Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Astarion

I watch as Amara descends upon the plate of dried meats like a starved wolf. There's something about her that draws me in, and I can't look away, horrible table manners aside. I thought at first it was the familiarity, some level of comfort, or nostalgia that she offered by looking like her, but with every passing moment, the emotions she evokes morph into something new.

It's refreshing the way she doesn't hold her tongue and instead challenges me at almost every possible turn. I even like the flash of fear in her eyes when she remembers exactly who I am. Like she's staring down a snarling beast—not a friend, not yet at least, but also not her enemy. I've done my best to get that point across.

I've even given her access to the library while knowing that she's only using the opportunity to plot her escape. I'm not stupid. I noticed the way she looked down the various hallways, lingering just long enough to set them to memory as I walked her through the palace. It's the oldest trick in the book, and to be quite honest, she's been fairly reckless. I'm not sure if it's fear or arrogance. Both, I find, can be useful.

Amara looks up at me. I see that flash of embarrassment, and she lowers her eyes, placing her hand over her mouth, blocking it as she chews.

"Why do you do that?" She asks, mouth full.

"Do what?" I tilt my head to the side, just to see a flare of color on her cheeks.

"You keep watching me." She does her best to glare at me.

"What else am I to do? You're positively feral. I feel if I reached for something, I'd lose a hand." I lean back in the chair and fold my arms against my chest.

"Feral? Says the man with pointy teeth." She chuckles and rolls her eyes. "It's not that, though. You've been doing it since I first met you."

I think for a moment, weighing the potential of revealing the exact reason why she has me transfixed. Something tells me she will figure it out soon enough, but if I offer it freely, I can find a way to use it to my advantage. "To be honest, you remind me of someone."

"Someone from your past. Someone that meant a lot to you." She replies, her voice taking on a softer quality.

I smile to myself, pleased. It's been years since I've actively tried to lure someone in. I thought I had forgotten how, but I don't miss the way her breath hitches or her pupils dilate when she looks at me. With a couple words and a touch, I could have her bent over this table. The thought is tempting but somehow empty. Something inside of me roils, rejecting the imagery, almost repulsed by it. She's not a plaything or a quick fuck, but I can use the temptation to keep her here while I figure out just exactly what she is.

"Yes." I narrow my eyes. "How did you know?"

"I reckon it's the same look I get when I think I see my brother out in the streets, but she wasn't related to you. A friend? Lover, perhaps." Amara says, picking up another piece of salted ham.

I ignore her gentle prodding, but wonder if there's a tinge of jealousy behind it.

"What did happen to your brother?" The moment I ask, I can see her defenses shoot up again.

She looks around the room, lingering on the paintings on the far side of the wall. She turns and gives me a smile, that mischievous glint returning to her eye.

"Which one is she?" She asks. "If she meant so much to you, she must be in one of these portraits."

I shake my head. "She's not." Here. I think. I remember the painting we had commissioned just a few weeks before she left me. Before I changed, Before I became a man that she said she couldn't stand beside.