Chapter Text
I repeat what I said: "Things are not as easy as they seem”. Why was it so difficult to make a damn drawing and have it turn out well? I had spent all the free time I could afford on my leisure activities (which were already limited) on the making of Astarion´s portrait. It was a relief that our tents weren't too far apart; I could actually sit in front of him, which made it easier to stare at him for long periods without seeming like I had lost my mind, or was a creep.
Despite these advantages, things weren't as easy. Everyone was so nosy! It was extremely hard to find moments of privacy and concentration in this camp; someone always wanted to consult me about something, had some sort of complaint, demons from the Abyss would appear, people would mention their hunger for arcane objects, or they would try to kill each other while sleeping. It's been a little turbulent these few weeks.
And when I found peace, one of my dear traveling companions would have the subtlety to ask, "What are you doing? What are you putting so much effort into?" I don't enjoy being rude to them, but I have to admit that many times I wanted to respond, "Can't I do something in this place without it becoming front-page news? Just let me do my things." But I know they're just trying to be kind or engage into a friendly conversation even though if can't see my face while I work, I'm sure I spend long hours frowning with frustration, holding my head in front of a scribbled piece of paper and muttering nonsenses.
This time I’ve reached my limit and my patience. I've tried to give up on this. But I can't. When I see his face, I just remember that sad and frustrated expression in front of an empty mirror with no reflection. Every time that memory comes back, I end up feeling guilty. "He endured more than this and you're giving up at the first sign of difficulty?" I end up feeling so sh*tty. Sure, I try to use it as motivating force, but seeing my failed attempts, I begin to fall into despair. Nothing I've done so far has been good enough. I've stayed up late watching Astarion while he meditates, trying to draw him more accurately, but the burdens of leadership and my sleepless nights are taking their toll.
In front of me is my last sheet of paper, with my charcoal pencil almost at its end, and what I seem like the worst attempt so far. I might have spent hours staring at the same paper, but it's lost all form for me; it doesn't resemble him at all. I put my hands to my head, sighed, and closed my eyes bitterly at my poor execution. I felt like a failure.
- "Trouble sleeping?"
- "I wish that were the case; that would be easier to solve."
It was Wyll, with a mug in his hand that I guessed held some alcohol and a book in the other. He looked relaxed, but his dark circles betrayed him, he had also been struggling to sleep lately. Wyll, thinking my response was an invitation for a chat, so he decided to sit next to me.
-"I've noticed you've been very... tired lately? Is something bothering you? If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine too."
Among all the people here, Wyll was one of the most approachable and understanding. Of course, I'm not the type to share my innermost thoughts easily, but not talking about how I felt was also quite exhausting. Well, in cases like these, I could blame my lack of sleep and the late hour of our conversation.
-"Well, I wouldn't say it bothers me. I'd define it as frustrating. Haven't you ever wanted to do something, and it turns out completely different from what you intended? That's what's happening to me."
-"Yes, I've experienced that. Things aren't going well for you?"
-"No. I'm thinking of just gave up; it won't change anything."
Wyll took a long sip from his mug and looked up at the sky, searching for the right words.
-"Just because things aren't going the way you planned doesn't mean they're not going well. There are things you can't control, and sometimes it's better to let things take their own shape and pace. What I mean is: not liking it doesn't mean it's wrong. You're setting such high standards that you're not enjoying what you're doing. Try to do it with the tools you have and under the circ*mstances you're in, and even if it's not polished or up to standard, you're doing the best you can with what you have. Just because you're going through go a rough patch doesn't mean things can't change."
Wyll, although outwardly calm, was very worried about what you said. He seriously thought you were experiencing a depressive episode, and when you mentioned giving up, he feared you meant your life no longer mattered. Despite his judgment being clouded by alcohol, he felt very guilty for the times he had doubted your of leadership and added more weight to your shoulders, making an already difficult journey even harder for you. So, he promised himself to be more considerate with his traveling companions.
However, Wyll's words of concern didn't fall on deaf ears, and you decided to stop pressuring yourself for perfection and instead take it as something fun to do in your free time, thinking of the person you liked and trying to capture that on paper, regardless of the level of perfection. For the first time, you decided to take it easy. You could take your time; there was no need to rush it.
-"Thank you, Wyll. Your comment was strangely accurate. I appreciate it a lot. I suppose I'll go get some sleep now. Don't stay up too late."
Currently, you looked at that last page defiantly. It was all or nothing. You had to give your best, but also remember for whom you were doing it. As you traced soft lines on the paper, your mind began to wander from its main task, and a question appeared before you: Why do you love Astarion?
You stopped. You didn't know exactly how to answer yourself. You certainly knew there were things you didn't like about him and things you found fascinating. But speaking of love, that was a tricky territory. As you continued your drawing, that question began to nag at the back of your mind. You thought about it before going to sleep and while you were awake, while eating, whenever you had a moment of mental clarity, it popped into your mind like a daily reminder. Why do you love him?
You didn't know, you didn't have a clear idea of why?
Something of such transcendence should have an equally significant answer, but the only thing you knew was that you had no clue why you loved him. Was it because he was handsome? Well, you couldn't blame yourself; the bastard was very handsome, but you didn't love him for that. You had seen so many beautiful people, and from that only sprang a fleeting attraction, not the tenderness of love in your heart. Was it because you pitied him? Well, a bit, yes. It hurt you how much he had been through, horrors no one should endure, things he had withstood for so long. How could you not have some compassion for him? But it was the same case; you pitied those begging on the dirty streets of Baldur´s Gate but did not love them. Was it a mix of compassion and routine? You didn't think so either. Were also very tormented people on your journey. You had taken the feeling of fraternal affection, even brotherhood, but not something like love. But why HIM? You had no answer; it was that simple. You didn't know.
But what you did know was that you wanted to give him all of yourself. That was clear. You wanted to help him, listen to him, be his support, just be there for him. To you, he was deserving of all that was good. You wanted to show him that despite living in an extremely cruel world, there were still valuable things, and that he was valuable, at least to you. You wanted him to feel the embrace of someone who deeply cared for him, to show him that despite all he had suffered for centuries, and now that he might now be near his end, there was someone by his side who would mourn his loss bitterly or die by his side. You just wanted to bring him happiness as much as possible and be the person who could finally give him a bit of selfless affection.
You knew you wanted to give him all these things, but not why you love him. Maybe it was just your savior complex talking, but he seemed in your opinion the person who was most deserving of love and understanding. You knew he wasn't a bad person; he was just scared and didn't want anyone to hurt him, which is why he hid behind that mask of cruelty.
It might seem a bit selfish of you to love him without reason, but if people love others for trivialities, then why couldn't you love him? Was it really that bad to decide that he was deserving of love? At this point in your life, not knowing if you'd die the next day or if that damned tadpole would start eating your brain, at least you wanted to die knowing you loved someone who seemed right to receive that love. You knew so many people deserved to love, but you decided he was your loved one. The loved one could make great changes, and you were excited to see what he could achieve. You were satisfied as long as you could see him. You didn't even expect reciprocation; on the contrary, you expected to receive absolutely nothing from him. And that was fine with you. I won't lie and say I wouldn't be happy to be his lover, to spend hours by his side, to touch his lustrous silver hair and be lulled by listening his breathing while i'm laying on his chest. You wanted to reach him. But it was enough for you just to see him, as he had become the shining star of your dark nights, the light of your eyes.
When you reached that conclusion, your hand had done its work, and you had a sketch of Astarion's face. He was looking at you intently and smiling broadly. You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a warm sensation rising from your chest. You felt content with what you had done, at the back of the page you wrote "For my star ⛤ ". Then you keep the page among some books next to your tent, so it doesn't wrinkle.
It was the first of many nights that you could sleep comfortably in your own skin.
