Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

"Isn't this dangerous?" Vesra asks as she watches me tighten the laces on the front of my short stays.

I shake my head. "I know those streets like the back of my hand." I say, tying off the laces and adjusting the bodice, my hands running over the long white shirt I'm wearing underneath until I hit the belt where my dagger is secured.

The truth is, I can't tell if I'm lying or not. It has been months since I set foot in the taverns that I frequented while under King's employment. I cannot even fathom the shift in power that happened after he disappeared. Without a doubt, a new player has clawed their way up from the depths. I wonder if it will be someone that I know, someone that I can trust.

"Besides," I continue, "Astarion is going to be with me, and Drystan also volunteered to keep an eye out for us."

Vesra visibly cringes at that. "I do feel better with Lord Astarion accompanying you."

I haven't been blind to the change between her and Drystan. Even though I've been wrapped up in my feelings for Astarion, it hasn't been hard to miss Vesra's absence most days and Drystan not hovering as much as he usually would. I took it as him finally trusting me, but perhaps it is deeper than that. If anyone deserves happiness, it is them.

"What is bothering you?" I ask, making a show of checking my dagger, then walk across the room to the dresser that she is leaning against.

"Everything." She laughs to herself, feeding the fabric of her skirts between her claws. At first, wrinkling them, then smoothing them back. "Your hand more than anything."

I look down at the silvering flesh, the scar is overtaking more of my palm and half of the back of my hand, with thick tendrils cracking up my wrist. I flex my hand experimentally. Still mine. Part of me wonders if Moria will take me piece by piece, if the last of my flesh will go silver and I will lose control of it, or if it is only when I turn completely silver.

Reaching out, I grab the pair of leather gloves from the top of the waist-high dresser and slip them over my hands. They cover enough of the scar not to draw undue attention to it.

"It bothers me too." I say, slipping the other glove on and squeezing my hand into a fist. "I don't feel different. I just feel—like I'm waiting for something."

There's no reasoning behind the spread of the silver or how much or how little it will change from day to day. It's been two days since we spoke to Gale, and Astarion directed his spawn to sweep the city for a hint of Matthias' whereabouts. Time is not on our side if he has gone into hiding. It might mean that his affliction has progressed farther than mine, and he's ready to make his move.

"You're coming back," Vesra says.

It's not a question or a request, but a fact. Whatever happens tonight and whatever we find, I will be returning to the palace one way or another. I want her to be right. If I were religious, I would say a small prayer to the gods, but after meeting one, I know it wouldn't be answered. All I can do is hope.

I look up and watch her yellow eyes follow my hands before looking back at me.

"I am." I say, holding out my non-scarred hand for her.

She takes it, squeezing before letting out a laugh and pulling me into an embrace.

"The palace has changed with you here." Vesra whispers, "He has changed with you here, and I am grateful for it."

For a moment, I don't know what to do with my hands, but I settle them around her tight grip. I let out a breath and squeeze her back just as hard, smiling to myself. It feels like the first time in my life I can relax and not worry about having a knife in my back. For now, at least. These few fleeting moments of safety are more than enough reason to face Matthias, if not for my own future but for the future of those I have grown to care for.