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1.
The man is pale, with cold red eyes and unbelievably soft looking lips. Lyra feels a strange tug in her sternum when he looks at her, one that she ignores.
“Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”
Lyra almost sighs. She’s tired, she’s weakened. There’s blood on her boots and she doesn’t quite like the idea of killing another creature.
“I suppose. One moment.”
She approaches, eyes searching the long grasses swaying in the subtle breeze. There is a figure hiding amongst them, something small. She tries to keep her footfalls light as she slips closer.
There is a sudden rustle, and a boar leaps out from the field, dashing away in fear. She blinks.
“I don’t think that was-”
He’s on her before she can finish, blade pressed to her throat. They both fall to the floor. The dagger is sharp. It digs into her neck slightly, and she winces as a drop of blood slips down and sinks into the dirt.
He shushes her as she struggles, with a voice like a deadly poison. “Shh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”
One part of her flares in anger at how quickly he was able to come up behind her. Another marvels at it.
She chooses to expressly listen to the anger, and bashes the back of her skull into his forehead as hard as she can.
2.
Lyra breathes in the soft quiet of the forest, and follows the whisper of the trees to find him. She comes to a small grove, moonlight catching against the grass.
“There you are.” Astarion appears, emerging effortlessly from the darkness between the trees. Lyra jumps. “I’ve been waiting.”
“R-Right.” She tries to calm the trill of her heartbeat. He tilts his head, amused. “Try to make some noise next time?”
“My noise will entirely depend on your performance.” His tone is dripping in innuendo. He smirks, eyes dark and sensual in a way that seems almost rehearsed.
Lyra slips closer, breathes, “What do you want?”
Something catches in his expression, a flicker in the eyes, there and gone again. He slides an arm around her waist, guiding her to a nearby tree. He lowers his face until their lips are barely touching.
“You.”
3.
“Something wrong, darling?”
Lyra flinches, hastily wiping her face. “You need to stop doing that.”
She’s curled against the base of a tree – though it could hardly be called a tree, really. Its bark is dark and mottled, shrivelled in a way that looks painful. Lyra hates it. Fucking Shadowfell.
“I’m an incredible rogue. It’s in my nature.” He slides down against the trunk of the tree, their shoulders almost touching. “Are you going to tell me what the matter is?”
“Do I have to?”
“...No.”
“Good.” She crosses her arms like a petulant child. Astarion sighs in response.
Lyra looks at him. Looks away. Sniffles. Wipes her nose. Resolutely stares at the ground.
“I don’t like it here.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Does anyone?”
“It’s cold and it’s dark and everything is dead.”
“Wonderful observations, darling.”
“It’s like the life has been completely sucked out of this place. This is the worst feeling I’ve ever had.” She feels traitorous tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes. Her chest feels tight. “I’m-I’m scared, Astarion. I’ve never left home and now I’m in this terrible nightmare land with a worm in my brain. I miss the forest. I miss trees that were alive. I even miss Baldur’s Gate.” Her voice shakes. “I sound like such a child.”
Astarion straightens. “We all sound like children every now and again, don’t we?” he asks evenly. He admits, quieter, “I’ve never left Baldur’s Gate either. Two hundred years of torture and I still get a bad feeling when I look at this place. And, well. You have something good to miss.”
She blinks away her tears, and slides closer, selfishly wanting more contact. Astarion allows her to press their shoulders together. When she starts to sob – quiet, jerking things that sound like they’re being punched out of her – he even puts his arm around her shoulder. He stays quiet when she pushes her face into the crook of his neck. Her tears are warm against his cold skin. He watches the unchanging black sky until her cries subside.
Finally, she says, words muffled against his neck, “Please don’t tell the others.”
She pulls herself away, eyes reddened and puffy. “This situation is bad enough. They need me to be strong. I’m not–” She swallows. “I’m not weak.”
He watches her carefully. “I know.”
“Just please don’t tell them. They can’t know.” They can’t know I was afraid. They can’t know I’ve been terrified ever since I woke up on the nautiloid.
He watches her for a moment, eyes searching. Then, he nods. “As you wish.”
4.
She is yanked from sleep with his warm whisper against the shell of her ear.
“Lyra.”
She gasps, leaping up in her bed. “For fuck’s sake, Astarion!” She clutches the sheets with white knuckles. “I almost had a heart attack.”
He has the decency to look apologetic. “Er, sorry, I just–” He nudges her foot. “Move over.”
She gains a questioning look in her eyes, but dutifully shuffles to one side of the bed, allowing him to climb in and pull the sheets over his lap. She glances at the window to find the full moon rising steadily – it’s almost midnight.
“What is it?”
“I’d like to show you something.” His eyes gleam in the darkness. The others are sleeping soundly, unperturbed by Astarion’s sneak attack.
“Can’t it wait till morning?” Lyra says through a yawn, stretching her arms out above her head.
He sighs dramatically and drapes himself over her lap. “Oh, don’t be a bore, Lyra.”
She pauses mid-stretch, taking in the whole of him. After the fight yesterday, he seemed tired. Strangely quiet, deeply pensive. Now, only a few hours later, his eyes seem brighter. His smile comes easier than she’s ever seen it come. It’s the look of a man who is finally, totally free. It sends a warm spreading feeling of pride through her chest.
She slides her hand into his hair. “All right, then. Where are we going?”
He grins, showing a hint of his pointed teeth. “You’ll find out when we get there.”
5.
Lyra leans in closer to the mirror until her breath fogs the glass. She clumsily dabs the pink tint onto her lips.
“Need some help, my love?”
She yelps, jolting forward and banging her forehead on the mirror. Her finger slips and draws a thick smear of pink down her chin.
When she looks at the mirror, it only seems to be her, but when she turns she finds Astarion, blinking in shock.
“How do you do that?”
He muffles a laugh into his palm. “My apologies. I forgot that you needed a warning.”
She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “Go away.”
“And miss out on the chance to see how hilariously you’ve fucked up your makeup? Absolutely not.”
She pulls her head from her hands to glare at him, stubbornly refusing to wipe the smudge of lip tint from her chin.
“You’re such a prick.”
He hums, licking his thumb before wiping at her face. “And you have absolutely no hand-eye coordination.”
She huffs. “You were saying quite the opposite last night.”
“Ooh. Am I detecting a hint of sass?” He grins, reaching for the powder to place on her cheeks. “Why are you prettying yourself up so much? Everyone there has seen you fresh in the morning, on the brink of death and covered in blood, not to mention that time you fell into the sewer water.”
“Please do not mention that.” He laughs again. “We haven’t seen them in six months , Astarion. It’s important.”
“I know,” he says, earnestly. “If it helps, you don’t look half bad. Not as good as me, of course, but you do clean up quite nicely.”
She snorts. “ Such a prick.”
+1.
Astarion creeps closer, slipping through the shadows. Lyra stands with her back to him, humming out of key as she carefully pots a young orange tree.
He reaches her, and pounces, arms extending to wrap around her waist.
But she is ready. She flips around, holding the orange tree in one fist, her expression unbearably smug. Astarion freezes, his arms halfway in the air.
“Trying to scare me?”
He pouts. “How did you know?”
She smiles, turning back around to place the orange tree in the pot. “I could recognise your footfalls in sleep, love.”
He grumbles, wrapping himself around her frame. He tucks his chin over her shoulder. “My footfalls are completely silent.”
“Your breaths are very loud.”
“I hold my breath when I’m sneaking.”
“Your heartbeat.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie.”
She smiles, amused. “Perhaps it’s just that you have an unmistakable presence.” She kisses the side of his face. “Perhaps it’s just that I could close my eyes and pinpoint your exact location in any room.”
“...Did the floorboards creak?”
“Yes, but let’s just pretend it’s the romantic reason, hm?”
He laughs, and relents.