Sitting cross-legged by the fire's light, Hope stared unseeingly at the words on the page of one of Gale's books. Every time she managed to read a sentence, she'd realize she hadn't focused her attention on it and had to start over. After the sixth occurrence, she finally closed the book with a sigh and a thud, then glanced around the camp.
Gale hadn't spoken to her since before Wukeen's Rest that day, and none had brought up Raphael. He'd made it abundantly clear he knew exactly who she was, so then why continue to upkeep the ruse? The only reason she could think was that he wanted her to be 'on his side,' so to speak, which was an insane thought—she was stubborn, not stupid.
She set the book to the side and turned her attention to Astarion at his tent. He held a silver mirror in his hand, preening himself, and yet as she looked past his shoulder, she saw…nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true; she could see the camp reflected back.
Hope pushed herself to her feet and hesitantly approached. "You can't see yourself, can you?"
Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned a scowl on her. "No, I can't." But the frustration ebbed away almost immediately when he met her curious gaze.
"Do you miss it?" She asked, inching closer as he turned. "Seeing yourself, I mean."
"Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course, I miss it." He sighed.
Hope frowned. Certainly, she could find a way to let him see himself again. If there wasn't a way, then she'd create it herself.
He continued, his tone rendering near hopeless, "I've never seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
"Well, what color were they before?"
"I…I don't know. I can't remember…" He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "My face is just some dark shape in my past." Astarion threw the mirror down on the ground in agitation and lowered his voice. "Another thing I've lost."
Hope swallowed, surveying the warp of his brow, but most importantly, the desperation behind the anger in his eyes. She took a cautious step forward, studying his face—committing it to memory.
He glanced up from the ground, and his breath stilled before he softly asked, "What?"
"I see you…"
"And what do you see exactly?"
Chewing her lower lip, she managed a slight smile, "I can show you, if you'd like."
"Ooh? And how will you do that?" He asked, sarcasm dripping from his tongue as he rolled his eyes.
Hope rolled her eyes, but smiled, "Firstly, drop the attitude. I'll be back."
She left him there, eyes narrowed and confused, but she busied herself with making her way to Gale's tent. This would be no problem if he still liked her, even just a little bit. As she neared, she paused, watching him read. Part of her didn't want to bother him, but it didn't stop her.
"Uh, hey…"
Gale glanced up and forced a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Pursing her lips, she nodded, "Can I…uh, borrow a piece of paper? A pencil?"
He didn't answer at first and continued to stare at her, before sighing softly and nodding, "Of course." He gestured toward his pack. "You should find anything you need in there. Writing a sonnet, are we?"
As Hope knelt down to open the bag, she raised a brow, "What?"
"You and Astarion are…rather close, aren't you. I imagined it would be only a matter of time before you two professed to each other."
Freezing, paper and charcoal stick in hand, she lifted her gaze to his. "Wait…" She blinked, sitting back on her heels. "That's what this is about? You haven't been talking to me because I've been sleeping with Astarion?"
"No." He sighed. "And…yes. I," he relinquished another sigh and shook his head, "I don't mean for it to come across in such a way. I suppose I've not been quite myself lately."
He frowned, meeting her eyes. "I am sorry, Hope. It may have seemed as though I was ignoring you; perhaps I was, but if only to protect myself from any further heartache. I am very happy for you, and I want to see you be happy as well. There's simply a part of me that wishes that…" He swallowed, not finishing his sentence, but Hope knew how it would end.
Hope nodded slowly with understanding and breathed in before letting it out slowly. "Thank you," she met his gaze, "for the paper."
Forcing a tight smile, he nodded, "Happy to help."
This wasn't something she could make him feel better with. It wasn't like she and Astarion were serious anyway. She didn't do relationships. Yet what she was about to do felt like a very relationship thing. Maybe she should just tattoo 'hypocrite' across her forehead. It might save everyone from future headaches.
Soon, Hope sat on the stool at Astarion's tent and picked up one of the books from the nearby pile. Using the charcoal stick, she sketched a basic profile.
"What, pray tell, are you doing?" Astarion asked, leaning back on his elbows as he watched her with sly interest.
"Shh."
Rolling his eyes, he let his head hang back and smirked, "I hear Gale is quite the jealous Wizard," he said, and Hope glanced up at him with a look of warning, but he continued, "Not that I blame him," he met her eyes now, "you are, after all, delectable."
"Don't be an ass, and stop moving."
"I just complimented you," he smirked, "how does that make me an ass?"
"It doesn't. Complimenting me by insulting someone else does."
Sighing, he relented and instead focused his energy on watching her fingers. It was a long while later, at least an hour, when he asked, "Where did you learn to draw?"
Hope swallowed, answering without taking her eyes off her work, which she kept hidden from him. "My father taught me."
"Is he the one you're searching for in Baldur's Gate?"
"My family," she paused her shading, "I won't be seeing them again. Most are dead, the rest hate me."
"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Somehow I doubt that…what could you, of all people, have done to deserve that?"
Hope glanced up and met his curious red eyes as memories flashed before her, and she released a shaky sigh, "Sometimes you do and say things you can't take back. I'd rather not talk about it…"
He nodded slowly, but didn't take his gaze off her as she continued. It was far past sunset now, and everyone else had already gone to sleep. Astarion, she learned, never slept. This was helpful in situations where they needed someone to guard the camp while they rested, but also unfortunate, because she couldn't imagine shutting off her mind and letting her thoughts rest.
Now, Astarion lay back on his bedroll, and she sat on hers (the stool had become uncomfortable). She couldn't remember the last time she'd drawn, but now, looking at her nearly finished piece, she couldn't help but find a bit of pride in it. Astarion's piercing gaze stared back at her with intensity, and the lush curl of his hair brushed his forehead. Subtle lines of experience carved his skin, indicating not age, but refinement. He was the oldest person she'd ever been with, and perhaps that's what made the difference.
A hint of his fangs stood out, and Hope smiled. Hers were bigger, she knew, but his…subtle and sexy. Not retractable, though. How had he thought he could keep his secret for long? Red eyes? Pointed teeth? Nope, not suspicious at all.
Hope still held the parchment in her hands as she crawled toward his bedroll, where he still lay, staring up at the night sky. Careful not to wake the others, she positioned herself on top of him. He glanced up with an arched brow as she settled herself on his hips.
"Hm," he smirked, resting his arms under his head as he spoke in a hushed tone, "Taking a risk, are we?"
Grinning down at him, she could feel his erection harden against her. She'd be lying if she said it didn't turn her own, but that wasn't the point of his exercise.
"I'm missing an important feature of my portrait," she whispered.
"What might that be?"
Hope held up her index finger and reached forward, tapping lightly against his bottom lip. "Take a taste."
Though visibly confused, Astarion parted his lips and let her finger into his mouth. She didn't venture far. Applying pressure, his fang pierced her skin. She relished in his expression, the way his eyes rolled back as a low groan rumbled in his throat.
Hope pulled her hand away before he could get ahead of himself and let the sticky substance pool on her fingertip. Then, carefully, she dabbed it onto the iris. Turning her blood into a stain, she morphed the smoky gray into a smoldering red.
Astarion never looked away from her, heat and hunger in his eyes, but as she turned the portrait to face him, he froze. Staring at the face that was his, his expression was unreadable. For a moment, Hope worried she'd failed miserably and shouldn't have tried to show him what she saw to begin with.
He looked up and met her eyes; a shiver ran down her spine.
"This is how you see me?" He asked in a soft, croaking voice.
Hope swallowed and slowly nodded, "It is…"
Slowly, he took the portrait from her and sat up, studying it more closely. He smirked up at her, "Well, I can see why you can't stop staring at me."
She snorted, grinning as she shook her head. "Ass…"
It was all she could say before his lips were on hers, his hand holding the back of her neck firmly. It was hungry, but not in the same way as the night before. This wasn't a manic race to the finish line; this was…like a devotion. When he pulled away, his palms held her face in a calm embrace, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his.
His red gaze searched hers as his thumbs stroked her cheekbones. In a voice as soft as down, he murmured, "Thank you…"
Hope's breath shuddered, and then his lips were on hers again, stealing away her words yet again.