Astarion x M!Reader

Sixteen

Humming softly, you rested your head on the edge of the tub, your eyes closed tightly and listened to the splashing of the water while Astarion washed himself.

He still didn't want to be looked at, but the thought of being alone, completely alone with just himself and his thoughts, seemed to frighten him even more.

His body writhed under every gaze you inadvertently directed at him. Sometimes a whimper escaped him, like a child who had lost his parents in the crowd and was now completely alone in the world of adults.

He rested his head on his knees. Every single part of his spine pressed against his thin skin. He looked like a figure made of glass, a treasure to be wrapped in silk so that it wouldn't get scratched. Or put him on a shelf so that everyone could admire him.

But Astarion felt more like a songbird in a cage. A merchant had once tried to sell you such a little one. It had been a beautiful bird, with a colourful plumage and a puffy chest. It had sung during the presentation but a few days later the joy had faded and it had sat sadly on its perch. The feathers had then lost their colour and soon fell out.

Death had already wrapped its fingers around the little voice when Lorelei had set it free out of pity.

All of a sudden the bird had changed and had sung like never before, had taken to the sky and after a while had returned to your garden to sing every morning from then on.

Astarion reminded you of this little bird. He was also trapped in a cage and it threatened to kill him. If only there had been a way to open the cage door for him. But then the bird would still have had to have the will to fly out on its own, towards freedom.

"How distressing...", you suddenly mumbled out loud.

Taken by your voice, Astarion looked down at you. Again he took his time to watch you, you could feel his eyes on your body.

It was really strange. Sometimes he had a snippy voice with a kind of defiance like no other. Then he was afraid and then he looked at you as if you were the most dangerous predator he would ever meet.

He couldn't seem to make up his mind. The fear that had grown from experience, the vigilance he had learnt to maintain and the curiosity that prevented him from fleeing immediately all wrestled within him.

He was everything and yet nothing, a man like no other and yet a little boy who trembled at the sight of shadows outside his window.

"My master...", he whispered, and it was not certain whether he was addressing you or talking about Cazador.

You assumed it was the latter and raised your head, just high enough to look at him. His eyes travelled downwards. Your gazes met.

Alert red kissed soft (E/C).

You gave him a smile.

"Cazador, I presume.", you said, sitting up beside the tub to reach for a sponge floating on the surface.

Thick drops of water fell from the fibres onto the still surface. Astarion stared at the small waves before destroying them with his hands.

"Nobody is allowed to call him that.", he said and formed his hands into a bowl to wash his stained face.

A little colour returned to his cheeks.

"He insists on this awful name.", you said, lifting the sponge to his shoulder but waiting. "He is vain."

"You said that already.", he didn't move so you allowed yourself to scrub his torso gently.

A twitch coursed through his body. His breath trembled. But he held still.

Silence again. Only the water filled the room with life.

"You know him well, my master.", he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as you patted the bruises on his neck. "From where?"

A shiver crawled down your spine. Old memories tortured your soul again. Just as it had been then, so long ago.

You had hoped that time had healed this wound, but it seemed that it would never heal and was festering. It festered like a wound could only fester and poisoned your mind.

The corners of your mouth twitched. You weren't sure whether to laugh or growl.

Astarion seemed to notice. His eyebrows furrowed and a guilty expression in his eyes, he turned his head away.

"My apologies.", he whispered. "I shouldn't have asked."

You shook your head and started washing him again.

"No, it's not your fault.", you had to take a deep breath before you continued. "Cazador... Well, he wasn't always called that."

Curiosity flared up in him again.

"What's his real name?"

You shook your head.

"I don't remember. But I'm glad I don't."

His eyes narrowed. You cradled the back of his neck. You noticed two small puncture wounds on his neck.

The pallor made the scars look slightly bluish-purple. That was the spot where Cazador had bitten him. A poorly chosen spot, very close to the carotid artery and deadly if one bit too deeply.

It seemed Astarion was supposed to die. But he was still here, so there must have been something that Cazador found worthy to live on.

"Who forgets a friend?", there was a little condemnation in his voice.

You snorted.

"Bad friends aren't really friends.", you said. "They're enemies who don't want to get their hands dirty with your downfall."

A flicker of anger crossed his face. That was loyalty to his master.

"How well do you think you know him.", he hissed.

"Well enough.", you replied.

"I doubt that!"

You didn't try and argue. There was no point in explaining to a blind man that the sea was blue. He wouldn't believe it because he had never been taught otherwise.

But you knew the truth. So much so that the scar under your belly button tightened so drastically that you thought it would tear at any moment and your blood would soak the tiles.