeful expression. Serra was beginning to suspect this would continue to be her evening routine long after he mastered the longbow.
He was very lucky that she was so selflessly willing to spend large amounts of time with her hands all over him while he made appreciative noises and occasionally wiggled a bit. It was a great hardship, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for his sake. She'd told him as much yesterday and he’d been appropriately grateful.
He hadn't called her out for the fact that every one of her touches during these evenings was careful and caring and demanded nothing.
He also hadn't called her out for what her face had done a few minutes ago when he'd presented her with the oil and quietly suggested he might remove his shirt this time, if that was all right.
And he called her the selfless hero.
“Did you know,” he said after a while, slurring his words only a little, “that some rangers specialize in swift, stealthy murder from the shadows?”
Serra's eyebrows went up. “I did not, but I'm intrigued.”
“Mhmmmm…” It was both an agreement and a happy purr. “Apparently they're called ‘gloom stalkers.’”
Serra paused long enough that Astarion made a grumpy sound and tried to press his shoulders up into her hands. She got back to work. “Sorry. I needed a moment to take in how perfect that is.”
She could hear him smile. “Isn't it just? They might be having more fun running about in the wilderness than I'd thought.”
“It certainly sounds like it.” she said.
Then she dug her thumbs in on either side of his spine and slowly dragged them upwards. The sound he made was obscene, but she was kind enough not to comment. (Right now, at least. She'd keep it in her pocket for later.)
And when she released the pressure, he melted, and all the air he technically didn't need left his lungs in a long, lovely sigh.
Such a noble sacrifice.
“You take such good care of me, darling,” he mumbled into his arms. He’d sounded less drunk after the bear.
Her heart did a gentle somersault in her chest. Apparently they were both in the mood for a bit of quiet sweetness tonight. Serra placed a slow, soft kiss at the top of his spine and didn't even care that her lips came away covered in oil.
“It's a privilege,” she said quietly, a breath away from his skin.
He shivered.
***
Five days later, they had business in the Outer City, so they were camping outside Rivington again rather than staying at the Elfsong. It was actually nice. Serra, as a lifelong city girl, had never thought she'd miss sleeping rough, but a few things had grown on her.
Late evenings by the fire were one of them. There was something uniquely restful about being in the open air, next to the warmth and light of a crackling fire, with nothing she needed to do, nowhere she needed to be, and no one asking her for anything.
Almost everyone had gone to bed. It was peaceful. Mostly quiet – certainly quieter than the city. She relaxed and let the soft sounds of nature wash over her: rustling leaves, chirping insects, and whining vampire.
Said vampire was currently lounging in his natural habitat (a large pile of probably-stolen pillows). His thigh made quite a nice additional pillow, so Serra had stolen it for herself, lying on her back and doing absolutely nothing while he absently brushed his fingers back and forth through her hair. Her scalp tingled pleasantly with each stroke. He was also allegedly reading the book propped on his other knee, but what he was really doing was complaining.
“I signed up to learn the longbow, but now they're adding more ranger nonsense to the curriculum! As if we don't already have enough to occupy ourselves.” He clicked his tongue. “We’re only trying to save the world.”
“You don't have to let them, you know,” said Serra, not making the effort to open her eyes. “You can call it off as soon as you decide you're done.”
A grumbly noise came out of his throat. “I refuse to admit defeat.”
Now she opened her eyes. She didn't have a good view of his face from this angle, and at this point she felt she needed one. “Hey, look at me for a second?”
He did, puzzled, and she searched his face. “Is this recreational complaining, or are you actually unhappy? Are you forcing yourself? Do you want to stop?”
His eyes softened. “Purely recreational, darling. I'm… actually surprised at how much I'm enjoying it. I didn’t expect it to be fun.” He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek and gave her one of those rare sweet, quiet smiles, the ones with no theatricality at all.
Serra gave him one back. “Just wanted to check. Thank you.”
She relaxed again, letting her eyes fall closed and absently starting a set of hand stretches. Her hands were her bread and butter, after all, and she wasn't a spry fifty-something anymore.
As she slowly rotated her wrists, Astarion added, voice dry, “If you repeat that to anyone, of course, especially that monster of a ranger, I'll never forgive you. I have an image to maintain.”
“Oh, of course. Goes without saying.”
He was quiet as she continued to work her hands, spreading and bending and relaxing her fingers, first all together, then one at a time, then working through various patterns. She assumed he'd returned to his book, but as she finished the last stretch and let her hands fall to rest on her stomach, he caught the closer one and brought it to his lips instead.
She blinked her eyes open to find him watching her with that same small smile. He let her see it before stretching it into something more mischievous. “Be careful doing that kind of thing when I'm around, darling. You know how much I love your hands. I might start getting ideas.” He underlined his point with a nip to one of her knuckles, using just enough fang to sting but not enough to break skin.
Serra gave him her best bedroom eyes and dropped her voice. “Mmm, I do love how it drives you wild that I'm better with locks than you.”
He sat bolt upright and spluttered a series of deeply offended, half-coherent denials. Serra covered her mouth with her free hand so her cackling wouldn't wake anyone.
He didn't let go of the hand he held, though. He just let it rest on his thigh, still wrapped in his own.
Once he’d subsided back onto the pillows and she'd contained herself again, Serra was curious. “So what kind of ranger nonsense are they introducing?”
“It seems rangers choose a type of prey to specialize in. Conveniently, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it seems that my monstrous instructor specializes in hunting other monsters…” He paused for effect. “...including undead.”
Serra grinned deviously up at him. “Oooh. That sounds very fun.”
His grin was a perfect match for hers. “Indeed. And then there's a bit of magic as well,” he continued, letting his face relax into a more subdued smile and running his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. “Apparently rangers acquire all kinds of handy tricks.”
“Magic? Huh,” Serra said thoughtfully. Magic wasn't anything she'd really seen him dabble with, beyond using the occasional enchanted item… or spiritually wrestling a book so deeply haunted she’d eventually asked him to keep it farther away from their bed. Maybe it had been more about lack of opportunity than lack of interest. “Anything good?”
“One or two interesting spells. Hunter's Mark seems useful, and it would be nice to Misty Step without relying on jewelry, lovely as I make it look.”
He couldn't actually blush, anatomically speaking, but by now she’d learned to recognize the subtle sheepish expression that appeared when he would have blushed, if he could have.
He was doing it now. Interesting.
That flew out of her head, though, when he kept going. “And I think you might enjoy Longstrider, my dear.”
Serra’s breath caught. “You could get me within stabbing distance even faster?”
He looked down, saw what had to be sheer delight on her face, and burst out laughing. “Of course that’s what makes you swoon. I could, my murderous darling. And I could do it more-or-less permanently. Cast once as a ritual in the morning, it needs no sustained focus, and it'll have you moving at improbable speeds until I tuck you safely into bed.” He tapped her nose playfully on the last word. “I’d pity our enemies if I felt useless emotions like pity.”
“It's a ritual,” she echoed softly, violent and beautiful possibilities unfolding in front of her. And it maintained itself. He could cast it on everyone. All at once.
Imagine Shadowheart and her Spirit Guardians. Imagine Karlach.
“Mmhmm,” he purred, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Serra forced herself back to the present – and then frowned. “Don't go to all the effort of learning magic just because I'd have fun with it. Only do it if you –”
He interrupted her with a put-upon sigh and a much sharper poke to her nose. Serra scowled up at him. “Yes, darling, I know. Only if I want to. I promise I won't compromise my autonomy just for the sake of making you even more of an unholy terror.”
She chose to be generous and ignore his sing-song delivery. “Good.”
He lifted her hand to kiss it again.
***
Eight days later, Astarion entered their room and Serra barely caught herself before she fell out of her chair.
He glared at her. “I'm glad you're entertained.”
“I'm sorry,” she choked out, wrestling the laughter under control. “It’s just – you're always the most graceful person in the room. I've watched people swoon when you brush lint off your sleeve. Since we got to the city, three separate complete strangers have asked where you studied dance.”
He did not stop glaring.
“But have you ever seen, in the winter, when someone puts a little coat and boots on a puppy for the first time? And it’s like they instantly forget how to walk?”
He glared harder.
Serra dissolved into laughter again.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He noticed her noticing and pivoted seamlessly to a new bit.
“I thought you'd be supportive,” he cried in abject despair. The effect was only improved by the way he tried to throw up his arms and the pauldrons stopped them around chest height. “Here I am, working hard, trying new things, making myself vulnerable, and what do I get? Mockery.”
Serra collapsed forward over her lap. She couldn't breathe.
“Cruelty,” he continued. “I can see now it's no use. I might as well abandon the whole venture –”
“You always could, if you wanted,” Serra managed to choke out.
Oh, that was a cranky eyebrow. “Really, my dear, must you interrupt a perfectly good monologue with something as tiresome as, ugh, genuine care?”
She wiped her eyes. “My apologies, your honor. Please continue.”
“No, no, it's too late. I've entirely lost the thread.” He turned up his nose and waved a dismissive hand.
Serra's grin didn't contain an ounce of remorse. “I can only hope you'll forgive me someday.”
He looked at her sidelong and gave her a pointy smile. “I'm sure it won't take long. I'm helpless before your many charms, after all.” He clunked towards her in what she was pretty sure was supposed to be a sensual prowl. His own giggles forced him to stop after three steps and she joined in.
When she was almost under control, Serra stood and walked to him instead. “So this is what rangers wear, is it?” She gripped his shoulders and took a good look. It was a set of half plate with a minor protection enchantment. It looked a bit familiar, actually… yes, there was the long scratch down one flank from their disagreement with those petrified drow. It was an old set of Shadowheart’s.
“Apparently. Or at least it’s one option,” he grumbled, tugging at the belt. “I’ve been instructed to get accustomed to wearing it. I can't imagine I'll make a habit of it, though. My current armor is perfectly fine and I'm sure I look ridiculous.”
“Not at all. You look quite dashing, as long as you stand still. You just haven't learned how to move properly in it yet.” She adjusted a strap that had gotten twisted.
“I don't think I ever will, no matter how much I practice.” He tried to lift his arms again and grimaced. “There's some range of motion that's simply not possible with the way this cursed thing is constructed.”
Serra looked at the joints more closely and frowned when she realized he had a point. Where had she seen…? Aha, yes, Karlach’s friend's neighbor. She quickly ran through their finances in her head. It would be a bit tighter than she typically liked, but they had some recently acquired valuables they hadn't sold yet, and it had been a while since she'd coaxed Gale into parting with any of his hoarded scrolls. That would get them enough operating coin that she could spend most of what they had on hand with very little worry and only a moderate amount of shameless favoritism.
“Darling, you’ve got your planning face on.”
Serra pulled her attention back to him. “Sorry, this just reminded me – I promised Shadowheart I'd take some of the spare armor to market so we could restock our elixirs. It's early enough that I could still manage it before the shops close, so I might run out and do that now. We're almost out of Viciousness and Bloodlust.”
“We certainly can't have that. Those are two of my favorite things.” He looked down at himself and sighed. “I'd offer to accompany you, but…” He spread his arms helplessly. He clanked, and they both snickered.
Serra kissed his cheek, though she had to dodge a pauldron to do it. “Yes, you stay here and preserve what's left of your dignity. I'll make Karlach come with me and carry the heavy stuff.”
“I do love that strategic mind of yours.”
“Sweet talker. I'll see you in an hour or so. Have fun learning to walk again, little pup.” She ruffled his hair and dodged away before he could retaliate – wow, this armor really did slow him down.
He aimed a rude gesture at her but didn’t even try to not smile. Serra just wiggled her fingers over her shoulder and left.
When she got back, he was grumpily sprawled on the rug in front of the fire with a book. About half the armor was still on his body. The other half was in various places around the room, presumably wherever he'd dropped or thrown it when he’d run out of patience with that particular piece.
“I see it's going well.”
“I’ve vowed vengeance on that monster of a ranger and their line unto the seventh generation,” he said conversationally as he turned a page.
“Seems a little excessive. I would have stopped at three.” She swung the backpack off her shoulder and onto the table. She still couldn't believe how little it weighed. “Come here. I got you a treat.”
He looked up in delight, whispered an incantation, and vanished in a swirl of glowing smoke. Apparently the armor wasn't the only thing he was practicing with tonight.
Serra felt the air move behind her right before cool hands curled around her shoulders. “You're always a treat, my dear,” he murmured into her ear.
She snickered and gently flicked the side of his head. He flinched and whined very dramatically, which she of course ignored. “Very nice trick. Now save your lines for later and look at this.”
She opened the bag and withdrew a set of armor.
His voice was skeptical. “Darling, this looks suspiciously similar to the dreadful armor I'm currently wearing.”
“Wait for it,” she said with a grin. She lifted it over her head and let go.
The unwieldy collection of metal plates hit the table without a single sound. Astarion froze completely.
“What?” he breathed.
“Pick it up,” she said, feeling very pleased with herself.
He stepped around her to reach out and lift the breastplate.
The shock on his face was as good as she’d hoped it would be. “It's so light.”
“Armor of Agility,” she announced in her blandest, most professional salesperson voice. “Enchanted to preserve freedom of movement and provide extra protection, it’s completely silent and won’t interfere with any of the devastating things I know you can do with your magnificent body.”
He stood there with the armor in his hands and stared at her for a few long moments. Then his eyes narrowed. “You cheeky little liar. ‘Restocking elixirs’?”
She pulled a couple of bottles out of the backpack and grinned. “Entirely truthful. We were running out. I just forgot to mention a side trip.”
He huffed a fond little laugh, shook his head, and looked down at the armor again. “Help me get it on?” he asked with quiet excitement.
She did, with only a couple soft and affectionate unnecessary touches. Once they were done, he swung his arms experimentally in a few large circles, dropped smoothly into a low crouch, straightened his legs again, and folded over into a backbend.
“Oh, this is marvelous,” he crowed, before kicking up and over his hands to flip back to his feet and pose like a champion gymnast.
Serra stood back and enjoyed the show.
After very thorough testing, culminating in a beautiful hands-free cartwheel that almost took out the chandelier, he looked back at her, smiling like the sun.
“Does it meet your exacting standards?” Serra asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer. “You look stunning, obviously, but it's a bit more flashy and, ah, reflective than what you typically go for. I figure we can experiment with armor dye and illusions until we come up with something you like.”
Astarion looked down at himself, did a little shimmy to watch the light bounce off the intricately worked metal, and giggled. “That's probably wise. Lurking in the shadows will be a bit difficult if I'm reflecting every light source like a mirror.” He looked back up at her, and his smile was bright and beautifully uncomplicated. “But yes, other than that very solvable little issue, it's perfect. I love it. Thank you, darling.”
“You're very welcome.” Serra strode over and draped her arms over his shoulders. His hands settled on her waist.“So, is it official? Are you a ranger now? Should I have calling cards made? ‘Gloom Stalker Assassin’ has a beautifully terrifying ring to it. I'm thinking cream paper with red ink to match those pretty eyes, maybe some embossed silver accents…”
He leaned down to kiss her sweetly, and she hummed happily into it. “I suppose I do qualify as a ranger, don't I? How… novel.” He paused for a moment, quietly surprised, then shook himself and grinned. “Though I suspect calling cards would rather defeat the purpose of stalking the darkness unseen.”
Serra sighed with all the drama she could muster. “Fine, if you're going to be practical about it.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, that's me, the practical one. Everyone comments on it.” He tugged her just a little closer as she laughed, then squinted at her suspiciously. “Actually, speaking as the practical one: do I want to know how much this cost? I thought we couldn’t afford elixirs.”
Serra leaned up to kiss his cheek. “For this smile? It was a steal.”
When she pulled back enough to see him again, he was not-blushing furiously, but it quickly morphed into shocked, wicked delight. “Darling. Are you saying this time you actually –”
“No, I did not literally steal it.” She glared very seriously up at him. His smile shifted to an exaggerated pout. “We've been over this – supporting and building relationships with skilled artisans is an investment. Don't you want the option to acquire more armor as lovely as this in the future? We can't do that if the smith goes out of business or holds a grudge.”
He sighed almost as well as she had. “Fine, yes, if you're going to be practical about it.” His terrible impression set Serra off so badly she had to drop her forehead to his chest until the giggles died down. “I suppose you're right, even if you are neglecting to take into account the fact that stealing is simply more fun.”
Serra collected herself and waggled her eyebrows at him. “I never said anything about not stealing, I just said we don't steal from craftspeople.” Then she gasped and gave him her best concerned face. “Wait, does this mean you didn't have fun with me at the Counting House the other day? Because that's where most of the money for this came from. Including all the coin and jewelry from a certain high security vault that I cracked open special just for you.”
Astarion froze and stared at her. “Cazador paid for this armor?”
She couldn't read his face, but she maintained her smile. “The largest part of it. With contributions from Gortash and that hack of a wizard who wanted Aylin, among others. It’s very nice armor, after all, it wasn't chea–eep!”
Serra almost failed to finish her sentence due to the vampire that had apparently decided to suffocate her. He’d wrapped his arms around her, too tight for comfort. He'd also buried his face in her neck, though if he was hungry, the angle was all wrong.
He didn't move for several long moments. Which was not a problem. Her lungs were only collapsing a little bit.
“Astarion?” Serra was eventually forced to ask. Her voice did not sound as normal as she had aimed for. “Is everything all right?”
He loosened his arms enough for her to breathe but otherwise didn't move. His voice was muffled and a little tight. “‘Is it all right,’ she asks, after gifting me armor Cazador couldn't afford and casually telling me she'd bankrupted him to do it.”
Serra quietly released a breath in relief, relaxed into his arms, and let her hands sink into his hair. He pressed his face against her a little harder.
She kissed the side of his head. “We bankrupted him together. And I've got to keep you safe, haven't I? I promised.”
Astarion made a very small sound and squeezed her a little tighter. Serra stroked his hair.
Then she sighed, playing it up but also genuinely disappointed. “Also, I'm sorry to tell you, but we probably didn't actually bankrupt him. We only got his liquid assets, and I'm sure most of his wealth is tied up in real estate and other investments –”
Astarion laughed so hard he nearly took them both to the floor.
***
Seven days later, Serra was able to Misty Step clear across the ritual circle, because Astarion had given her the amulet he didn't need anymore.
She pulled him free of the sickening red glow almost before it fully gripped him and pressed his bow back into his hands.
Cazador was still gloating when Astarion gripped him with vivid green magic and put arrows through his throat and both lungs.
And several long, brutal, bloody minutes later, Astarion decided he didn't need a ritual to make himself stronger.
***
Too few hours later, Serra woke, groaned, and tried to burrow under the cool weight beside her.
It laughed softly and spoke. “Good morning, my love.”
Something big and warm filled her chest at the new pet name. (Maybe it wasn't technically new, but even if the words were the same, everything about how he said them was completely different. It counted. She was allowed to be emotional.) She pressed her face against him even harder.
A hand brushed her hair. “Feeling all right?”
She made dissatisfied grumbling noises and kept trying to burrow into him until he sighed and rearranged them so she was being cuddled properly. “M’fine. Tired. Sore. Short on blood. And someone kept me up late. But I'm fine.”
“So I shouldn't plan any more late night outings for us?” She could hear his eyebrows get involved in that sentence.
“I never said that and you know it.” She tried to punch his chest, but he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, the rotten cheat. Her rotten cheat. She sighed happily. “It was worth it. All of it. It’s worth a thousand times what it cost. I'm just feeling it a little today.” She yawned and held him tighter. “You?”
A kiss brushed her hair and his arms got tighter too. “I won't pretend that it isn't… a lot. But overall I feel… good.” He sounded surprised, but sincere.
Serra hummed in contentment. “Good. And I'll feel good as new once I go see Jaheira. Just don't wanna get up yet.”
“Luckily for both of us, you don't have to.”
Before Serra could ask what he meant, a very familiar soothing coolness swept over her, and her light-headed exhaustion vanished.
She sat bolt upright, fully awake in an instant. Her eyes darted around, searching for the healer and how they'd made it into their room without her noticing, because that was the kind of thing that would get her killed someday. But they were alone.
And a blue glow was just fading from Astarion’s hand.
Serra's jaw dropped. “You sneaky little shit. You learned a Restoration spell?”
“I did,” he said as he sat up to join her. His face was both bashful and proud and it was unspeakably adorable. “It takes as much power as a Misty Step and I can only manage that twice a day at best.” He sighed and looked almost ashamed, which she was not okay with, but he was still talking. “I've been hesitant to spend so much first thing in the morning – we had plenty of healers about and I was worried I might need everything I had at any moment. But now… well. I feel a little bit less like I'm in constant peril. Can't imagine why.”
Serra breathed the smallest laugh at that – acknowledging the joke but not interrupting.
He looked down to take her hands. “So I feel safe using the power now, instead of… hoarding it, out of fear.”
Her heart stuttered a little at hearing those words – I feel safe – from him again, but she sternly told it to keep beating because he still wasn't done.
“And it's long past time for me to start taking care of you, sometimes. I want to try, anyway.” His voice was soft and low, and when he looked up again, his smile was small and quiet and a little lost and absolutely perfect. “I have no idea what I'm doing, as always, but this seemed a decent place to start.”
Serra squeezed his hands, probably too tight. Something truly ridiculous was happening in her chest and she was about to burst with it, but he needed to know… “It's not a burden. You should be taken care of.” She aimed for a teasing grin but could already feel it going wobbly. “You’re a handful sometimes, but I mostly enjoy it, and… you trust me to do it. That’s…”
He leaned closer and pressed his forehead to hers. “I know. You've made that all very clear, my love. But you should be taken care of, too.” Then he looked up through his lashes and gave her something like a smirk, but much too soft around the edges. “Besides, maybe I'm just tired of you having all the fun. Maybe I want a turn.”
Serra laughed and kissed him.
***
Some unknowable amount of time later, when they finally joined the crew for a late breakfast, Serra was half-listening to Astarion interrogate Lae’zel about how she managed to double the speed of her attacks now and then.
She smiled into the cup of tea he'd brought her. It was horribly oversteeped, but that was fine. Nothing a little extra sweetness couldn’t fix, and he'd get better with practice.