Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The druids were saved. The goblins, defeated. The Tieflings milled along the sides of the Emerald Grove’s main pathway, piling their belongings in oxcarts and wagons. The cheers, smiles, and back-pats of appreciation fell incessantly as Astarion and his party made their way to the inner shrine of the Emerald Grove.

Astarion seethed, his teeth clenched together in a jagged grimace-smile. He and his party had spent the better part of a day and a half gathering information and infiltrating the goblin camp; time that could have been better spent cutting their way to Baldur's Gate. Except, it wasn’t a complete waste of time, the vampire spawn thought, with the absolute jewel of an ally we found through the effort. Although said jewel could have used a good polish, Astarion concluded his new acquaintance was worth more than the treasures he had looted all morning.

Astarion’s mind drifted to the myriad events from earlier in the day. His band of compatriots had inadvertently rescued Halsin, the Arch Druid of the Emerald Grove, while tearing through throngs of half-drunk goblins. Prior to leaving the grove to commit the arguably delightful carnage mid-morning, the druids had assured that Halsin could assist with the party's tadpole problem. And indeed, the druid was the closest thing to an expert they had found since surviving the nautiloid crash on some unmapped Sword Coast beach.

Astarion's chest tightened as his party rounded the corner and descended the stairs into the druid's inner shrine. The Arch Druid Halsin had made it back to the Grove faster. Four legs must be better than two for tramping through this godsforsaken backwoods in the middle of nowhere, Astarion mused with chagrin. After clearing the last few stairs in a single bound, he peered into a crowd of the tree-huggers. The vampire's ruby-red eyes narrowed in the sun's glare as he made out Halsin's large frame. The Arch Druid faced away from him, surrounded by the denizens of the Grove.

At the goblin camp, Astarion had met Halsin in an unconventional manner (although, after 200 years of meeting unsuspecting victims in Baldurian watering holes, 'conventional' meetings were rare), with the druid held hostage in bear wildshape. Wretched goblin younglings had pelted Halsin with jagged stones as he bellowed in bear form behind rusted cell bars. Along with the rest of the party, Astarion had supported releasing the gigantic bear upon the goblins. Sure, if the bear had attacked his party he'd have had to kill it. But, seeing it rip its tormenters to shreds beforehand would have been fun.

And it had been tremendous entertainment to see the enormous beast do just that to its jailers. Sated on revenge, the bear had then reared to its hind legs, and melted into a handsome elf of equally imposing stature. That very elf turned out to be the missing Arch Druid. Halsin was a foot taller than Astarion, perhaps more, with shoulders twice as broad and rippling with muscle. The druid was deeply tanned by sun exposure, and he’d examined Astarion’s party with gentle hazel eyes set in a kind face which was riddled with battle scars.

Halsin’s brilliance had shimmered during the adventurers’ post-battle short rest. Astarion was the one who had insisted on taking a break, crinkling his nose as he bemoaned the idea of slogging their battered bodies, heavy with loot, across the hills under the scorching midday sun. So, they’d broken bread over break, Halsin regaling the party with his tadpole-related knowledge. Halsin had promised more information on the morrow, after he got some rest back at the Grove. When the party was refreshed enough to venture on, he’d then wildshaped and disappeared into the forest. Such a delight, Astarion had thought as the bear disappeared into the underbrush, a morning of turning goblins inside out, topped off with a tantalizing and particularly formidable companion.

The Grove druids who gathered around Halsin must have mentioned his rescuers had arrived. The Arch Druid slowly turned to face Astarion's party, mindful of his large size. He clearly was overly fond of his followers, as well as the squirrels and other small creatures gathered at his feet. They keep those critters well-fed around here, Astarion mulled, distracting himself from a knot in his gut, which fed on the uncertain curiosity he felt toward the Arch Druid, I’ll have to pocket a few of those for a midnight snack.

Halsin beamed at his rescuers, a lopsided grin spreading across his scarred face. The vampire's grimace softened to a crafted smile as a wavering sense of relief washed over him. Halsin’s bleeding heart meant Astarion could easily manipulate the druid into serving as a meat shield against any threat. Including those sent by Astarion's former master. He would secure the Arch Druid as a loyal ally.

Even before Halsin had shifted into his elven form and had a voice box to express it, he was endlessly thankful for, and impressed by his rescuers. Especially the unusually pale elf who seemed to melt into the shadows, only to erupt in a flurry of blades that had felled foes with ease. The adventurer’s battle style was almost feral, and Halsin swore he saw the pale elf bite a goblin. But in bear form he lacked color vision, so he had shrugged off the thought.

It took Halsin a few hours to realize amidst the cacophony of goblin screams, shouted spells, and the twang of short-bows, that each adventurer had something unusual about them; beyond the tadpole, even. The wizard’s magic seems darker, but not quite like the corrupted weave in the shadow-cursed lands. He’d never met a Githyanki before. The young half-elf Shadowheart was not forthcoming with personal details, but was polite enough. A boisterous Tiefling barbarian was hot to the touch, and fought closely with a warlock who called himself the Blade of the Frontiers.

While each party member was fascinating, the last adventurer commanded the druid’s attention. That same pale elf whose name, Halsin discovered, was Astarion. Little star. An appropriate name for an individual who typically roamed in the night and yet, despite being a vampire, could walk in the sun.

Astarion hadn’t shared that detail with Halsin, of course, but the Arch Druid had seen enough of Astarion’s mannerisms to pick up on his rescuer’s vampiric traits. Halsin’s 350 years of experience granted him a thorough understanding of most of Nature’s creations… and an unfortunate introduction to many beings created by unnatural means. After years spent in the Underdark, as well as fighting creatures from the shadow realm and other chaotic, evil forces, it was easy to identify a vampire once one knew what to look for.

Halsin had assumed the tadpole might explain Astarion’s ability to not burn in the sun. But there were other intricacies about the small elf that intrigued him. Halsin, who typically avoided judging individuals only by face value, was stunned by Astarion’s beauty. His piercing eyes flashed in the shadows, like a glass of red wine illuminated by candlelight. Silver hair framed the vampire’s angular face in curls, adding to his ethereal beauty despite being covered in a smattering of crusted blood. His lithe, muscular body was limber and strong, very strong, for his size. Another vampiric “gift”. What was most intriguing to Halsin, however, was that Astarion seemed rather aimless for a vampire. Typically vampires lost most of their choice and humanity, unable to change their focus from their endless lust for power. Astarion was unique in his focus on having, dare Halsin assume, fun.

As they had enjoyed a short rest break, indulging in the victuals they’d plundered from the goblin camp, Halsin had mulled over his new acquaintances. Astarion had supported releasing Halsin before knowing he was a sentient being, and not a wild beast. He was lightning-fast with quips and planning how to best ambush the goblins around the corner. He could unlock a door or chest faster than Halsin had thought possible. A beautiful, clever, formidable vampire, the druid reckoned, is an individual especially worth befriending.

The grove’s central shrine was undeniably stunning. Its verdant hills and flora glittered with the reflected sunlight of the sacred pool. Though his party received a warm enough welcome to the druidic sacred altar, and a heartfelt hug or handshake from Halsin, Astarion quickly grew bored with the conversation.

Yes, they hadn’t gone ceremorphosis yet. No, they hadn’t felt other symptoms. Yes, Astarion was quite loathe to continue dwelling on the tadpole. Frankly, it was the best thing that had happened to him in over 200 years. To see the sun again was a miracle. Entering a home uninvited? Unheard of. Flowing water no longer burned like acid, so he could cross a wide creek with no qualms. As far as the pale elf was concerned, this group would help get him to Baldur’s Gate safely, he’d get his revenge on his vampiric master, and then he’d do whatever the hells he wanted for the rest of his undead life. The tadpole was his least concern, as well as the current conversation; banal pleasantries and repetitive doom-saying grew dull rather quickly.

In contrast, the sun-drenched standing stones encircling the shrine looked enchantingly luscious. Before his companions could even notice he’d gone missing, Astarion slipped away from the gathering. He didn’t have to roam far to find the most appealing standing stone; in fact, he was still within elven-earshot for eavesdropping. If he focused, he could make out the gist of their conversation. However, his to-be perch was far enough up and away that Astarion could focus only on enjoying the now. The vampire bent his knees to a low squat, and launched himself nearly to the top of the monolith, catching the edge of the stone with his fingers. In an uncannily feline movement, the vampire pulled himself to the peak of the standing stone and stretched, surveying his surroundings. A genuine grin sprawled across Astarion’s face, accentuating his laugh lines, as he spread his slender body atop the monolith to lounge in the dappled sunlight.

Chapter Text

“ASTARION!”

The shout shattered the silence of the Emerald Grove, startling hundreds of birds into flight. They launched from their perches, wings beating against still air.

The thunder of his name also ruined the pale elf’s meditative state, awakening him with a start. Like a viper preparing to strike, Astarion’s body rolled from repose into a crouch, with one hand in a white-knuckle grip on his dagger, and his other hand braced against the weather-smoothed stone. He blinked against the early evening sun; a few days of daywalking did not negate being accustomed to 200 years of darkness.

“Astarion, my friend! Come and join us,” the same voice bellowed. Astarion couldn’t see the speaker from the center of the wide standing stone, but he knew it was the Arch Druid calling to him. Of his party, Karlach was loudest and could easily match the volume; but the voice’s rumbling tone could only belong to the druid. Whatever could Halsin want that’s important enough to shout like that?

Astarion’s forelock fluttered as the elf huffed, his lips in a pout. A little rest is better than none, I suppose. He sheathed the dagger and peered over the monolith’s edge at the Arch Druid, who towered above Lae’zel, Gale, and the other adventurers. Halsin’s white smile shone against his sun-kissed skin. His auburn braids looked almost red when they caught a sun ray.

The vampire sighed and hopped from the monolith, at ease with the sensation of falling thanks to centuries of prowling Baldurian balconies and rampart walls. His bent knees and ankles absorbed the initial force, and Astarion rolled into a somersault before springing to his feet. As he sauntered closer to the group, his companions stepped back to widen their gossip circle.

“Did you miss me, darlings?,” Astarion chirped, slightly inclining his torso forward, “Forgive me for not rubbing shoulders more. If I hear ‘thank you’ one more time, I’ll retch.”

“That is understandable to seek peace in solitude. I tend to avoid crowds myself,” Halsin grinned back, the crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, “I apologize for startling you, Astarion. But I’d like to join this evening’s celebration at your camp and wanted to get your blessing as well.” The druid spoke with his calloused hands and had reached out to Astarion, stopping just short of touching his shoulder.

“My blessing?” Astarion tilted his chin up and peered at Halsin through hooded eyes. “Whatever for? Who am I to say no, if everyone else has already said yes?” he asked, with a flippant wave of his hand.

“Ah, I would never impose upon hospitality, Astarion. One’s home, temporary or not, is as sacred as this grove. And currently, you and your companions all share that home.”

Astarion cocked his head to the side and knit his brows together. Who is this Halsin? He’s certainly no vampire who needs permission to cross a threshold. “Er, well… by all means then, do join us.”

Halsin seemed to stand even taller over the heads of his companions. “I am relieved to have your invitation, Astarion,” he replied. “Before you depart though…” Halsin paused, holding his palms out and up towards the adventurers. “I am alive because of your kindness. The Emerald Grove still stands only because of your efforts. You must speak with Rath for your well-earned reward.” The druid waved towards the inner sanctum. “Go my friends, I will meet you later this evening.” The druid paused again, tilting his head forward, “I very much look forward to your company.”

Halsin’s honey-hazel eyes had met Astarion’s when he said ‘your company’. The stare had seemed to last for minutes, but truly was only as long as a heartbeat. Despite the brevity, Astarion’s eyes had darted across the Halsin’s face to avoid his probing stare. The pale elf breathed in relief when the druid turned and plodded to another part of the grove.

Probably off to pet bunnies, Astarion thought with a snort, brushing off the shiver he’d felt develop from the druid’s intense gaze. His party members had already begun to enter the inner sanctum. The vampire turned on his heel and strolled after them.

Astarion slinked about the inner sanctum of the druidic grove, keeping himself amused while his party spoke with Rath. He feigned interest in weathered plaques mounted on flaking murals before he noticed that the druid healer Nettie had left her chambers wide open.

Don’t mind if I do, thought Astarion, as he slipped around the corner and into the healer’s chambers. The dead drow was in its same position, as well as its preserved mindflayer tadpole. Astarion tapped the glass of its jar as he rifled around the desk. The druids were not fastidious housekeepers, so there had to be a healing potion or some gold laying about.

Some pocket change was the best Astarion found, along with an aged hardcover notebook, bound in scarlet leather. I’ll take that, he thought, slipping it into a pouch. Ever the bookworm, Astarion appreciated the value (and the smell, admittedly) of old tomes. He continued his search for valuables, with movements so silent that he noticed the conversation with Rath had lulled. Time to go.

Before his companions had turned from Rath, Astarion positioned himself in front of the plaque he had pretended to read earlier. He made a show of whirling around from the mural. Are we all set, then? Can we go now, or will we be late to our own party?” Astarion said, gesticulating toward the exit as he spoke.

Though the evening had grown late, the Tieflings’ laughter and cheers still flooded through the adventurer’s campsite. The refugees had brought food and drink with them, and throughout the evening their wine had flowed freely both into and out of goblets. The adventurers had already milled about and chatted with the refugees; they now sought to drown their battle fatigue in their cups.

Halsin shuffled in place at the edge of the party. The arch druid was not one to enjoy being the center of attention, nor used to a large circle of friends. But he enjoyed watching the others have a good time, and felt a smile tug at his cheeks as he observed the Tieflings carousing around the fire. His rescuers, however, had seemed to retreat over the course of the evening, preferring the company of their own party. Halsin could hardly blame them; their bond had grown as they fought for a cure for impending ceremorphosis. It was logical that they’d prefer to spend the evening with each other.

Lae’zel leaned against her whetstone, observing Wyll as he took her instruction in sharpening his blade. Halsin debated if conjuring a handful of goodberries would be worthwhile, as Wyll had quaffed several goblets of wine already. On the other side of the camp, Shadowheart seemed bemused by Gale and Karlach, cheeks flush with drink. They grew more animated as they swapped stories of their pasts. But what of Astarion?

Halsin peered through the darkness and found the pale elf alone, propped up on pillows outside his tent, goblet at his side and an opened book laying in his lap. Halsin was loath to interrupt someone engrossed in their reading, and hated distractions himself. But… he had to indulge his curiosity for both his own sake and that of Nature. He would need powerful allies if he were to complete some unfinished business he began long ago. Come the morrow, the Arch Druid would share what he knew of his rescuers’ strange tadpoles, as well as his own request to be more than a visitor at their camp. But for now, Oak Father willing, I can grow an ally into a friend.

Crumbling pages and smeared ink made the red leather notebook almost impossible to read. Astarion tilted the book toward his lantern to catch any additional light. Even darkvision wouldn’t help, he thought with a pout, chewing his bottom lip, Damnable druids ought to take better care of their books. Reading aloud though, he considered, could drown out the noise from our guests.

“Katherin? No, that’s not it.. Ketheric! Ketheric is finished, but it cost us the land. Darkness has fallen, corruption is everywhere. Chased by shadows.. plucking?” he mumbled, stumbling over the smeared words, “No, no, that’s not it. PICKING us off, druids and Harpers alike. Our wounded were safe. I returned, searching for survivors.”

Astarion knit his brow upward, an ache in his chest for the writer. This was no textbook nor novel. This was a druidic diary. The author was a survivor of some century-old tragedy, judging by the book’s degradation. This druid was a noble fool, the vampire concluded, going back for survivors after a slaughter like that. Astarion crinkled his nose at the thought. The writer had absolutely no sense of self-preservation; and yet, had been strong enough to survive and write about the events. He bent his head closer to the text to continue. “Oh hells below, illegible in this part. But I found his shade. What in the devils is a shade? I put it to rest and took his glaive. Blade infused with… shadow?” Astarion nearly dropped the book, his mind racing back to the Emerald Grove.

The glaive, he puzzled, the one from the druid vault. Astarion recalled descending to the vault with anticipation of immeasurable loot. When it was not piles of gold they found, but some trinkets and the glaive, the vampire had been disappointed. Still, he had reached out to grab the glaive’s handle. When I touched it I felt… strange. At the time he had attributed the sickly feeling in his gut to jealousy, since Shadowheart had claimed the glaive with haste. But reading this... could that have been the influence of dark magic? He snatched the book up from his lap, held it close to his face and continued reading aloud, “I have locked it away, to serve as a… remembrance?”

“A reminder,” rumbled a deep voice, from over Astarion’s left shoulder, “To serve as a reminder that even victory can taste bitter.” The vampire’s hunch was correct. The glaive was the very one described in this diary. And the druid who survived the slaughter to author said diary was none other than..

“Halsin!” yelped Astarion, slamming the diary shut with a wince, “I, er, do hope you’re enjoying your evening?” His thin fingers slid from the book to the stem of his wine goblet. “Fancy a drink? Red, white, what’s your poison?”

Halsin couldn’t fight back the grin that grew by watching Astarion squirm. The vampire was nearly always well-composed. To see him with flushed cheeks and eyes rounded with feigned innocence was… Adorable, Halsin thought, like catching a cub with his paws in the honeycomb. “Ah, no thank you Astarion,” the druid rumbled, lowering himself to the ground to sit beside the smaller elf, “In truth, I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes right to my head.”

“Now hold on,” Astarion chirped, relieved to change the conversation from the stolen book. “You’re telling me that an elf of your… stature,” Astarion waved a hand from Halsin’s head to the ground, “can’t handle his liquor?”

Halsin nodded, auburn braids falling from behind his pointed ear. “Truly. It would take only one drink, and I’d begin singing - terribly, might I add - or professing true love to the nearest person I could grab,” he said with a grin, gently nudging Astarion with his elbow. In the darkness, illuminated only by the campfire and Astarion’s lantern, Halsin swore he saw color rush to the pale elf’s cheeks. “So, I avoid drink, and spend my time in research instead. I see you, too, find dusty old tomes irresistible,” Halsin said with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Well yes, it’s hard to find a good book outside of Baldur’s Gate, and you druids have such a vast library.” The vampire peered up at Halsin with half-lidded eyes. His pale eyelashes seemed to flutter. “Surely you all wouldn’t miss one neglected notebook?”

“Indeed,” Halsin replied with a wink, “especially one written so long ago. I can hardly find fault in someone who simply… picks up a book in eagerness to learn.” Though it was amusing and endearing, thought Halsin, to catch Astarion off-guard, the druid was relieved when the smaller elf’s posture relaxed into a comfortable slouch. “It seems to be slowing down now, but how have you enjoyed the party, Astarion?” Halsin questioned.

A deep sigh escaped Astarion’s pink lips. Halsin felt drawn to them and caught himself leaning towards the pale elf ever so slightly — the charms of a vampire, perhaps?

“You know, I never pictured myself as a hero, never thought I’d be the one they’d toast for saving so many lives,” Astarion said, gesturing with his goblet before taking a long drink. “And now that I’m here… I hate it. It’s awful!” The pale elf lifted his goblet to his lips again but did not take a sip; instead, he studied Halsin over its rim. “And what did I get for my efforts? A head pat and vinegar for wine.”

A laugh boomed from Halsin’s chest and he met Astarion’s gaze with another wink. “No good deed goes unpunished,” the druid said, nodding as he spoke. “It makes sense to feel uncomfortable with being lauded as a hero, when there is still so much darkness in the world,” Halsin finished, and reached out to pat Astarion’s knee in comaraderie. When touched, the smaller elf’s posture stiffened again; Halsin pulled his hand back into his lap.

Astarion wasn’t sure why he had balked at the druid’s large hand resting on his knee. Stupid, stupid, he told himself, why did I not hold his hand? Everyone else already has plans for the evening; I can’t pass up an opportunity to secure Halsin. Touch, for the vampire, had meant either seduction or pain for the past 200 years. It was difficult to break old habits.

“I would say that you don’t know the half of darkness in this world, Halsin, but judging by the..” Astarion paused, placing his palm on the red notebook, “histories I’ve read now… perhaps you’re not as naïve as most druids.” Astarion pushed the notebook away and leaned toward the larger elf. “What with your type’s habit of screaming ‘genocide’ when others must fell trees for firewood.”

Halsin seemed utterly unflappable and merely chuckled at Astarion’s accusation. “Indeed, many of my younger fellows have yet to see the wider world beyond the grove,” Halsin admitted with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I don’t mean it as a boast, but over the centuries I’ve become well-traveled. I’ve seen my fair share of darkness and of light. Of kindness and of cruelty. Of creatures from this world, the hells, and of the Astral Plane,” he continued, watching Astarion raise his goblet of vinegar-flavored wine, “but I’ve never come across a vampire until meeting you, Astarion.”

Astarion choked on the wine, sputtering into his cup.

Chapter Text

Astarion had been pleasantly surprised that the Arch Druid Halsin was more world-wise than expected. There was nothing more exhausting than a naïve do-gooder who had never experienced the pangs of starvation, the heartbreak of loneliness, or the torment of having choice ripped away from you. Astarion had felt a sort of kinship to the druid, especially after Halsin had reacted to the theft of his diary with nothing but some good-natured ribbing. The vampire was loath to spend company with people who couldn’t bear to have fun.

So when the druid had agreed with him that most druidic cohorts were blissfully unaware of the ways of the world, and began sharing his experiences, Astarion was pleased. Until Halsin caught him by surprise - again.

“…but I’ve never come across a vampire until meeting you, Astarion,” the druid had said, gazing directly at the vampire who had just taken a mouthful of sour wine.

Astarion choked and spit the vile wine into his cup, turning his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. “W-whatever do you mean, darling?” spat the pale elf, tilting his head back and peering sharply at the druid.

Halsin’s shoulders shook with a chuckle as the large elf shook his head. “No need to play pretend with me, Astarion,” he said, placing his palm on the ground close to Astarion’s knee, “I knew of your… condition, as soon as I saw you in battle at the goblin camp.” He tilted his head to the side and returned the pale elf’s glare with a soft expression that Astarion couldn’t quite read. “As I said, I’ve seen much in my 350 years. Your captivating red eyes, the skill with which you hide in the shadows, and.. well,” Halsin’s crow's feet crinkled as his smile extended to his eyes, “the fangs, to be honest. It is not a difficult conclusion to reach.”

Astarion stared back in shock. And none of this concerns Halsin? He wanted to join our camp and felt compelled to seek me out in the dark? A kind fool indeed; did he learn nothing over the past 100 years since that book? Astarion shook his head to clear it, white ringlets of hair bobbing about his ears. He blinked several times before meeting Halsin’s honey-hazel eyes again.

“Er, generally… when one meets a vampire, one doesn’t really live to tell about it the next day,” he said with a deep exhale, “but technically, I am a vampire spawn. Not a full vampire. All the same limitations, but none of the benefits that come with it.” He gently worried the inside of his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin nodded as Astarion spoke, giving the vampire his full attention, but not out of fear or concern. The druid’s posture was relaxed; still seated cross-legged, his forearms resting on his knees, hands dangling. What was his angle? Why did he care about Astarion’s condition, as he delicately put it?

“I see,” Halsin started, then raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought, “so it must be the tadpole that allows you to walk in the sun, as well as the mind link with your friends. The magic in the tadpoles must be tremendous.”

Astarion opened his mouth, nearly correcting Halsin to say the party was more co-workers than friends, but decided better of it. “That’s my assumption, yes,” he concurred, and turned his gaze to the heavens, stars twinkling in the night sky, “For 200 years I’ve been confined to the darkness.”

Halsin sat silent, his attention wholly on Astarion, making no attempt to fill the silence when Astarion paused. “And 200 years I’ve been bent to the whims of Cazador,” the pale elf continued, his words sharp and full of venom, “the bastard who turned me into this.” He lifted his arms into the air and let them fall, stirring up dust from the ground.

The silence between them was thick with the chirp of crickets and the still-present music, the melody a calmer one now as the party died down further.

Halsin broke the silence first, but only after Astarion finally met his gaze again. “It must be conflicting for you,” he said calmly, “the tadpole has given you much. And with the unusual path of ceremorphosis you and your friends are experiencing... there seems to be few downsides for you.” His last sentence was almost a question.

“Exactly,” agreed Astarion, with more surprise showing in his voice than he intended to portray, “No strong druid hero, nor noble adventurer saved me from my slavery. The mindflayers did. The tadpole was the best thing to have happened to me in 200 years.” He lifted his chin and peered at Halsin down his nose. “With this power, I can slay my master and finally be truly free.”

The druid cracked a slight smile at Astarion. “It is an opportunity that you must chase after, I understand,” he said kindly, “I.. have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of a master.”

Astarion’s jaw dropped in shock. This gigantic man, enslaved by another? Who could possibly have the power to do that? His hand moved by its own, shifting a few inches to rest on top of Halsin’s. The tips of Halsin’s fingers were rough with callous, and nearly twice the size of Astarion’s in width.

“It is a story for another day,” Halsin said, “No need to cast a shadow on a fine evening. But I mention it to say… will support you in this, Astarion. It is a horrific thing, to enslave and control others. Against Nature. And… I believe we can help each other. We can right the wrongs in this world. Cleanse it of much of its darkness.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re asking me to play the hero again, I’ll have to politely decline, darling. I’ve had my fill for a lifetime,” he said with a scoff, motioning towards the Tieflings, who were packing their bags to make their way back to the Grove. They would set off for Baldur’s Gate in the morning.

The arch druid chuckled at the pout on Astarion’s lips, and shifted his hand up-side down to enclose Astarion’s fingers, cool to the touch. This time the pale elf did not pull his hand away.

“You say you’re no hero, Astarion, but what fate would I have met without you? More good has been done since I met you than a hundred years before. Words cannot express my gratitude. But perhaps I can show my thanks in another way?”

Ah, here it is, Astarion thought, the payment. The druid had rewarded them in gold and the glaive, so Astarion had assumed they were even. But, if the druid were interested in his body… it would be so very easy to lure him in and make doubly sure he’s on my side. I can play this game. Astarion leaned towards the druid, shoulders nearly touching, peering at Halsin from under pale eyelashes.

The druid seemed not to notice Astarion’s body language, and leaned back, raising his hand to set it on Astarion’s shoulder. His thick brown eyebrows furrowed in stoicism that was previously absent.

“It seems our fates have aligned. Both the answers to your delayed ceremorphosis, and some unfinished business of my own will take us to Moonrise Towers,” Halsin rumbled, his hand squeezing Astarion’s shoulder gently, “If you’ll have me, I’d like to join your camp. I can offer my skills and my counsel.. as well as my neck.”

“I do quite well on my own, thank you. I don’t need you to stick your neck out for me, Halsin,” Astarion quipped, with a blithe flick of his hand toward the druid. He leaned back to let Halsin’s hand fall away.

Halsin chuckled, his braids bobbing with the motion of the mountainous elf. “I apologize for not being more clear,” he muttered. The druid shifted to sit on his knees. His thick eyebrows knit upwards, crinkling his scarred forehead. “The path to Moonrise Towers is shrouded in a shadow curse. You’ll not find life, light, or anything natural roaming in that wilderness. No boars, squirrels, nor foe we meet there will be untainted by shadow.”

The druid placed his hand on Astarion’s knee gingerly, not quite letting it relax fully onto the smaller elf’s leg. “If you tried to get sustenance from anything there… it very well could kill you,” Halsin continued, his words slow and heavy with gravity, “You’ll need fortitude for what is to come. Let me be the one who gives nourishment to you. You may feed from me, Astarion.”

Astarion’s eyes rounded, wine-red eyes sparkling in the lantern-light. His sharp jaw dropped open, revealing the pointed fangs on his top and bottom rows of teeth. Halsin tilted his head ever so slightly to get a better look. It may hurt, but Astarion must be kept at full strength. And… I cannot have another comrade fall to the shadow curse. A small price to pay for his friendship and skills.

“I-er… you’re joking?” the pale elf questioned, cocking one ivory eyebrow high up, eyes flitting back and forth, searching Halsin’s face for answers, “You… want me to bite you? To drink your blood?”

Halsin met the vampire’s skepticism with a grin and squeezed his knee with tenderness. “You strike me as extremely… resourceful. We will need your cleverness and strength to face the battles ahead,” the druid said, his voice full of kindness and honesty, “I’m the largest of this party, save Karlach, whose blood would scald your tongue. I’ve more than enough blood to spare, if it will mean that you’ll be your most battle-ready.”

Astarion blinked away tears. To offer his life’s blood to me… willingly? I can’t tell him I’ve never drunk from a thinking being before. But gods above, the boars are bitter and squirrels can barely curb my hunger...

“I.. Yes. Thank you, Halsin, for your generous offer,” Astarion said, fighting a lump in his throat, “A little blood would be so very helpful. I could think clearer; fight better.” The vampire’s eyes glazed over and he seemed to stare past Halsin, lost in thought. Halsin swore he saw a genuine smile tugging at the vampire’s laugh lines.

“It is settled then,” the druid announced, patting Astarion’s knee before rising to his feet. “We’ll journey to Moonrise together. I will let you enjoy the rest of your evening. And your reading material,” he said, with a wink. “Come to my tent after Tieflings depart. You may feed and restore your strength from this morning’s battle. It will allow me to determine the effects of a little blood loss in a safer place than the shadow-cursed lands.”

Halsin smiled once more before turning away. The large elf raised a hand above his head as he lumbered back to his tent. Astarion still sat on the ground, limbs heavy with disbelief.

The gift of his life’s blood. That’s how he wants to show his gratitude? With how handsy this oaf is, I thought he meant to ravish me. But he wants to be bitten? Astarion shook his head again, rubbing his temples with his slender fingers. What is Halsin’s motive? I saved the Grove; he gave a reward… now he’s offering his blood… for what? Clearly everyone else wants him to join our camp or they wouldn’t have invited him. So what benefit does he get from stringing me along with the promise of blood?

Is it a turn-on for him? Astarion puzzled, looking into the darkness where Halsin had walked. The pale elf held his head in his palms and stared at the ground. The Arch Druid’s intentions must be far more complex than the slack-jawed jezebels and drunken horndogs he had seduced for Cazador over the past 200 years.

Though Astarion had bitten a goblin during the morning’s battle, he hadn't actually fed from it. He wasn't that desperate. But he also hadn't hunted for prey since the evening before, and his vampiric hunger was already gnawing deep in his stomach. He held a delicate hand over his bellybutton. I suppose I’ll find out more tonight; to be fed or be in his bed. What a delectable means of security, either way…

Chapter Text

It seemed like hours before the Tieflings finally departed, but Astarion’s lantern hadn’t used more than an hour’s worth of oil. Even so, the wait to feed was agonizing, made doubly torturous because he’d be feeding on the confusing, but ruggedly handsome, druid Halsin.

Astarion banished his anxiety through preening to prepare for his delectable date. Despite not being able to see his reflection, he had learned how to doll himself up sans mirror through 200 years of practice. The vampire plucked a bejeweled stopper from an angular glass vial; the aroma of bergamot and rosemary escaped the container. The slight sweetness of aged brandy joined the other scents in the air as Astarion tipped the open vial onto his wrists. He dabbed oil behind his ears and slid his fingers down his trousers to leave a touch of the lingering scent on his hips. That should do the trick, whatever may happen, he thought, snapping the vial shut with a satisfying click placing it in his knapsack.

His elven ears were sensitive enough to know that the others had also retreated to their tents. Although, with how loudly Gale snores, I could be half-deaf and still know the wizard was asleep. Astarion lifted the flap of his tent peeked out. Indeed, everyone had retreated for rest; they had a full morning ahead, and Halsin had promised to share his findings on ceremorphosis early the next morning.

A shame I’m keeping him up, but he did ask for this, Astarion thought as he sauntered to Halsin’s tent, his soft-soled leather shoes crunching against the pebble stone of the ground. The dying fire shed little light upon the campsite, so the vampire’s shadow was barely perceptible against his neighbors’ tent walls.

And yet, Halsin had somehow expected him right at the moment; upon lifting the tent flap, Astarion found the druid actively closing a book he had been reading by candlelight. Halsin was seated on the ground at a slight incline, his well-muscled back against a log he must have dragged into the tent. Druids, the vampire thought with a slight shake of his head, one can’t take the druid out of nature nor the nature out of the druid.

Halsin had freed his locks from its ponytail; his auburn hair fell in front of his ears, framing his face. It added a softness to his visage and took away the hardness granted by the druid’s scars and facial tattoos. His hazel-green gaze met Astarion’s, and a wide smile graced the Arch Druid’s lips. The druid didn’t move upon Astarion’s arrival, nor did he speak.

The vampire tilted his head to the side. “Are.. you quite alright, Halsin?” he asked, letting the tent flap close behind him. He took a step forward as the thick canvas unexpectedly slapped his behind.

The druid blinked several times and smiled wider, “Forgive me, Astarion. Sometimes I forget myself, gazing on the beauty of nature’s creations.”

Ah, so he shows his true colors. It is a kink, for him, Astarion mulled. So be it; a protector is a protector..

“At least you acknowledge my beauty,” Astarion purred, raising his hand to run it through his hair, “Not enough people mention it.” He’d always told himself that empty praise was still praise, and he would take what he could get.

Halsin replied with a soft chuckle and patted the bedroll beside him. “I suppose we should get started?” he asked, his voice just above a husky whisper, “your friends will have many questions for me. I’ve shared details with you that I have not yet told them.”

“Ooh, how delicious darling, choosing me to be privy to the details?” Astarion said with well-practiced mirth. “I’m oh-so flattered you could confide in me.” Halsin’s eyebrow shot up at Astarion’s words. The vampire brushed it off as curiosity and settled himself beside Halsin on the bedroll. “And just as flattered that you want to share that delicious neck of yours,” he continued, leaning his torso against Halsin’s. He crawled his slender hand up the druid’s thick forearm, his biceps, and up to his shoulder.

Halsin’s brows furrowed, and he studied the vampire with an expression that Astarion couldn’t read. It wasn’t sexual desire, Astarion knew that look well. Nor was it anger. The closest Astarion could equate it to was confusion. What is going on in this druid’s head?

Halsin was perplexed by how aloof the vampire seemed to act. Earlier in the evening they shared what had seemed like a heartfelt conversation, despite Halsin catching Astarion off-guard. They had shared snippets of their past with sincerity, despite not going into depth.

But in this moment, Astarion seemed to play a mummer’s role. He strutted in front of Halsin like a peacock displaying for the peahen. Perhaps it is his hunger, the druid considered, that has him acting so. I too have had times where the beast in me hungered for many things, and my behavior has changed..

“So.. how does this work,” Halsin asked, shaking himself from his thoughts. The druid braced his hands on ground; his arms, thick as tree branches, were spread out to his sides. “Shall I sit up, or lie down? And I suppose I shall stop you if I begin to feel it’s too much?”

The vampire tutted at his questions, peering up at him from behind pale eyelashes. “Don’t worry so much, my musclebound friend,” Astarion assured, tucking strands of long brown hair behind Halsin’s ear and putting both palms on the druid’s chest. He could feel the curls of chest hair through the druid’s linen tunic. “Why don’t you lay down darling. Get more... comfortable,” The vampire’s eyes seemed to glitter with hunger. “You’re doing such a kindness, I can’t have you inconvenienced.”

Halsin nodded and gave a sheepish smile to the vampire, who was now only inches from his face. Astarion was stunningly beautiful. His white hair curling about his pointed ears. The handsome laugh-lines on either side of his mouth. And Oak Father help him, Halsin could hardly hold himself back from touching those rosy, plump lips which disguised Astarion’s sharp fangs. The pale elf’s hands on his chest surely felt Halsin’s heartbeat, thundering underneath his tunic like a stampede of deep rothé beasts.

Astarion lifted his hands from Halsin’s chest and perched on his knees, eyes wide with delight and hunger. The Arch Druid lowered himself to the bedroll with unexpected grace for such a large elf. Halsin flushed furiously and swallowed a lump in his throat. Why was it he felt so exposed? He could not recall the last time he felt so vulnerable. I believe I’d be more comfortable if I stripped bare as nature intended, and danced through the middle of the camp, than I am right now, he pondered.

“I think I am ready, Astarion,” he said, betraying only a twinge of nervousness, “I must admit, I am a little nervous. Others have bitten me in… similar situations. But not to the point of blood-drawing. Be gentle, if you can.” A small smile crossed his face, and he reached for the vampire’s delicate hand.

The vampire felt a lump form in his throat as Halsin touched his hand. How delicately the druid’s fingers caressed his own; the druid’s grip was gentle, but firm. The large elf’s tender touch was undeniably endearing. Nervousness is rather adorable on this big oaf, Astarion thought. He met Halsin’s nervous smile with a toothy grin of his own.

“Of course, darling, and it will be over before you know it. You can trust me…” he drawled, lowering himself to place his torso on top of the druid’s, “And you can also trust that I’ll leave you wanting more.” The flippant empty promises poured so easily from Astarion’s lips. He hadn’t forgotten a thing about how to effortlessly enchant someone, after all.

He felt the pounding of the druid’s heart through both their tunics. The body heat from the larger man seeped into Astarion’s skin, and he fought back a shiver to maintain his facade.

“Is.. this position appropriate?” Halsin asked, shrugging his large shoulders. The movement jostled the smaller elf atop his large frame, and he raised his hands to hover above Astarion’s body, in case the vampire lost his balance.

“Oh my dear sweet druid,” Astarion replied, “I would take you in any position you wished, but it would be anything but appropriate.” He crawled one hand up Halsin’s torso, and ran a finger around the neck of his linen tunic, tugging it slightly lower and to the side.

Astarion’s heart leaped into his throat as he watched Halsin flush. The tips of the druid’s ears turned such a deep red that it rivaled that of his facial tattoos. “Perhaps another time,” the druid replied with a kind smile and another flush, “But it grows late, and I’m sure our companions will demand answers as soon as the sun rises. Go on, Astarion.”

Hearing his name fall from the Arch Druid’s lips in such an intimate position caught Astarion by surprise, and he fought falling from Halsin’s barrel chest. He played it off as intentional, as though he intended to brace himself. The pale elf placed his forearm on Halsin’s thick pectoral muscle, the druid’s curly chest hair tickling him even through the linen. His other hand cupped the back of Halsin’s head, fingertips combing through his thick auburn hair. Astarion nearly had to straddle the druid to reach across him comfortably. Gods above, this man is a bear even in elven form, he thought.

He gently made a fist in Halsin’s locks, eliciting a slight grunt from the druid. Astarion felt his breath catch in his throat at the sound; he hadn’t even touched Halsin’s throat with his lips yet. Astarion turned his wrist, angling Halsin’s head to have a wider view of his neck.

“Little bite, my sweet bear,” he cooed, and brought his lips to the druid’s sun-tanned throat. He lapped at the skin with his tongue and felt Halsin’s throat vibrate with another guttural sound. He then bared his fangs and stabbed them into the druid’s neck, biting down hard before lifting his teeth back out to permit blood flow.

Halsin jerked at the pain and the sensation of the vampire’s cool mouth with a groan, lifting one large hand to settle on the vampire’s waist. The druid squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing on the crest of v-shaped muscle above Astarion’s hip. Gods, if he put both his hands on me he’d almost be able to touch his own fingers, mulled Astarion, before sucking at the two open divots.

Halsin’s viscous, warm blood poured over his tongue. Astarion stifled a moan as he swallowed his first mouthful of the life-giving liquid. Wine-red eyes fluttered shut as he was overcome with invigorating ecstasy. Stars blossomed behind his eyelids as the warmth coated his palate and throat.

Goosebumps rose on his pale skin, forming first at his stomach before spreading down each arm and leg, downward still to each finger and toe. The heat spread to his chest and his head, and Astarion felt even the tips of his ears burn with warmth.

Finally, the heat spread to his groin. Oh dear, thought the vampire, his eyelids popping back up as he felt his cock swell. He’d never had that reaction before when feeding. But then again, he’d never fed on the blood of any thinking creature.

Astarion dared not remove his mouth from Halsin’s neck yet for fear the druid would ask him to stop, and he lapped his tongue at the pinprick holes to encourage the flow of blood. He groaned into Halsin’s throat as his arousal strained against his trousers, painfully engorged with fresh blood. The vampire’s ears flushed a deeper red as he felt his length press into Halsin’s stomach. If Halsin had noticed it, he had said nothing yet.

Halsin had held himself back when Astarion finally pierced his flesh. He had wanted to sit up straight at the feeling of ice water pouring into his veins. It felt at first like a mage had cast Ice Knife at his throat until the sensation grew instead to a throbbing numbness. Between the ice in his veins and the rosemary and bergamot in his nostrils, Halsin felt like he was floating in a dream.

He had held onto Astarion’s hips firmly, both as assurance that the vampire wouldn’t fall, and also as a solid grip to pull him away if Astarion drank more than his fill. He had felt Astarion’s throat bob with the first mouthful of his lifeblood.

And one heartbeat later, Halsin had sworn he felt a stiff bulge against his belly. Is he.. aroused, Halsin had asked himself silently. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt Astarion moan against his throat with a second swallow and moved his hips just so.

Oak Father help me, thought the large elf, as he felt blood rush to his groin, help me not lose control. I cannot take what I desire from this man, not yet. Despite his internal plea, Halsin’s hands disobeyed, pulling the pale elf’s hips up his stomach; Astarion’s thigh dragged across Halsin’s throbbing bulge.

Astarion released a guttural growl and took one last mouthful of Halsin’s blood, before raising up for a breath.

Halsin met his gaze, mouth agape and gasping for air, although the pale elf did not come close to crushing his chest. “Are you okay, Astarion?” he asked with concern, releasing his tight grip on the vampire’s hips.

“Oh yes, darling, more than okay,” Astarion purred, licking his lips with a blood-stained tongue. “In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever been better.” He dropped his mouth back to Halsin’s throat, lapping eagerly at the smear of blood on his skin. He practiced tongue was delicate, intentional; he did not want to disturb the puncture marks that had begun to clot closed.

Halsin fought back another moan at the sensation of Astarion’s eager tongue and resisted bucking his hips into Astarion’s leather-clad thigh. He allowed the vampire to finish his clean-up efforts, and let his hands fall as the pale elf placed his palms on Halsin’s chest to raise himself up.

Astarion felt alive, his skin flush and rosy with fresh new blood. His muscles felt relaxed, but ready to strike, like that of a panther waiting in ambush. His mind, crystal clear, without the fog of hunger to cloud his senses. He could hear Halsin’s heartbeat, not pounding anymore, And against his thigh, he felt the pulse of Halsin’s blood throbbing in the druid’s thick bulge.

“I’m not one for prayer,” Astarion started, with a smack of his lips, “but I believe your Oak Father may hear thanks from me this night.” He was half-earnest in his declaration. “You know, dear Halsin…” the vampire continued, grasping a handful of Halsin’s tunic in his fist and pushing himself down, then up the druid’s body. His movement was intentional. Calculated. It provided agonizing, exhilarating friction on both of their arousals. “You’ve given me a wonderful gift. It’s really only fair I return the favor..”

Halsin peered up at Astarion with his thick brows furrowed, before pulling himself to an inclined position and scooting backward. He leaned against the tree stump, holding Astarion’s waist as he moved so the smaller elf wouldn’t be thrown from his perch. “What do you mean, Astarion? I require nothing from you,” he panted. The druid did not buck against Astarion’s leg, but the vampire knew enough of lust that it was clear the druid was aching to do so.

An airy giggle escaped the vampire’s lips. “Well, for one, we could take an evening to ourselves,” he said, reaching his hand down to the druid’s bulging linen trousers. Halsin’s arousal jerked in his palm as Astarion rubbed gently.

Astarion peered at the druid beneath his eyelashes. “You know, enjoy some privacy… we could both use a little fun,” he cooed.

Halsin cleared his throat and moved a hand to cover Astarion’s, giving it a gentle squeeze before pulling it away from his aching erection. “Please do not take what I am about to say as a lack of interest,” the druid assured, and moved his free hand to cradle the side of the vampire’s face. With his other, Halsin interlaced their fingers together. “You are breathtakingly beautiful, Astarion. Nature did wonders when she created you. You tempt me to ruin, as you noticed.”

Astarion’s eyelids shot back up as he searched Halsin’s face for an explanation. Did I do something wrong? He’s obviously aching for me. What did I do? He squeezed Halsin’s hand tightly, as if clinging to hope.

The druid squeezed Astarion’s hand back, with gentleness, and held the firmer grip. “But I give this to you. Freely. With no conditions,” Halsin explained, and tucked a white curl behind Astarion’s ear.

Why does this feel like rejection, then? Astarion’s mind raced, and his lips parted slightly in confusion.

“You do not owe me anything for this, Astarion. Please do not feel you must reciprocate with some gift, be it false praise. Or your body. Or some… facade of what you think I want,” Halsin repeated, gently and slowly. He slid his hand behind Astarion’s neck and rubbed at the muscles at the base of the vampire’s skull.

Astarion sat mute for a moment, staring into Halsin’s eyes. He searched for answers and found none. Only kindness behind those hazel eyes. Only softness behind the druid’s upturned lips. The vampire’s eyebrows knit together, in a concentrated search for any other motive the larger man might possess.

This noble godsdamned fool.

Astarion nodded slowly and pulled himself from Halsin’s grip reluctantly. The druid still held to his fingertips, sitting straight up with his arm outreached to the standing vampire.

“This… is indeed a gift, then,” Astarion said, gazing down into Halsin’s gentle smile. The pale elf turned on his heel and looked at the ground. He inhaled sharply and looked over his shoulder at Halsin, who sat stock-still and straight up. “Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

The pale elf disappeared as the tent flap fell behind him.

Chapter Text

A stray stream of light peeked through a gap in Astarion’s tent flap. Motes of dust, much of which had formed from the various books piled about the vampire’s tent, danced in the sunbeams. The sun’s rays, normally such a welcome sight, were the first thing the vampire looked forward to each morning. The sensation of the sun’s warmth banishing the chill of the night was more intoxicating than the embrace of all the lovers he’d had for 200 years.

This morning, for the first time since he could see the sun without pain, Astarion cursed as it rose. He exhaled forcefully; the dust motes danced a dizzying waltz, in and out of the sun’s spotlight. Morning had come too soon.

The pale elf had struggled with slipping into his restful elven trance when he’d returned to his bedroll. He had tossed back and forth, gripping his blanket with white knuckles before finally allowing his hand to sneak beneath the cover, below his trousers. He had permitted himself to dwell on fantasies; about what Halsin could have done to him. The guilty climaxes that had followed allowed Astarion a state of rest as close to unconsciousness as he could have reached.

The slender elf sat up, and his blankets slid from his chest with the movement. They tented over his groin, which had risen with the sun. That fucking druid, Astarion thought with a frown, and balled his hand into a fist before slamming it on his pillow. Why must he make things so difficult? He said he was interested in my body; why then did he say no? What does he want? Astarion unclenched his hand and ran his long fingers through his snowy curls, taking a fistful of them in frustration.

In the solitude of his tent, with only the dust motes as witness, Astarion blinked furiously at wetness forming in the corners of his eyes and released a whine from deep in his chest.

Halsin had hardly tranced after the vampire had slipped from his tent; he had been deeply unsettled after being visited by this vampiric thief in the night, who had stolen something from the druid that he couldn’t quite name. All Halsin could pinpoint is that his insides had felt as though they had twisted when Astarion disappeared beyond his tent.

He had managed a few hours of trance at least, after careful breathing exercises and meditation. He was nearly ashamed to reflect on the other memory; his rest came only after the druid had allowed his inner beast to release himself into his palm… all while imagining that the hand creating the friction was one with smaller, pale fingers. He dared not dwell longer on the name that had crossed his lips as he climaxed.

The druid sat up slowly and stretched his well-muscled arms in front of his chest and behind his back; it wouldn’t do to be unprepared for the day ahead, and his morning stretches helped him wake up from his hibernation. Halsin exhaled deeply, hoping to expel what felt like a vine strangling his heart and lungs.

He raised a hand to his neck, fingering the two shallow divots from Astarion’s teasing mouth. Who was that strange visitor that took the face of Astarion last night? Their scabs had flaked away, pink new skin ringed by a purple bruise; a benefit of being a druid included deep knowledge of healing spells. The druid stretched again with a groan, hoping to shift the blood that had settled in his loins to his muscles, instead.

Why was Astarion in such an unusual mood? He was but a puppet on strings until I declined his advances.. he wasn’t with me until the last few moments we shared. The large elf felt the vine squeeze tighter in his chest and raised a calloused palm to press against it.

Astarion dressed without his usual fastidiousness. He knew he looked perfectly presentable; but he couldn’t focus on ensuring each hem was in line and his tunic unwrinkled. While buttoning his trousers, the vampire felt a scowl crawl over his lips as he beat back the daydream of Halsin’s large fingers pulling each button open.

Halsin must not have wanted to seem an easy lay, the vampire told himself, reaching for his perfume bottle to dab the bergamot mixture behind his ears and on his throat. That’s understandable; for a bear of a man to be rescued and then wooed as a damsel in distress? No wonder he would feel unease with me pursuing him; he did say ‘perhaps another time’, after all...

Astarion chewed the inside of his bottom lip as he gazed in his hand mirror. It reflected nothing but the velveteen interior of his tent. Yes, I’m sure that’s it. He nodded his head several times, to convince himself of his conclusion and replaced the mirror in a knapsack, face-down.

The vampire closed his eyes and threw open his tent flap with a flourish, feasting on the sensation of sunbeams pouring onto his porcelain skin. He fluttered his eyes open only when the ruckus of the waking camp caught his curiosity too much to pretend otherwise.

Gale hailed Astarion with a wave of a spatula and a cheery, “Good morning!”. As usual, the wizard hunched by the campfire preparing the adventurers’ meals. The pungent aroma of onions, tomatoes, and some sort of squash wafted through a light breeze. How unfortunate. No blood sausage this morning, thought the vampire.

Karlach sat within arm’s reach of the wizard, holding a pan full of scrambled eggs and various vegetables they’d purchased from the druids yesterday. The food sizzled on the pan, kept hot by her infernal engine; she ate directly from it, using a dagger in lieu of a fork. Shadowheart plucked her meal from the pan and beamed Karlach, pulling one of the Tiefling’s braids to her lips in a kiss before drifting off to break her fast. Wyll chatted with Gale and Karlach while preparing a plate, only to offer it to Lae’zel when the Gith warrior stalked up to the group with an expression that screamed hunger. As Wyll prepared another for himself, he “accidentally” tossed a bit of egg on the ground. Scratch pounced on his offering with delight and whined for more, flopping his tail in the dust at Wyll’s feet.

Among the bubbling group of adventurers was Halsin, who had laid out a cloak on the pebbled ground where the others enjoyed their morning meal. His large frame was in an unusual position. Some sort of stretch? Can he not do that inside his tent? Thought the vampire with a huff, as he strode toward the rest of the party. Hells below, the man is fully bent over upside down like a bitch dog presenting herself! I’m surprised Wyll’s not covering his eye — just the one though; Mizora would like to look through the other. Astarion chuckled at his own unspoken joke.

“Well hello darlings,” Astarion purred, holding his arms out to his sides, “How are we feeling this morning - bright eyed and bushy tailed after all the celebrating?”

Wyll stared at him blankly and his mis-matched eyes rolled; purple circles below them betrayed his hangover. Lae’zel seemed fine, as did Karlach and Shadowheart, who had moved to sit together as close as possible - without touching, of course. Lae’zel merely nodded as her answer, too busy eating her breakfast to fuel her lithe body. Karlach responded with a thumbs up and something unintelligible through a mouthful of her meal.

“Quite well, Astarion, thank you,” Shadowheart responded, greeting him with a grin and an incline of her head. Scratch barked happily at Astarion’s voice and padded to him, leaning into the vampire’s fingers to get a scratch behind his ears.

Gale beamed back at his dearest friend. Although Astarion would deny it to his dying breath despite its deep truth, Gale was his as well. The wizard handed Astarion a plate, “As well as ever my fanged friend. I retired before it was far too late; you know I must have my beauty sleep!”

“Well my dear, you certainly can’t get enough of it,” Astarion replied with a wry smile, which grew wider when he heard Shadowheart choke on a mouthful of egg to hold back a giggle. Gale didn’t catch his slight; or perhaps he didn’t care - at this point he and the vampire traded jabs (mostly) in jest.

Halsin changed his pose from the unusual stretch to a kneeling position, his hands on his knees. Astarion could make out two faint purple bruises on the side of the druid’s neck. Astarion swallowed down the lump in his throat as he took a fork from Gale and sat on a nearby log.

“I am doing well this morning, thanks be to Silvanus,” Halsin said, meeting Astarion’s eyes with his usual kindness, “I do hope you feel well, today.” No malice. No current lust, at least. No anger. Just a smile that crinkled the crow’s feet at the corners of his beautiful honey-hazel eyes.

“Well, that’s… how delightful for you, druid,” Astarion replied, stuffing an egg in his mouth and gnashing it with his teeth; although the scrambled eggs were soft enough to swallow without chewing. “I’m fine, thank you,” the vampire replied sharply, before meeting Halsin’s gaze again. He then glanced at his scarred lips and the druid’s neck. His own wine-red eyes softened. “Thank you.. very much,” he finished, his voice low and soft, before sitting beside the druid on his cloak.

After everyone had finished their meal and fed the scraps to Scratch, Halsin beckoned to sit by him. He’d promised them answers this morning, and began with a general synopsis of his findings: their tadpoles were special. Magical. The druid turned his head to each adventurer as he spoke; this mindflayer tadpole problem affected each of them.

“Magic such as this doesn’t arise naturally,” he stated, his voice a stoic rumble. “These Absolute cultists are gathering at Moonrise Towers. So whoever is behind the magic must be there.” He paused to let the news sink in, before continuing. “But the path to Moonrise Towers is treacherous, and filled with shadow. The curse is an affront to nature, so I thank you all for allowing me to join you. If I can get to Moonrise Towers, perhaps I can lift this curse; the same as you might find a cure there.”

Questions and replies lobbed back and forth amongst the group as though they played fetch with Scratch’s ball. Tempers flared on whether they should risk the little-known, life-threatening perils of the Underdark, or choose the Mountain Pass, which would drop them sooner into the shadow-cursed lands. Argument ensued of which provisions to take, and where to resupply before journeying on.

Halsin held his voice and left all conclusions to the adventurers. He was a guest, after all. He observed the discussion rise and fall, sitting seemingly stoically on his cloak.

Only Astarion paid enough mind to the druid to notice Halsin’s restlessness.

Astarion’s nose crinkled as he bitterly accepted that Halsin was the only thing he could focus on. He could not pull his eyes away from how the druid’s heartbeat pulsed at his throat. How the breeze tousled Halsin’s auburn hair around his pointed ears. How the larger elf peeked back at him through the corners of his eyes. How a grin crawled across Halsin’s scarred lips once he realized Astarion was watching him, as well.

Dwelling on what the prior night's interactions meant, or partaking in mind-numbing planning were both ghastly ways to spend the morning.

Neither topic could compete for Astarion’s attention when Halsin’s hand shifted from the druid’s knee, to the ground between them. When that hand sidled over further to pull against Astarion’s waist; when the pale elf’s body was held tight to the druid’s side as Halsin curled his arm. When Halsin’s thick fingers grazed over Astarion’s forearm with no particular intention behind it.

Planning and ruminating could be damned to Avernus, when Astarion could live in his current moment.

He closed his eyes and relished in how marvelous it was to feel awash in sunshine within Halsin’s embrace.

Chapter Text

The party had chosen to transverse the Mountain Pass, at the insistence of Lae’zel of the promise of a creche hidden there. They had set off for the steep hills in the distance. After a day of travelling just to get to the creche, positioned in a former monastery, they had burst through its rotting doors the following morning before the sun had a chance to rise. To nearly everyone’s chagrin, the Gith inside were also early risers. More disappointment followed when the adventurers discovered the creche was not the Vlaakith-sent gift that Lae’zel had imagined, and the Gith “cure” was a painful death. To survive within the creche, the party had to paint its halls with blood, as hostile Gith met the group around each corner.

During each fight, Halsin had found himself fighting by Astarion’s side. As a sleek black panther, the druid had slunk to ambush foes, paired with the stealthy rogue. Together they’d downed scores of Vlaakith’s faithful with claw and dagger, amidst a symphony of slicing blades and startled shouts. A Gith quartermaster met her end when, just before she had reached Astarion, she was struck down with a mighty swipe from Halsin’s gigantic bear claws. Astarion had gently wiped blood from the cave bear’s muzzle and offered him a scratch behind the ears, after he had padded over to ensure his battle partner was unwounded.

Although the adventurers fought well together, confusion was inevitable when fighting as a group. A mix of shouts, spells, and slashing weapons sent the ruined monastery into chaos. Echoes of “Ignis!” and the clatter of weapons created a deafening ruckus that echoed off the stone walls and shattered stained-glass windows.

But within the dilapidated hallways, Astarion and Halsin created their own microcosm, a symbiotic team of shadow and strength, of slashing daggers and sheer brute force, of poisoned arrows and healing spells. It made the battles a little less daunting. And most importantly for Astarion, a lot more fun.

He delighted in the bloodshed of turning his opponents inside-out. The adrenaline rush during and after combat sent electricity through every nerve ending, and Astarion felt as close to a god as an immortal creature could become. It was even more of a delight when he attacked with his fangs to satisfy his bloodlust temporarily.

Once the adventurers had cleared the Gith forces from the monastery, the sun hung far in the west; it was late evening. After dragging a few bodies out of a large chamber, it made sense to use the ruins as their campground for the night.

Though the ancient monastery’s mighty walls sprawled across the cliff sides, centuries of neglect had left the building crumbling. Nature had waited patiently for an opportunity to return, and she had done so with vigor. Trees, shrubs, and thick tangles of vines created a lush, wild grove within the walls. At Halsin’s request, their chosen campsite opened to a courtyard which teemed with life.

Halsin tucked himself away in the courtyard for a pre-supper respite. His companions were a grand old oak and the birds that sang from its boughs. He reclined against its weather-worn bark, his long legs splayed in front of him. In the druid’s hands tumbled what remained of a broken branch; he’d found it lying beneath the tree. He worked it deftly with a whittling knife. At least an hour passed in pensive quiet - Halsin had amassed small piles of wood shavings at his sides.

The sharp hiss of an arrow streaming overhead broke the silence, followed by a dull thud as it met its mark. The arrow had dug into the bark mere centimeters above Halsin’s head.

His lips turned downward, but not in anger or disappointment. The archer’s aim was objectively impressive. His frown was from the surprise of a scrap of paper tickling his nose. Dangling in his face, tied to the arrow with twine, was a small piece of parchment. Halsin raised a hand to steady it against the breeze. In precise cursive script the color of spilled blood, the note read:

“Room for one more, or are you brooding enough for us both? - ★”

Halsin’s smile spread across his scarred face, and his shoulders shook with a laugh. He plucked the arrow from the bark and rolled its shaft in his fingers.

“I would be happy for you to join me, Astarion,” Halsin announced; it was no shout, as there was no need for his deep voice to carry far. He was positive the vampire was quite close, cloaked in shadow.

Astarion seemed to materialize from the darkness about ten meters away. His perch was the east side of a half-crumbled parapet. His ivory hair seemed ablaze in fire from the orange of the sunset. His pearly smirk sparkled even from a distance and deep red eyes flashed as he sauntered to the druid.

“I appreciate the invitation, my dear,” Astarion drawled, casually kicking away wood shavings at Halsin’s side. “Old habits tend to die hard, you know.”

Halsin helped the vampire brush away debris before patting the ground at his side. Astarion lowered himself to sit, making a show of dusting off his breeches when a twig stuck to them.

“So, what are you up to all by your lonesome?” the pale elf asked, his hand gesturing at the wood shavings. Astarion tilted his head back to peer at Halsin through half-lidded eyes. “I’d jest and say ‘sawing logs’, but snoring is no laughing matter when one’s tent is near Gale,” he finished with a hiss.

Halsin presented his creation: an intricately carved wooden duck, small enough to fit in a person’s palm. “I use fallen branches for whittling things like ornaments, utensils… and ducks,” he explained with a shy grin. “I like ducks.”

“Not a bear?!” Astarion asked with a faux, incredulous gasp, his mouth curved in a fanged smile, “Ducks? You never shared with me your inclination for waterfowl.”

Halsin’s eyes were drawn to the smaller elf’s elegant nose; it was endearing to see it crinkle when he smiled. “Well, personal hobbies haven’t been a discussion topic,” Halsin replied apologetically. “With the tadpole issue, you and your friends have had more pressing matters to discuss.” The druid’s heart fluttered when the vampire’s wry grin pulled further at his handsome laugh lines. “Whittling is something I do to pass time. Conveniently, wherever I roam, there tends to be an abundance of wood.” Halsin regretted his words as soon as he saw the devious flash in Astarion’s ruby-red eyes.

“Darling, I’m quite sure that you could never run out of wood, based on what I felt the other night”, Astarion purred, sliding his delicate hand onto Halsin’s thigh. The druid hissed as he nearly cut his thumb with the whittling knife. One thick auburn eyebrow arched at the smaller elf.

“That is.. an apt observation,” Halsin admitted, a flush rising to his cheeks. The large elf pulled one last knife stroke along the wood grain to form the smooth curve of a wing. “I cannot deny my desires. Once you get to my age, you realize there’s little point in denying yourself what you crave… as long as it does not hurt others,” he finished with a smile, holding the wooden duck over Astarion’s lap.

A gift.

The deviousness in Astarion’s eyes melted to delight, his silver-white lashes fluttering as he studied the carved creature. The vampire cupped the duck in his palm with care; as if he expected it would turn to dust if he moved too quickly.

“But what of revenge then, dear Halsin? Surely once or twice you’ve wanted to mete out revenge to those who harm your precious ducklings?” Astarion teased. He finally moved his hand, bobbing the duck up and down in the air, like its live counterparts did on water. The large elf’s heart felt as though it would leap from his throat at the sound of Astarion’s giggle.

“That is fair enough. Perhaps I should rephrase it. ‘You shouldn’t deny your desires, if it hurts no one. Or, if those hurt deserve justice.’ Does that work for you, little duck?” Halsin replied, gently bumping his broad shoulder into the smaller elf’s arm.

Astarion’s porcelain cheeks flushed pink. “Well well, aren’t you quite the hedonist. I thought of you as a ‘let things go’ sort of druid.” He turned his face from the duck to the druid. “But anyway.. thank you. For the gift.”

Halsin’s eyes twinkled as he met Astarion’s gaze. “Thank me by returning the favor, why don’t you?” he asked, “Come on, I’m sure you’ve got something more interesting to share about yourself than a whittling hobby.”

Astarion arched a single white brow. “If you insist. I… may have a bit of a sweet tooth?” he finished with a sing-song lilt.

A deep rumble emanated from Halsin’s throat and grew into a chuckle. “Is that so? Would you seek to drizzle honey on a neck, before indulging?” the druid asked, winking at Astarion.

“Ah, I.. I would not say no to an occasional treat,” the vampire replied. “But your blood was sweet enough on its own, no honey needed,” he said, leaning his torso into Halsin’s barrel chest.

The druid’s pulse roared, changing from a flutter to a drumbeat. He was sure that Astarion could hear it. “I will remember that for the future,” Halsin said with a chuckle. “Out of curiosity, Astarion… does the flavor of blood truly vary by person? Even in wild shape with heightened senses, it all smells of copper to me.”

Halsin felt a tenseness rise in the vampire’s form, which still leaned against his larger body. Astarion released a sigh and his muscles seemed to relax; but only a little.

“I’ve had this condition for two centuries… but truth be told?” Astarion turned his head to Halsin, his gaze half-shielded through his long snowy eyelashes. “You.. were my first.”

“You jest,” Halsin replied, his jaw slack in disbelief. The druid, whose cool-headedness allowed him to not jolt when Astarion’s arrow had struck above his head, could not hide his shock.

“About this topic, Halsin? I would never,” Astarion assured, his eyes wide and earnest. “You were the first person from which I’ve ever actually fed. Sure I’ve gotten a few bites in, but no actual sustenance. In all these years, I’ve only fed on beasts.”

Halsin shook his head in surprise, flyaway strands of his long hair tickling Astarion’s ears.

Astarion nodded, white curls bobbing against the growing dusk. As darkness settled upon them, he seemed made of white marble; true Nature-sculpted beauty. “I was expressly forbidden to feed on thinking beings,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. His arms lay limp in his lap. “Boars, deer… kobolds. During the worst of it… I was served only putrid rats. A cruel jape from my master,” the vampire’s voice trailed off. It seemed as though the energy had been drained; even his hands fell open around the small wooden duck.

Halsin had no words that could ease such a painful memory. He placed a hand on Astarion’s leg; his fingers, when splayed, nearly covered the smaller man’s thigh. He gave a gentle squeeze as they sat, birdsong rolling from the tree above them.

The purple darkness of night finally set after a while, only illuminated by a bright bit of flame shooting into the sky over a crumbling wall. Gale’s cantrip ignis served as a proverbial dinner bell.

“Ah, dinner is served,” Halsin noted with a nod. “And speaking of nourishment… you are welcome to feed again tonight, Astarion.” The large elf paused, waiting for the vampire’s million-realm stare to pull away from the whittled duck to meet his own eyes. “Also… I want to thank you. Your camp is a most welcome solace, one I couldn’t do without. I look forward to your company this evening.”

Supper had been splendid as Gale, ever the people-pleaser and an excellent cook, had prepared specialized meals for his friends. A hearty vegetarian stew for Halsin. For the others, he had added meat from a rabbit Astarion had snared in a trap. And for the vampire himself, Gale had prepared black pudding from provisions he’d found in the Gith creche. Astarion had devoured it with delight and had thanked Gale with a pat on the wizard’s back and a genuine smile. Over the past few days, the vampire had grown more at ease in, figuratively and literally, reaching out to his fellow adventurers.

His friends, as Halsin had insisted on calling them.

Astarion had realized, as he reclined in front of his tent atop plundered creche pillows, they truly were friends. They had risked life and limb (and soul, in Wyll’s case) to protect each other. To work together on the tadpole problem. Everyone also had agreed to help Astarion exact revenge on Cazador, for which Karlach was especially excited. The pale elf felt no need to mask the smile that formed on his lips as he thought of his friends… and especially of the Arch Druid Halsin.

The rest of the party had socialized enough for the evening and had retired to their tents. Though the blood sausage had been delectable, it was time for Astarion’s main course.

The slender elf strode over to Halsin’s tent. Confidence set his mouth in a smirk. Halsin has been won over, Astarion thought, but this is my opportunity to ensure he stays that way. The vampire was certain that he had Halsin’s allegiance; the druid himself had said so, and proved time and again he was trustworthy. He had shown kindness which Astarion assumed stemmed from attraction. It was mutual attraction, if he cared to admit it; but he pushed that thought down to the pit of his stomach. Attraction meant vulnerability.

It was far easier to be an object of desire, than to entertain his own desires.

Halsin’s tent flap hung open, and again the druid was reclined while reading a book, holding it above his head. There were no logs to lean against this time; instead, the larger elf was propped up by delicately embroidered linens and plush pillows. Astarion had insisted that the druid had “roughed it” enough, and that he deserved to treat himself to the luxuries they’d found in the creche.

“Ah, good evening Astarion,” Halsin said, his smile extending to his honey-hazel eyes, “So glad you could join me for dinner.” The druid chuckled at his own jest and patted the bedroll. Astarion returned his smile and kneeled on a pillow by the druid’s chest.

“It is my pleasure,” the vampire replied, his voice a low purr, one hand settling on Halsin’s well-muscled chest. He absentmindedly tugged at the loose strings danging from the druid’s tunic. “Ready whenever you are, darling.”

Halsin nodded once and laid the book aside. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Astarion,” he said, with less nervousness in his voice than there had been in the last feeding. He raised his large hand to the small of Astarion’s back and placed his other on the vampire’s shoulder. His steadiness helped support the smaller elf as he assumed his feeding position.

Astarion took no further prompting; the druid seemed tantalizingly eager. It would make his task all the more simple. And more pleasant. The vampire accepted the unspoken aid from Halsin and climbed atop the druid. It was easier to feed if he straddled the large elf, as opposed to stretching across his wide body.

As Astarion lowered his mouth onto the red-ochre tattoo on Halsin’s neck, the friction of his leather trousers against Halsin’s stomach sent a rush of tingles to his groin. Hells below, he thought, flattening his tongue against the Arch Druid’s neck before a whine could escape from him. Astarion was certain that Halsin could feel his growing erection. Once, then twice his cock pulsed with eagerness; immediately after, the druid’s hand pressed more firmly on the small of the pale elf’s back.

This time, it didn’t bother him; the physical manifestation of lust meant it was easier for him to fulfill, and remain the object of, Halsin’s desires.

A rumble vibrated the druid’s throat against Astarion’s open mouth; Halsin relished in the cool wetness of the vampire’s tongue tracing along his jugular. The pale elf nibbled Halsin’s neck with his dull front teeth. Time for a tease, he thought, and pressed his hardened length into Halsin’s stomach. With the pressure, he felt a firm thickness between Halsin’s legs. The druid was already hard, and Astarion hadn’t even bitten him yet. Perfect.

But the teasing was enough, and his hunger gnawed at his stomach. The vampire opened his mouth wider and pierced his top fangs into Halsin’s neck. As he sank his fangs deeper into flesh, Halsin gripped Astarion’s buttocks with his large hands. The druid rutted his hips against the vampire with a deep moan, lifting them both off the bedroll with his lust.

Hot blood poured onto Astarion’s tongue as he lifted his fangs to suckle greedily at the druid’s neck. His soft tongue lapped at the divine offering, which coaxed a deep groan from Halsin’s lips. Astarion’s hands moved with swiftness; with intention. His slender fingers found Halsin’s nipple through the linen tunic and his mass of curly chest hair, and pinched it gently. Halsin hissed in response, his wide fingertips digging into Astarion’s hips. The vampire smiled against Halsin’s neck as he swallowed one mouthful of druidic lifeblood, then two.

Halsin’s chest rumbled fiercely against Astarion. The smaller elf took it as a sign to stop feeding; he lapped up the remaining blood that dribbled down Halsin’s neck, onto his collarbone.

Dinner was done; now for his duty.

Astarion’s mind was clear, rushing with the ecstasy of fresh blood. But for this second task, it was a habit to clear his mind completely. The vampire let himself mentally float away as he kissed along Halsin’s collarbone, then his throat. His movements were smooth, automatic; a deft hand lowered from the druid’s nipple to his stomach and teased under Halsin’s shirt, running through thick body hair. The large elf’s torso nearly raised from the pillows.

“You enjoy our feedings, don’t you, my dear?” the vampire whispered, his voice an octave lower than normal. “You naughty thing…” his voice trailed off as he lifted his torso from Halsin’s. Although his eyes looked directly into Halsin’s, he stared past the druid. The large elf’s face was a blur, out of focus, but Astarion could tell Halsin’s head tilted to the side.

“A-Astarion,” huffed Halsin, breath hitching in his throat. He kept his hands pressed firmly against the smaller elf’s waist.

“Isn’t this what you want, darling?” the vampire started, slipping his long fingers downward to settle on Halsin’s groin, hot to the touch even through the druid’s breeches. Halsin’s hips pressed into Astarion’s hand instinctively. The vampire drug his palm along the druid’s impressive girth, then rutted his own erection against Halsin’s arousal through his leather trousers. Halsin hissed through clenched teeth at the sensation, but sat stock still in his reclined pose.

It didn’t make sense. The druid’s hands should have been exploring Astarion’s body. Not to worry - they will, Astarion thought. He leaned his front against Halsin’s chest, again creating friction between them. “We could have a quiet evening for once, my dear,” he crooned. “Haven’t you waited long enough for what you want?”

The druid’s body did not respond as it should have. It was inexplicably tense.

As soon as Astarion had finished feeding, his body language had shifted. His gaze had seemed to be a million realms away. His voice had even lowered to that of a stranger’s; it was deeper, with a predatory edge to its vocal fry.

The transformation shook Halsin’s confidence and his chest was heavy with concern. He couldn’t hold back his inner beast’s response to Astarion’s expert ministrations; but he had domination over his mind and his conscience. He did not return the vampire’s heavy petting. He needed an answer, first. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly to tame the beast; his focused breathing soothed the beast, and he felt himself grow soft.

“Astarion, tell me plainly. I need your truth,” Halsin demanded, tipping the vampire’s chin upwards with the tips of his calloused fingers, “What is it that you want? From me? From this?”

Astarion blinked once, then twice. His snowy eyebrows lost their wrinkled furrow, the crease in the skin between them disappearing as they raised. The small elf’s eyes went round and softened; wetness formed in the inside corners of his eyes until his silver-white lashes blinked it away. No cutting words formed on his tongue; no well-worn blithe phrases fell from his pink lips.

Halsin raised one large hand to Astarion’s face, pulling his thumb across the pale elf’s pouted mouth and marble cheekbone. He nestled his fingers into the nest of snowy curls at the back of Astarion’s head and gently ran his fingernails on the vampire’s scalp. He felt the goosebumps rise on the smaller man’s arms and neck as he carded his fingers through Astarion’s hair.

The druid did not repeat himself; Astarion had heard him. Nature has her own timeline, her own natural cycle in which life is born, dies, decays, and is born anew.

Halsin was in no rush; he would never pick from the plum tree in when it was tart and unripe in late spring, nor be surprised when the harvest was mealy and bird-pecked in late autumn. He knew it was best to wait for the natural cycle of things, were it in-season fruits, or the words of someone who did not know what to say.

He existed for this moment, with this beautiful man who haunted his dreams and clouded his mind. Astarion lowered his head to rest his cheek on Halsin’s broad chest, his blood-stained lower lip leaving a smear of scarlet on Halsin’s tunic. The druid pulled his hand from Astarion’s hair and lowered it to his delicate neck, using the pad of his thumb and rough fingertips to massage the vampire’s neck muscles gently. He felt a strained muscle and hummed the verbal part of a healing spell; his fingertips glittered a hazy green before the glow rolled from his hand onto Astarion’s neck, where it seemed to sink into his ivory skin.

Astarion broke the silence a few moments later. “I.. I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice muffled between Halsin’s chest and his own shoulders, “I had nothing at all for so long. Not my free will. Not even my body.” Halsin felt Astarion’s face scrunch into a scowl against his chest. “That was owned by Cazador; to tempt fools into his palace. I laid on my back for breadcrumbs a thousand times or more. Half of them I barely remember,” Astarion choked back the threat of tears he spoke. “Most of them never even bothered to grant me temporary bliss.”

The druid’s chest felt like it was being crushed by an owlbear. It wasn’t Astarion trying to seduce me. It was his past.

“Astarion. I am so sorry,”, whispered the large elf, wrapping his arms tighter around Astarion, accidentally pulling a small grunt from the vampire’s lungs. He released the pressure, but held the pale elf still. “You have survived so much. And you did not deserve any of it. You are so much more than what that bastard forced upon you,” Halsin assured with a low growl in his throat as he thought of Cazador. The druid inhaled deeply and his chest rose, lifting Astarion along with it. The vampire’s body slowly descended as Halsin exhaled. The large elf tilted his chin to place his lips on Astarion’s forehead, nuzzling his nose into the soft white curls.

Astarion let himself melt into Halsin’s embrace, and let his jaw relax. The druid’s large arms were heavy but not overbearing; the weight was a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. For the first time in 200 years, he felt seen. He felt safe enough with Halsin to share the raw wounds of his past that had yet to heal.

“Thank you,” the vampire finally replied, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. His voice had cracked when he spoke. He appreciated that Halsin did not acknowledge the lapse of composure.

“You are most welcome, dear heart,” Halsin replied softly, before releasing his hold on the slender elf. He raised his torso, bracing Astarion’s body as he swapped to a cross-legged sit. Astarion’s rear slipped into the gap between Halsin’s knees, nestling comfortably in the open space; the vampire’s toes dangled a few inches above the tent floor. Halsin adjusted his arm to support Astarion’s back while his free hand grasped Astarion’s long fingers.

“But I want to make something abundantly clear to you,” Halsin said, his deep voice soft and slow. Astarion’s brows shot up, and Halsin felt the man’s muscles tense. The druid gently squeezed Astarion’s torso.

“It is okay to not know what you want, Astarion,” he stated, his honey-hazel gaze meeting the pale elf’s round eyes. “What is not acceptable… is to make assumptions as to what I desire from you. You are no thrall. All of your choices… are yours to make.”

For one of the very few times in his long life, Astarion had nothing clever prepared as a reply. He seethed as he felt his skin flush with the fresh blood when Halsin held his fingers. How is such a large man so gentle?

How he loathed that he could not hide the rosiness in his cheeks. But how he adored the druid for not mentioning it; for not poking fun. For the larger elf’s kindness and patience. For his willingness to see Astarion as more than a plaything, with which he could rut and then leave to rot.

“Halsin…” Astarion started, unable to resist pressing his cheek against the druid’s face. “I.. I appreciate you. More than you know.” He pulled his head back to look into Halsin’s eyes directly. They were as warm as the evening sun; as comforting as a crackling bonfire.

“I needed protection. People don’t trust vampires, perhaps understandably,” Astarion admitted with a nod of his head and flick of his hand, “so I needed someone to get on my side. Seduction has always been easy. It’s all I’ve known for centuries. But now...” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted realms away.

Halsin waited patiently, dragging his fingers along Astarion’s long leg. His movements seemed aimless, with no intent on seduction. Astarion felt that the druid’s touch was an anchor for him. It tethered his mind to reality and the present moment. For once, he did not drown in a tumultuous sea of past memories. Astarion finally exhaled, his cool breath tickling the hairs on Halsin’s arm.

“I…don’t think I want you to think of me in terms of sex,” he admitted, meeting Halsin’s gaze again with his snowy brows knit upward. The corners of the vampire’s eyes became wet again; as chilled red wine in a glass, covered in dewdrops of condensation. “I don’t know if I want anyone to.” He turned his gaze down, pretending to study his nails.

His body shuddered as he choked back a sob, disguising it as a cough. Astarion knew Halsin likely saw through his ruse; he didn’t care either way. He could not look the druid in the eye. Halsin’s hand stopped its crawl and raised to Astarion’s chin, tenderly pulling his face to meet the druid’s. The larger man’s other arm curled tighter around the vampire’s back.

“Come now dear heart, do you truly see me as so fickle?” Halsin asked, his voice low and thick with hurt. “A river does not suddenly breach its banks to change course. Nor would a bear decide to be sated only with grass,” Halsin said with a chuckle. “Revolutionary upheaval is not the way of nature. Nor is it my way.”

The large druid placed his scarred forehead to Astarion’s pearly brow. Astarion couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at the edges of his own lips.

“I have lived a long time, Astarion. I have grown to understand my own desires. I will admit that you tempt me to ruin,” Halsin continued with a wink, rubbing his nose to Astarion’s, “and I would love to partake in your body, and share mine with you. But, that will only happen when, or if, you wholeheartedly want to do so.”

Astarion’s mouth fell open, but no words formed on his tongue, which had grown too heavy and thick to speak. All the vampire could manage was a nod, before tucking his face under Halsin’s chin. The tips of his pointed ears burned with heat as the druid’s thick arms held snugly against his waist.

Astarion felt as though his dead heart had begun to beat once more.

Chapter Text

The shadow-cursed lands truly were a horror to behold; Astarion ranked them with other disturbing sights, such the mindflayer nautiloid, brothels set alight, or even worse, - Wyll insisting they’d help a random stranger with no payment upfront. The other sight that had turned Astarion’s already-cool blood into ice was how quickly Halsin’s mood had shifted as soon as the shadows had thickened around them. As they descended from the hills of the Mountain Pass and into the thick of the shadow-cursed lands, the druid’s jovial smile had faded, his lips taut with focus.

“The shadow curse is just as foul as I remember it,” Halsin had said his voice almost a growl, “And… perhaps even worse.” With height to his advantage, he lifted his torch high above his head; but it hardly shed light beyond ten meters. Once the torchlight faded, their surroundings were as black as pitch poured into the air. Even Shadowheart, devotee of Shar, was unnerved by the desolation.

The walkways were cracked, uneven; the land torn apart by the sheer force of the curse’s spread a century ago. Halsin, usually more than happy to strike up a conversation, seemed lost in his thoughts unless directly addressed.

“So.. this shadow curse is Shar’s doing?” Gale had asked as they walked, keeping their ranks filed tightly. “I knew it was some sort of magic, but different from the Weave of Mystra.”

“Yes, despite the many lives lost trying to stop Ketheric Thorm’s evil from spreading across the land,” Halsin said, his tone serious as he scanned the edge of their visible range for threats. “Ketheric had abandoned Selune after personal tragedies and massed a Sharran army in his grief. Of course, loss is a part of the natural cycle; it should not be interrupted.”

Astarion glanced back at Shadowheart as Halsin spoke; her nose crinkled in a sneer. The vampire rolled his red eyes and walked closer to Karlach, who emitted a decent bit of light by her infernal engine.

“So that’s where the druids came in?” asked Wyll, who kept Scratch on a tight lead. It would not do to let the dog’s skillful nose lead him into the shadows.

“Correct, Wyll; we druids of the Emerald Grove, as well as the Harpers could not let this darkness spread. So, we joined forces to stop his army,” Halsin continued. His strides were long and purposeful. Everyone besides Karlach had to walk at double-speed to keep up. “We were successful in defeating Ketheric and his forces. We interred his body into the Thorm family mausoleum.”

“If you defeated him, then how did the shadow curse come to be?” asked Lae’zel. “It seems your blade must not have struck deep enough, if Ketheric still released the curse.”

“You may be right,” Halsin said. He released a deep sigh that made his large shoulders sag. “Shar is a spiteful goddess; with his last breath, she gave him the power to release the shadow curse. It washed over the land like a flash flood. Anything, and anyone, touched by the darkness warped was into the corrupted beings and places around us.”

Karlach’s body sizzled with rage. “And that bastard’s damage has been here for over a century now, yeah?” she asked. Halsin nodded at her question. “High time you had some help to get some sunshine out here, soldier!” Karlach beamed at the druid, who smiled weakly back at her.

“Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of it,” Halsin said. He lifted his torch closer to a gnarled tree branch above the pathway. As he patted it with his large hand, it seemed to crumble into dust. “The very spirit of this land seems to have disappeared. Thaniel, as I know him… or knew him… for him to have no presence here is grave news.”

The group had been silent in response; the adventurers knew nothing of this Thaniel or nature spirit. Astarion, whose idea of ‘communing with nature’ meant enjoying wine on a veranda, had no words of solace to offer Halsin. Even the vampire, who had no interest in finding out which chirps belonged to which bird, had been unnerved by the complete lack thereof. No birdsong had rung from the twisted treetops. There had been no rustle of squirrels amongst fallen leaves.

Halsin’s additional news dropped a heavier burden on the shoulders of the adventurers. They marched in silence, with the only noise being the jangling of their own packs, the crunch of their footsteps on gravel, the crackle of their lit torches, and the occasional agonized screech of a shade. Their grunts of effort joined the symphony as they climbed a steep hill. Having the high ground was beneficial in any location, but even more so in such a foreboding wilderness. It would serve as a decent enough place to make camp for the evening.

“So you think we might find answers to the tadpole problem at Moonrise Towers, Halsin?” Gale asked, receiving a nod from Halsin. “And you think Thaniel might be there as well? What awaits us there?

Halsin jammed his staff into the coal-colored soil, using it as a post to which he could tie his torch. “I…do not rightly know, if I am honest Gale,” Halsin explained with a shrug, “But.. I think it is as good a place as any to get a start.”

Halsin bedded down at the front of the campsite; he wouldn’t run from the curse this time. The opening of his tent faced away from the campfire; he wanted to easily launch from his bedroll at a shadow-cursed creature.

But given how they’d lit up their campsite with cantrips, torches, and lanterns, it was doubtful that one of the twisted beings would try to slip into the light. He sat at the entrance to his tent, his knees pulled to his broad chest, and his arms wrapped around his shins. The druid stared into the distance; but even with elven eyesight, he could not see much beyond the camp’s lit circle. Occasionally the shadows would flare in the distance, blue green magic flickering like the hottest part of the flame.

The shadow curse flickered with power whenever it absorbed the life force of a creature; he recalled seeing the same visual as the curse rolled from Moonrise Towers a century ago, lapping up his friends and allies in bright turquoise flashes.

Something rustled around the edge of the tent, and a shadowy form appeared in Halsin’s peripheral vision. He slammed his hands on the ground in front of him, eyes flashing golden light as he prepared to wildshape on all fours.

“Halsin! It’s just me,” said Astarion, holding two wine glasses in one hand, and a wine bottle in the other. “I’d say I’d enjoy being ravaged, but, well, we’ve had that discussion. And I certainly would not want to be ravaged by those claws.” The vampire wiggled the wine bottle at Halsin’s hands, fingertips glowing with magic.

Halsin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was a relief and a joy to have Astarion’s company. “I’m sorry, Astarion,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His brows knit upward and a meek smile pulled at his lips. “I’m…on edge in this place.”

Astarion joined the druid, folding his legs underneath him and sliding to a cross-legged position with catlike grace. “Aren’t we all,” the pale elf said, with a lilt and a small giggle. “So I felt it prudent to raid the stocks. Better than tiefling vinegar wine, I hope?” The vampire poured a conservative serving of wine in one glass, before looking up at Halsin through his long eyelashes. “It’s so quiet here.. I know you said you don’t imbibe because you turn into even more of an oaf, but we could use some singing honestly. Regardless of how bad it is.” The vampire’s smile was gentle. Genuine.

Halsin held a hand over the glass meant for him. “I appreciate the thought, Astarion, truly, but I will have to decline,” the druid could see the disappointment in the vampire’s face, his ruby eyes rounding with concern. “But I would love your company while you enjoy it. Please, go ahead.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head back. Halsin felt scrutinized.

“It is nothing to do with you, I assure you. I was not being fully truthful with you at the tiefling party,” Halsin explained. He picked up the empty glass with his large hands and twirled the stem in his fingers. A nervous habit. “I do not partake now, because I did so too often, in the past. Specifically, after I lost Thaniel to the shadow curse. Honey mead was my drink of choice.” Halsin looked to Astarion and winked. “As suits a bear. But as for an elf, it left a sickness in me. Once I realized the damage I caused because of its misuse…I decided it was best to forgo it completely.”

Astarion’s expression softened as he nodded, his ivory curls bobbing about his ears. “I see…Well, more for me then,” the pale elf replied, swirling the wine in his glass. He held it to his nose to inhale the aroma, closing his large eyes. “So. This Thaniel. Was he a lover of yours, druid?”

Halsin caught himself from falling backwards out of surprise. “Oh no, quite the opposite,” he said. He shook his head furiously, as if to shake the disturbing thought away. “At my current age, he is like a son, to me. But I have known him since I was a young cub.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed again, and his bottom lip protruded in a beautiful pink pout. “Like a son? Halsin, if you’ve known him since you were a child, he must be hundreds of years old now. What in the hells do you mean?” He took a sip from his wine, licking his top lip. Halsin caught sight of a sharp fang tip.

The druid studied his hands in thought, before meeting Astarion’s gaze. “Well, I believe Thaniel may be many hundreds, or even thousands, of years older than myself,” he said, with a shrug of his well-muscled shoulders. He noticed Astarion’s eyes darting to them and back to his face with unnatural quickness. “Thaniel is the embodiment of this land. The.. formerly untainted purity of nature is manifest in Thaniel himself. So, as best I can tell, that is why he takes the physical form of a child.”

Astarion studied Halsin’s face over the rim of the wineglass as he took another sip. He pulled the glass away and held it daintily, a slender pinky raised in the air. “A rather apt explanation. As good as any, I suppose. Although nature is hardly innocent,” the pale elf said.

Halsin chuckled and placed a large hand on Astarion’s back. He delighted in the coolness of the vampire’s skin, even through his flowy cream tunic, which was a welcome relief from his intense body heat. “Ah, Astarion, and you say you’re not in tune with nature,” Halsin chuckled again, “While there’s no intention behind her actions, Nature has her own form of fury. You know, storms, earthquakes, and lightning. Think of a child being refused a sweet - their anger manifests in much the same way.”

The vampire nodded, his lips turned downward in thought. Halsin continued. "In earnest, his physical form matters not. But, when I was younger, it was a welcome sight to a loner whose closest friends were animals," Halsin said with another shrug. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze directed at the shadows. "He was... is... my best friend."

Astarion took another sip of wine, swishing it along his palate. “You were bound to be a druid from the start, it seems. But how do you mean, you were a loner? That’s quite a transition to go from that, to being an Arch Druid,” he said, flashing a pointy-toothed grin at Halsin.

The druid shifted the weight of his torso from one hand to the other. He felt especially restless this evening. He took a deep inhale and exhaled slowly.

"I would say that I still prefer solitude, or the company of a select few," Halsin said, smiling with his eyes as he glanced at Astarion; creating a genuine smile had become more challenging. "So when I met Thaniel, it overjoyed me to have a companion with whom I could roam the wilds. We spent many spring days playing in cool creeks and many winter evenings sharing ghost stories around a campfire."

Halsin blinked quickly, willing away the moisture at the corners of his eyes. "But as the seasons passed, and as I grew older and wiser, I realized that Thaniel was not just a boy; he was the spirit of the land. He remained the same while I grew older, and I realized he required protection."

The wine bottle gurgled as Astarion poured himself a small serving into his glass. "And now your path to becoming an Arch Druid becomes clear," he said, raising the glass in a lighthearted toast. Halsin raised the empty glass to meet Astarion’s with a ting.

"You are correct. Thaniel. He… shaped me into the person I am today. And one hundred years ago in this very place..." Halsin's words broke off. He chewed on his bottom lip before he spoke again. "It is my greatest failure, not being able to save him from this curse. One that I cannot abide."

Astarion sat beside the druid, swirling his glass from time to time before taking a sip. After a few minutes, it was empty again. The men sat in silence, facing the broken valley below. Again, the quiet was unnerving, interrupted only by Gale's snoring and the occasional shriek from the shadows. Halsin dug his fingers into the dirt, eager to hear something else, anything.

Then, a gurgle erupted from Astarion's slender stomach. Color rushed to the pale elf’s cheeks, and the tips of his pointed ears turned red. His eyes widened, and his eyebrows raised as he met Halsin’s stare.

The druid couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Astarion, you could have just said you were hungry,” Halsin said, tilting his head to the side. He then nodded toward the inside of his tent, his braids falling around his ears. The large druid did not bother to stand, but crawled the few feet to lie on his bedroll.

The vampire stared after him, with round eyes and an uncertain expression. “I - well. If you insist. Next time I will,” Astarion said, setting his wineglass aside. He stood slowly, bent over, before ducking inside the tent to kneel beside Halsin’s neck.

Halsin rolled his head to the side.

“Go ahead, Astarion, I am ready,” said the druid with a nod of his chin. He stared at the wall, his jaw set to prepare for the sharp pain. He was glad to offer this to Astarion, who would otherwise surely starve in this cursed land. I wonder how Thaniel fares wherever he is. Is he hungry? Is he safe? Is he… alive? Halsin’s mind drifted out of the tent flap, and into the darkened lands outside.

Astarion’s hands seemed to float in the air above the druid’s body, as though he were a marionette held up by strings. “I- yes. Thank you,” the vampire stammered, before lowering his mouth to Halsin’s neck.

Halsin started at the sensation of cool wetness on his jugular. He forced a smile for Astarion, just in case he looked over, before the druid allowed his thoughts to wander again.

The shadow curse brought an icy coldness, so frigid that temperature ceased to be felt; not unlike the cold-turned-to-numbness that occurred when being bitten by a vampire.

Astarion raised his mouth and bit into Halsin’s neck. The ice now coursed through Halsin’s veins, and he squinted his eyes at the sensation. He felt the numbness radiate from Astarion’s bite and the coolness of the pale elf’s tongue on Halsin’s warm skin. It made the druid shiver, a feeling he hadn't experienced since he first allowed Astarion to feed. He realized the shiver was partly from longing; but of a different form. Halsin longed for the desire he had for Astarion during their past feedings. In this moment, he could feel nothing except a sense of loss.

Astarion cleared his throat and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his pinky finger. “Er, thank you Halsin. I… appreciate your kindness,” the pale elf said.

Halsin felt the vampire’s cool gaze sweeping across his features. “Of course, Astarion,” he said, giving the smaller elf’s hand a squeeze.

The vampire didn't return the squeeze; he allowed Halsin to hold his hand as his pale head tilted. Halsin met his gaze with another forced smile. His eyelids felt as heavy as his heart in this place. Astarion nodded, his lips pressed together, and lowered his gaze to the ground as he left Halsin’s tent.

Halsin rolled in his bedroll the rest of the night, with his only tent-mate being raw, angry restlessness. It lolled tauntingly about his rumpled bedroll, heavy with desire and the faint aroma of rosemary and bergamot.

The adventurers began their journey in the morning, once again at a loss for the actual time of day amidst the curse's darkness. The disrupted sleep patterns wrecked their energy levels, compounded by the general malaise of walking in such an eerie landscape and the shades lurking beyond the reach of their lights. It left each adventurer frustrated and eager to reach Moonrise Towers, in hopes of finding some answers.

Just a few hours into their tedious hike, commands echoed through the twisted and broken landscape, reaching Astarion and his companions. It sent everyone's heart, except for Astarion's, into a jolting pace. The shouts had been in Common, from humanoids untainted by the curse—a glimmer of hope.

Several in the party nearly dropped their torches in their rush to find the fray, even though seeing just down the pathway was as challenging as peering around a 90-degree corner. After running for several minutes, they stumbled upon the battle.

Astarion had never witnessed such a peculiar gathering of fighters; however, he had read about them. A magnificent and terrifying beast called a drider—a twisted drow-spider hybrid—swung a longsword at the group of humanoids. In his other hand was an intensely bright lantern, which jingled with every swing of his blade. Around his eight legs darted a hyena and several goblins, hollering chants that included the word "Absolute."

“Cultists!” Halsin said, his eye color shifting from honey hazel to molten gold. They glowed with bloodlust, shaking Astarion's nerves when he gazed into them for too long. “Karlach, Lae’zel, with me,” Halsin ordered in a half-growl as his massive back curved upward. “Wyll, Gale, control the bugbear with whatever you have. Shadowheart, I require your shield.” Halsin fell forward, his hands meeting the dirt with such force that dust flew up into the party’s faces. “Astarion, let loose upon them.” In a blaze of gold, Halsin transformed into an enormous cave bear, twice the size of the already sizable wood elf.

Astarion climbed to high ground on a rock outcropping above the slanted pathway, nocking an arrow in his short-bow. What is he planning? Thought the vampire, his lip curled upward. He’s seen us fight; he knows we excel in stealth. What is he doing? Astarion didn't need to breathe, but he did so to maintain a sense of normalcy. In battle, he held his breath to ensure his arrow would find its mark. The pale elf took aim.

Along a ridge opposite him, Shadowheart and Gale climbed, preparing to cast spells. Lae’zel and Karlach each downed an elixir of strength and turned towards the battle. The gigantic cave bear, charging headlong at the half-dozen cultists, nearly knocked them off their feet. Shadowheart dropped her arms in frustration; Halsin was out of range of her spell.

With a tremendous roar, Halsin collided with the drider, knocking it from its spindly legs. The arachnoid creature screeched in anger, and slammed his lantern into the muzzle of the bear, as well as the head of one of its goblin allies. A flurry of arrows erupted from the group of humanoids standing on the roof of a dilapidated building. Astarion loosed his arrow, laced with paralytic poison, and watched as it struck the drider’s sturdy carapace but failed to penetrate.

“Hells below,” the vampire cursed, leaving his elevated position to employ his daggers instead. He stalked the periphery, minding to stay within the safety of light, but kept enough distance from the swinging swords. Does Halsin think he’s the leader since we’re in these lands? Bullheaded oaf! Astarion seethed, sneaking behind a goblin and slitting its throat. He let it fall to the ground with a thud, not even bothering to check its pockets. He maintained visual contact with Halsin, who had galloped off to take another charge at the drider.

The spellcasters climbed from their high ground to be within range, nodding at their new allies as they joined them in the crumbling building. More arrows loosed from their allies’ bows, felling nearly all foes. Lae’zel and Karlach met the goblin and bugbear with their blades, dispatching them quickly.

The cave bear charged the drider, only to crumple at its legs as the drider’s blade fell between the druid’s shoulder blades. Halsin’s agonized roar, as well as the drider’s maniacal cackle, echoed between the cliff sides.

Astarion surged behind the drider, his anguished scream erupting as he leaped onto the drider's thorax and drove both daggers deep into its back. One dagger slid between the ribs, piercing a lung, while the other struck either the spleen or intestine,. He pulled it to the side to open the wound further. That godsdamned reckless fool.

“Halsin, get up godsdamn you!” Astarion shouted, jumping to the ground as the drider fell. He kneeled beside the Arch Druid, who had reverted to his large elven form. The wound between Halsin's shoulder blades oozed acrid pus—poison. The large elf groaned and shifted slightly; he still had life in him.

Astarion's hands shook as he rummaged through his belt for a healing potion, antidote, or anything. He could hear the clang of Shadowheart's armor as she rushed to their aid. He found a basic healing potion, which hardly healed a burn, let alone a festering wound. The vampire tried to roll the large elf to his side, groaning with the effort of Halsin’s weight and his own trembling fingers. He opened the druid’s mouth and carefully dripped the potion onto his tongue.

The vampire's vision blurred, his focus solely on ensuring Halsin's kept breathing. Astarion only noticed Shadowheart's arrival when he saw a greenish glow enveloping the druid. It was Cure Wounds, a spell he recognized from its frequent use on Lae’zel. Shadowheart cast lesser restoration, and the green pus between the druid's shoulders seemed to dry up as his wound knitted closed.

“Thank you,” Halsin wheezed, sitting up slowly. “Once again, I owe my life to you.” He held out his hand to Shadowheart and firmly gripped her delicate fingers. Astarion scowled beside him, arms crossed. The druid turned to face him.

“And thank you for stabilizing me, Astarion”, Halsin said with a deep bow. Halsin’s eyes were ringed by purple; whether from fatigue or bruises, Astarion couldn’t tell.

“Of course, Halsin,” the vampire replied, offering a curt nod. Does he even care that he could have died? That he didn’t wait for us? For me? Astarion forced air from his lungs in exasperation.

The arch druid did not seem to pick up on Astarion’s unusual lack of verbosity. Instead, he wordlessly stormed toward the bugbear, which had grasped at the dirt. Lae’zel must not have dug her sword in deep enough, this time. The vampire trotted after the druid, with a mix of curiosity and dread building in his stomach as Halsin cast shillelagh, his staff radiating with magic.

The Arch Druid glowered over the bugbear. “What are you doing in these lands?” Halsin said, his voice a desperate, angry bark.

“We will meet the Absolute, praise her!” the cultist said, wheezing against his punctured lung. “Praise Ketheric!”

Halsin took a step back at the name. "Ketheric Thorm is dead and buried. His body locked in the mausoleum,” Halsin said, his words dripping with venom, not unlike the wound he from which he had just been healed.

“Not anymore…” wheezed the bugbear. His gleeful cackle sounded more like a rattle, and he coughed blood as he spoke. “He has risen, he is immortal. Praise Ketheri-” The crunch of Halsin’s shillelagh into the cultist’s eye socket cut his words short.

“Ketheric Thorm is dead,” Halsin repeated. He twisted the staff as if it were inside Ketheric, instead of the bugbear.

Astarion was not sure which turned his stomach more; the squelch of the brain matter, or the transformation of Halsin into someone unrecognizable.

Their newfound allies from the battle turned out to be the Harpers. How history repeats itself, Halsin had thought with a frown, although let us hope not completely. After the battle, they had parted ways, but with a newfound hope. Within one more day's travel were the Last Light Inn and the rest of the Harper forces.

Despite the good news, the mood of the campsite took on a somber tone. The battle did not go as smoothly as it should have; they had used their valuable potions and energy for healing. To make matters worse, provisions were low, and Gale prepared the most basic of gruel stews. The party broke bread together around the fire.

Gale sat near Astarion, the wizard having noticed the vampire's foul mood and hoping to lift his spirits, even if it meant becoming the butt of a joke. Astarion scowled at the soup boiling over the campfire.

“Well, thank you again for cooking Gale. But I’m thankful for once to not have to eat, either,” said Astarion. His voice and his half-hearted joke fell flat. The vampire leaned on his knees, his brows furrowed as he stared at Halsin. Scratch sat at Shadowheart's side, his head resting on her feet, whimpering every time a shriek echoed from the darkness. Karlach stood and squeaked his ball to raise his spirits before stepping away to play fetch. A small smile crossed Lae’zel’s face at Scratch’s happy bark, and she finished her stew.

Wyll, seated near Gale, spoke first. “So, Halsin. You’re very familiar with the Harpers then?” he asked, gesturing with his spoon.

Halsin nodded and leaned towards the fire. His dinner had been plums he’d stocked away in his pouch. “Indeed. In that battle 100 years ago, they were my closest allies. Jaheira directed their forces in battle; I directed the forces of the Emerald Grove under my predecessor.”

Astarion sat up with his hands on his knees. “Oh did you, Halsin?” he snapped, tilting his head back and glaring at Halsin through half-lidded eyes. “I’m surprised you were content with playing second fiddle, seeing as how you barked orders at us during the battle.”

The druid noticed that Karlach, Gale, and Wyll shot the vampire a harsh look. Halsin flinched at his words. “I…you are right, Astarion,” he said, with a deep sigh sagging his shoulders. “It was not my place to issue orders. I have not seen this place in a century, and the fury took me at the moment.”

Shadowheart shook her head and glanced at the druid, worry on her face if not on her lips. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, a small “tsk’va” escaping her. Astarion crossed his arms, gripping his own skin with his fingertips. The firelight danced in his ruby eyes; it made his anger seem more intense.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that, Halsin. Your loss of control was quite clear as you charged in alone to get yourself killed,” Astarion said. His fangs were nearly bared under his plump top lip. Gale gripped the vampire's knee in response to his words. Halsin’s sensitive hearing picked up his whisper of “Enough, Astarion”.

Halsin’s chest felt gripped by a tangle of vines at the vampire’s anger. He knew Astarion was not wrong; he knew he had been foolish. He was repeating history in his own actions. The large elf shook his head slowly and placed his elbows on his knees. His braids fell into his face.

“That was foolhardy of me, to not wait. Your words are harsh, but accurate,” Halsin said, nodding slightly. “I truly do not enjoy leading battles. Leading… anything, in fact. It is a terrible burden.”

Wyll tilted his head in Halsin’s direction. “But you were the leader of the Emerald Grove, before handing it off to join us,” he said. The warlock’s gentle face was picture-perfect confusion.

Halsin sat up straighter. “That is correct. But that was not my choice. In the battle for the soul of these lands, I was second in command. After we defeated Ketheric, we thought we had won,” the Arch Druid said. “But not long after we sealed him away in his tomb, the shadow curse took hold. No one had seen the likes of it before. No one knew how to react. Then it claimed all those within its reach. Those who had survived the battles now fell to the shadows. The Archdruid, my predecessor… was seized by the curse. I couldn't save him; there was no time. I had to lead the survivors to safety,” Halsin continued. “That was my first day as Archdruid. An inauspicious beginning.”

The party listened in silence. Astarion’s expression softened slightly. He knew this story already; from reading Halsin’s diary.

Halsin went on, "But imagine if I had been faster, bolder, better. Lives would have been saved. More than I care to count. Including that of Thaniel.”

The party was silent; in surprise, or in respect, Halsin wasn’t sure. But he appreciated the silence all the same; it gave an excuse to end supper and depart. “Excuse me, my friends, but I must prepare for our travels tomorrow. If you need me, I will be in my tent,” said Halsin, before slipping away.

After Halsin had left, the vampire received a proper scolding from Karlach, Gale and Wyll. The trio was insistent on kindness; they were all bleeding hearts. Couldn't Astarion understand Halsin was hurting? They had pointed out that he was clearly grieving, and we all make mistakes. But their opinions were split: Lae’zel agreed with Astarion; there’s no room for feelings when lives were on the line. Halsin made a foolish decision to give orders, and she was bitter about following them instead of trusting her own judgement. Shadowheart’s skin had rubbed raw from her chafing armor when she had run to heal Halsin. She, too, harbored frustration about his rash actions.

Regardless of their support or dissent, Astarion didn’t need their opinions. They didn’t know Halsin as well as he did. He felt an intense closeness with the druid, even though it had not quite been a fortnight since he’d met Halsin. But what delicious days they had been, the best he'd experienced in centuries, all without having to sell his body for the Arch Druid's time or affection. Moments filled with combat and comaraderie. Adrenaline and arousal. Intimacy and intelligent conversation. Until reaching the shadow-cursed lands.

A few yards away from Halsin’s tent, he shuffled his feet in the dirt. His hands twisted the strings on his tunic and his gaze fixed on the tent as he lost himself in thought. Since they arrived here, Astarion hadn't once felt the druid's calloused hand around his waist, nor received a playful nudge from his bear form. It made Astarion’s stomach churn, and his chest throbbed as if a stake had been driven through it. Has he lost interest in me? He wondered, feeling the stake twist in his heart.

Thaniel wasn't a lover, but Halsin appeared consumed by his obsession with the boy. The rotten feeling inside Astarion grew. He despised it; he wanted to support this noble, sweet fool. The vampire crossed his arms, his fingertips and sharp nails lightly digging into his skin. He wished he could cold-shoulder the druid in pettiness. But after the bloodshed of the day, Astarion was starving.

The campfire’s light cast his shadow against Halsin’s tent wall.

“Halsin? May I enter?” he asked, his tone soft and meek, filled with apology.

“Yes, Astarion, please join me,” Halsin replied from inside the tent.

Astarion’s mouth curved upward slightly. The druid didn't seem to hate him. He ducked inside the tent and shared the smile with Halsin, who had a book open in his cross-legged lap.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not,” the vampire said, eyes downcast to the ground. He lowered himself to a sit beside Halsin, his nimble fingers playing with the strings on his tunic.

“Your company is always welcome, Astarion,” Halsin rumbled, looking down at the slender vampire at his side. The druid’s expression was softer than Astarion expected.

“Er…well, thank you, for that,” Astarion replied. “Even when I’m just…hungry?” He winced at his own words. The vampire didn’t come only because he was hungry. But if Halsin wasn’t interested in his companionship or affection, he couldn’t admit that he had tucked tail and come begging for anything at all from the druid.

The large elf closed his book gently. “Oh, of course. I am sorry to not have thought about it earlier,” Halsin said, closing his eyes as well. “I feel well enough to offer my blood; Shadowheart is quite the healer, despite her Sharran loyalties.” The large elf reclined on his bedroll.

“Indeed,” Astarion replied flatly, lowering his torso to Halsin's and placing his mouth on the druid's neck. As he fed, he tried all the same tricks from his first feeding: flitting hands over Halsin's torso, his cool breath on the large elf's hot neck. But Halsin only stared at the tent wall; it was like feeding from a living corpse.

Astarion blinked back the moisture from the corners of his eyes and sat up, wiping blood from the corner of hips lips. Halsin was lost to him. Once was an oddity; twice was a pattern. Again, the druid had shown no arousal, no emotion, no reaction besides a grunt of pain.

“Well, thank you for the last supper, darling,” Astarion said, his voice detached and flat. “I suppose we’re done then.” He shuffled on his knees to sit further away from Halsin, his fingernails picking at the seams on his trousers.

The druid roused slowly, as though it took a moment for Astarion's words to sink in, like rain soaking into parched soil. “Last supper?” Halsin asked, his voice low. He shifted to sit on his knees and rubbed his forehead with his thick fingers. “Done with what? What do you mean?

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at the druid; he didn’t want to face the larger elf completely. “Oh, darling don’t play coy. It sounds like you’ll get answers from your Harper friends tomorrow at Last Light,” he said. “Then you’ll be off on your merry way!” The vampire flipped his slender hands in the air.

The druid met his gaze, his honey-hazel eyes scanning Astarion’s face. The vampire felt as though he were being inspected. “Astarion, what are you talking about?” Halsin asked.

“Please, Halsin, stop with the facade,” Astarion said, waving one hand towards the larger elf. “You know your old friends are here, challenging the Absolutists,” The pale elf’s gaze shifted to his knees; if he looked any longer at Halsin, the mist in his eyes would turn to tears. “You’re obviously closer to the idea of them than to us,” Astarion’s tunic became tight around his shoulders as he rounded them, bending into himself defensively.

He heard the rustle of Halsin’s movement on the bedroll. “Astarion,” the druid said softly, “Have you lost your senses?” He was too gentle. It hurt, this feigned bit of care, and it made the abscess in Astarion’s chest worsen.

“No, I certainly haven’t, but you have!” said the vampire. He could feel the color rising to his cheeks; Halsin’s fresh blood circulated within him. Astarion shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Over this Thaniel boy. Over this curse. You’ve less self-control than a beast!”

Halsin rose to his knees, his large form blocking the candlelight within the tent. He cast a shadow on Astarion. “Do not compare me to a beast, Astarion,” the druid replied, his voice almost a growl. Astarion felt the druid's forceful exhale on his pale skin. Halsin sat back on his haunches. “People see me in battle, or see my size and don’t think I can get hurt.. or have feelings.”

Astarion felt his eyes widen, and the moisture overflowed. Cool tears streamed down his porcelain cheeks. “I.. am sorry, Halsin,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible. “I am aware you can get hurt. Too aware.” The vampire’s voice sharpened, and he met Halsin’s eyes. The druid’s thick brows knit together upon seeing Astarion’s tears. “But today, it appeared as though you had forgotten that. You’re so willing to sacrifice yourself that you don’t see that you don’t have to.”

Halsin seemed to deflate at Astarion’s words like a drinking bladder emptying its contents. “I…must not lose focus until everything is put right. I’ve wasted too much time already - and nature has suffered.” He moved closer to Astarion and placed his broad hand on the vampire’s knee. Astarion chose not to react to his touch; he had to focus on fighting back his tears.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, which startled Halsin. “Oh darling, I didn’t peg you as self-centered, but here you are, making this about yourself,” Astarion said, seething as more tears streamed down his cheeks. He met Halsin’s fragile gaze with ferocity. “Do you think that one person could have stopped the goddess Shar? Really?” He gestured forcefully toward the open flap of the tent while maintaining his accusatory stare at Halsin.

The druid cast his gaze to the shadows outside the tent. His expression shifted several times as they sat in silence. Astarion could only assume the first was offense; but his last expression seemed to be understanding.

Halsin's hand remained on the vampire's knee, gripping snugly, his wide thumb rubbing gentle circles on Astarion's kneecap. “There was no one else to blame,” Halsin said finally, breaking the silence. “And, if I centered my rage at myself, I could not lash out at others in anguish. I could cage the bear and let it wound itself against the bars…”

Astarion's fingers shook as he gently placed his hand on top of Halsin's. “Come now Halsin,” he said, letting go of the pet name, “You’re older even than me. You know as well as I do that the world is cruel more often than not. You helped me understand that being cruel to oneself won't improve matters.” Astarion meant every word; Halsin's kindness and affection had been a soothing balm for his anxieties, keeping him from seeking affection through means he'd rather avoid.

Halsin met Astarion’s gaze and raised his hand to the vampire’s cheek. His large thumb wiped away the cool tears. “You possess more wisdom than you give yourself credit for, Astarion,” he said, tilting his head as he smiled. A deep exhale escaped the druid's lips, and the sigh ruffled Astarion's curls. "I offer you my apologies."

Astarion momentarily forgot himself, savoring the warmth of Halsin's palm as he leaned into it. The touch provided a brief reprieve from the gnawing pain of no longer occupying a special place in the druid's heart. After a moment of allowing himself happiness, the pale elf pulled his face away from Halsin’s gentle hold. “I.. appreciate that darling,” he said, an airy laugh escaping his lips. “Because, foolish as I am, I'm still here with you... despite your loss of interest.” He lifted his wine-red gaze to meet Halsin's, searching for any hint of intent in the subtle expressions that played across the druid's face. What he found was utter confusion.

“Dear heart, what are you talking about,” Halsin asked, his hand falling from Astarion's cheek to his pale, slender neck. His thumb traced the vampire's bite scars with tenderness.

"Oh, please," Astarion began, his hands gesturing at himself with a hint of flippancy. "Just acknowledge that I'm just a pretty distraction to pass the time whilst our ‘fates are aligned’.” Cool tears welled up in his eyes once more, then ran down his cheeks again, like raindrops sliding off a marble sculpture. They sparkled in the gentle candlelight of Halsin's tent.

Halsin's mouth opened, his tongue twitching as he searched for words that eluded him. “Astarion, I am deeply grateful to Silvanus for allowing our paths to cross, but-” The druid’s words were cut short.

“Yes, yes, and 'it was delightful while it lasted’,” Astarion interjected, his head jerking to the side as tears cascaded down his cheeks, dripping onto Halsin's calloused hand. “But tomorrow you’ll find Thaniel, and then you'll whisk him away into the woods, leaving me to..” Astarion choked back a sob, which soon wracked his shoulders. “I'll be abandoned.”

Before Astarion could react further, he found himself pulled tightly against Halsin's broader form. The druid's thick arms enveloped the vampire's torso, his legs parting as he drew Astarion closer. Astarion was almost entirely ensconced in Halsin's embrace. “My dear Astarion,” Halsin began, his voice a deep, gentle rumble emanating from his chest. “You won't be abandoned. I want to be with you. I-"

Astarion attempted to pull his torso away but found it was a futile effort. He shook his head in frustration. “Don’t fill my head with that nonsense, druid,” he said, sniffling to clear his runny nose. “Not when I have nothing to value; only burdens to carry.” Despite the embarrassment of his tears, he looked into Halsin's kind eyes. He needed to know for certain what Halsin wanted.

“Astarion, that is untrue. You spoke such wisdom moments ago: we can rely on each other whenever our burdens are too great,” Halsin said, his voice almost a whisper. “I want to help you with yours…” The druid squeezed his arms around Astarion, coaxing a whimper from the smaller elf. “I care for you,” Halsin continued. He smiled at the pale elf - a genuine one, radiating from his kind eyes.

Halsin hooked his large finger under Astarion’s chin, to bring the vampire’s gaze to his. “Astarion, my heart does not stir lightly, and yet…it soars just to look upon you. I value you beyond measure. Think of the times you have fought beside me in battle, your prowess with arrow and dagger are invaluable; you have saved my hide more than once. And of the many evenings your company brought great comfort to me when we sit together and read. I treasure your astounding intellect, even when your well-thought arguments are against my own! And I can always depend on you to bring laughter to my lips, as sure as the sun will rise each day. Those moments are all so precious, so valuable to me…I want to never be without you.”

Astarion closed his eyes, allowing more tears to fall. The sensation of soft, warm lips on his cheek made his eyes flutter open. Halsin’s lips traveled up from his cheek, to kiss the corners of Astarion’s eyes; to kiss away the vampire’s tears. To kiss away his fears.

“Regardless of any burdens you have, Astarion,” Halsin continued, saying the vampire's name like a song, like a hymn, a prayer of tenderness and care. The druid's lips met Astarion's other cheek, kissing away his salty tears. “And despite the challenges ahead… Astarion, dear heart. My heart.” The druid paused and placed another kiss on the pale elf’s forehead.

Astarion's plush, pale lips parted, but he had no words, no witty response, no wry observation. He simply gazed at Halsin, his eyes shimmering with renewed hope.

A moment passed; thick with tenderness and desire. And when Halsin pressed his mouth to Astarion’s cool lips, only a surprised, pleased whimper escaped the pale elf. Halsin’s kiss was so very soft. Deliciously tender, as he pulled Astarion’s lower lip between his own. Passionate, as he suckled it gently before pulling away. Halsin did not slip a greedy tongue into Astarion’s mouth, like the lustful kisses the vampire had known over the years.

He placed another chaste kiss on Astarion’s now-reddened lips before pulling his own just far enough away to speak. “I am here with you now, Astarion. And I will always return to your side.”

Chapter Text

A deep rothé’s hooves in full-gallop was a whisper compared to the furious thunder that had been Halsin’s heartbeat, prior to pressing his lips to Astarion’s. His thoughts had poured like a spring storm’s deluge: all at once, overflowing the borders of creek beds and convention. He had felt like he nearly lost himself amidst a flash flood of desire.

The druid had seen a piece of himself reflecting in Astarion’s ruby eyes; the beast of uncertainty and fear that plagued him. Plagues him, with how tall his self-defensive walls had become. When the vampire had admitted his concern over the druid’s life, Halsin considered perhaps it was safe to let the brittle scaffolding fall.

Astarion had allowed their lips to touch with no resistance; no distaste. To the druid’s pleasant surprise, the vampire had leaned into the second tender kiss.

“I am here with you now, Astarion. And I will always return to your side,” the druid had said, in earnest, shortly after. Both men had huffed in silence for a few moments, lips an owlbear’s feather apart, before Halsin felt he had breath enough to speak again.

“Self-doubt is a devious thing, my heart. And rarely do we plant the seed of it ourselves,” Halsin said, pulling his face away slightly to speak. The druid’s hand rose to Astarion’s chin, his calloused thumb tracing the vampire’s lower lip. How beautiful it was, plump and reddened after their lips had met; he ached to kiss him again. “I have found that its roots grow to strangle one’s heart and mind. I do not wish that for you.”

Astarion had kept his eyes on Halsin’s lips as he spoke, snowy eyebrows knit upwards. He finally spoke after taking a breath; in and out, like Halsin had done in front of him hundreds of times. His breath was cool on the druid’s palm.

“Y-ou..,” stammered Astarion, his murmur so low that Halsin could barely hear it; or even feel the vibrations of the vampire’s voice in his palm. “You say you wish to be at my side, But you don’t want to acknowledge the…complications of who and what I am. I’m not a good person, Halsin. Not like you,” the vampire said, his effervescent, false laugh escaping him. “Truly, I’m barely a person at all; not as you are. The vast majority of my life I have been this,” Astarion said, his face momentarily obscured by a swoop of his delicate fingers towards himself.

His eyelids fluttered closed, ivory eyelashes resting on his now-rosy cheeks. Halsin felt heat rush to his groin as he cared for the man wrapped in his arms; not from lust, but from passion, desire, to care for the smaller man. He embraced the pale elf tighter and leaned his forehead against Astarion’s.

“You are the most incredible person, Astarion. And I want to be beside you. I want to know every bit of who you are, who you were, and who you will be,” the druid replied.

Halsin’s heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm as he let fall his emotional scaffolding. “I want your humor, your playfulness, your lust for new experiences. I want to wake from my trances to your Blood Moon gaze,” Halsin said, his voice husky and low with fondness. “I want even your wounds, to know your scars, and I want to share with you my own. As my partner; if you would have me.”

Astarion had stared wordlessly as the druid spoke, His eyes had scanned over Halsin’s face with the same uncertainty of a wild deer ready to bolt. At Halsin’s gentle reassurance, as reliable as the changing of the seasons, the vampire’s shoulders drooped. Astarion had assessed his lack of threat to be true. The pale elf leaned his face into Halsin’s large palm, bumping into it with his nose and lips.

“I think…” Astarion said softly, raising his gaze to meet Halsin’s agonizingly slowly. “I think I would like that.” He pulled his arms from between their torsos and wrapped them around Halsin’s neck. Halsin relished in the feeling, goosebumps forming on his skin at Astarion’s cool touch. “May I stay with you tonight? Even.. even if it’s just to rest?” Astarion asked as he nosed into the crook of Halsin’s collarbone and his neck, the tips of his ears flushing near-violet.

Halsin blinked back moisture that welled at the corners of his eyes. “I would love nothing more than to wake with you in my arms,” he rumbled, pulling Astarion’s torso against his, nestling his face into the smaller elf’s snowy curls.

For the first night since they had reached the shadow-cursed lands, Astarion had experienced a fully restful trance-state. Through feeding he was refreshed; through feelings, reassured.

Astarion had spent the night cuddled beside Halsin, with one of the larger elf’s arms wrapped around his waist. Prior to bedding down, Halsin had admitted, color rising to his cheeks, that he generally slept “as nature created him”. But the druid insisted on wearing at least his trousers while sharing the bedroll for the evening. Astarion had remained fully clothed; too raw of a wound was the idea of baring his back scars to the druid.

Before Astarion fell asleep, he’d found himself tracing his hands lazily across Halsin’s barrel chest, his fingers raking through the druid’s thick chest hair. He had no need for a pillow, when the druid’s well-muscled pectorals served just as well. His muscles had finally fallen lax from his toes to the tips of his pointy ears, as his mind dwelled on Halsin’s oaths of loyalty and companionship. He had found a smile forming on his lips. For once, someone desired Astarion as more than a beautiful night of distraction; and all the better that someone was the druid Halsin.

The pale elf had felt himself flush, at the memory alone. He’d shivered in delight and slight embarrassment, and had hidden his rosy face in the crook of Halsin’s arm. Astarion was intoxicated by the druid’s musk. The scent of cedarwood and lemongrass had been calming, allowing him to slip into his trance with no resistance.

Astarion had awoken with a smile for the first time in 200 years; no pollution rotted through his marrow, even after sharing a bed with another being. He had not been forced, nor asked, to exchange his body for companionship; it was freely given, freely received.

As they both exited the tent in the morning, Halsin had held the tent flap open for Astarion with one hand, waving a greeting to the other adventurers. Shadowheart was fully dressed, eager to get moving. She sat to the side, fidgeting with the relic that protected them from the mindflayers. Gale had prepared the most basic of flat breads, as flour and water made the most of their provisions. Regardless of the simplicity, Wyll had torn through several with great pleasure, giving Gale a thumbs up as he broke his fast. Karlach, ever kinder than she ought to be, had insisted the unseasoned pancakes were delicious, though she tossed most to Scratch when she thought no one was looking. Lae’zel had passed on breakfast, instead holding out for the promise of protein and more options at Last Light Inn; they would arrive by mid-morning if they kept a brisk pace.

Their journey to Last Light Inn had been easier than expected; most of the trek had been downhill, with the main risk being trip hazards on jagged rocks and broken cobblestones. Shadowheart’s Light spells had dispatched the odd shade here and there; what she didn’t destroy had been felled by Gale’s Magic Missiles, tossed haphazardly over his shoulder as they trekked. They had seen a gigantic dome in the distance, glowing white on the horizon. Last Light Inn.

Upon their arrival, they were greeted by Jaheira and her unshakeable skepticism. Although her innate distrust of strangers in a strange land was well-warranted; even more so when the majority of them were infected by mindflayer tadpoles. But, at the urging of her Harpers who they had partnered with in battle, as well as a character witness from the Tiefling child Mol, the adventurers had been welcomed with open arms.

Jaheira had shared with Halsin and the others the intelligence she had gained whilst battling Absolutists: Ketheric Thorm was indeed resurrected; and even worse, seemed to be immortal. He and his forces had gathered at Moonrise Towers, so it was fortunate the adventurers had decided to venture to Last Light first. She informed them of their powerful allies at the Inn. The spell enchantment protecting Last Light and its visitors was cast by Isobel; a Selûne cleric who, despite Shadowheart’s complaint, had provided them a blessing to safely travel the shadow-cursed lands. She had shared Jaheira’s kind offer of a place of rest and respite for the evening.

Halsin had appreciated their generosity; including their kindness to the acquaintances he’d made in the Grove. Many of the Tieflings they had sheltered amidst his druid followers had made it to Last Light. It unburdened his heart to see that many had been saved from both the wrath of the goblins and ravages of the curse. They had reunited with Alfira, the Tiefling bard, as well as Mol, who’d perfected the pick-pocketing skills Astarion had taught her. A few hours after arrival, Halsin had been bemused when he reached into his pocket to retrieve his newest whittling project and only found a crumpled piece of parchment that said “Thanks bear man!”.

Halsin and his new friends took advantage of the Harper’s hospitality to enjoy a short rest in the center of the inn. Shadowheart pouted in the corner on a plush armchair, glaring daggers at Isobel who sat on the mezzanine above. Her fingernails picked at the pointed corners of the relic. Karlach, desperate for a frosted pitcher of beer, settled for a lukewarm glass of ale and joined Lae’zel and Wyll near the front of the inn. The trio listened intently as Jaheira shared stores of past triumphs. Gale pored over his spell books in the reading room adjacent, stroking a sphynx cat named His Majesty; he had won the hairless cat’s favor by offering him a saucer of milk.

Halsin enjoyed a mug of lemon balm tea at the bar beside Astarion, who sipped from a glass of wine as they both pored over their current reading material. The drone of tavern discussion and clink of the Harper’s armor was melodic white noise in contrast to the unnatural silence of the shadow-cursed lands.

The druid’s large hand slowly dropped from the well-polished bar top to rest on Astarion’s inner thigh. His thumb lazily stroked back and forth along Astarion’s leather-clad leg. He squeezed the vampire’s thigh gently, relishing in his partner’s well-defined muscles.

Astarion peered up from his book, a smirk pulling at his lips. He met Halsin’s gaze through his long ivory eyelashes. “Something the matter, darling? Did you come upon a word that is too long for you?” he teased, knowing full-well that Halsin’s skill in and enjoyment of the written word matched his own. Astarion crawled a hand up Halsin’s side to tickle under his armpit. Halsin squirmed to escape Astarion’s slender fingers as a chuckle burst from his lips; he was horribly ticklish.

“Astarion, you are incorrigible,” Halsin said, beaming at his companion, his voice effervescent with laughter. “No, I am quite fine, although I am struggling to focus on my research.” 

Halsin wrapped his thick arm around Astarion to grasp the edge of the vampire’s barstool; with one hand he pulled it closer to his own. The druid’s hand lingered on Astarion’s hip; their thighs touched, and Halsin’s skin prickled with goosebumps.

“I find myself concerned that my imagination is playing tricks on me. I needed to touch you and make sure I was not in a dream,” Halsin said, his voice low and husky, lips brushing against the tips of the pale elf’s ears. “You have my stomach in knots, Astarion, like some heartsick ninety-year-old.” The druid pulled his hand from Astarion’s hip reluctantly, tracing his fingers up the vampire’s back.

Before Halsin could lift his mug for a sip of his tea, Astarion flashed the large elf a toothy grin and wrapped himself around Halsin’s arm, placing his cool cheek against the druid’s biceps. Halsin’s goosebumps flared again as they savored the intimacy of the mundane.

Faerunian adventurers rarely enjoyed routine comforts for long; this day was no different. Their reverie was shattered by an anguished groan which echoed from elsewhere in Last Light Inn.

The druid started, jostling Astarion on his stool; the pale elf had almost slipped into a trance, so comforting was the druid’s body heat. Halsin immediately rose from his stool, bracing each of Astarion’s shoulders as he stood. The druid didn’t need to speak; his furrowed brows and lips drawn thin spoke volumes of his intentions to save the day.

Astarion set loose a groan of his own, his upper lip curling to bare his fangs. “Must we always go to investigate? Can’t we let some other person save the day?” he whined, throwing his head back in frustration.

Halsin’s fine auburn hair fell in front of his shoulders as he leaned forward to assess the origin of the sound. His movements were almost ursine; Astarion was certain that if his ears could perk forward, the druid would look even more like a bear in elven form. Halsin’s eagerness to help others was endearing until it conflicted with Astarion’s comfort.

“It’s coming from the room beside us,” Astarion drawled, nodding his head towards a nearby door as he rose from his barstool.

Since they’d arrived at the inn, his ears had picked up on softer, almost inaudible muttering and moaning. Another vampiric ‘gift’: heightened senses that benefitted a night-walker. But it was not his business to investigate whether the utterances were from lovers under covers or someone lying on their deathbed. Until, of course, his noble fool dragged him into yet another situation. He could not resist prodding at the druid.

“You know, Halsin, with how often you insist on indulging your curiosity, I’m surprised your preferred wildshape isn’t some sort of wildcat,” Astarion said as he strode to the door, kicking his shoes along the wooden floor. It was smooth beneath his leather-soled boots, polished from hundreds of years of visitors.

Halsin’s intense focus broke as he followed his partner. “Ah, but it is said that curiosity kills a cat. As far as I’m aware, no one has ever rhymed about what it could do to a bear,” the druid said with a deep chuckle and jovial grin.

“If it would deter you from playing hero, I would happily author one,” Astarion replied, a laugh falling from his upturned lips. He winked at Halsin and opened the door, stepping back to allow the large druid passage. Astarion stifled another snicker when Halsin dipped his forehead to not slam it into the doorframe.

The room was mixed use; maps and battle plans littered the top of a large table that took up half the room. Members of the Flaming Fist were scattered throughout the large space, presumably planning. A dozen beds flanked the other side of the room, only one of which was occupied. Several Fists stood around the bedside of a man who hummed deliriously, tossing about his sweat-drenched linens. Astarion exhaled forcefully and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger; this was not his business.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, Astarion thought. Butting into others’ business obliterated the bear? No, that saying won’t do. He leaned against the wall, his pink lips in a pout and arms crossed.

“Who is this man?” Halsin asked gently of the female Fist at the bedside. She recognized Halsin’s demeanor and clothing as druidic - a potential healer. The spark of hope provided a flurry of animation to her speech as she informed the duo of how they found the man - stumbling, delirious, wandering in the shadow-cursed lands.

Halsin nodded intently as she spoke and inspected the man’s condition. They only knew that he was a fellow Flaming Fist, and that his name was Art Cullagh.

“Art. Hail, Art!” Halsin beckoned, gently shaking the shoulder of the unconscious man. There was no response from him, besides a groan that morphed into a hum. Halsin hovered his great hands over Art’s prone body. Magic manifested in a viridian glow, dancing about his hands before settling along Art’s body. The sparkles melted like snowflakes onto his feverish skin.

He seemed to rouse only slightly, his groans transforming into intelligible words. “Thaniel and me, climb climbing up a tree… and see what we see.. do as we.. please.”

Astarion had intended to brood moodily in the corner while Halsin played hero; but he nearly lost his balance as the word “Thaniel”. He swooped to Halsin’s side, his steps so soft they were inaudible.

Halsin, too, had picked up the name, and he bent himself closer to the ill man. Art’s humming continued. “We see shadows, they get darker, but our hiding place is brighter. We are fearsome black and red, we are living, they are dead,” Art sang, to no particular melody. Sweat poured from his brow, soaking his bandages and the bedding below him. The Flaming Fist at his side soaked his forehead with a cool towel.

“His mind has been gripped by the shadows, but he’s met Thaniel. There’s no other way he’d know that name,” Halsin said, his speech quick and breathy with excitement. “He must know something about where to find Thaniel. If he could escape the Shadowfell, it must not have been able to consume his spirit. Or not all of it, at least. We need to rouse whatever’s left of him inside his head. There must be something to trigger him - a word, a memory, an item.” The druid held his chin in his hands as he studied the delirious man.

“Did he have any personal effects when you found him?” Halsin asked the Flaming Fist tending to Art. His braids shook from behind his ears as the druid scanned the room for clues.

“Oh, yes actually! He had a few things with him. A letter, for one. And a lute, although it has seen better days,” she said, inclining her head to Art’s belongings on the opposite side of the bed.

Never one to pass on the opportunity to rifle through another person’s property, Astarion stepped to the bedside opposite Halsin. The head of a lute protruded from beneath the blankets; Astarion wrapped his hand around the neck of the instrument and pulled it free.

The wood of the instrument was weathered with age; its protective shellac had long worn off. Astarion’s nimble fingers traced the wood grain, pausing at an unusual pattern on the body. The initials “A.C.'' were inscribed on it in meticulous script. After his brief inspection, Astarion held it out to Halsin.

Halsin shook his head at Astarion’s offer of the instrument. “No, I need to have both my hands free, in case our friend here needs a healing spell,” he said, his expression apologetic. “Would you mind strumming its strings for us?”

“Darling, I’m no bard. Nor can I carry a tune; Cazador banned us from humming or whistling, even,” Astarion said, holding the lute away from his body as though it were a wild animal liable to attack him.

“It’s a better idea than anything else that has been tried,” Halsin said, feeling a smirk spread across his lips at the opportunity to fluster the pale elf. “Besides, you have dexterous hands, Astarion, I’ve seen how well you pick locks and mend clothing. Go on, play us a tune.”

“Fine,” Astarion replied, his pointed ears blushing. Halsin’s eyes were drawn to his plush lips, which protruded in a soft pout. Through half-lidded eyes, he maintained Halsin’s gaze; it was clear the vampire would only perform the request to humor him.

Astarion held the fretboard with one hand and strummed the instrument with his other. Art did not stir at the sound. The pale elf raised the lute to his side, and with a haphazard swipe of his fingers, pulled more noise from its strings. “Would you like an encore, darl-”

“Thaniel!,” Art Cullagh yelled, sitting bolt upright. “He’s still trapped there - he needs help!” Halsin’s shoulders had jerked back at the man’s unexpected movement. He lowered himself to sit at Art’s side and placed his large hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Calm, my friend. Breathe,” the Arch Druid said, giving Art’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.”

“A century…” Art started, and rubbed the sweat from his brow, “You must be Halsin. Thaniel said you find you! He’s somewhere in there still…you must find lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender.” Art’s eyes darted about to take in his surroundings; they were ringed with purple and wide in concern. Halsin nodded and helped Art recline back on the bed. Halsin’s stomach sank at how quickly the man tired; the Shadowfell had taken a terrible toll on his body.

“Thank you, my friend,” Halsin said, dipping his head low in appreciation. “If I ventured into the Shadowfell blind, I’d never find him. But I can work with that.” The druid raised his gaze to Astarion and nodded towards the exit. Astarion followed behind Halsin, his brows furrowed in confusion, and the vampire pulled the door closed as they left.

The druid’s long strides carried him quickly to the exit of the inn. Halsin paused at the entrance and raised two fingers to his lips. His eyes flickered to Astarion, who understood the intention; the vampire plugged his sensitive ears with his slender fingers. Halsin blew a sharp whistle to alert Gale, Wyll, and the rest. Once their heads turned his way, the druid waved them over, beckoning the other adventurers to follow him out the door.

“Devil’s teeth, Halsin, where are we going?” spat Astarion, nearly jogging to keep pace with the long-legged Halsin. He hadn’t intended on exercising, and his leather armor became sticky with sweat.

“To the lakeshore, my heart,” Halsin said, glancing at the pale elf at his side. Besides the Astarion, only Karlach was right beside the druid. The tiefling enjoyed her normal walking pace, while the other adventures tailed behind Halsin at a brisk trot, their armor and swords jangling with the movement.

As they reached the lakeside, they gathered atop a large rock outcropping. Halsin rounded to face his friends, raising his hands in hopeful celebration. “I have what we need to save Thaniel, my friends,” Halsin explained. He inhaled deeply before he continued; he made eye contact with each adventure. “I can infiltrate the Shadowfell, but the means to do so will sap my strength. I will need your help. This may prove… perilous.”

Astarion’s chest tightened and felt heavy, as though an owlbear had landed upon it; he held one slender hand on his sternum, picking the stitching of his armor with his sharp fingernails. His ruby eyes darted across Halsin’s face, seeking reassurance once more from his druid.

“It took me years of study, of seeking the oak fathers favor to find a way to part the veil. Pray that this works, my friends,” Halsin said, turning to face the lake.

The large druid bowed in reverence, his palms facing upward in front of him as they glimmered with amber magic. “Oak Father, hear me, aid me! Force open the jaws of darkness, and make passage for your vessel of light,” Halsin said, and the golden light in his fists exploded, expanded, and shot from the druid’s hands. The portal between realms shimmered and hummed with druidic magic.

“Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?” Astarion spat, a scowl forming on his lips. The hair on his arms stood on end from the magic emitted by the portal.

Halsin sighed, his shoulders visibly dropping. “I assure you this is no druidic grandstanding,” Halsin started, his voice heavy and sober. He spoke loudly so his voice would carry to the rest of the adventurers over the thrumming of the portal. “I need you to stay here and keep the portal open. This magic is fragile. I…I must infiltrate the Shadowfell alone.”

For the second time in a matter of hours, Astarion nearly lost his balance as he stood in place. He adjusted his position on the angled rock and took a few steps to be within feet of the druid. “Alone? We talked about this. You said you won’t do things alone anymore,” he said, his voice pitched with worry.

Halsin held out his hand, nearly touching Astarion’s chest. “I am not alone, my heart. I have you to help me; outside the portal. This has to be me, and only me,” the druid insisted, his voice firm. “But I need your help with this. If there is any interference with the portal, then our once chance is lost forever. And so am I. You must defend this portal at all costs.”

“Absolutely not; going alone is suicide,” Astarion shot back, more venom in his words than he intended. He felt a mist forming at the corners of his eyes as he clenched his fists at his sides.

Halsin reached Astarion in two wide steps, his brows furrowed deeply as he met the vampire’s blood-moon gaze. Astarion took a half-step back as the larger elf reached where he stood; the vampire seemed intimidated by Halsin’s severe expression. It was a harsh juxtaposition to his tenderness of their prior evening.

“Astarion, listen to me. I need you here,” Halsin paused, raising his large hands to rest upon the vampire’s shoulders. “I would rather have you by my side, but this is the only way.”

The larger elf slipped one hand to the small of the vampire’s back, pressing his body against the smaller elf’s frame. With the other hand he cupped Astarion’s angular jaw, his thumb gently brushing his bottom lip and cool cheek. Halsin leaned down, auburn braids falling from behind his ears as he pressed his forehead against his partner’s.

“I will return for you, Astarion,” Halsin said, his tone unwavering and gentle. He pulled back to gaze into the vampire’s ruby-red eyes, in which tears threatened to well over; they sparkled in the light from the portal. Halsin could lose himself in Astarion’s sweet, round gaze. But that would have to wait.

The druid tightened his hold on the vampire, pressing their bodies together with need. Halsin gathered the white curls at Astarion’s crown in a fist, and gently tilted Astarion’s head back. The pale elf rose to the tips of his toes, his slender fingers dancing up Halsin’s chest to wrap around his neck.

Astarion’s plump pink lips parted for Halsin as their mouths crashed together. The pale elf’s tongue couldn’t form the words to express how violent the vortex of anxiety engulfed him; but Astarion knew how to do so through his kiss. Astarion’s willing mouth held open, lips fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. His eagerness for Halsin’s exploring tongue escaped him as a whimper.

Halsin lost himself in Astarion’s taste, the vampire’s cool tongue pulling a rumbled moan from deep in the large elf’s belly. Astarion drew back for a breath, peering at the druid with blown-out pupils. He then captured Halsin’s mouth once more, pulling the druid’s lower lip with his own, nipping at it with a pointed fang. Astarion whined softly into the kiss before releasing the druid from his embrace.

“Protect my way back to you, my heart,” Halsin said firmly; he would accept no argument, though his arms tightened around Astarion’s slender body. The druid placed a final kiss on Astarion’s forehead, the pale elf’s curls tickling his nose. He pried himself away from the vampire and held only Astarion’s chilly fingertips in both his large hands.

Halsin realized if he lingered any longer, his resolve would falter; he squeezed Astarion’s fingers, then turned on his heel to charge into the portal. He disappeared into its magic, which sparkled as it permitted his entrance.

Astarion stood alone, facing the portal, willing his body to move. His hand was still outstretched where Halsin had held his fingers; he felt the portal’s magic crackle around his fingertips.

The vampire’s lips tingled still with the taste of the druid's kiss; faintly of plums and honey. Preemptive grief ate through Astarion’s insides and his knees threatened to collapse beneath him.

Behind him, shouts of spell names and the crunch of a mace on a shield signaled that the shadow-cursed creatures had spawned. They came for the portal.

Chapter Text

“Protect my way back to you, my heart,” Halsin had said, his words’ gravitas not lost on the pale elf.

Astarion could comprehend that sensitive, druidic magic held the fragile portal open. He understood Halsin’s hesitance, his uncertainty if he could pass through, given that vampires were accursed creatures for which the gods have abandoned. What could Astarion offer the Oak Father as sacrifice, as supplication, to convince Silvanus to allow him to accompany the druid?

Astarion reeled, both from the vision of Halsin disappearing into the portal, and from the emotional hangover from being in the presence of the man who had peeled scabs from his scars and kissed them closed again. He swayed slightly in place, his eyes focusing not on the portal, but beyond it, as he stood amidst the ruckus of battle. Astarion felt sick to his stomach; that rotten bile he had felt when Halsin had rushed into battle yesterday returned. He realized now, parsing through his racing thoughts, that it was heartache. Over Halsin.

A fire bolt had struck the portal as Astarion stood frozen in place. He felt the bitterness rise to his throat as the portal flickered, threatening to close, its near-translucent light shimmering, flickering dangerously before it stabilized. His lips pulled taut to a thin line.

In a show of catlike agility, Astarion simultaneously turned on his heel from the portal and dropped to one knee and nocked an arrow in his short bow. He faced the hordes of shadow-touched monsters, and took aim at the sorcerer who had cast the firebolt. He let loose the explosive arrow and struck his mark. The creature’s robes burst into flame as it fell back several yards. Astarion sneered, fangs glinting as he watched the creature writhe in the agony it deserved for its boldness to attack the portal and Halsin’s way back to him. His partner’s way back to him.

Partner. What a strange concept; although he and Halsin had only just discussed the idea last night. The security afforded by the term had brought levity to his heart and mind he hadn’t felt in 200 years. Pure resilience had won his hard-fought survival during that time, and had been crafted by blocking up his feelings behind a wall. Each sexual, physical conquest had added another brick, and each session of torture had applied more mortar.

Astarion descended from the rock outcropping in shadow, slipping behind a cursed Harper and slitting its throat. Before the wretched creature could fall, Astarion had already moved on, slipping his dagger between the ribs of a cursed Githyanki a few yards away. He moved as an inaudible plague through the waves of enemies. His vampiric bloodlust was the embodiment of agility, of perfect stealth, of divine brutality; he was an apex predator with skills honed far beyond what nature had deigned to create.

His freedom had been won by fickle fate; not by feelings, not by begging for his freedom, pleading for any mercy from Cazador. And yet Astarion had considered, while wrapped in Halsin’s arms the last night, that the fragility of allowing himself to feel could offer a different sort of freedom. As he and Halsin had nestled their bodies in the bedroll, he had accepted the other elf’s offer of partnership. He had felt pixies flap their wings in his stomach at the idea of trusting another being with his safety.

The clothing of the slain Gith was a sufficient rag onto which he wiped the creature’s cursed blood from his blade. How odd, that he and Halsin were so tied by blood, here in these lands; Halsin’s offer of his lifeblood as nourishment had been genuine, out of concern that Astarion would starve in this place.

The druid was correct about the corrupted blood of shadow-cursed fiends. So, each night when Astarion went to feed, he fought to not also feed his own skepticism. His distrust of someone who seemed so genuine. But the druid made his dead heart feel as though it fluttered. No one prior had looked out for Astarion, said a kind thing to him. Halsin was the only one; the only one to have a bleeding, noble heart full of endless kindness. Far more benevolent and helpful than any god could ever be.

Another wave of shadow creatures appeared from the darkness; thick, thorny vines lashed out at the party, and snarls erupted from beasts half-rotted and half-burned by the ravages of the curse. More Githyanki who’d been dragged into the blackness appeared, lobbing attacks at the portal; and likely attacking his party members as well. But the vampire’s bloodlust was for those attacking the portal, and not for his friends who could stand their own ground.

Each time an arrow or spell struck the portal, Astarion felt his throat close. He had no faith in the gods to offer help; even Selûne, who arguably could have defended the portal by herself. Loathe though he was to admit it, and as much as it pushed the bile from his throat and into the back of his mouth, Astarion placed his faith in Halsin - his partner. And Halsin had placed his own faith in Astarion.

The vampire felt a fog fall over his eyes as he shot an arrow across the battlefield to fell a creature attempting to climb the rocks. He nocked another to aim and shoot at a charging, curse-ravaged dog. It lodged in the hound’s open maw and felled the creature mid-gallop. His blows were automatic, instinctual, and smooth. He was a dancer whose choreography had been honed to perfection through the symphony of fading mortal pulses. Astarion was jolted from his blood haze as the portal widened with a crackling buzz.

“It’s done!” shouted the druid Halsin, his broad shape appearing from the light. His shadow concealed most of the small body he held in his arms. The portal shrank and closed behind him with a fizz.

Astarion seemed to be made of mist as he weaved between the few foes remaining on the battlefield; he launched himself from the ground to the top of the rocks, landing on his feet with his feline grace. The rest of the party felled the remaining shadow creatures before coming to Halsin’s side.

The large druid lowered himself to a kneel, gently placing Thaniel’s small body on the cold stone. “I have him…but something is wrong,” Halsin said to Astarion, who loomed above them both. Halsin’s voice had wavered with concern. His sun-kissed face was smeared with scarlet; his hot blood dripped from a gash on his chin. Claws had been pulled across his exposed shoulders and through the armor on his chest, leaving cuts both deep and ragged, as though he had shaken a creature loose from his shoulders. On his broad cheeks and forearms, purple bruises blossomed. The druid had not healed himself while inside the Shadowfell.

His hands shook over Thaniel’s body as the boy lay limp on the stone, but only a crackle of green magic fell from his hands. Even Astarion sensed that the sort of magic afflicting Thaniel couldn’t be resolved through the efforts of a healer.

Halsin bent further to lift the fragile boy into his arms. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his breath labored and short. “Help me bring him back to camp; something is dreadfully wrong. Some part of him is missing. He is…hollow.”

Astarion felt the bile finally rise into his mouth.

Though Halsin could have easily carried Thaniel’s limp body back to camp alone, his companions - his friends - had insisted on helping. Wyll and Lae’zel had taken the lead, torches in one hand and weapons in the other, ensuring their trek was safe. With what little magical power Shadowheart had left, she had cast minor healing spells on both Thaniel and Halsin to stop the bleeding from their deepest wounds. Karlach had held damp cloths in her hands, steam rising from the rags. She had dabbed them on Thaniel’s frigid hands and feet while they walked, trying to raise the boy’s low body temperature. Gale had held a moonlantern towards the rear, accompanied by Astarion, to ward off ambushes from behind.

The druid had walked silently with the group, the only noise having been the sizzle of steam from Karlach’s rags, the jangling of their armor, and the crunch of the pathway beneath their feet. Each adventurer had been exhausted, body and soul, and eager to return to their bedrolls. Had the arch druid truly known how fiercely the darkness would fight back, he would have called upon Jaheira and the Harpers for aid.

When the group had returned to camp, Halsin could assess Thaniel’s condition - there was nothing any of them could do to help him this night. They could search for an answer in the morning. Lae’zel had not waited long after Halsin’s explanation to trudge to her bedroll. Gale had left soon after staking the moonlantern in the soil by Halsin’s tent. Shadowheart, once she had confirmed that Halsin did not need her help, had also retired to bed; the druid had heard her flop onto the ground, armor and all, in a dull clunk. Despite his insistence, Karlach had stuck to the Halsin’s side as he examined Thaniel. After being reassured that she could not offer any aid in her current battle-worn state, the Tiefling had accepted Halsin’s order to go to sleep. Before Wyll had stumbled to bed, he had set up a small tent for Thaniel right beside Halsin’s, under the direction of Astarion - “A little to the left, darling, give them some breathing room”. Scratch had settled inside the tent, curling beside Thaniel’s cool body and resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Astarion had left Halsin’s side last. He offered no comment as the druid examined Thaniel; he sat in silence beside Halsin, cleaning out the underside of his sharp fingernails with his dagger. The arch druid appreciated his company, but guilt racked him when he observed the grime and blood crusted spatters on Astarion’s face.

“Please Astarion, go and rest. Do not stay here for my sake,” Halsin said, placing a hand on the vampire’s thigh. “I will hold vigil for a while longer, then you are welcome to visit with me. Although I cannot offer my blood,” Halsin met Astarion’s eyes with a meek smile, “I shed much of it in the Shadowfell.” The vampire only shrugged in response and nodded at his words, before he slipped away to his own tent with a soft, “As you wish.”

Halsin had since left Thaniel under the watchful eye of Scratch, whose tail flopped gently when Halsin had patted his head before leaving. He sat alone in his tent, fluffing the pillows into a pile to prepare for his trance.

But the crunch of gravel and the sound of someone gently clearing their throat caught his attention. “Knock knock, darling,” chirped a soft voice in a faux-whisper. Astarion lifted the tent flap, his curls brushing along the top as he entered. The vampire had taken the time to clean himself and change into his comfortable camp clothes. In his arms he held a small burgundy velveteen pouch, pulled closed with a golden string.

Halsin’s arms and legs felt as though they were weighed down with bricks. He ached from physical and emotional exertion and his injuries. He wished nothing more than to lie down, but as Astarion entered his tent, he felt as though he had downed a gallon of the most energizing tea. The sight of his partner pulled a wide smile to Halsin’s face and a warmth to his chest. He shifted to lean against the pillows and patted on the bedroll beside him.

“My heart, I am overjoyed you joined me tonight. Despite the lack of blood for you this evening,” Halsin said sincerely as Astarion settled beside him. He was always enamored by the vampire’s graceful composure when he was not caught off-guard; and as equally enamored by his awkward, less-planned out nature when he was not wearing his aloof mask.

“Oh come now, surely you don’t think I like you for just your blood?” Astarion asked, with a playful smirk, his quip an obvious joke to divert attention. “I do quite enjoy your body heat, too.” The vampire leaned against Halsin’s shoulder for emphasis and squeezed his pectoral muscle. Halsin jerked in response; Astarion’s slender fingers had accidentally pressed on one of his wounds. His brows furrowed in pain, but no anger formed inside him; it was a simple mistake. And yet, at Halsin’s severe expression, the vampire seemed to shrink beside him. His slender fingers dug into the bedroll. Halsin’s chest now hurt for more than one reason - his partner’s hypervigilance.

“Ah, I will survive Astarion,” Halsin said softly, placing his palm on top of Astarion’s hand, “I just ache all over; a minor inconvenience. Nothing to worry about.” Astarion’s shoulders seemed to relax. The vampire’s gaze darted to the pouch he had placed in his lap.

“So what did you bring, my heart?” Halsin said, his voice taking on an effervescent cadence, “I suppose it’s not honey to drizzle on my neck this evening?” He said with a chuckle, squeezing Astarion’s hand lightly.

A smile crept onto Astarion’s face and he shook his head at the lighthearted jest. His gorgeous curls bounced around his ears, which flushed slightly at Halsin’s teasing. The light from the lantern inside his tent cast a golden halo around Astarion’s white curls, making him seem ethereal, even more unnaturally beautiful. Halsin’s thumb rubbed against his delicate hand, and the druid’s heart skipped a beat when Astarion squeezed back.

“Well, let’s be honest with ourselves, Halsin,” Astarion started, his voice sharp, but ringing with humor. “You’re an exceptional healer, but I believe you have the humility to admit you’re in a rather pitiful state at the moment.” His teasing sent another chuckle to Halsin’s lips. He found Astarion’s sass endearing nearly every time, and frustrating only occasionally.

The vampire continued, pulling his hand from Halsin’s grasp to gesticulate as he spoke. “And, with Shadowheart equally exhausted, I thought I would be kind enough to offer my skills before an infection sets up in…all of that,” the vampire drawled, waving his hand at the wounds on Halsin’s chest and shoulder.

Halsin shrugged, then winced at the movement as it pulled on his wounds. “I did not want to consume the precious few healing potions we have left,” Halsin said with a defeated sigh, “Especially for wounds which I should have easily avoided.” The druid chuckled slightly and tilted his head to Astarion. “I hoped they’d serve as a reminder to take some lessons in agility from you once I healed.”

Astarion’s face flushed slightly, his lips pursing together in a smirk, then curving downward into an exaggerated scowl. “Here you are again being a self-sacrificial, stubborn old bear,” he said, landing a gentle, affectionate swat on Halsin’s biceps. “With all the rot about this place, it’s foolish to leave your cuts open to fester. But fortunately for you, I won’t let you do anything too foolish. I’m quite skilled with a needle and thread. I can suture the worst of your wounds shut for now.” His shoulders rose almost to his ears; the vampire was clearly more frustrated than his jokes let on.

Halsin’s head fell slightly, eyes dropping to the tent floor. He had already loosened his hair from his ponytail; his thick auburn locks fell into his face. “Again, you demonstrate your wisdom, my heart,” he said with a sigh. The druid tilted his head to look into Astarion’s eyes. “Kagha once accused me of being a sheep in bear’s clothing,” Halsin admitted with a bitter laugh. “And perhaps she is right. Perhaps my wild shape should be a sheep. Or perhaps a wild ass.” The druid smiled at Astarion, who let out a genuine laugh. It was soft, melodic, like a wind chime in a spring breeze.

“I would choose the latter of those two,” Astarion said with a wry grin, “Donkeys are nasty little creatures; they don’t ask before they bite.” The vampire leaned in to tuck loose hairs behind Halsin’s ear. “And you’re as stubborn a wild ass.” He got quiet for a moment, his ruby eyes studying Halsin’s face. “I wish you’d develop a harder heart. Shall I go seek Dammon to see what he could forge for you?”

It was Halsin’s turn to laugh, and his chuckle burst from his lips. The vampire continued as Halsin’s laughter died down. “I jest, of course, but you do need some mending, Halsin,” Astarion said, his jovial tone becoming intensely somber. “Now, do you want to stall more or may I stab you now?” The vampire grinned, patting his sack of needle and thread.

Halsin chuckled again, nodding his head. His ear still tingled where Astarion had brushed it when he tucked his hair back. “I place myself in your skilled hands,” Halsin replied with confidence. Astarion was far kinder than he let on, and the druid’s fondness for the vampire seemed to grow each day. Astarion was perhaps rough around the edges, but his heart was pure diamond, despite his insistence that his soul and heart were black as coal.

The druid unfastened the buttons on his vest, wincing as he slid the material from his shoulders. He glanced at the wounds on his chest - three of them oozed blood despite the battle being over hours ago. They would likely leave marks too, joining Halsin’s other scars that told the story of his life. But these would be special to him; they would bear evidence of both his success in retrieving Thaniel, and be markers of Astarion’s caring touch. Halsin took a deep breath and shifted to a cross-legged position, facing his partner.

The vampire averted his eyes back to the pouch of embroidery materials and busied his hands with preparing his tools. Astarion held the needle over the lantern flame, sterilizing the instrument. It grew red-hot before Astarion shook it to cool it. He slipped a thread of embroidery floss through the eye.

The vampire studied Halsin under half-lidded eyes, an unspoken question between them. Halsin nodded in response and patted his lap. The slender elf shifted to nestle in the hole between Halsin’s crossed legs. They sat, chests touching; Halsin’s hot-to-the-touch, fully-haired chest to Astarion’s clothed, cooler one. The vampire settled his knees at each side of Halsin’s ribcage.

Halsin did not shift nor speak; he did not want to break the vampire’s concentration. Astarion’s eyebrows were knit together in concentration, his lower lip pressed firmly underneath his fangs. The druid focused on his breathing; he knew tensing up would only increase the pain. His focus was steady, and as the needle punctured his skin for the first time, he reacted only with a slow exhale of his breath.

Astarion’s cool fingers nimbly pulled the thread taught, crossing to the other side of the wound to place the needle once more. Again, Halsin tried to focus on his breath, but the beautiful man in his lap, whose face contorted into a grimace as he treated Halsin’s wounds, was a wonderful distraction. Astarion finished his stitches on the first wound and dug for scissors in his pouch to cut and tie it off. Halsin peered down at the vampire perched in his lap.

“Thank you, for your kindness, Astarion,” Halsin said, smiling into Astarion’s curls as he pecked a kiss onto the vampire’s head. Astarion seemed to lean into his kiss, like a cat leaning in for a scratch of its chin. The druid could cover the pale elf’s body in kisses and it still would not be enough.

Astarion’s head shot up, one brow raised upwards. “Well, don’t get used to it, Halsin,” he said, his lips in a pout. “I learn from the lessons of others - look what kindness has gotten you.” He pierced Halsin’s sun-kissed skin with the needle to start sutures on the second deep wound. Halsin grunted at the pain; he hadn’t been prepared.

The druid closed his eyes, steadying it once more. “Astarion, I…want to say that I am deeply sorry,” Halsin said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. The pale elf paused, needle in hand, to meet Halsin’s eyes. “I will never again endanger you like I did at the portal. I care far too much for you to have you risk your own life along with mine.” The druid made out the concern in Astarion’s eyes; it wasn’t evident in any tears, but in the way the ruby eyes softened and rounded. The vampire’s shoulders lowered from his ears, and his hand fell slightly, needle still in his fingers; it was clear that he was not used to hearing apologies.

Halsin continued, bringing one of his hands to rub the tense muscles at the base of Astarion’s skull. “Thankfully, I have a brilliant partner whose sense of self-preservation is leagues stronger than my own,” the druid said with a chuckle, causing Astarion to jostle in his lap slightly. He placed his other large hand on the small of Astarion’s back. “And perhaps he could help me become more moderate in my foolishness?”

Halsin’s stomach flipped at the hint of a smile that began to form on Astarion’s plump pink lips. The druid couldn’t resist pulling gently at the smaller elf’s earlobe with his finger and thumb, before he bent forward to place a kiss on it.

“Oh my dear Halsin, you forgot to mention one thing,” Astarion said, holding up a finger. Halsin tilted his head in confusion as he pulled away. “I’m your brilliant, beautiful partner. Who fortunately knows his way around a needle and thread in the interim until his oaf of a druid learns to not let himself get carried away.” Astarion’s smile became genuine, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “But I still have some more work to do, so hold still.”

Halsin laughed heartily at Astarion’s words, and finally settled down, leaning back against the pillows again. The druid felt the affection in his heart grow hot, spreading through his body and down to his groin. Despite that their touch wasn’t sexual, Halsin felt himself swell at the thought of his future with this clever, beautiful man. He tried to shift nonchalantly, delicately, so that Astarion would not feel the erection beneath him.

“So, Astarion, where did you learn your embroidery skills?” Halsin asked, a deflection to distract from his attempts to rid himself of his hardness. Astarion’s hands paused above Halsin’s flesh and he exhaled in a sigh. His cool breath on the wound brought chill bumps to Halsin’s skin. The smaller elf’s body stiffened in his lap; the druid felt ashamed of once again finding a sensitive topic of conversation.

“To make a 200-year-long story mercifully short,” Astarion said, his lilt flowing in the blithe manner he adopted when he begrudgingly discussed the past, “Cazador was a penny-pinching bastard; we were rarely, if ever, given new clothing. I’ve mended my wardrobe more times than I can count. What I couldn’t mend, I had to steal.” His expression was severe; the contrast of the deep shadows and the light of the lantern stressed the creases on his face.

Halsin listened soberly to Astarion’s voice, wincing as the needle pierced his flesh and the thread pulled through. The slight swish of the thread, the crackle of the lantern’s wick, and his own occasional grunts were the only sounds heard in the seclusion of Halsin’s tent. He cradled the back of Astarion’s neck, but held his hands still; Halsin knew this was a time to provide shelter for the vampire, as strong and stoic as the stones of the Grove.

Astarion continued, bending closer to examine Halsin’s chest; his head blocked the direct light from the lamp. The vampire’s cool breath ruffled the curly hair on Halsin’s chest. “The tailoring skills were as helpful for mending rips and tears as they were for cuts and scrapes, which occurred occasionally when our…guests were less than willing to come with us. We would pickpocket thread and needle for both purposes.”

Astarion quieted again, tying off the last of his stitches. Halsin fought the growl forming in his gut as he ruminated on how the sadistic bastard would send his spawns on missions without the most basic necessities. The vampire lord did far worse than that far more regularly, as far as the druid could guess. Astarion’s mannerisms spoke volumes of Cazador’s cruelties, and it made Halsin’s heart ache as much as his body currently did.

Astarion’s lips pursed as he leaned back to observe his handiwork. Halsin’s hand darted out behind him, wrapping around the smaller elf to brace his lower back. As his calloused hands brushed against Astarion’s finely-mended shirt, he felt the vampire shiver slightly. His ruby eyes darted across Halsin’s shoulders and chest. The druid had found himself lost in those eyes dozens of times or more. Halsin followed his gaze.

As he studied the sutures, which started on his collarbone and ended nearly at his nipple, Halsin became increasingly impressed. Despite a red crust forming along the edges of the wounds, thick blood still oozed around the stitching of the deepest wound. Overall though, the thread pattern was tidy and careful, yet also functional. Indicative of immense care put into their creation. Halsin felt heat rush to his face and, much to his embarassment, his groin again.

“I will give ample credit where it is due, Astarion. Your stitches are both more functional and prettier than any I could have managed myself,” he said with a wry grin. “Relying too much on the Oak Father’s blessed magic instead of practical skills has its repercussions, it seems. Thank you, my heart, for spending the evening with me, and for your skill with needle and thread.”

Halsin beamed at the vampire, his white smile shining brightly against his tanned skin in the lantern light. Astarion peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, his eyelashes fluttering on unusually flushed cheeks. The vampire seemed proud of himself, but had apparently decided not to gloat. His delicate hands had already set down the needle and thread, and hovered slightly above Halsin’s torso, brushing against the thick chest hair.

The druid met his eyes, his stomach fluttering with affection for the other man. Words alone were not enough of a show of appreciation. One large hand pressed against Astarion’s lower back to hold the smaller elf against his torso; the other tangled in Astarion’s curls. Halsin placed tender kisses along his brow. “I care for you so much, Astarion,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the pale elf’s ear.

Halsin exhaled slightly as he felt Astarion’s tented pants poke into his own erection. Then he felt resistance from Astarion shifting slightly. The druid banished the thoughts. He released his grip on the small elf; both hands still supported his back. The shadow cursed lands were typically chilly; but at this moment, Halsin felt as though he were in a sauna.

“You’re very sweet Halsin, thank you,” Astarion said, ears nearly as red as his eyes. “But, I’m not quite finished, if you’ll humor an idea.” The elf leaned back into Halsin’s hands, shifting his hips as though Halsin’s hands were pressing a pressure point. The druid rubbed the point with tenderness, delighting in the fluttering of Astarion’s pale eyelashes as he helped the vampire release the knot.

Astarion seemed to lose himself for a moment before he blinked quickly and returned to the moment. “How familiar are you with, erm,” Astarion started, pulling one hand from Halsin’s chest to tap his chin with a slender finger, “the properties of vampire saliva?”

Halsin’s hazel eyes went round, one thick brow arching upward. “I must say I am unfamiliar with it. Although, I did notice that the bite wounds from your feedings seem to heal quickly,” the druid admitted.

Astarion tilted his head back, studying Halsin through his eyelashes. “Of course you noticed, you’re an erudite man. In essence, the saliva has clotting properties to help seal the wound once we’ve gotten our fill.” The pale elf’s hand dropped back to Halsin’s chest as the vampire’s plush lips pulled into a taut line. “Or, they can help our own wounds heal faster. Cazador…never provided healing salves or potions. If we could not steal them, we were left to lick our wounds like dogs.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

The druid felt his fingers curl into Astarion’s back muscles; he intentionally loosened his jaw, else he would risk breaking a tooth with how hard he clenched his teeth together. He inhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry, Astarion,” he said, trailing his fingers up and down the smaller elf’s back. He felt chill bumps rise even through Astarion’s shirt, as well as what felt like ridges of scars. Halsin felt his pupils dilate and a growl form in his throat. If that bastard whipped him, I will rip out his throat myself, he thought.

“The past is the past,” Astarion said flippantly, waving his hand between their bodies. “I only brought it up to offer the same to you. There is one cut in particular that could benefit from my attention.” He dropped his finger to point at the longest laceration. It still oozed slightly.

Halsin exhaled, releasing his anger at Cazador along with his breath. “That would be most appreciated, my heart,” Halsin said, wise enough to know it would be unwise to ask for more details.

“Well then, lie back darling. It’ll be easiest that way,” Astarion said with a coquettish smile, exaggerating the risque potential in the situation. He gently pushed against Halsin’s broad pectoral muscles; the druid reclined against the pillows behind him.

If Astarion’s heart could beat, it would have thumped from his chest. Instead, he felt pressure there nearly as firm as the ache in his groin, which he had successfully ignored while closing Halsin’s wounds. How odd it was, to feel himself grow hard during a non-sexual act; he thought at the time it was the innuendo implied by piercing Halsin’s flesh. But as he saw the result of Halsin’s wounds cleaned and closed by his own hand, Astarion realized he had become aroused by simply caring for the man. After Halsin had returned through the portal, Astarion’s gut had twisted at the sight of Halsin’s flesh; his life blood had wept from the ragged wounds.

He had immediately felt a gnawing urge to help Halsin, and had cursed himself for carrying no spare healing potions. Astarion understood how it felt to be compelled by another; Cazador’s orders made his body obey as if they were his own desires. But as the vampire had gently tended to Halsin, he felt just as compelled to protect this man, to touch him, to feel the druid’s body against his own. But this urge was a choice; a desire.

It was an intoxicant that both rattled Astarion’s nerves and sent heat to his groin. Astarion settled his hands on either side of the druid’s torso, unable to resist sliding his fingernails along the ridges of his ribcage. It slightly unnerved him to see his own fingers tremble as they explored Halsin’s body. The vampire lowered his mouth to the start of the gash, along the large elf’s collarbone. Halsin’s large chest twitched at the sudden cold of his tongue.

Halsin’s torso arched upward as Astarion dragged his tongue along the claw wound. He lapped down from his shoulder to his collarbone; the stitches were rough against Astarion’s tongue. They were far more precise and careful than those he had ever done for Dalyria; and certainly those he had stabbed into Petras. On Halsin, his sutures were delicate patterns, beautiful even amongst the angry, red skin surrounding the threads. The wounds had dried almost instantaneously behind where his tongue had been. The druid’s body shivered from how the chilly saliva dampened his chest hair.

The druid seemed restless underneath him; Halsin’s hands trailed up Astarion’s spine, rubbing circles into the vampire’s muscles with his thumbs. Astarion nearly bit his tongue as he resisted arching his back in response. Halsin always seemed to find exactly where his muscles had knotted, and his practiced fingertips always loosened his tension. The pale elf could not recall a time in which he had touched Halsin and did not leave his arms feeling giddy. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

He lapped his tongue lower onto Halsin’s broad chest, curling the tip of his tongue as he licked. The druid writhed beneath him, similar to how he had during times Astarion had fed from him. The vampire wasn’t sure how long he had been lapping at the druid’s body, but he was sure that he enjoyed it. Feeling the much larger man wriggle beneath him at only the slightest flick of his tongue, made Astarion’s head spin with pleasure.

Astarion wanted to see more. To do more. To watch Halsin lose his composure at his masterful touch. He traced his tongue lower along the druid’s chest, far past where the wounds were, onto his undamaged flesh. His ministrations pulled a whistling hiss from Halsin. The druid’s hands had stopped wandering, and had settled on Astarion’s hips, fingertips gripping tightly.

Halsin lowered his chin to make eye contact again with Astarion. The druid had crescent indentions in the soft skin of his lower lip; he had been biting them as Astarion tasted his skin and his blood. Halsin lifted his hips into Astarion, the full weight of the vampire on top of him.

Astarion’s face flushed as he felt the solid, thick bulge of Halsin’s cock throbbing beneath his own. Halsin’s hands shook as he raised them to rest on Astarion’s ass, the tips of his fingers kneading on his skin. The vampire’s leather trousers became tighter in response. The druid’s heady expression, his lips parted and strands of hair stuck to his forehead, sent another pulse of need to his groin and a storm of anxiety to his mind.

Even with all the wounds, Halsin was a stunningly handsome elf. Astarion tilted his head, ruby eyes scanning the druid’s body; perhaps the wounds made him more handsome - the evidence of his intimidating nature in battle. It sent another pulse of need to his cock, which he automatically pressed against Halsin’s with a roll of his hips. The druid’s erection twitched in response.

He is exquisite, Astarion thought. He wanted to touch Halsin everywhere; watch his face contort in ecstasy, hear his pleasured whispers. As his mind swam with thoughts, he realized how deeply he desired Halsin, in more ways than they had previously experienced. Astarion longed to drown in Halsin like a cleric of Umberlee in the ocean, to be reborn again.

The idea of ceding control to the druid was an alarming yet terribly delicious concept. An urge that made the vampire roll his hips against Halsin’s swollen arousal. A whine escaped his plump lips at the friction. Halsin’s hands tightened on his ass cheeks, pulling at him from above. The druid’s mouth parted in a ragged exhale.

“Thank you, for caring for me, my heart,” Halsin said, his voice breathy, his hands quivering against Astarion’s muscled rear for a mere moment. Halsin’s shaky fingers soon lifted to rest against each side of Astarion’s face. One thumb brushed lightly over the vampire’s bottom lip. The other tucked a stray curl behind his red-flushed ear.

“For more than just the stitches…Thank you for also being by my side through all of this,” the druid said, his voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “And I also forgot to thank you for the kiss…at the portal.”

Astarion’s chin dipped down, Halsin’s eye contact becoming too much to bear. He felt his cheeks become warm from both blushing and the soft caress of the druid’s thumbs. “I…thank you, too. I rather liked it,” he started, before raising his gaze back to Halsin, “Although I would have preferred it to not have felt like it was our last kiss.”

Halsin chuckled heartily, bobbing Astarion up and down on his barrel chest. “Then may I make it up to you, my heart?” he asked gently, his fingers carding through Astarion’s curls. The druid’s honey eyes seemed to have misted over. Astarion’s brows furrowed as he tried to study them closer; was Halsin fighting back tears? “I would like to taste your lips. I want to kiss you with the reverence that you so truly deserve.”

Astarion felt faint, overwhelmed by all that was the arch druid Halsin: his amorous words, tender eyes, and now his strong arms, which had shifted to the pale elf’s back to embrace him once more. This feeling, whatever it was - infatuation, desire, lust - made the vampire anxious.

Astarion settled down, calming himself by meeting the gentle gaze of his partner, before nodding slightly. His lips parting without uttering a word as he lowered his face to Halsin’s, capturing the druid’s mouth in a kiss. Halsin’s lips felt like fire against the coolness of his own. Astarion traced his tongue along Halsin’s bottom lip, over the scars that lingered there.

Halsin returned the kiss greedily before his lips flittered along the vampire’s jawbone, down to his angular chin. His blunt teeth nibbled at the tender underside of Astarion’s neck before his wide, hot tongue pulled across the pale elf’s throat. Astarion felt as though he were molasses under Halsin’s ministrations; he felt himself melting in his mouth. Halsin lapped at the circular divots scarred on Astarion’s neck, suckling the ivory skin to raise a bouquet of blossoming bruises to its surface.

Astarion felt as though he had spent the night drinking; his head spun as he groaned at Halsin’s love bites, and his hips seemed to act of their own accord, pressing into Halsin’s. The friction made him feel as though he were going mad with desire, and he blinked away the stars with a sultry whine.

And yet, Astarion’s hands trembled as they pressed against the undamaged patches of skin on Halsin’s chest. Astarion’ couldn’t fight the rigidity that formed in his entire body. Halsin pulled away from Astarion’s mouth as soon as he felt the pale elf’s jaw quivering in his kiss.

“I…it seems like you want this,” Halsin panted, nearly out of breath. He placed his arms under Astarion’s, embracing him gently. “But I sense your hesitance. I do not wish to make love to the phantom of the person for whom I care most. I can abstain, Astarion.”

Halsin gently kissed the curls that stuck to the vampire’s sweat-covered brow and placed his forehead against Astarion’s. The druid inhaled and exhaled slowly, his hot breath blowing on the sweat beaded on Astarion’s neck and his damp shirt. The pale elf shivered at the contrasting temperatures of Halsin’s scorching embrace against his own undeath.

Astarion blinked quickly, squinting his eyes to hold back the wetness forming in them. For centuries he hated the idea of anyone touching him, and the sensation of touching anyone else. But as Halsin had disappeared into the portal, Astarion had felt a ravenous rot of anguish and grief twist his soul. He could have lost Halsin. Astarion himself could have been killed, whilst defending the druid at that bloody portal. Since then, the vampire had been brooding over the concept of his own mortality. At any moment, Cazador could capture and kill him, or his body could twist into a mind flayer.

Fate had never been kind to him, but could he accept its cruelty once more, by not chasing the opportunity for a genuine connection? For true intimacy? Astarion clenched his fingers, digging his nails into his palms, as if he could crush the life out of the anxieties that taunted him. He wanted to touch Halsin; More than anything in Faerun and the heavens and hells, save his own freedom. Whatever was left of his soul ached to feel something with the handsome, gentle wood elf. Did I not just spend a morning fighting for just that - my freedom to be intimate with my own partner?

Astarion broke eye contact with the druid as his fear lurched in his stomach and clawed at his chest. It sneered at his hope, insisting that the druid’s soft-spoken proclamations of dedication were falsehoods. Merely surface-level lies that were a roundabout means of possessing Astarion’s beautiful body.

The vampire did not want to believe it. Astarion brought his ruby eyes back to Halsin’s. Do I not deserve, at long last, to experience pleasure? Kindness? With someone who is interested in me, as a person…or at least someone who claims to be? Astarion felt as though he were drowning in his thoughts as he scanned Halsin’s face, searching for answers, for a life preserver to which he could cling. He desperately wanted to believe that Halsin was everything that he had shown himself to be. The vampire’s tongue could not form words, so instead he ran it across the pointed tips of his fangs.

As Astarion had sat silently, lost in his thoughts, Halsin remained patient; he did not push him to speak The large elf sat quietly and raised his hand from the small of Astarion’s back to his shoulders. Halsin rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers on Astarion’s back muscles, which felt tense from pulling his short bow.

A sigh fell from Astarion’s lips at Halsin’s warmth and tenderness.

“Halsin, I,” Astarion began, swallowing thickly, “I was…distraught at the idea of losing you today.” The large druid tilted his head, gazing at Astarion with eyes that had misted over slightly. Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, circling his thumbs now on the muscles under Astarion’s shoulder blades.

“I can’t…I can’t go another day without having explored…you. Us. And what we can experience together.” Astarion’s words were clumsy, stammering. He spoke quickly, as if he were afraid he would forget his words. “But it is still a challenge for me. To let go,” the vampire admitted, dropping his sight away from Halsin’s eyes.

Astarion jumped in surprise as his head and torso were pulled against Halsin’s chest, his cheek tickled by the druid’s thick chest hair. Halsin’s heartbeat was loud, steady, and comforting. The pale elf closed his eyes and felt his muscles loosen slightly in Halsin’s embrace. The druid’s fingers slid along his porcelain neck, up into his curls, gently trailing along his scalp. It brought goosebumps to his skin.

As Halsin prepared to speak, the vampire felt his words vibrate in his chest before they escaped his lips. “You do not have to let go,” Halsin said, placing a kiss on the smaller elf’s curls. Astarion’s arms wrapped around the larger elf.

“I have been in many situations that robbed me of my control,” Halsin continued, his rumbling voice soothing Astarion with its soft vibrations. “And those were frustrating and uncomfortable enough. I cannot imagine how 200 years of that would feel; besides perhaps the anguish of all of Nature’s most wrathful storms converging all at once.”

Halsin’s cock twitched as Astarion nuzzled into the soft skin under his chin. “But Astarion, please know that I want nothing more than to be your safe harbor in those storms,” the druid said, seeming to push his own desires aside. Halsin placed a curled finger under Astarion’s chin and pulled the vampire’s face up to meet his. A sweet smile crinkled the druid’s crow’s feet. Astarion’s blood-moon eyes went soft, attempting to memorize every wrinkle, scar, and eyelash on Halsin’s handsome face.

“Astarion, I care for you beyond reckoning. I want you for more than your body… more than your battle prowess, or your companionship by the campfire,” Halsin said, his deep voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I want to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin blinked away the wetness in his eyes and raised the pad of his thumb to Astarion’s cheek. “Whether our intimacy is in sex, or in another equally magnificent form…I just want to be with you. I just want to be yours, and for you to be mine.”

The pale elf felt his lips part, and a weight lifted from his lungs. He swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing as he choked back tears that verged on breaking loose. Halsin’s heartbeat thumped forcefully against his palms, as steady and reliable as the druid himself. Astarion’s mouth closed and opened several times before he could form words.

His eyes drifted from Halsin’s, down to the druid’s thin lips. Halsin’s lips, his face, and his entire body were scarred with battles in which he’d always been on the side of good, the side of kindness. The druid seemed to be a fount of kindness itself, overflowing to pour steadily into Astarion’s empty, broken cup.

“I…want that too, Halsin. I want you. I want us. I want this,” Astarion said, his breath shaking as he spoke. He leaned towards the druid’s face, his open mouth placing a gentle kiss on Halsin’s. The pale elf placed another, capturing Halsin’s lower lip in his; the druid moaned in response, squeezing a fistful of his white curls.

Astarion could wait no longer. He laid claim to the scorching heat of Halsin’s mouth, of his tongue. He nipped at Halsin’s top lip, then the bottom, tugging gently at it between his sharp fangs as he pulled away. Halsin’s mouth followed Astarion and captured his lips in another kiss, deepening it, tasting the vampire’s tongue, slightly coppery, before pulling away.

Halsin beamed at Astarion, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It stirs my heart to hear you say that, Astarion. I would like all of that very much. But…I want you to have control over our intimacy. For as long as you need, until you are comfortable in sharing that opportunity with me,” Halsin said, his eyes glowing golden, shining at Astarion in the dim light of the tent like a cat’s eyes lit by a torch. Astarion nodded weakly, perceptible to Halsin only because of the gentle grip his fingers had found in the pale elf’s hair.

“So if you’ll have me,” the druid continued, his voice almost a growl, “I am at the mercy of your touch.” The sparkle of Halsin’s amber eyes outshone the stars as he maintained Astarion’s gaze. Astarion’s hands wrapped around Halsin’s bare waist, fingers curling into the druid’s hips, anchoring himself to the bliss of this reality.

“I would like that,” Astarion replied, a shyness in his voice that even he wasn’t prepared to hear. His lips curved into a smirk, his fangs flashing in the lamplight. He placed another needy kiss on Halsin’s lips and leaned forward, sliding his hands along Halsin’s skin, raking his fingers through the chest hair. The vampire marveled at how perky Halsin’s nipple was as his finger brushed against it. He felt his mouth water.

The pale elf pulled away, peering at Halsin through half-lidded eyes as his finger tweaked at the druid’s nipple. Halsin’s teeth had captured his bottom lip, as if he were holding himself back from ravishing Astarion. The vampire bent slightly and lowered his face to Halsin’s chest.

The druid did not protest as Astarion swirled his tongue around the pert, peachy flesh; he only threw his head back, his lips parting with a pleasured sigh. A smile crept to the corners of the vampire’s mouth. He pulled tenderly at Halsin’s nipple with his blunt front teeth, drawing a hiss from the druid. The vampire exhaled onto Halsin’s nipple, his cool breath making it somehow even harder.

Halsin hands were chaste, merely holding Astarion firmly in his lap; the druid otherwise seemed content, enthralled even, to be toyed with at Astarion’s whim. The vampire needed more. He needed to see what Halsin would do under his masterful touch.

He rolled his hips into Halsin’s, grinding their erections together through their clothes. The druid’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the delicious friction, which pulled a lustful moan from both men. Halsin’s hands drifted from Astarion’s thighs to his hips, slipping under Astarion’s loose linen tunic. The druid’s thick thumbs dug into the v-shaped muscle at the vampire’s hips as if Astarion would float away from him. Halsin pulled away and leaned back to peer at Astarion, his thick eyebrows raised upward. It was a question, unspoken - is this okay?

The vampire gave a small nod, goosebumps rising along his skin. Halsin’s grip squeezed momentarily on his hips - his hands were comforting, and so warm around his body. If his heart had a beat, Astarion was sure it would have doubled its pace when Halsin had asked him for yet another sign of consent. The druid was agonizingly gentle, unnervingly kind. Astarion worried his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin waited, his lips parted as he panted for breath, for the vampire to continue their passion; he held to the small elf’s hips only to stay grounded in their intimacy, not spurring Astarion on, nor discouraging his affection. Halsin’s amber eyes fixed on Astarion’s. His clothed cock throbbed beneath the pale elf. He was a loyal soldier awaiting a command, a servant expecting a request, a lover allowing a moment to build. The tenseness between them was a short bow string pulled taut; ready to either let loose or snap in two.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion realized it was his turn to be in control. True control, akin to that of a stage director, opposed to his experience as lead actor who commanded the stage at the whims of someone else. But now, with no master except his own desires, Astarion was elated to experiment. The rush of the power was intoxicating, sending throbs of pleasure to Astarion’s aching cock. The vampire released a sigh he did not know he had been holding. Halsin inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, his hands trembling at Astarion’s sides in anticipation.

The bow string snapped in two.

In a single movement, the vampire slipped one hand behind Halsin’s neck, his auburn hair slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He pressed his mouth, open and greedy, against Halsin’s, who returned his passion eagerly. Astarion’s other hand darted to Halsin’s trousers and deftly pulled out the laces.

The druid’s girthy cock pulsed at Astarion’s movements as it fell free from its confinement. Halsin groaned at the sensation of Astarion’s cool palm gripping his shaft. Halsin was fully erect, weeping in need already, his tip flushing a deep red. Halsin’s cock was uncut, his foreskin allowing Astarion’s hand to glide along its length. Astarion savored the sensation like it was the blood of a sacrificial virgin.

“By all the gods Halsin, you’re beautiful,” Astarion said, his lips parted slightly. The tips of his fangs were visible, glinting in the lamplight. Halsin was thick, and the firmness of his erection in his cool palm made the vampire’s own cock throb with unabashed desire. The druid moaned again, pulsing in the vampire’s hand, his hips swaying slightly beneath Astarion. In response, the pale elf offered a couple slow pulls from the base of Halsin’s shaft to the tip.

“Fuck,” was all Halsin could manage, his head falling back as he panted into the air. Seeing the druid come undone at his touch gave Astarion luxurious shivers of satisfaction from his scalp to his cock.

Halsin, true to his word, kept his hands as still as he could. His large fingers still dug into Astarion’s hip bones through his leather trousers, shaking with yearning. The large elf met Astarion’s gaze with his pupils blown out, his lips slightly parted as a moan slipped from his mouth. Astarion’s palms were slick with sweat and his fingers fumbled as he used his free hand to unfasten his own trousers.

The vampire’s arousal sprung free from his pants and bobbed in the air. Astarion hissed at the coolness surrounding his cock and thrust his hips closer to Halsin. He wrapped slender fingers around them both, shivering with the pleasure of Halsin’s heat against his erection. Halsin locked eyes with Astarion as the vampire pressed their cocks together.

“Astarion, every part of you is magnificent,” Halsin praised through labored breaths. “Your touch, I-” The druid’s words escaped him as Astarion shifted his hand to rub up and down their lengths. Halsin’s loose hair fell in front of his ears, onto his shoulders, sticking to his sweat-dampened chest. He glistened in the lamplight, like some sort of apparition.

Astarion struggled to not lose himself at Halsin’s appearance, at the tenderness and longing in the druid’s gaze. He pulled a few slow strokes for them both, his mouth open in a pant as their cocks rubbed against each other. The undersides of each of them slid against the other; the swollen shafts shifting as Astarion pumped his hand around them.

Halsin’s mouth fell open, the words he attempted to form trapped behind his tongue. His thoughts, praises, and curses seemed to escape him as Astarion flicked his thumbs over their slits. Pre-cum dribbled down their shafts as Astarion languidly circled his thumbs down the glistening heads, lubricating them further. The vampire’s strokes were smooth, his firm grip gliding over their mutual hardness as their foreskins pulled back and forward with his pumping hand.

Astarion looked to his own hand as it encircled both of their cocks; he relished in the sight of Halsin’s arousal next to his own. Halsin followed his gaze down; the druid’s sex pulsed and felt like it had grown harder at the sight alone. Halsin was thicker, but Astarion had a luscious curve that promised to hit all the naughtiest places. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that even Halsin’s shaft was sun-touched and as tan as the rest of his skin. The vampire, of course, was pale as a full moon, except for the head of his cock, ruddy with the rush of blood.

The visual contrast was striking enough that Astarion realized it had been a moment since he stroked them together. Halsin had not rushed him to move, but his hips were pressed firmly upwards in need. Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled upwards again, more pre-cum beading at the tip of both their shafts. The vampire had tried similar positions before, and had plenty of experience with men; but in this moment, he forgot all of them. He and Halsin existed alone in this new world, one of pleasure and of comfort, and he wanted to explore it completely.

Astarion maintained the pumping rhythm with one hand, drawing more guttural moans from Halsin’s lips. With his other hand, he teased Halsin by swirling his fingers under the flared head of the druid’s cock. His fangs peeked from his upturned lips as the druid groaned at his touch. The druid’s contortions and hushed murmurs of rapture were irresistible prayers; Astarion felt like the god before whom Halsin supplicated.

Astarion’s cock quivered in need, more slick pre-cum spilling from its pink tip, dripping onto the vampire’s hand as he pumped both of their erections steadily. The druid peered hungrily at Astarion’s cock like it was a feast, and he was a ravenous dinner guest. But Halsin showed immense self-restraint, his hands still curled around Astarion’s waist, allowing the smaller elf to enjoy complete control.

The vampire basked in Halsin’s attention, in his own gratification, and in the pleasures he bestowed to his partner. Astarion bit back back the curses that he, too, wanted to let loose; the tip of his own fangs pierced his bottom lip.

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips. Halsin’s noises were foul. They were erotic. They were delicious.

Astarion savored the change of pace, the tantalizing tease of edging. He wanted to see how far he could take the larger man; how far he could take himself. The pale elf struggled to compose himself against the luscious friction. For once in his long life, he wanted to prolong the indulgence, the satisfaction, and the climax. It was a taunt; it was an indulgence. It was the ambrosia of a divinity all his own, brought to reality as he explored his hedonism with Halsin.

Astarion’s vision blurred as Halsin’s hips strained under him. The druid was eager and aching to thrust into the vampire’s palm but unable to, with how fiercely his knees trembled, and with Astarion’s weight in his lap. A rumble began in Halsin’s throat, and Astarion nearly climaxed from both the sound and the power he had over the man beneath him.

Other lovers had moaned his name of course, or more often, slurred it. But how delectable would it sound coming from Halsin’s lips instead? Astarion’s chest tightened. He had to find out.

He distracted himself from the daydream by sliding one hand from their shafts to cup Halsin’s balls, pulling yet another rumbling moan from the large elf. The druid’s sac was heavy in his palm, the curly hair tickling against Astarion’s milky skin. The vampire slid two fingers along the seam on Halsin’s sac, then pressed slightly on his perineum, back and forth, until he drew a moan from his partner. Astarion grinned in satisfaction.

Halsin’s hips shifted again underneath Astarion, his well-muscled thighs pressing up against him. The druid gazed at Astarion through half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his brow onto his cheek. The pale elf relished in Halsin’s unkempt appearance; his lips were parted, his brows furrowed, his hair stuck to his forehead. He was gorgeous.

The vampire’s fingers rolled Halsin’s balls gently, again causing the druid to squirm underneath them and let loose a string of oaths under his breath. His fingertips softly pulled at Halsin’s sac, his nails grazing the tightened skin. The druid seemed to melt at the vampire’s ministrations; Halsin could hardly speak. However, Astarion read lips well enough to pick up the words “Oak Father” on the druid’s mouth.

Astarion shook his head again, clucking his tongue in playful admonishment. This man will ruin me, Astarion thought. He loosened his grip around them both.

“Oh, dear Halsin, the gods have nothing to do with this sin,” Astarion hissed, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as he made locked eyes with Halsin. The druid’s pupils were blown out, his irises still glowing slightly, his nostrils flared and lips parted as he clung on the precipice of climax.

“When we are together, you’ll say only my name,” Astarion purred, basking in the reverence in Halsin’s eyes. They were clouded by lust and something else, far deeper: a fervent, warm, honey-sweet affection. Astarion squeezed their shafts again for a momentary tease, eliciting a succulent whimper from Halsin’s lips.

“Gods,” Halsin practically sobbed, and gripped Astarion’s hips tighter when the vampire loosened pressure around his cock. “Please…”

“Ah ah, to whom do you beg, darling?” Astarion’s voice was firm. Commanding. Authoritative.

“To you,” Halsin corrected feverishly. His bottom lip quivered as he gazed into Astarion’s wine-red eyes. His body quaked beneath the vampire. “My heart, my everything. My Astarion-”

Astarion captured Halsin’s lips in a growl of his own. It was obscenely erotic, to have such a stoic, eloquent man undone by his hands. His stoic, eloquent man. Astarion crushed his lips onto Halsin’s harder, his tongue exploring the druid’s hot mouth, which opened readily at the vampire’s touch. Halsin’s lips were luscious, but the druid needed to breathe; Astarion pulled away, saliva stringing between their lips before dripping down onto Halsin’s chest.

He wanted Halsin to be his; for now, forever, for as long as he could swim in the bliss he felt in Halsin’s companionship. Astarion pumped their cocks steadily, firmly, occasionally wincing as his palm grazed the sensitive flare of his own cock.

He smirked when he pulled the same reaction from Halsin, and repeated the gesture gently to make the druid writhe again. Halsin’s breath came out in such delicious whimpers, breath ragged with pleasure that grew with each touch beneath Astarion’s skillful fingers.

Halsin’s head fell backwards, his auburn braids stuck to the sweat on his brow. Astarion felt the druid’s sac tighten in his palm as a low moan escaped him. He was close now.

“Pray to me, darling,” Astarion whispered against Halsin’s gasping lips.

And pray Halsin did, with a wrecked cry of his name. The druid’s hips convulsed as he climaxed, a thick rope of cum spilling over Astarion’s elegant fingers.

Astarion used Halsin’s spill as additional lubricant, panting as he pumped himself to climax. His sac tightened, his balls felt like they would burst from pressure as he came closer to his climax. The pale elf met Halsin’s gaze before his vision blurred; the druid surprised him as he captured his lips in a passionate kiss and explored the pale elf’s pliant mouth with his hot tongue.

Halsin’s attention pushed him to orgasm. Astarion’s ears rang as stars burst behind his eyelids as he, too, coated his hand with his seed. The pale elf’s head swirled, but he felt himself smile back into Halsin’s lips, the feeling of warmth of the other man’s palm against his cheek. This, Astarion decided, was perfection. This was bliss. This is how sex was supposed to be, what it should have been. What it could continue to be.

Astarion felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall. This little death, this drowning in Halsin’s affection, this exploration of something new was stronger than any intoxicant Astarion could imagine. And he knew that, and Halsin, would be far more addictive.

Halsin pressed a palm to Astarion’s chest, breathing deeply with the pale elf as he slowly floated back to the world. If his cold heart could have done so, Astarion felt as though it would flutter at the druid’s gentle touch. Halsin wrapped his arms around Astarion’s torso and leaned back into the pillows, pulling his partner with him. Astarion felt the weight of Halsin’s arm draped across his back. The druid’s large hands stroked the vampire’s tense shoulder muscles through his now-sticky shirt. 

Post-climax bliss, something Astarion had experienced rarely over his lifetime, still fogged his mind. The vampire’s hands settled on Halsin and were tickled by the druid’s chest hair. He found relaxation in the steady thump of his beating heart. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he nestled his face under Halsin’s neck; the heat from the druid’s skin felt soothing on his forehead. Even though his shirt was damp and forehead slick with sweat, the vampire always ran cool to the touch.

The druid’s thumbs rubbed down both sides of his spine, rumpling Astarion’s shirt. Halsin’s motions were slow and intentional; it struck Astarion that massage, too, is an art of healing. As was lying beside, on, or with his partner. Just like this. The vampire lost himself in Halsin’s gentle carress, intent on keeping this moment alive for as long as he could.

Halsin was the first to shift from their position; he pressed Astarion to his chest in another embrace, then held the smaller elf in an unusually firm grip. Astarion raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion, to stare at his partner. Halsin’s face was expressionless, unreadable. The vampire’s mouth parted as he prepared to ask Halsin’s intent as the druid’s hazel eyes met his own.

Halsin did not give his partner a chance to speak, and placed a brief kiss on Astarion’s lips, only to pull back and pepper the vampire’s face and neck with kisses, tickling Astarion’s sensitive skin. The pale elf felt a squeak escape his lips as he squirmed in Halsin’s grip. The druid captured the vampire’s wrist and held it firmly, kissing Astarion’s fingers, then his palm. Halsin seemed to delight in planting tickling kisses along Astarion’s pale wrist. Halsin nibbled in the crook of Astarion’s elbow, up his sleeved biceps, and back up to his collarbone, holding the vampire firmly as he squirmed in his grasp. Astarion felt himself erupt into laughter, genuine laughter and joy, as the druid mercilessly planted ticklish pecks along his neck and chin.

After what seemed like an eternity of delightful torture, Astarion felt the grip on him lessen. Halsin shifted the placement of his large hands onto either side of the pale elf’s face. Astarion couldn’t resist their warmth, and leaned his face into Halsin’s palm; his eyes were closed, pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He allowed himself to live in this moment far longer than he ever allowed himself to indulge before.

As his eyelids flitted open, Astarion met Halsin’s gaze, softer than the vampire ever thought possible. “Astarion…” Halsin whispered, bringing his lips meet his partner in another kiss. It was a soft, tender exchange; chaste and sweet, like their very first had been. The pale elf pulled away just enough to speak.

“Halsin…” Astarion said softly, just centimeters from the druid’s lips, “thank you.” He lowered his head back to Halsin’s chest, his face and ears flush. He felt the druid nuzzle his face into his hair, and Halsin’s hot breath blowing through his curls. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he fell into a trance to the sound of Halsin’s heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Restorative, deep sleep did not grace Halsin that night, though his muscles cried out for respite and recovery. The druid’s body screamed in protest as he refused to slip into true slumber. 

Halsin, who had spent at least 100 years in hibernation while wildshaped as a bear, despised the idea of sleep for the first time in his life. Sleep would rip him from this moment.

If he slept, he couldn’t brush his fingers along Astarion’s ivory skin. He couldn’t memorize the peaks and valleys of his hip bones, his stomach, his neck. 

While unconscious, he would have been deprived of Astarion’s intoxicating scent. Bergamot, rosemary, and the ever-tempting allure of brandy made his head spin and heart soar.

Halsin could not allow sleep to steal him from Astarion’s cool touch, which acted as a heat sink for Halsin’s intense body heat. 

He did not want to be robbed of the reassurance that Astarion was enjoying a night of true sleep himself. It was the first time Halsin had noticed that the vampire actually slept.

And so, in a middling compromise with himself, Halsin tranced for a few hours to allow him to harness his healing magic. He could tolerate minimal rest, as long as he could admire the man in his arms for a few more hours. 

His fingers traced the maroon circles dotting Astarion’s neck; the marks of their intimate evening. Halsin’s eyes crinkled in delight as the pale elf’s curls were ruffled by his hot breath. His hand drifted downward, along Astarion’s sleeved arm. Halsin brushed his thumb along the velvety skin on the inside of Astarion’s wrist, where he had kissed so many times that night.

As he had scorned true sleep, Halsin had several hours to fill while holding his partner. Fortunately, he quite enjoyed allowing his mind to wander. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, deciding that this act was meditation in itself. His eyes drifted along Astarion’s reclined form against his body. Astarion was nestled into the crook of Halsin’s arm, head laid on his chest. The vampire's slender fingers twitched occasionally against Halsin's broad chest as he dreamed. Those skilled fingers had felt better than the hands of any lovers Halsin had ever had before.

After both men had climaxed, they had collapsed together, their arms and legs intertwining as they clung to one another. Neither had minded the musk of the other, or the slick of sweat and semen between them. Halsin had curled around Astarion’s smaller frame as they reeled together after orgasm. He had felt whole. Complete. Satisfied.

They lingered there awhile together, both men gathering their thoughts and their breaths. Astarion had shifted first, to remove his trousers and tuck himself back into his underwear, a coy smile on his lips. 

Astarion had lifted his torso enough to plant kisses along Halsin’s stomach and help his partner remove his trousers. Halsin had tilted his head in curiosity when Astarion had declined his offer of his large tunic as a sleep shirt; his ruffled shirt was a little crusty with the dried spend and sweat from the night before. However, Halsin did not push further for Astarion's reasoning behind remaining mostly clothed.

Regardless of the amount of skin against which he could press himself, Halsin was grateful to relish in the post-climax bliss with his lover. It pleased Halsin that Astarion seemed equally relaxed and content with resting in his embrace. After tucking his head beneath Halsin's chin, he had fallen into a trance, and then quickly into a deeper, true sleep. Halsin took it as an immense compliment that the smaller elf had felt comfortable enough to do so. 

He knew that to enjoy intimacy, especially after such hardship as Astarion had faced, was a significant step in healing one’s soul. Wounds such as Astarion's were susceptible to a proverbial "rot"; the type of wounds whose foulness crept into one's sense of self. Even as a skilled healer, Halsin never developed a magic capable of cleansing them. 

Halsin frowned as his mind wandered. How often had Astarion experienced a deeper connection with others besides carnal pleasures? How often had he led strangers to his bed and not experienced pleasure at all? How often was there only disgust and anguish? The druid’s heart felt constricted by thorny vines. He gently embraced Astarion with one arm, and felt a cool puff of air escape from his lips. It ruffled Halsin’s chest hair. The vampire slept on.

It was not simply Astarion’s saccharine touch that had pulled Halsin over the precipice of climax. The wood elf could only assume that Astarion had truly enjoyed their intimacy. He seemed to, anyway, after Halsin’s gentle reassurance and willingness to cede all control.

Halsin whispered thanks to the Oak Father to have been able to serve Astarion, to allow him the pleasure and peace he deserved, and for restoration for his body and his soul. Before he opened his eyes, he also pleaded for forgiveness from Silvanus for having no gods but Astarion in the bedroll. The Oak Father understood natural passions; Halsin was confident that he would forgive a little light blasphemy in the name of exploring nature’s bounty. Especially when the beauty and resilience of nature took the form of Astarion Ancunín. 

Instead of the lewd facade which Halsin had seen Astarion act out thrice, he’d shared a night of vulnerable intimacy with the pale elf. There was no act nor mummer’s mask that evening. Astarion had been confident, but not blustery. In control of their motions, but not power hungry. In the moment, instead of in his head. It was what Halsin had hoped it would be; it was also a tantalizing promise of what the future could hold for them. Tenderness, fulfillment, and a true partnership in which they could depend on each other. 

Halsin was pulled from his thoughts by the crackle of firewood in the center of camp. Gale was prepping for breakfast. Wyll’s voice echoed through their camp in a groan as the warlock bemoaned his soreness from the prior day’s battle. Scratch whimpered faintly from Thaniel’s tent. Halsin did not rise, despite the gnaw deep in his gut telling him to move; nagging him that it was time to search for Thaniel’s other half. The boy was stable for now, and not all the party members were prepared to set off yet, anyway.

Certainly not the beautiful vampire still nestled in Halsin’s arm. He frowned as the sun peeked through a slit in the tent flap, its bright rays painting a white stripe across Astarion’s cheek. Halsin raised his hand to block the sunlight. 

The reliability of the sun's rays would cut their peace short soon enough; no reason to delay his healing spell. Halsin twirled his fingers in the pattern required for a healing spell, mouthing the incantation silently. A viridian glow engulfed his hand, before the magic settled on his skin. It crept along his bare arm then onto his chest, painting a green cast to his skin not unlike the sunlight that dappled the forest floor. His wounds ached less; his heartbeat grew stronger. It must have restored some of his lifeblood; perhaps he could offer sustenance to Astarion in the evening. The magic seemed to melt into him, and Halsin’s chest felt warm. 

Astarion stirred at Halsin’s increased warmth, his pale body twitching with a slight shiver that began at his head and continued down to his toes. He released a long groan, rolling his face to press into the crook of Halsin’s arm. It was delightfully cool and soft. Halsin chuckled at Astarion, lifting his hand to rub lazily on the vampire’s back through his tunic.

“Good morning, my heart,” Halsin murmured, pressing a kiss onto Astarion’s head.

The vampire grunted in response; Halsin felt his eyes squeeze shut harder, eyelashes flitting against his skin. Another laugh shook Halsin’s broad chest, causing Astarion’s white curls to bob about.

Astarion raised his head to meet Halsin’s gaze and curled his arms on top of his broad chest. Halsin’s eyes flitted to his angular jawline as the vampire rested his chin on his crossed arms. “How is it that you manage to be so obnoxiously pleasant all the time, darling?” Astarion said, his words heavy with grogginess and affection. He scrunched his white eyebrows, blinking quickly to adjust to the increasing light levels in the tent.

Halsin raised his hand to comb through his partner’s hair. It was like silk as it slipped through his fingers. “I outgrew cynicism over 100 years ago,” Halsin replied, a smirk pulling at his laugh lines, “Silvanus blesses us with another day; it is difficult to feel poorly when a bounty of opportunities and adventure awaits us. And when I begin the day with you in my arms.” 

“Your optimism is exhausting , Halsin,” Astarion replied, his comment an obvious attempt to distract from the redness rising to his cheeks. His ruby eyes rolled as he shot a wry grin at the druid. “I swear, you’d go on forever about your Oak Father unless Gale cast Silen-”

Halsin lurched forward and captured Astarion’s mouth in his own; he did not need a spell to steal away Astarion’s words. His lips pressed against Astarion’s, firm and heated, as strong and passionate as his affection for the other man. His tongue flitted across Astarion’s bottom lip, pleading for entrance, for acceptance. The vampire’s mouth parted, his lips quivering in anxiousness and excitement. Halsin took the opportunity; his tongue moved against the smaller elf’s as though he could pour his heart and soul into Astarion. 

Astarion claimed Halsin’s bottom lip between his fangs, nipping enough to pull a grunt from Halsin’s lip, but not enough to draw blood. The pale elf hummed softly as he slid the slender fingers of one hand into Halsin’s auburn locks. His other hand cradled Halsin’s face, his fingertips faintly grazed the druid’s tattooed cheek. Halsin’s hand covered Astarion’s, pressing the coolness to his face before interlacing their fingers. 

His heart skipped a beat as the vampire hungrily returned his passion. Astarion's kisses were tender, pliant, excited - the type of kisses Halsin had experienced when he was a younger man who enjoyed the freedoms of the wood elf community. Halsin's breath escaped him, and he pulled away to inhale.

Astarion gazed back at him with a smirk, his plump lips reddened from the friction of their kiss. He looked flustered, but composed. And now, wide awake. 

“Well darling, I’ll never be too exhausted for that ,” Astarion said, his laughter ringing like a wind chime in the breeze. 

A slow grin spread across Halsin's face. He hoped it would always be that way.

Astarion’s stomach flipped as he had returned Halsin’s kiss. He had been groggy, his mind weighed down by the fog of a confusion that occurs when one experiences deeper rest than expected. Halsin’s kiss shot energy through him, like the teas Halsin sometimes enjoyed. 

"I thank Silvanus for that, for I will never tire of the taste of you,” Halsin said, his voice soft and low with sincerity. Astarion felt the warmth radiating from his partner's intense, affectionate gaze. Halsin placed a light peck on Astarion's forehead as if to prove his point.

The vampire's hands drifted from Halsin's face to rest against his chest; Halsin’s heartbeat fluttered against his palms like a pixie captured in a moonlantern. Halsin's pulse was much stronger than it had been yesterday. Astarion’s head tilted as he made out the sound; the druid must have concentrated his healing spell on his blood. The vampire traced his fingertips near the fine stitches he had placed last night; the surrounding flesh was no longer inflamed, and had taken on a warm, pink flush.

"Feeling better this morning, darling?" Astarion asked, partly out of genuine concern for the man, and partly out of his gnawing hunger for blood. He had not fed for two days now; after the exertion of the battle, he was ravenous.

"Physically better? Immensely. Mentally? I am of course concerned for Thaniel, and eager to restore his strength," Halsin said, turning his head towards Thaniel's tent; as if he could see through the walls of his own tent.

"Although I can imagine you're faring worse, considering it has been several days since you have last fed," the druid said, tucking Astarion's curls behind his ears. The vampire's ears flushed hot at Halsin's touch; and his kindness. 

"I'll admit I'm feeling peckish," Astarion said, flipping his delicate hand in the air to de-emphasize his hunger. The throes of battle, mixed with the tempest of anxiety into which he was thrown when Halsin had disappeared had sapped both his mental and physical energy reserves. After their night of passion, weariness weighed Astarion's body down like lead. As if on cue, Astarion's stomach gurgled, the pain twisting his insides.

Halsin arched an eyebrow smugly. "Please, my heart. Drink from me, and restore your strength. I cannot claim to know what challenges we will face on this day," he said.

"You're right," Astarion muttered, nodding slightly, "of course."

Halsin tilted his neck to the side, displaying his well-tanned skin as though pulling the silver dome from atop a serving platter. His large hands wrapped around Astarion's waist, nearly touching together, to assist the vampire in adjusting to a proper feeding position. It sent an altogether different sensation to Astarion's stomach to be lifted so easily.

Astarion bent his head to Halsin's well-muscled neck. Fine brown baby hairs curled about Halsin's ears; a decorative garnish, to one who sups on blood. Halsin's peach fuzz tickled Astarion's plump lips as he kissed his sun-tanned skin. The vampire inhaled deeply, relishing in Halsin's scent; a mix of cedar and petrichor, as well as their own lingering musk.

Astarion's lips curled upward in satisfaction as Halsin's skin prickled at the caress of his lips. The siren song of power once more called to the vampire. Heat rushed to his groin at the recollection of their night of intimacy, of Halsin's large form squirming beneath him. His hips furiously pressing into Astarion's grasp. His moans of worship. His fulfilled promise of self-restraint. 

Astarion was equally intoxicated by the control in this moment; he was a predator, his prey held in his clutches. Halsin's muscles rippled underneath the ministrations of tongue, just as lowly creatures had fought against the vampire's feedings in the past.

But Halsin's movements weren't fearful. Far from it. Astarion's leg had been draped across Halsin's body. It crossed over the junction of the druid's thighs. Taunted by the teasing of his tongue, Halsin's cock had begun to press against Astarion's inner thigh. It sent another rush of need to the vampire's groin. 

Astarion opened his mouth wide, lips pulling back to bare his pearly fangs. Halsin was still interested in him physically, though he had gotten some satisfaction the night prior. The thoughts assuaged none of Astarion's anxieties. 

And yet, Halsin had seemed to be fully enraptured with his touch, both intimate and otherwise. Astarion's distaste for his own longing bubbled within him; his lips curled back further. His fangs pierced the druid's skin, pulling a grunt from Halsin's chest. Astarion lifted his mouth, just enough to remove his teeth from the two freshly bleeding divots. 

Calloused fingertips of one of Halsin's hands dug into Astarion's ribs. His other rose to rest on the vampire's backside, squeezing slightly.

Astarion lowered his mouth, plump lips smeared with scarlet, to seal over the bite wound completely. He lapped at the lifeblood, unable to hold back the moans that were louder even than the rumbling of his empty stomach. 

The heat of Halsin's lifeblood coated his tongue. Its thickness washed over his palate. Its warmth was nearly scalding against Astarion's cool throat, and he pulled away briefly to cool his mouth. 

His cock twitched as the fresh blood rushed to it, turning his mild arousal into a full erection, thick and throbbing. Astarion breathed intentionally as he swallowed another mouthful of blood. He did not need to breathe, but perhaps the slow inhalations he so often saw Halsin perform would dull the throb in his shaft and his sac. 

For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had enjoyed intimacy. Halsin's touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his skin. His touch was hot, almost burning; not like the sun. It was more like a warm towel after a fresh bath. Halsin was comforting, both in body and in his words and actions.

He was a dream of a partner, and it knotted Astarion's insides to dwell on it. His abdomen tightened in anxiety and in need. His underwear seemed agonizingly constricting. Astarion rolled his hips against Halsin's bulging erection, which was free from the confines of clothing. Halsin whimpered in response, lifting Astarion's lower half from the bedroll. The druid's desire was palpable, and his grip on Astarion's ass grew firmer. The vampire was sure his partner would leave five purple bruises where his fingertips dug into his muscle. 

Astarion swallowed again, his eyes rolling backward as he savored Halsin's blood. What a queer concept. "Partner", he thought. For how long would Halsin consider him a partner?

I am deluding myself to think Halsin truly cares for me , Astarion thought. I'm just a novelty for him; wood elves have experience enough to grow bored with the same horizontal dance. His heart 'doesn't stir lightly' he says… but a vampire and blood play must be new for him. And what was the definition of a partner, anyway? A partner in crime? A partner in the bedroom? Or a travelling partner? Halsin did not delineate which it might be. Or, if their partnership was a different kind altogether. 

Astarion shuddered at the thought, but could not refuse his body's call to rub against Halsin's larger member, his curly pubic hair, and his warmth. He wasn't sure if he heard Halsin moan his name into the cool morning air, or if he was just imagining it.

The vampire dove back down to Halsin's throat, dragging his tongue along the crease created by the druid's collarbone and muscle. Blood now coated his chin and his nose. It was more tantalizing than any filet mignon, more flavorful than any aged red wine. He sealed his lips again around the divots he had pierced, damming the rivulets of blood from escaping from him. 

Halsin groaned again beneath him, his hand kneading Astarion's ass over his underwear. Two of his thick fingers slid into the cleft between Astarion's cheeks. He nearly choked on a mouthful of blood. Again his body betrayed him once. It had kept the score, and recalled Halsin's gentle touch, his saccharine sensitivity to the deep scars it bore. His hips raised to Halsin's fingers; he felt them press atop his underwear, onto the pucker between his ass checks. Halsin's fingers rubbed gently, firmly, over his entrance. Astarion swallowed his last mouthful of blood to allow himself to moan Halsin's name as his body went rigid. Though his cock pulsed in need, and he wanted nothing more than to feel Halsin on him, in him, everywhere and all at once, Astarion's warring desires threatened to split him in two; body and mind.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed his desire down. He knew that in this moment, he would be but a phantom, lost in his thoughts, responding purely by instinct to Halsin's ministrations while a million realms away. 

The druid knew how to make a man feel good; that much was clear during their lovemaking the evening prior. He had no shame, no fear as they had rutted against each other and swam in the blissful afterglow of passion. How was it that he could be so confident, so present , during each moment? 

Halsin seemed to sense the sudden rigidity in Astarion’s body; he pulled his hands away and rested them on the bedroll. The larger man exhaled, his hot breath sending a shiver down Astarion's spine.

It was nerve-wracking how easily the druid seemed to read his body language. Astarion felt as though he were a book laid open for Halsin’s perusal, its spine creased so that it lay flat on the table. The fresh blood churned in his belly as he made eye contact with his partner. The druid only smiled softly, his crow's feet wrinkling in the corners of his hazel eyes.

“Do you feel any better, my heart?” Halsin asked gently, running his thumb under Astarion’s lip to wipe his own lifeblood away. He held his large thumb in front of the vampire's mouth. Astarion’s tongue darted out to lick it clean. He flushed in embarrassment at the instinctual action; Halsin did not mention it. He traced his thumb along Astarion's cheekbone, then grasped the pale elf's hand in his own. Halsin placed a firm kiss on Astarion's palm.

“Yes, much better actually,” Astarion admitted meekly, “thank you again. For this.” 

“Anything for you, Astarion,” Halsin replied. His smile changed; the concern faded, and it spread to his eyes as the druid seemed more cheerful. He raised himself up on his elbows to place his lips on Astarion’s forehead. “Now, I believe we ought to get ready for this morning. The others are breaking their fasts without us."

Halsin did not mention, nor seem frustrated by, the abrupt halt of intimacy. Nor did he pry into Astarion's thoughts or probe about with questions. Relief. Astarion felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his lips despite himself.

Astarion’s blood-moon eyes were round and soft. The dark circles below his eyes seemed to have faded with the nourishment of Halsin's lifeblood. If the druid didn’t know any better, he’d think Astarion genuinely seemed happy . And, it seemed, a little confused at the emotion.

It tugged at an unidentifiable emotion deep within Halsin and caused an ache in his stomach. He squeezed the other man’s smaller hand and placed a kiss on his partner's wrist. He felt the goosebumps rise along Astarion’s arm.

"I need to check on Thaniel, my heart," he said, grazing his thumb across Astarion's porcelain wrist; Halsin's large hands could wrap around it completely. "Please take your time to get ready; I have fresh tunic in my pack, if you'd like?" 

Without waiting for an answer from Astarion, Halsin lifted him gently from atop his body and guided the vampire to sit beside him on the bedroll. Free of Astarion's relative featherweight, Halsin crawled on all fours to the corner of his tent and rummaged in his satchel. 

He plucked the tunic from his pack and turned to present it to his partner. It wasn't as finely adorned as his usual camp clothes, nor his leaf-embellished armor. But, it was knit of an olive-green sateen that was soft to the skin; Halsin rarely wore it, for fear of damaging the fine material. But it was one of his few material belongings, so he'd packed it when setting off with Astarion and his party.

Halsin placed the tunic in Astarion's lap and squeezed the vampire's thigh gently. Astarion peered wordlessly at the tunic in his lap, before grazing his hand across Halsin's and muttering a soft, "Thank you."

His sudden reservations that bubbled forth during his feeding worried Halsin; but for the well-being of Astarion, rather than an unfulfilled lust. As Halsin pulled on his trousers, he prayed to Silvanus.

Oak Father grant me the fortitude to be a monument of strength for those important to me. Astarion deserves your healing, your blessing; he has experienced so much harm. Thaniel deserves your healing, your blessing; this curse ravages him so harshly. Hear me Oak Father, and let your will manifest through me.

Halsin ducked to leave his tent and needed only a few footsteps to clamber into Thaniel's. Scratch had not left the boy's side and was licking the boy's fingers. Thaniel's palms and hands seemed warmer, at least; he was stable.

Thaniel was resting in uneasy slumber; it was as though he was in an elven trance; half of himself present in body, but the other half of him communing with his past lives in spirit. Halsin was struck by how apt his analogy was; this was what remained bodily of Thaniel in the Shadowfell. But the missing part of him must be trapped somewhere in the lands itself. His comrades in battle had been dragged into the darkness; could it not have been so for Thaniel as well? Nausea settled in Halsin's gut at the thought of anguish and agony Thaniel must have experienced as he was rended in two. How he must be holding on by a mere thread, with his essence split in half and overtaken by shadow curse corruption.

Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, patting Scratch as he did so; the touch of another living being always helped to soothe his nerves. Scratch's tail flopped onto the ground in sync with their heartbeats.

"Good boy," Halsin said, ruffling the soft, downy fur behind the dog's ears, "Will you keep watch on Thaniel for me?"

Scratch's tail flopped harder on Thaniel's bedroll. "Of course, friend!" Scratch replied; his whimpers and barks, a puzzle to those who couldn't communicate with animals, were easily understood by Halsin, "Thaniel is a very good boy, too."

Halsin's stern expression broke into a weary grin. "I appreciate you, Scratch. I do hope you'll enjoy playing together when he wakes." The druid patted the dog's head gently and exited the tent. How fortunate he was to have been rescued and befriended by the tadpoled adventurers; how uncomfortable he was to ask them for help, once again . 

By the time Halsin had checked on Thaniel and spoken with Scratch, Astarion had made his way from the druid's tent. The pale elf was perched on a stone near the campfire, his fingers absentmindedly pulling at the excess fabric of the olive green tunic. Astarion gazed at nothing in particular until he seemed to sense that he was being watched. The vampire's ruby eyes met Halsin's. They seemed to flicker with pleasure as he luxuriated in Halsin's oversized tunic. 

As Halsin approached him, Astarion hummed in what the druid could only assume was satisfaction; his delicate fingers traced the stitching on the olive-green shirt. It was far too large for Astarion. The sleeves extended well past his fingertips; he had rolled its sleeves up to bare his forearms. The shade of the shirt suited his pale complexion; he was a carefully carved marble statue, veiled before its grand debut, and draped in the most calming of nature's colors. It could almost pass for a dress, with how low it fell on his legs.

Halsin could not help but grin at the sight. He again counted his blessings for having a partner who could provide respite to his weary mind in such a dark place. Regardless of whether that respite was of intimate or sexual nature, or purely as a much-needed laugh, Halsin did not take Astarion for granted.

The large elf settled beside Astarion on his stone, and placed his hand on the small of the pale elf's back. He felt Astarion lean into the heat of his palm, and he pressed back slightly, softly.

The other companions didn't remark on their closeness; perhaps they knew better than to taunt Astarion and draw out his dagger-sharp tongue. Halsin noted, in the orange glow of the campfire against the darkness of the shadow curse though, that Astarion blushed nonetheless. 

It was Halsin who spoke first, beyond the usual "good mornings". The adventurers were quiet, enraptured by his findings: Thaniel must have had another half that was torn away from him when the shadow curse took hold. And, being a spirit of nature and not mortal, that other half must still be lingering in this realm. Halsin had glimpsed fresh blooms pushing through the infertile soil when they had entered these lands, but hadn't grasped their significance. 

The druid's heart raced as he asked for the aid of the adventurers. Astarion immediately slid a hand onto Halsin's thigh and gave a squeeze. His heart would join him; the others discussed logistics and their plan for the day. 

Everyone besides Wyll agreed to join Halsin in both his trek to Last Light Inn. The handsome warlock, ever the hero, insisted on staying by Thaniel’s side to monitor his condition in case. Halsin's eyes watered at the kindness Wyll showed towards his childhood friend, and rose to wrap his large arms around the warlock. He bashfully hugged Halsin in return and patted his back, before retiring to Thaniel's tent to keep vigil. 

Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion had offered Halsin their aid on searching for Thaniel; Shadowheart rose to don her armor, and Gale to gather his scrolls. Karlach and Laezel would accompany Halsin to the Inn, but could not join him to find Thaniel. Karlach had an appointment with Dammon to see what he may have discovered about her infernal engine; Lae’zel needed the tiefling smith’s expertise on repairing her armor, which had been severely damaged in yesterday’s battle.

Their travel to Last Light was uneventful, the well-worn path having been largely cleansed of encroaching shadow creatures over the past week. Lae'zel and Karlach split to the right to visit Dammon. Karlach's ear-splitting shout of the fellow tiefling's name made Astarion flinch. Gods, he was fond of her boisterousness and enthusiasm but sometimes he wished he could cast Silence. Gale wandered off to speak with the Harper quartermaster about provisions; he was weary of cooking gruel. Shadowheart was as well, and having been introduced to vegetarian recipes by Halsin, joined Gale to procure animal-free ingredients. She and Halsin had chatted at length about her wishes to have a farm. A few evenings ago, he revealed that he could speak with all animals, including chickens. Shadowheart had gently set down her bowl of chicken broth and her complexion turned green whenever anyone mentioned eating meat since.

Astarion tagged along besides Halsin. He never was fond of leading a troupe, preferring to stick to the shadows and enjoy a little fun (or "ruckus", as Gale sometimes called it) along the sides. So when Halsin had strode into the Inn with a purpose, it suited Astarion just fine. Halsin wasn't completely healed post-portal battle, and wanted to request additional aid from Jaheira. But Jaheira was not at her usual post near the entrance to the inn.

"Do panthers enjoy sleep just as much as bears? Or hibernate?" Astarion teased, elbowing Halsin gently.

Halsin grinned at his partner and shook his head. "Not that I am aware of, my heart. She is normally an early riser. I do not mind waiting a little longer for her, if that is acceptable for you?" he asked, guiding Astarion around the corner with a hand on his lower back. 

Any downtime the adventurers were able to enjoy at Last Light was generally spent in the library-like corner, which held a desk and hundreds of books. The vampire's skin prickled at Halsin's touch, even through the finely-crafted Drow armor he'd picked up on their adventures. It was slightly unsettling that even without directly caressing his skin, the druid could affect him so. 

As the pair rounded the corner, Astarion's fine, downy arm hair continued to stand on end, even after Halsin removed his hand. Astarion's stomach twisted further, and his brow furrowed in confusion as to the cause. It was almost as if his body was reacting, like a prey animal being stalked by a predator.

Halsin was no threat, though, and Astarion blinked away the thoughts. As he surveyed the room, his eyes focused on a handsome man who reclined in an armchair, swirling a glass of wine as he observed Astarion and Halsin. The man's brown hair was slicked back, his strong brow knit together and a wide, toothy smile graced his lined face.

He was being stalked by a predator. He dug his heels into the wood floor and grabbed onto Halsin's arm. Not for security, but to wrangle back the unwitting druid.

Astarion had met the cambion Raphael once before, when the devil offered a deal to remove their tadpoles. He disliked the idea of being owned once again, and had declined the offer; he'd already suffered a pseudo-pact with Cazador, and was not about to partner with another devil.

"Astarion," Halsin said, before bending to speak closer to his ear, "what is going on here? Something…is not right here." Astarion met Halsin's gaze; his eyes were glowing golden. Perhaps he wasn't unwitting after all; Halsin too had noticed something was amiss in the inn. His arm hair, too, was standing on end; a bear preparing for a threat.

The vampire inhaled and exhaled intentionally, preparing himself to pull on his mask of nonchalance. It would not do to speak with a devil while visibly unnerved. "Well, lots of things aren't right here," Astarion drawled, feigning counting on his fingers, "A tadpole in my brain, a curse warping the lands, Thaniel being comatose.. but if you're referring to specifics , the man over there is Raphael. And he's actually a devil." He giggled uncomfortably.

Astarion was sure Halsin nearly broke his neck with how quickly he jerked his head to face him. "Shall we escort him out, my heart?". The vampire didn't hear Halsin growl, but he could feel a rumble vibrating the druid's body.

"No thank you, darling, I actually…need to speak with him," Astarion explained, giving Halsin's arm a squeeze before pulling his hands to his hips.

"Devils cannot be trusted," Halsin growled, stooping lower to whisper in the pale elf's ear so his voice wouldn't carry.

Astarion's plump lips pulled into a thin line. "Then trust me , Halsin. Please. It's… important that I speak with him."

Halsin seemed to deflate at Astarion's words; his eyes darted about the vampire's face, as though he were searching for answers. "I trust you with my life, my heart. I do not trust this Raphael. I must insist on joining you," he said, his voice raspy with a low growl.

"Delightful, it's settled then," Astarion said, clapping his hands together and interlacing his fingers. "I could always use some muscle, anyway." He nudged Halsin playfully, a show of false confidence and bravado as they were being dressed down by Raphael's intense gaze from across the room. Astarion was determined to at least pretend that the cambion's stare didn't cause his hands to shake with anxiety.

Astarion hooked his thumbs into the leather belt slung about his hips and sauntered closer to Raphael. "So, how did you find us this time, devil?" Astarion asked, his voice effervescent with false lightheartedness.

The devil, ever the showman, rose from his armchair slowly, without the grunt or groan one would expect of a man who appeared to be middle-aged. A small tell that Raphael was more than he seemed.

"Oh, I have my ways," Raphael replied, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. He took a sip from his wine goblet and set it down on the table beside him. "I'm like a bloodhound, my fanged friend. I can spell desperation from realms away. And you absolutely reek of it."

Astarion's mask of indifference slipped; he took one step backwards in offense and shock. The vampire's mouth turned downward in a frown. Raphael wasn't wrong. And he hated it. He felt Halsin's broad torso press against his back, but the druid was silent.

"You've gained a new friend, Astarion," Raphael murmured, tilting his head. He raised his fist to his chin, feigning interest and deep thought. "But he is not who I have come to see; I sense there is something you want to ask me?"

Astarion's eyes darted to the floor as he gathered his courage. "I do. I have a proposal for you." He took one step forward. Halsin's hand darted to Astarion's shoulder; the vampire shook it off. 

Raphael burst into laughter, raising a hand to his neck. "A proposal? If you're hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than wyvern whiskey." His grin was a taunt.

The vampire's nose crinkled in a sneer. "This is serious business, devil," he spat, taking another step forward. His hands balled into a fist. "My old- well, a long time ago, someone carved a poem into my back. I'd rather like to know what it says."

Halsin's body again pressed beside Astarion. "My heart, what do you mean? The scars, I.." his voice trailed off, crushed under the hurt of not being privy to his partner's secrets. The druid seemed to grow small behind him.

Astarion flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. His scars were physical evidence of his baggage; for as long as Halsin was ignorant of them, he could not cast judgment. He would not know how heavy Astarion's burdens truly were.

Raphael's ever-present smile grew wide. His eagerness sent chills down Astarion's spine. "You haven't told him? And you've kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you ," Raphael sneered, his teeth bared in a predatory grin. Halsin's hand rested on Astarion's waist. His thick fingertips dug into the vampire's sides. The druid's grip was protective. Possessive. Neither man spoke.

The cambion raised his hand with a flourish. "Why not let them see, then? Don't be shy ." Raphael snapped his fingers with an audible pop. 

The cool air of the inn rushed onto Astarion's bare skin; the armor on his torso, and even his undershirt had been instantly magicked away. His skin prickled, almost on fire, as he felt the gaze of the other patrons of the inn, who had heard the unusually loud snap of Raphael's fingers. Astarion was too stunned to move beyond holding his arms at his sides.

Bile rose to his throat from the humiliation. Once again he was literally dressed down, as he had been so many times by Cazador. Stripped to nothing and exposed for all to see. 

Halsin had been struggling to not shift into his bear form since he had begun to smell the stench of sulfur as they rounded the corner of the inn. Once he had confirmation from Astarion about Raphael's true nature, the bear clawed against his insides in protectiveness.

He refused to hold back the beast as soon as the cambion snapped his fingers. To threaten or shame his partner, his Astarion , was unforgivable.

Golden light sparked along his arms and legs; his arm hair lengthened into true fury. His teeth elongated into fangs, gnashing fiercely as he bared his snarling maw at Raphael. Each fingernail grew into a curved claw, several inches long, that tapped onto the wooden floor of the inn as he reared to his hind legs. His ear tips brushed the ceiling, before he slammed his front paws onto the ground. While on all fours, his shoulders were equal in height to Astarion's.

The patrons of the inn shrieked, a handful diving from their seats as Halsin's yell morphed into a roar. Astarion stood stock-still as Halsin pressed his furred side against him. The druid was now large enough to nearly wrap around Astarion; one front leg crossed in front of the vampire, and his other front paw raised as if he were ready to charge Raphael.

He felt a hand press onto him; Astarion gripped onto the shaggy ruff about his neck. "Gods damn it Halsin, no!" Astarion hissed, "It's fine, please. Don't." Halsin released a low growl of acquiescence. The vampire pressed himself against Halsin's ursine body, as if he was wrapped in a gigantic fur shawl.

Raphael chuckled again, his deep voice like thick honey, dripping from a honeycomb; except it was threatening, as if hundreds of drone bees were prepared to defend it. 

"Very wise, my fanged friend. It won't do you much good if your teddy bear attempted to end me before I told you exactly what those scars are. After all, it's something of great importance to your master," Raphael teased. His voice was low with promise and threat. It pulled another grumbling growl from Halsin, who placed his paw onto the floor. His claws dug into the weathered flooring. Raphael continued his taunts. "But is this scar a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I'll give you all the gory details…soon."

Raphael brought his fingers to his face again and snapped. He was gone.

The smell of sulfur disappeared along with him; but the smell of Astarion's fear remained. Halsin hadn't detected it as an elf, but the perspiration that accompanies fear has a distinct odor. He felt Astarion relax against his side.

The bear opened his large maw and closed it around Astarion's lower arm gently, using his lips more than his teeth to pull the vampire to the corner of the room.

" Excuse you , druid, now I'm naked and wet. And not in the good way" Astarion spat, rubbing Halsin's bear saliva on his pants leg. Astarion's shoulders were up to his pointed ears, his back slightly bent as he curled into himself as though he were trying to hide and make himself small.

The cave bear lowered his massive head as a golden aura enveloped him.

"I'm sorry, my heart," Halsin said, now shifted into his elven form. One of the few things he missed while in bear form were his vocal chords; he rarely cursed, but would have liked to have thrown a few at Raphael. Astarion was enveloped in Halsin's shadow as his broad form still blocked the rest of Last Light from scrutinizing Astarion's half-bare form.

Halsin pulled his armor upwards, over his head, and threw it to the floor with a clunk . Astarion's head tilted as he observed his partner's movements with curiosity. "Halsin, what in the realms.." he muttered, his face scrunched in scrutiny. The wood elf disregarded his question, and pulled off his sleeveless tunic. He held it out to Astarion. 

His ruby eyes darted from the tunic in Halsin's hands, to the druid's now-bared chest, to his eyes. "Oh," Astarion sputtered, his long fingers reaching out to grasp Halsin's shirt, "Well, thank you darling." Astarion slipped it on. His curly white hair popped from the neck hole first, and his ears were flushed scarlet as he pulled the tunic over his head.

Halsin managed a tender smile. Astarion was precious when wearing his clothing; just as he had been at camp this morning. How unfortunate that this instance occurred due to less-than-ideal circumstances. Satisfied that his partner was no longer laid bare before curious eyes, Halsin rounded the corner, glaring daggers at nosy onlookers. The others in the inn, Harpers and tiefling refugees alike, all cast their eyes back to whatever they were doing before Halsin's ruckus.

Astarion was still in the corner when Halsin returned to him, nimble fingers manipulating the hem of the shirt. He fastened it into a knot at his waist so it no longer fell to his knees. 

"If I was certain the bastard would have fought only me and no one else, I would have helped him return to the hells," Halsin grumbled, placing one large hand on Astarion's shoulder.

The vampire shrugged his hand off; the druid's heart ached as he did so. "I know what you would've done, you oaf. You would have charged in and played the hero again," Astarion said, a little sharper than his normal barbed tone. Halsin's anger deflated and he felt his shoulders sag. When he met his partner's gaze, Astarion's eyes almost seemed hazy.

"I'm fine, it's fine," Astarion muttered with a dramatic wave of his hands, "I just…need a moment."

Halsin's lips set firmly into a line. "Then a moment you will have. There is an unoccupied room on the other side of the inn. You can rest there until I can track down wherever that devil relocated your armor, or until I can find a replacement," Halsin explained calmly. He bent to pick up his leather armor and tucked it under his armpit in a calculated tactic: an unusually tall and broad wood elf, shirtless, was bound to catch attention. It would prevent any other curious glances from falling on Astarion.

Halsin jerked his head towards the room, holding out a hand to Astarion. "Come, my heart," he said.

Astarion reached outward and traced his fingertips along Halsin's to grip the druid’s hand momentarily. He let his hand fall to his side as he walked beside the druid. His touch felt like soothing ice against a burn; Halsin was still livid about Raphael's dirty trick, and his skin felt like it was on fire.

They strode across the inn silently, with no one sparing a second glance at Astarion; as planned and predicted. Halsin ushered his partner into the room first, and closed the door behind them. His lips pressed into a frown as he dwelled on how he'd like to have had Raphael’s fragile throat clenched between his own set of fangs. 

As he spun around to face Astarion, floorboards creaking under his steps, Astarion spoke. "I feel like I owe you an explanation, Halsin," the vampire said. His eyes met Halsin's face and he visibly flinched.

Halsin's heart ached again, and he performed a mental scan of his own body; it was a trick he had learned to remain in control by identifying his tension, his anger. He realized his face was still pulled into a scowl. He allowed his muscles to release, and his anger melted away like wax from a candle. It still pooled low inside him, but the flame that burned in Halsin now was of compassion, not fury. 

"You owe me nothing, Astarion. But when I said that I wanted all of you, including your scars, I meant it," he said softly, his expression now soft with concern. Astarion's eyes were large and round, like a prey animal in fear of its life. "I will listen to whatever you are comfortable sharing with me."

Astarion's eyes fluttered closed, his pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. How Halsin wished to kiss them; how hard it was to resist, knowing that Astarion needed to act first, with how fragile he was at this moment. The vampire finally spoke. "You did say that," he confirmed. "Well, then…Yes...you can see them."

Halsin nodded just slightly, his braids bobbing at his ears. Concern still caused his brow to furrow, creasing his forehead scars and tattoo. He stepped closer to the vampire, the inn's wooden floors creaking again from age. 

Astarion stepped forward to meet him and placed his cool fingertips on Halsin's bare chest.

The druid's calloused fingers traced Astarion's collar bones that peeked out from the too-large tunic. Halsin’s touch was gentle, delicate; he felt as though he were opening a gift that had been wrapped in threads of gossamer, a gift whose covering was so precious that the act of removing it became a treasured memory. Astarion seemed to relax while under his attention, relishing in the sensations. The pull of the linen shirt against the back of his neck. The waxed hemp cord slipped from the buttonholes. The heat of Halsin’s wide fingers scorching his now-bared chest. 

Halsin's gaze did not miss Astarion's body language; how fiercely Astarion bit his lower lip, leaving indentations in the plump skin. He noted how tense the vampire's muscles still were, and how he swayed slightly in place despite bracing himself against Halsin's broad chest.

“May I?” Halsin asked softly, tugging gently at the hem of his shirt. The smaller elf nodded almost imperceptibly; Halsin did not consider that consent enough. “Only if you are comfortable with it,” he insisted.

“I...am,” Astarion whispered softly, his expression so tender, so vulnerable, that Halsin’s whole being ached with longing to protect his lover. Astarion lifted his arms above his head.

The larger elf lowered his head and placed chaste kisses along Astarion’s collarbone, then slid his fingers under the hem of the shirt to remove it. The cloth whispered along porcelain skin as it slipped from his shoulders. Halsin kissed him; just to kiss him. Not in some act of seduction, but in one of caretaking. This act, too, caused passion to stir in Halsin's loins. But as with his bear, Halsin pressed down the urge. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Now was not the time.

His fingers traced along Astarion's shoulders as the vampire turned around. Halsin allowed his hands to fall, then took a step back to better see Astarion's scars. They were gigantic. Circular runes took up most of his partner's back, along with writing that Halsin recognized as Infernal, although he couldn't read it.

"These scars are…incredibly intricate," Halsin said, his mouth suddenly dry. "And they're not a brand, but-"

Astarion cut him off. "They're cuts. Slices of my flesh. A brand would have been kinder. Quicker. But Cazador was neither." His head tilted forward; the vampire must be looking at the floor. Halsin ached to comfort him, but the tenseness in his body, Astarion's hands balled into fists, indicated his need of space.

"He spent one exceptionally long night carving this ‘poetry’ into my back," Astarion continued, his voice steady. It didn't quiver; it was as though he were reading aloud from a book, with how distant he seemed to be from the source material. "He worked on it from dusk until dawn with an ancient blade he called his ‘needle’…starting over if I screamed or winced too much." The pale elf's head shook slowly back and forth.

Halsin's flame of concern flashed back into anger at the cruelties Astarion had survived. As soon as the shadow curse was lifted, Halsin vowed to himself that he'd rip Cazador's throat out himself. He struggled with his words. "Astarion. I am so sorry, you didn't deserve this," Halsin said, his voice soft and low.

Astarion slowly turned around to face Halsin again. He met the druid's gaze, his eyes flaring with what had to have been grief and anger. The vampire raised his arms and hands out to his sides, as if in an exaggerated shrug. 'It was a rough night," he said firmly, "And what’s done is done."

Halsin's instinct told him to drop it there, to press no more. He obeyed. No words could heal Astarion's scars nor his soul. But he would remain by Astarion’s side for that journey regardless. He stepped forward to his lover and raised his hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. The pad of Halsin’s thumb caressed the pale elf’s high cheekbone. His features were breathtaking; he could have been carved from the finest marble by the most skilled stonemason. The druid’s hand slid to the back of Astarion’s head, and his fingers carded through the soft white curls. Halsin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Astarion leaned into Halsin’s body, quivering hands finding rest around the druid’s large waist. Astarion pressed his face into Halsin’s broad chest. The druid's other hand rested on the center of Astarion's scars; Halsin’s gentle fingers brushed along the vicious ridges carved there. The smaller elf stiffened momentarily at the sensation of Halsin’s hand drifting up and down his back; Halsin realized that Astarion had trusted him with holding his scars, both psychic and palpable. 

The vampire’s arms tightened around Halsin’s waist, and his body shook slightly as a cool exhale washed over the druid’s chest. Astarion was fighting back tears.

“I don’t deserve this,” Astarion mumbled, his voice muffled against Halsin’s body. His shoulders trembled, but no sob fell from him. Halsin was again amazed by Astarion’s resilience - and his resistance.

Halsin shook his head, his braids falling to brush against the top of Astarion’s head. “My heart, the only thing you don’t deserve is the past haunting you; for your scars to be secret, and to live with them alone,” he said softly, and pulled his hand from Astarion’s soft curls to cup his face. The pale elf’s head tilted upwards; their eyes met, and Halsin’s heart raced as his partner’s expression grew anxious. Astarion blinked furiously, his face was flushed. He was visibly embarrassed, vulnerable.

“Astarion, I am yours.. Against the curse, against the Absolute... anything. You are my partner. In all things: adventure, passion, and shouldering burdens,” Halsin continued. Astarion’s eyes dropped downward. His white curls bobbed in the air as he nodded slowly. The vampire’s quiet confirmation was all Halsin required. The druid pressed his lips on the top of Astarion's head and laid his cheek against his crown. They stood together quietly, goosebumps prickling the skin of each man, the only sound the racing of Halsin’s heart and their soft exhales.

Until a loud rapping knock at the door startled both men so intensely that Halsin lifted Astarion from the floor in his arms. They looked at the door, then into each others' eyes. Their nervous  laughter filled the room.

Chapter Text

As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.

The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.

 "When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a  man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.

"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."

Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.

Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.

He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.

"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.

Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.

***

The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.

They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.

Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds , for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?

Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.

Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.

Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.

"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.

Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.

"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.

"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.

"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.

The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?

“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.

"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child. 

"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you." 

The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."

Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.

When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.

His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.

"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares." 

Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.

Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.

As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings.  

Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.

Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.

Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.

Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.

A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face.  " Halsin , you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose. 

Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below. 

And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.

Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.

"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing ?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.

"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?" 

Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.

Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.

"Well ," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books ?”

The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.

Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf. 

"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.

It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."

Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of  anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.

"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.

Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.

“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”

'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.

Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.

"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."

Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests , darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.

The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.

"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron. 

"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.

"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.

"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.

"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.

Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was arm wrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.

"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.

"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."

Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.

"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.

Or that topic, at least.

Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone , let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience , Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.

"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.

As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant." 

Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.

It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.

His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.

Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.

Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."

Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.

He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down. 

"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.

Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.

"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.

Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.

Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.

A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."

The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.

Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.

Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"

"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.

Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs. 

For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.

He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.

"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.

He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience . "You may open your eyes now."

As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.

All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It  mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.

His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.

“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.

He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.