“Issa ao?  Nyke vondēror kesīr nyke rhaenagon kesor sagon drējie.  (Are you?  I wonder if I will find that to be true.)” 

When he bids her sit,  she does so without ceremony.  Her mask comes to rest beside the wine flagon upon a low table,  its curling horns catching the candlelight before she abandons it there,  and Gossamer slips onto the neighboring cushion with a fluid,  feline effortlessness;  a knee folds beneath her,  her spine elongates as she reclines,  and she watches him as carefully as he watches his now-empty cup.  Along the wall,  her shadow retreats and bends and melts into colorful tapestries. 

Astarion Syndaerys informs her that she has come to his attention,  and Gossamer goes on smiling as skinny eyebrows inch up her forehead by expectant degrees.  Men who cannot pay clamor outside the Menagerie gates for just one look at her,  and the singers who have found themselves so lucky spread tales across the island,  fanning the flames,  and it’s both entirely possible that and also entirely unimportant if Velvet pays them  —  but attention is the one thing in all the world which Gossamer of Lys possesses the most of. 

“Make a man feel like a man,”  she supplies dismissively,  glancing away toward Bliss’s abandoned cup,  “and he’ll sing any song he thinks you want to hear.”

He comes closer an inch,  at last,  it seems,  content to look upon her,  shirt rustling against the embroidered cushions;  out of habit,  Gossamer settles more comfortably beneath the scrutiny.  Large and liquid lavender eyes peer back at him,  watching as he winds his way amiably toward whatever his point actually is,  an intensity in their brightness urging him on.  When he holds his cup out,  her spine ripples up and forward as she reaches for the flagon;  the ceramic is cool to the touch,  painted in dizzying patterns,  and she spills not a drop even as she overpours. 

“There is no easier beast to master than a man in bed with a stiff cock,  it’s true.  As I said:  make him feel like a man, and he’ll sing any song he thinks you want to hear.  Any common whore can accomplish that.  But men also lie,  especially to whores.”  She sets the flagon down again and resettles.  “What I think our houses share an interest in is discernment.  Coin is the tool that shapes the world,  but pride,  and fear,  and desire,  and guilt,  and shame… they can all control the hand which wields it.”

Bliss’s cup forgotten,  Gossamer’s long and spidery fingers flutter across the back of Astarion’s hand as she plucks away his goblet to take a drink from it. 

When he's about to drink, his pathetically slow reflexes can't react fast enough when the cup is seized from his hands. Fingers instinctively curl around air, the touch of her hand on his lingering beneath his skin. He's too comfortable. Wine-coloured gaze follows the motion of the cup from his hand, to her lips, wrinkling at the easy smile to sculpt his handsome face.

❝ Cheeky. Let's start small then, shall we? ❞ Astarion offers, again sliding further into Gossamer, her space slowly becoming his own. ❝ There's a nobleman from Myr that frequents your establishment far too often to be coming from the city every visit. He's staying in Lys, as I've found out, with a company of hired swords. Hired swords is what they label themselves; I call them pirates. Pirates whom I believe are allied with the Triarchy in all but name. ❞

His fingers move along the hem of the pillows, feeling every stitch and embroidered cluster. The motion of his hand is seamless, fingers weaving through blush-coloured curls, tidying what doesn't need to be. Gossamer is moulded into the image of perfection.

❝ You understand the how simple transactions can be, and how the men who enter here fold under the smallest amount of pressure. If the Triarchy are being aided by a Myrish house, I want to know all of the particulars. Every detail; every word exchanged. But to start, find out who bedded him. When you learn everything I asked for, visit me. If I have to tell your mother I personally sent for you, so be it. ❞ Astarion wraps a strand of her hair around his finger, allowing it to unravel and fall away from his touch. Gossamer has been given her task, now he must possess the patience to receive of her knowledge.

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel a torch against the night by sabaa tahir. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

how did they find us so fast?

if your sins were blood, you would drown in a river of your own making.

you ask what am i, but what are you?

stay out of the way. no matter how bad it looks, don't interfere, don't try to help.

when the fear takes over, use the only thing more powerful, more indestructible, to fight it: your spirit. your heart.

we have to keep going. we have to get out of the city.

if something happens to me, don't fear.

you took long enough. i’ve waited hours.

if you think i need an army to destroy you, you are mistaken.

don’t falter now, fool. you’ll regret it.

bad luck to lie to a comrade-in-arms.

do you enjoy it? the hurt you cause? the pain? i can see it. you carry it with you. why? does it bring you happiness?

i don’t mean to–i don’t want to hurt people.

you destroy all those who get close to you.

you are dead, you just don’t know it yet.

you’ve been blacked out for hours. i thought you might not wake up.

don’t you dare fade out on me again.

i can’t do this without you.

stay. don’t go back. i need you.

i’m going to hurt you. i hurt everyone. 

try to stay. you were gone for so long last time, and i need you to stay.

tell me another story. tell me another memory. something good.

if you care for [name], then do not let [name] care for you.

like the poison that rages within you, you have no antidote.

willpower alone cannot change one’s fate.

thirteen fractures is nothing.

i’m about as good with tears as i am with declarations of love.

every time i stare into your eyes, i see my nightmares.

now you seem older and harder and, perhaps most terrifyingly, wiser.

he insisted that killing you would lead to my doom.

to be honest, i’m tempted to slit your throat just to see what happens. perhaps i still will.

i’m yours to command, my lord.

i don’t have allies. i have people who owe me things and people who want things and people who use me and people whom i use.

you swore to be the sword that executes my will. now is the chance to prove your loyalty.

i need him dead and i want you to be the one who kills him. 

i want you to watch the light die in his eyes. i want him to know it’s the person he cares for most in the world who shoved a blade through his heart.

i want it to haunt you for all your days.

he’s sly enough to escape the bounty hunters quite easily, but you and i both know that he would never be able to escape you.

how do i kill the man i love?

forgive me, but how can you speak to me of obsession?

small victories have made you daring. do not let them make you stupid.

you have your orders. carry them out.

it will destroy you if you’re not careful.

would you care to hear my theory?

your injuries tell me you’ve seen battle.

the problem with greedy people is that they think everyone is as greedy as they are.

we’re surrounded.

i’ll catch you.

almost there. stay with me now.

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑆 — an original valyrian house, featuring an alternate verse for astarion ( from bg3 ), created for the world of a song of ice and fire. sideblog - follows back from alcriti. by killi.

Body enlarges in a deep inhale, catching hints of sweetness and other smells completely unknown to her. This one is new.