#ferelith is ANGRY

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I think I'm going to rework Ferelith. I've been working on her character sheet for actual DnD. And I like where she's going game wise. I feel like as I'm going I can see more of her personality. Less confined. More aggressive. Still angry. Less fancy. More adventurous. Still loves mushrooms.

[indigobackfire]

Lee Family - pt. 2 - The Grandmas

Lorna Louise Mary Lee

Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns

Like rum on the fire

Hot and fast and angry as she can be

I walk my days on a wire (.)

“ Indigo makes an effort to keep her chest puffed and her head held high, but it was hard keeping the facade — the woman could suck up one's confidence as easy a Dementor, with cold eyes that with just a glance could wear her down. She is nothing like her own grandma, warm, welcoming, fun; Lorna Lee instead is cold, snobbish, vain. She smiles condescendingly down at Indigo who offers an explicitly forced one in return. Barnaby then takes and holds Indigo's hand, looking serious and unaffected, making her wonder how bright his soul had to be to survive the darkness of hers. ”

Lorna is the grandmother Barnaby often mentions and lives with. (Grace Kelly as a faceclaim cause, I'm sorry, I will not be accepting ugly mean grandma.)

Indigo expected his grandma to look like a hag, as horrible and repulsive as those described in DADA books, it would be the only way her looks would match her attitude. But upon seeing her, she notices how foolish the thought was — in Barnaby's genes there was part of her, however significant or not. Before her was a woman that didn't seem much older than her own grandma, dressed like old money usually does, discreetly but classy. But one thing was there as she expected, that look of superiority as if Indigo and everyone else wasn't worthy of existing in the same universe as her.

Lorna had always been this condescending bitch, the definition of girlboss gaslight gatekeep, but she gets worse after the consecutive happenings of her daughter turning her head against her and leaving, her husband's death that happened when Barnaby was about 7, then her favorite child, Earnest, being inprisoned after the 1st wizarding war. Barnaby really experiences her in most bitter and lonely years, because instead of offering him her best so that he'd become a better version of his dad, she only knows to take her resentfulness out on him and be her coldest self.

If I could point out a good she passed down to him out of all the bad, was the fact she made him extremely assiduous through her military-like tutelage — he takes good care of his room and things, nails cut, hair brushed, face clean, calligraphy respectful, table manners, good posture, etc. Some of these go out the window when he's far from her eyes — because he's a wild slightly unhinged child, that'll never change —, but many stay ingrained in his brain for years to come.

Innes Fraser Swanhild

I'm headed straight for the castle

They wanna make me their queen

And there's an old man sitting on the throne

That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean (.)

“ Indigo had only heard of the woman once or twice in all the years she had known Barnaby, and yet she knew it was her approaching them. Not only because of her age or appearance, but also the luxurious outfit and thick diamond necklace she displayed. It matched Barnaby's description of her — opulent, discreetly cocky, and with an expression that said 'isn't my presence so wonderful?' She was tastefully surprised the woman had come to their wedding considering how unpresent she had been in his life. Yet Indigo smiles, of course he was delighted to see her. ”

Innes is Barnaby's maternal grandmother who he's distant from, considering his mother wasn't Innes' favorite between her siblings and wished another daughter of hers had married Earnest. Then Ferelith goes and gets herself entangled with DE business then lands in Azkaban. She doesn't even consider going to Barnaby's aid after his parents are arrested — though I don't think Lorna would even let him go with her either way, cause he reminds her too much of Earnest, same reason why Innes might feel appalled by him at that point.

I don't have much to say about her, just a way of explaining why Barnaby ended up with one and not the other. Though wouldn't be much better with Innes and her family, as they'd probably be way more neglectful than Lorna is.

To keep in the line of old Hollywood faceclaims, Katharine Hepburn was used.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I feel like I'm slowly getting out of my writers block. I've been getting ideas. And they're mostly about rewriting Ferelith, really.

She's angry. She's always angry. I never got to post her backstory fully. But there's a lot of assault and abuse. There's only herself and her patron. She could never rely on anyone. She had to manipulate so many people just to get the help she needed. Not to mention make that deal with her patron just to survive.

Ferelith keeps a sultry look on her face all the time, somewhere between anger and desire. But there's a softness... a sadness in her pale yellow eyes. You can sometimes see a tear forming in the corner when she looks up at the night sky.

Ferelith is a name given to her. She doesn't remember her childhood. She was only 18 when she found the book. Still a child. It took everything from her. She's terrified what she will remember when she regains her memory. And what will happen to the power she's gained. If it's even worth it to rid herself of the curse.

Her love for reading goes far. She often fantasizes and daydreams. She loves knowledge... of any kind. She also loves nature and has a soft spot for the ugly things people ignore in it like fungus and spiders and what have you.

She can be so very kind. Especially to those who have been cast out. Abused. Taken advantage of. Stolen away. But she's also ruthless and vengeful. Spiteful to her very core.

I'm just thinking about her a lot lately.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Well, folks, I had intended to put another bit up. Since Ao3 is down, I’ll go ahead and post it here. Just some more Astarion x Ferelith banter. I’ll edit it tomorrow with the links to Ao3. Also, I have not played the game. So I’m not sure how the telepathy works.

A Prying Shame

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Curiosity was in his nature. And when Ferelith turns him down for a glance into her past, it only grows inside him. Especially after he had already opened up to her. Though, will his prying take him too far? And would she accept an apology?

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse.

Read here on Ao3.

Once and only once he had the thought of peering into her memories without her knowing. And that was only after she had declined allowing him to enter in first place. Ferelith's head was a hard safe to crack. And no matter how many picks he had thrown to her lock, nothing opened. There were safeguards in place. Not to mention the fact her mind was a complete fortress on it's own. He knew the only way in was with a bit of help and when she was vulnerable.

There were some nights, particularly when the moon was full, that Ferelith would wander to commune with the fey. She needed total privacy to do so. He imagined once she was meditating, she wouldn't need to concentrate on anything but what was needed to manifest her thoughts. Therefore, she would not even feel him coming. When the time came, and the moon was high, he waited for her to disappear from camp. It was difficult to tell if she truly was gone since her footsteps were quiet and her demeanor was unnoticeable. Still, he was willing to take the risk as he followed where he could only assume she would be resting.

Finding her was not difficult. Ferelith had a very distinct smell, something of a sweet incense and dead wood. He followed that about a mile into the forest where he found a clearing. In the center seated upon a very large old stump, was the maiden warlock. Her legs were folded beneath her, her hands resting upon her knees. She appeared to be at peace, her eyes close and her mouth muttering whispers he could not understand. She was in a complete trance. And he saw the opportunity while her mind was open.

He reached out, his fingers tangling into what felt like an ice cold stream flowing through the air. It thickened to string and intertwined into his fingertips. He could feel himself pulling on them when he flexed. But Ferelith did not stir. He pulled them closer, bringing them to his temple where he stared at her intently.

There was a girl running in a white dress, her steps muffled by the sound of moss beneath her feet. The wood was naked with no green, their branches reaching up toward a black sky. Her head turned over her shoulder and he saw the streaks of tears through a dirt stained face. Her eyes, usually so bold and yellow were filled with a fear he did not recognize. In their reflection he could make out the small balls of flame from the torches behind her. She picked up the front of her dress, already torn to one side, hoping she could move faster. One leg leapt in front of the other as if they were familiar with the giant roots tangled into the ground below.

Astarion did the best he could to follow, but the memory was dark. She was familiar with the wood. And her mind was much stronger. He waited until the mob passed by, following at their pace to seek the maiden in white. That was not what they called her, however. Among them the common word for what they were hunting... was hag. Astarion curled his lip. What an insulting word for such a beautiful creature.  An arrow let fly. And he heard it whistle into the treeline before hitting it's mark. A horrifying scream sounded ahead. They quickened their speed and he was appalled to be there with them listening to their cries of joy.

When he made it to Ferelith... she was already being drug by her hair, an arrow sticking out from her chest. They poked her with the ends of their weapons, shouting at her to remove her disguise. She said nothing, her eyes looking up in both rage and terror. She kicked and clawed and bit and hissed, much a like a cornered animal of the wild. The dress was torn from her body as she cried out, their weapons coming down upon her to bruise her pale flesh. For the first time, he felt compelled to look away from her naked figure. There were bruises, whip lashes, cuts from daggers, burn marks, and many scars. This was not the first time she had been tormented. They began to tie her feet when a loud sound boomed from what felt like the center of the forest. The mob stopped, raising the attention to one side of the wood. Their grips tightened on the torches, desperate for a light to show what was approaching.

They received their light. But it was not from what they prayed for. A massive light shown through the trees as if the sun itself was barrelling through. It was faster than any animal they had seen, and many began to run from instinct. The fools who chose to stay were pummeled quickly to the ground. And the even more foolish who attacked it fell in the dirt crying in pain. At a closer glance, the bright light had taken shape. And as Ferelith rose up from the ground to leap onto it's back, it looked at him with white eyes. A stag with curled horns looked into him. He looked back up to Ferelith to see she, too, was looking directly at him. It was time to go. They had discovered the intruder...

The memory snapped back and it was too late to move. Stepping backward to avoid her wrath, he tripped over a bush directly behind him. Ferelith was atop him, her hand reaching out and snatching his face. She pulled him up, her palm cupping his chin and her long black nails digging into his cheeks. He could see the markings on her fingers just outside his view. But more noticeable was her face. It was always the eyes with her. The glowing yellow eyes.

"How dare you," she said in a low tone that hardly sounded angry at all. "You trespass into my thoughts during the night of the moon? You defile my sacred place as I try to rest? And you read my memories while I commune with someone else?"

"I... I ..." he didn't know what to say.

His words tripped over his tongue as child would its first steps.

"Are an insult to this forsaken group," she threw him down.

He felt the force, but he was much stronger so the most he gave was small nudge to the ground. As she turned her back to him, he sprung to his feet stepping after her into the clearing.

"I only thought I'd get a glimpse of-"

"You were being meddlesome. Eavesdropping for the sake of your own curiosity. Nothing more."

"Damn it, Ferelith. If you would just-"

"You can't talk your way out of this Astarion," she turned to look upon him. The fury had subsided. It was now the hurt he was witnessing. The same eyes he saw looking at up at those men. Guilt was not an easy emotion for him. But realizing he had taken advantage of her, just as they did, was worse than any guilt he could ever think to feel.

"I saw your intentions... just as you saw mine..."

Just then, he saw a light ever so faint in the forest go cold as he caught sight of it. The stag from the dream... had been one of the fey. There was another flash of a memory as Ferelith looked into his eyes. The bleeding arrow, the horns of the stag, the look in her eyes... it was the night she made her pact. The memory was the connection the two shared, the sacred path that linked them. And he had desecrated it.

"I..." there was a long pause, his hands stretched out and his mouth open. "... am a fool."

"Flattery will get you no where, spawn. Leave me."

Spawn. It was what she called him the first time they met. It was meant as an insult, to demean him. She had been disgusted with his kind. Then, for some reason, she had changed her mind. Part of him believed it was his art of persuasion. Or perhaps he was succeeding at seducing the warlock. Now, he felt like he knew nothing of her. That he wiped away everything he kept of her. And he needed to start over. He watched her disappear deeper into the forest, the darkness swallowing her as she followed the light.

Ferelith glanced down into the basket, observing it only as garbage he had found somewhere during their travels.

"What is this?" she growled.

"An apology," he said, his tone serious but still lacking sincerity.

He knew Ferelith wasn't going to appear pleased. He knew very well she may not even be grateful for the effort he put forth in his attempt to regain her favor. But he also knew he was at the very least trying. And it was all he had to offer.

"There's red wine. A variation of flowers. And some... bones... of some thing I ki- I mean found."

Ferelith opened the lid to the basket and peered inside.

"None of these flowers can be used for spells or tea," she said flatly.

"That's not the point," Astarion looked at her in annoyance.

"Then what's the point?"

"They're pretty."

She blinked at him.

"I forget this is why I'm so fond of you," he sighed. "They were pretty flowers that reminded me... that reminded me of how beautiful you are."

"Out of all the useful flowers in this wood... these were the ones you chose?"

"Yes! Do you know the meaning of sentimental value?"

She looked down into the basket. The flowers' petals were dark purple that were even darker toward the center. The outer petals blossomed outward while the ones on the inside remained folded. Either he was very clever in his choice... or it was a coincidence.

"If you look into my thoughts again... it will be of your death."

She slammed the lid on the basket, snatching it from the ground before storming off. Again, he would never dream of following her if he had no reason to. But curiosity was his weak point. This time, however, he waited much longer to follow. What he found when he discovered her was well worth the risk. Ferelith was bathing in the river, her body half submerged on the bank. There was a wreathe of purple flowers in her hair, the wine bottle in one hand, and the skull of a dead animal in the other. It appeared... she was talking to it. And the bottle was half empty.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

. Shadowheart .

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Ferelith Moonshade

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Day One: I hate it.

-Ferelith

[dragonswithjetpacks]

The Middle of Somewhere... The House of Hope

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Anger. Impatience. Doubt.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Inspired by an argument they had in my head. And this post.

Tangle

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Upon returning to camp, Ferelith finds her possessions have been disturbed. Without a doubt, she accuses Astarion who does not deny he is at fault. What begins as a squabble between the two ends in a fiery confrontation of how Ferelith begins to feel about her vampire companion.

Notes: To reference the tome in question, you can kind of read it in Campfire Conversations. I wrote that before I knew about the actual necromancy tome in game. Ferelith sort of collects all kinds of books and tomes and spells

Read here on Ao3.

The camp had been entirely quiet. It should have been a typical night with nothing but stars and campfires. But the silence was interrupted by an angry Ferelith, who upon her return had discovered her books had been misplaced. Her bag, neatly tucked away with her bedroll and belongings, had been pulled aside. Her books were out of order. And her necromancy tome had been opened. There was only one person she could accuse of rummaging through her things. And he was not shy about admitting the deed he had committed. Ferelith erupted into anger, storming out of camp in hopes she could calm herself. Astarion was hot on her heels, ready to admit his faults, but without a hint of guilt. She tried to ignore him, but it was no use. And she stopped as she passed through the old building.

"All I've asked is that you keep your grubby little hands to yourself," she shouted.

"It's not all that bad," he defended himself. "You can't blame me for slipping from time to time."

"Slipping? Slipping? Astarion, you can't just 'slip' into someone's belongings."

"I don't see what the big deal is. It's as if I've touched your precious tome."

"They're all my tomes," she pressed her fingers to the side of her temple, feeling the burden building from the stress.

There was a strong drink and an herbal tea coming after this conversation. She was certain.

"And you're being stingy. What if there is something useful in there? You know anything could help me."

"If there was anything I could do to help, I would have said something."

"Would you?" his eyes grew large, as they always did when he mimicked how one would feel if they were actually hurt.

"You should trust me. At least a little," she threw her hands up out of desperation, ready to be done with him and his games.

"I said I would," he shrugged.

Ferelith's brow tightened, the wrinkle of tension forming across the bridge of her nose. The tone suggested he was not taking her seriously. He very rarely did, but this was a different circumstance. He knew those books were important. And he knew by touching them he was violating her privacy. Again. She had been done with his prying. Done with his carelessness. And done with his selfish reasoning.

"You're not even trying!"

"How dare you. I've attempted and all you do is ignore the effort."

"What little effort that is."

"Ungrateful. That's what you are incredibly and undeniably-"

"I'm not ungrateful, I specifically asked-" they shouted over each other, their voices echoing off the old stone walls.

"And stubborn," he stepped forward aggressively. "Without reason, just... stubborn."

"I have enough reason, thank you. It's the only way I can tolerate you."

"Tolerate me? Ferelith, you despise me. Don't fool yourself."

"Despise isn't quite the word."

"How cliche of you," he was baring his fangs, now. "Yes, let's lash out with angry words because we don't know how to label our feelings."

A piercing stab jabbed her straight through the chest, sharper than any arrow she had felt. He was right. Her emotions had remained in a neutral state for so long, she did not know how to describe them. If she wasn't feeling emotions in all their intensity, she didn't feel them at all. Even when she desperately wanted to dislike Astarion, she couldn't. And she knew no word for it.

"Do not insult my intelligence with your mockery."

"Oh, but it's perfectly fine for you to insult mine? Your precious ego can't handle criticism? Let me guess your next tact... you'll wonder why you hadn't placed a bolt in my head, yet. Please, the threats are getting old."

"Maybe I can come up with something new," a flash of red flickered on her fingertips.

Astarion saw it from the corner of his eye, his instinct heightening his reflexes. It was almost one large sweep of his legs and he was over her. But she didn't flinch. The rush, however, caused her to lose concentration, dropping the magical energy she felt. It wasn't the surprise of his action that caught her off guard. No, it was the display in his eyes and the anger she felt looking up to him, causing her to widen her sight. She drank in all the anger he poured into her, filling up her body with a cold chill that drove her desire to defy him. Her shoulders straightened and her chest rose with contempt.

"You're not quick enough," he barked back at her.

It was not enough to knock her down. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to feel the contact of his face on her hand. And as she looked up, her face grew hot. His red eyes beamed down at her in rage. Her jaw clenched and the heat from below came swelling, bubbling up hot into her chest. That stupid face not two moments ago was attempting a sorry expression of pity. And now he was glaring down upon her with his fangs below curling lips. Her hands came up, but he was right. She was not quick enough. He caught them before they could reach their destination. She balled them into fists, rising up on her toes. She came dangerously close, but he was curious to see what action she so boldly came up with. The feeling of her lips on his mouth had not been an option he had considered.

What have you done?

The voice rang clear through her head, but it didn't stop her. Astarion, who she had expected to coil back with surprise, tightened his grasp, bending down to reinforce their kiss. He opened his mouth to hers, catching her breath. She sighed heavily, giving into the release of anger and feeling her body relax. He was afraid to let go, afraid she would pull away. But he had not initiated this. So his hands fell loose around her with the anticipation of her withdraw. The urge to push him was still there, and he could feel her hands lingering with doubt. But she did not tear herself from him. She stepped closer.

There wasn't another second of hesitancy, the moment he felt her hand over his chest, he knew his touch was permitted. His fingers stretched across the back of her as she grappled him. The doublet tightened with her pushing and pulling as her mouth opened and closed, using her anger to fuel the kiss. He did not question it, either, only relishing in their moment of passion and wondering what could be done to further it. A hand found it's way to her neck, a finger to the back of her ear and caressing the side. The touch. Just the soft touch. His fingertip pressed into her skin. Followed by another. The feeling of his fingertips sliding down her neckline brought a sensation that sang through her body, reminding her of the thoughts she had buried. His hands crawling across her. It felt like the night he drank from her. The image caused her to tense and her grip tightened as the singing grew louder.

Astarion defied her rigidness, scooping her lower back into him, closer, capturing her into his embrace. The hand, the one with it's gentle touch, had suddenly changed, becoming aggressive and hungry and wanting. It stretched to the back of her hair, his fingers tangling into it's long waves. They curled, pulling her head backward as he leaned into her. It sent a jolt of pleasure down the rest of her body, causing a soft moan to escape. Her eyes flew open, suddenly aware of what was happening by the unintentional sound she had made. She shoved him away, wiping her mouth and glaring at him. He stood, a thumb to his bottom lip and his eyes awaiting her next move. There was no evidence of shock on his face. Not in the least. It made her feel sick. She let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head as she left the ruin.

"Well..." he rubbed his lip in thought. "... that was certainly new..."

***********************************************************************

As the birds began to sing their song of the new day, Ferelith had already woken. While she would have preferred to be alone that night, she also did not want to risk running into Astarion in the wood. Her place had been warm by the fire all night, brooding and cursing quietly under her breath. She had remained undisturbed, even when Astarion had first returned. He was relentless with his stare, however, and refused to give her a moment of peace. Even if he said nothing at all.

The look from him alone was all she needed for her insides to curdle with regret. Or so she assumed. There was also a slight flutter in her chest when her eyes met his, a hint of secrecy in the enjoyment of her impulsive actions sparking the fire that flushed across her face. She would eventually needed to speak to him. Though Astarion was not patient enough to wait for that. She knew there was nothing more he wanted than to make her feel unconformable as soon as possible. And as she felt him approaching her as she packed her bag, she crossed her arms with a heavy and under prepared sigh.

"I hope you had a good hunt last night," she interrupted him just as his mouth opened to speak.

"I..." he looked at her curiously, "I did..."

"Good."

"I'm not sure if you wanted-"

"Shut up," she glowered, her voice dripping like venom. "Get your things. I need you."

"I knew you would," he grinned with enormous gratification.

Her composure held as long as it needed to, which was just enough to endure his gaze. The moment his back turned, her mind scattered into a thousand thoughts, some not even of her own voice. There would be a time for her to sort them out later. For now, she needed to keep her strength in appearance. 

[dragonswithjetpacks]

. F e r e l i t h  M o o n s h a d e .

[dragonswithjetpacks]

“Oh crap. Well one of us is going to have to change.”

[dragonswithjetpacks]

>>> . Ferelith . <<<

[dragonswithjetpacks]

The Gratitude of a Hunter

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Ferelith roams the wood at night in search of a clear mind. Just as she finds silence, she finds a beast awaits. Rather than flee, she tames the beast. And extends an offer.

Notes: I have not given anything for BG3 in awhile. While Theurgist is still under works, I am afraid I am stuck. So as a treat and an apology gift, I give this to you all. I have also been extended my writing. So this is not written in my past-tense third party style. If there are mistakes made, please let me know as I am fairly knew to this type. Thank you all so much! <3

Read here on Ao3!

The memories of a place I once called home are still fresh in my head. As I walk through the trees, I can remember the smell of freshly cleaned wood. Though it was never clean for long. The lower part of Baldur’s Gate was dirty. And my shop was filled with dust. With every stack of books I moved, it would shift. And my counters would be dirty again. On the other hand, the trees would always be this way; untampered. Unlike me. Unlike this shift in my head. Unlike the crushing wave of anxiety growing in my chest with every second I felt Fian stir uncomfortably in the back of my thoughts. I wish the trees brought me peace as they did before. But now they look more like the tombstone for my grave.

At least the nights are peaceful here. If there was anything louder than the noise in my head, I am very likely snap. No one would blame me, or so I believe. Even if they did, they wouldn’t for long. Oh, I am quite grateful for the quiet times like this where I can have such impish thoughts. The cruelty in me has not yet been satiated. I have a desire building inside me that I cannot explain. One that has been burning the moment that worm came crawling into my eye socket. If I am quiet enough, I can hear it in there burrowing deeper inside. But tonight, I hear something else that has my attention. A soft moaning through the thicket accompanied by rustling. It sounds more like a wounded animal, but I’ve heard people sound that like before. My feet are cautious and my pace is quick for the sake of my curiosity. As I round a tree I can see it from the corner of my eye. There is a deer on the ground. Beneath its head is a pool of blood. And hovering above it is a fang dripping vampire.

I pause, attempting to calm myself and my heart before he can hear me. But it is too late. He looks up, his red eyes narrowing as he searches for my reaction. My sight shifts to his mouth painted red with fangs unsheathed. The same fangs that were once embedded in me. I recoil in shock, gasping quietly as I am unsure of what offending him might do. His brow becomes furrowed and I can see the wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. He is disgusted with me. I have made him angry.

“Why are you here?” he calls out to me.

I cannot answer. A carnal hunger pulses in my core as I recall his need to taste blood. My skin is reminded of what it felt like to have him clutch my body, the fluid racing through me to reach his lips. I slow my breathing, he cannot know of the uninvited excitement that has introduced itself into my thoughts. I examine him, his chest heaving upward to hide his shame, his fists clenched with anticipation. The deer is barely alive, struggling to keep its eyes open. A leg stretches forward, looking for something solid to keep it steady as it crawls away. I do not care if it lives or dies. But perhaps tonight it will be lucky enough to keep the rest of its blood. I am feeling generous. I am feeling… a bit of pity. But for a different kind of beast. And that burning desire rears its beautiful head in approval toward me. I blink slowly as if the night has taken me into a haze. It almost rings true as my impulse has taken control. He looks confused standing there over his prey, looking at me with anger and a hint of fear. Truth be told, I cannot stand the sight of it. It makes him look so weak.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

The aggression did not take away its true intent. It was a demand, but I could hear it as a plea. I push myself forward and watch him rise to his feet. He brushes the back of his hand against his mouth, removing the blood that remained. How bitter it must taste to come from a being lower than himself. While people are often like cattle to creatures of the night, at least it isn’t feeding on actual mindless animals. The substance of one with intelligence that rivals his own could even be sweet. And I could only imagine I am like honey to him. He can hear my heartbeat race and I can almost see him salivate as I undo the first button on my blouse.

“What are you doing?” he reaches up to grab my hand, but I pull away.

“I can’t watch you like this.”

“Then don’t watch me.”

He spat back and I pause. He is embarrassed, to say the very least. My inner thoughts are not doing him any favors, either. I should not look at him with such disdain. And I would be lying if I said I was doing anything because I felt sorry for him. No, I had thought about the piercing of my flesh for by the sharpness of his teeth since the morning I woke from that first night. I had touched the mark on my neck as I reminisced the sensation it left. The curiosity boiled inside me each night when I watched him slink out of the camp. And the urge to feel him taking my life away grew stronger the more I resisted. It was addicting to have yourself fade away. To know the moment before your body has relinquished its ownership from your soul. I had never experienced anything like it before him. I wanted to slide into a blissful moment where nothing mattered but life... and death.

I move to the second button on my shirt.

“I don’t want your pity,” he almost snarls at me.

I like this about him. Very much.

“Consider it an offering,” I say softly.

My tone changes him, softening his gaze as his eyes flicker to the crook of my neck. The marks from the first bite are still there. The way he inhales sharply makes me believe he likes the way they look, that he would leave more if he could. Whether this is the last time or the beginning to many… I am willing.

“Why would you offer such a prize to me?”

“Because I like you better when you’re properly fed,” I say as I pull on my collar. “When was the last time you drank from something that didn’t walk on four legs?”

“It’s been a few days,” he admitted. “But I’m fine, really.”

The smirk on his face is a lie.

“I’ll have no trouble getting any… sort of…”

I take his hand and surprisingly, he does not resist. It is larger than mine, but not by much. I grasp two of his fingers and he allows me to guide them to my neck. I know he notices my pulse through his gloves, the small palpitations beating into his fingertips. I know because he swallows hard and he stares at me defiantly.

“Just take it,” I shake my head.

I let go, giving him the choice to remove his touch. He does not. His fingers linger at the base of my neck, listening to my heart beating faster with every second I can feel him there. My heart feels as if it will explode, but his hand relaxes and slides to the base where the warmth of his palm greets the nape of my neck. He grips it with ferocity and I am suddenly aware of something sinister behind his eyes. It does not scare me as I smile up at him.

“I could kill you.”

“I know.”

The silence between us lures in tension. I can sense it turning inside my stomach.

“I trust you won’t toss aside the only opportunity you’ll have to feed on decent blood when needed.”

“Decent?” he grinned as he clenches harder. “My darling, you are the definition of exquisite.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I am not certain you know the decision you’re making.”

“Bren nha ath tel'quiet lor. Teshuel salen alusfaen.”*

His eyes widen as he hears the familiar words from my tongue. He knows elvish. But I imagine it has been a long time since he last heard it spoken fluently. I am surprised to hear how clear it sounds, myself. Though I believe I have Fian to thank for that. And I have no time to thank him. Astarion hesitates no longer and I am caught off guard by the force of his fangs. The initial penetration is more painful than the last as if he was striking with a distinct purpose. Though, his drinking has become more controlled. The pull is slower like a rising tide rather than a bursting wave. My neck does not sting from the sheer force of the blood leaving my body. And I can feel his tongue. It traces the side of my neck between swallows. I clutch his chest, but the leather prevents me from clinging too much. I can already sense my conscious slipping, my vision blurring as I can only make out the ends of his curls. His other arm wraps around me and he leans me back. My blood begins flowing smoothly up my body. And it becomes more comfortable to lose control. I reach up, folding my arms around his neck, cradling him as he takes slow… long drinks…

Everything grows colder, but I ignore it until I can feel it in my fingertips. He notices the change as well as his lips come free of my skin. It is not my voice that brings him to a stop but the loosening grasp of my number fingertips. My knees shake beneath me as my body searches for strength. As he lifts me, my hands clutch the back of his shoulders. His face is close. So close. His eyes are hooded, looking over my profile. They stop at my lips where he looks for what seems like several minutes and I can hear my muffled breaths. He tilts my chin upward, now looking to my neck and the trickling stream of blood running down to my chest. Not a drop goes to waste as his tongue returns to lick from my collar bone to the freshly made wounds. A sigh escapes as I close my eyes. For a moment, I feel his lips again. But he is not drinking. He is just… tasting. They are gentle, sucking on what remains. The second time they make contact, they are softer. This is not a way a beast eats his prey. This is how a hunter gives thanks. And I receive it all down my neck as he peppers my skin with small caresses. I want to enjoy it. I want to urge him to continue. I want to tangle my hands into his curls. I want to feel lost in him further than I already am. But the blackness surrounds me. And I give one final squeeze as everything goes dark.

When I wake, I can hear the faint sound of birds in the trees. I blink slowly, looking as the sky becomes a bit brighter than it was before. I can smell the dew on the grass next to me. And I realize I am still in the wood. I push myself up, ready to sprint back to camp. But I am stopped by two red eyes as Astarion is propped on his elbows at my right.

“Good morning,” he says flatly.

“Morning,” I breathe, looking up to the still darkened sky.

“I’m glad you’re awake, though you look a bit pale,” he leans in to examine me. “Tch. I don’t think this will scar like the last one.”

My head jerks downward as I watch his lip uncurl. The assumptions I had made before were correct; he wants to mark me as his own. I look away quickly under his observing stare. I am not uncomfortable. I am… vulnerable. “Last night was a lovely surprise,” he goes on.

“I wanted to help,” I shoot a glance toward him.

“And you did,” the grin blossoms into a smile as if he is keeping a secret that I only knew a small portion of. “The offering, as you called it, was a treat. But the way you spoke… well,” a heavy breath came through his nose like a machine relieving pressure, “that was a pleasure.”

I open my mouth to speak. But nothing comes out. A flush of heat spreads across my face as I quickly turn away. I reach to close my blouse, but my buttons are already done. I touch the side of my neck and find no moisture. No dried blood. No cover. It is but smooth and clean skin.

“Did you-”

“It felt indecent to leave you exposed,” he rises to his feet.

The impression he leaves is that he had not been by my side the entire night. I fear he had left to find another feast once he had finished with me as there is more blood on the ground just a few feet away. And he looks… rejuvenated, just as before. There is a glow in his eyes and somewhat of a genuine smile that showed happiness. Looking down at me, he holds out a hand. I take it, though rather begrudgingly. I am guided upright but my legs are still weak. The blood rushes as I stand and the throbbing begins.

“We best get back before the others wake,” he suggests.

“Very well,” I nod.

“If they are awake, I am leaving the explanation to you.”

My eyes narrow at him in annoyance.

“I mean, I could think of many ways we were together alone for an entire night. But I will refrain from giving any sort of excuse unless approved by you, my dear.”

The pur in his voice brings me the same sensation as his tongue against my skin. I shutter and attempt to shake my head free of his nonsense. Though, he has a point. It was a valid excuse.

“Let’s just make our way there and I will think of something. If they are awake…”

“I will be right behind you,” he slightly bows. “I do want to make sure my investment is capable of making it back.”

Ending Notes: *This is mine to make. Take my blood. -There is literally nothing on elvish in the Forgotten Realms and yeah I'm angry about. This was the best I could do. Don't yell at me.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

The Best Thing About Mornings

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Astarion was used to being alone. Stalking dark and empty rooms, sleeping in his own bed, waking without a worry but his own. There was never a time he considered otherwise. Not while sunlight was fatal. But now, things are different. He can not only wake with the sun... but possibly with someone next to him... as awful as it sounds. 

Read here on Ao3.

Ferelith read over them for what felt like the hundredth time. Even then, she felt the chilling touch of apprehension slither down her spine. The lines were raised on his back, prominent against his pale skin from deep and persistent carving. Though it was her eyes that crossed them, she was still familiar with the way they felt when her fingertips slid down his back. She could almost recall in detail the way each symbol was curved just by the touch. Her hands had caressed him enough times during the night that she was certain she could now sketch the scars in her sleep. Perhaps she would have written them somewhere in her little black book if it were not for the regret she felt when she looked at them. There were times she considered that she did not deserve to touch them, to be the gentle trace where cruel instruments were used to curse his skin. Becoming intertwined with him was one thing, but to try and touch him when he was vulnerable in front of her, as he was now, was something she would never dare to do. He would not allow it, or so she assumed. It was likely he would even become cross at the mere suggestion of it. No, the only time she was permitted to feel them was when she was beneath him, engulfed in his embrace with her hands stretched wide across his back so that she could outline every word beneath her fingers. And as many times as she had seen them, read them, and felt them, she could never gather enough courage to tell him what they said. Studying them all the while knowing how oblivious he remained only added to her guilt. They bent between his shoulder blades as he shifted, his arms flexing as he slid his pants over his legs.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, tucking the sheet around her exposed upper body.

She admired his profile as he glanced over his shoulder. He held it there, unable to look at her. Her eyes slid down the shape of his nose to his slightly parted lips. He looked away, feeling her examining his face again. Astarion felt like part of her research as she was always intent at staring into him. She had picked up on his ques, knew when he was lying, and often made him feel slightly uncomfortable with a single glance. As flatted as he was to be known it such a way, it was also problematic.

“Yes,” he replied softly.

“It’s still early,” she said, laying her head on the pillow.

He rose onto his feet, pulling the rest of his breeches to his waste, pondering the idea that she was right. They had not waited very long into the night to seek each other out. And though they had tried to be quiet, he was certain there was a loud rattle as he had slammed her against the door to her room only an hour ago. The others surely knew he was there. But the insatiable feeling in the pit of his stomach told him if he was going to make it through another long night, he was going to need the fuel to do so. He reached over to a stool where his shirt had been thrown- or rather, torn off.

“You can always stay,” she suggested when he did not respond.

This time, he was brave enough to look at her. But the sight made him weak. She was embracing the pillow, the sheet wrapped around her, almost glowing in the moonlight that came from the window. Some of her dark hair flowed over her shoulder. And though she was beckoning him for another enticing round of nightly activities, her eyes looked tired. Then again, she always looked tired. He wanted to crawl back into bed. To entangle himself in her again. He knew if he did, he would be tempted to feed from her. And fighting that urge was difficult enough as it was. Still, the way her pale yellow eyes sparked with mischief when he looked at her… it made him pause as he reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“A fine offer,” he smirked. “But you know I can’t.”

“I meant the night,” she replied, causing him to stop all together. “Once you’ve finished your hunt, you’re more than welcome to make a return. If you wanted.”

An invitation left open for him to decline. In most circumstances, he was quick to turn down such an offer. Astarion was never the sort to watch the sunrise with another. One, because seeing the sun would have meant his death. And two, he was usually gone before he was able to do so. There had been one exception, and only one that had occurred recently. That was the night of the party with the tiefling refugees. And it was with Ferelith. Conscious chalked it up to a long night of drinking and spoiling one another, their minds far too busy to acknowledge the time. Then again, he did recall dozing off on the forest floor with her at his arm. It was nothing like sharing a bed, but more like ending a long and restless night as one would after festivities much like the ones they partook. He had never imagined sharing his sleeping space with another. He had never wanted to. Thinking about it, about being so close to someone willingly for that amount of time without any sort of sexual desire, almost disgusted him.

“I’m afraid I’ve pushed myself too close to starvation, darling,” he shook his head, looking for his doublet to avoid making eye contact. “I’ll likely be out all night.”

The sly yet knowing smile trickled across her face and she rolled onto her back with a sigh. Astarion glanced up to catch her full face in the moonlight. It wasn’t the decline of her offer that bothered her. It was the lie. Still, he didn’t see enough reason to be truthful about not wanting to stay. And he didn’t want to leave her lingering on that thought. He tossed his doublet onto the bed, placing both his hands on the mattress to lean over her. He avoided her face, kissing the side of her neck down to her shoulder.

“Patience, darling,” he purred into her ear. “We’ll get to have more fun soon enough.”

Ferelith’s frustration was well hidden as she turned her head, kissing him above the ear in response to the tender brush of his lips. She was aware she did not have to be vocal to show her emotions with him any longer. He knew her just as well. Besides, her stubborn nature made her agree that showing him that he caused her grief would only make her appear soft; a sentiment she wanted to avoid. It was bad enough he knew how to make her crumble into the palm of his hands. He did not need to know that her want to crumble was growing stronger with each night they spent together.

She nudged him away and when he was pleased with her reaction, he reached over to collect his doublet.

“I’ll try not to be so aggressive next time,” she said as he finished dressing.

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright,” he made his way over to his boots. “I rather enjoy your ravenous hands. Perhaps waiting will be a better option?”

“You tease me any longer than you already have and I cannot promise your safety.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in thought and eyed her carefully. “Idle threats fall on tempted ears. You best be careful.”

“You best be careful,” she grumbled in a mocking tone as she rolled her eyes.

He stomped each foot into his boots, shooting a warning glance but a teasing grin in her direction. She bit her bottom lip with her finger tracing her chin as she knew the way she often mocked him was enough to start a small fire. It made him just angry enough to please her.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said sternly.

“Have a good hunt, love,” she slid her hands beneath the pillow behind her head, watching him as he reached for the door.

Turning the handle and stepping through, something didn’t sit right leaving her with those words. He looked back, her upper body sprawled out with that sheepish smirk planted on her face. He shook his head, wondering why he let her get into him. Her eyes were burned into his memory, her laugh echoed in his ears, and her smile haunted his every move. She was but a bad habit that gave him joy in misbehaving. And when she turned to catch him leaving, he gave her a small nod.

“Sleep well.”

Ferelith watched him disappear behind the door. He knew she wasn’t going to sleep well. She never did. She would rest for a few hours, only to get back out of bed to study or read. Or sometimes write. She didn’t need sleep like the others. And even if she did, there were only dark dreams awaiting her.

“Foolish man,” she murmured under her breath, still feeling the aggravation from before but chuckling at his attempt to make up for it.

She looked out the window into the sky littered with clouds. One crawled across the moon, only half full. A few more days and she would have to call on her patron. He had been patient and quiet as of late. But there was usually a reason for his submissiveness. She would learn of his concern when the time came to summon him. In the meantime, she would have to keep working and preparing. Her long nights with Astarion had distracted her and she still had much to do. She tucked the sheet around her as if it were robe and drug her nightstand closer. It would have to act as a desk for the night. And it was going to be a long one.

*************************************************

Astarion was careful to re-enter the inn. The front door to the bar was far too loud and he knew opening it would alarm the keeper. He did not want to deal with questions or judgmental eyes. Plus, he was certain he had gotten enough blood on his collar to raise concern. And avoiding that conversation, in general, was going to be troublesome if it happened to occur. Instead, he found an open window near the kitchen. His feet were nimble, but as he climbed onto the table under the window, he stumbled as he nearly caught the end of a spatula beneath his foot. He managed to balance himself in the window sill, just at the edge, and hopped down onto the floor before he caused any abrupt sounds. Getting to his room would be much easier, so he figured.

He walked into the small dining hall where the front door remained tightly shut. It was dimly lit and empty, giving it an odd eerie feeling when you looked into it. Rooms that were usually seen full of bustling folk completely drained and dark had a way of doing that. Astarion was admittedly used to this side of things while stalking the night. It was almost peaceful being alone. He circled around to the railing of the staircase, taking one last look behind him to ensure no one was awake and watching. As he was certain he would not be noticed, he took off up the stairs, the wooden planks creaking beneath the tips of his toes. He winced but quickened his pace. The sooner he found his bed, the better.

Rounding the corner on the second floor, he found the hallway lined with doors to be completely darkened. The only light came from the far end of the hall where a small window allowed the moon to shine through. He walked slowly toward it, looking back and forth trying to remember which door was his. He was certain it must be the last one on the left. He could not recall for certain since he had not yet stepped into it. He had been… occupied upon their arrival. In remembering the incident at Ferelith’s door, he paused as he reached it. Her lantern was off. She must have been tired of waiting for him. More than likely, she had not waited at all.

There wasn’t a second thought as he crept past it, looking down and trying to focus on reaching his room. But then something tapped him in the back of his mind. Like an impatient finger would on his shoulder. It felt so honestly real that he turned, looking back to Ferelith’s door. He listened for a moment… but heard not a thing. No stirring. No voices. No footsteps. It was odd, he swore something was making him stop. The poking subsided and he pivoted quietly to continue. He made it to the door, opening it and finding another dark and empty room. He leaned against the frame. The bed was neatly made. Nothing had been touched. And though he wasn’t entirely tired, he knew he needed to rest. But he did not want to.

He looked back down the hall. Her lantern was still off. He thought about her in bed. If she was awake just staring into the dark. No, she definitely wouldn’t be waiting for him. Surely if she was not resting, she was working. Perhaps she would have some ritual to prepare for. Or perhaps she had eaten something delightful and was relaxing with the night and some wine. She did not need a lantern for that. His eyes fell back onto his bed. His bed. This was his room. And his bed. Then why did it not feel like his at all? Why did he feel more compelled, more interested in her room than the peace and quiet he would have in his own? And why was that finger coming back to tap him? As if it were some kind of reminder. What did he have that was so important that just when he had forgotten it, it was there once again to remind him?

Ah… yes… loneliness.

There was a heavy sigh that came from his mouth as he became reacquainted with an old friend. And it was all her fault. She should have never placed the idea in his head that there was even a slight possibility of sharing a bed. Not just for entertaining purposes. But for the simple fact of being there next to him. It was not even an outright suggestion. It was the subtle mention that planted the seed. And now it had grown, branching into his thoughts. And poking him persistently. With the budding idea of feeling lonely… the curiosity of waking up with her… the urge to bed her in the morning. It was all there, bursting like early morning spring.

Ferelith had won. And though he closed his door like it was a heavy burden, he did not feel entirely defeated. For when he went to her door and opened it to see the back of her, something lifted from his shoulders. He quietly shut the door behind him. Slid his boots from his feet, unbuttoned his doublet, and began to unfasten his breeches. The sound of his clothes hitting the floor made her stir, but she had not turned around. He heard her sigh in her sleep, bringing a coy smile to his lips. He crawled into bed behind her, the warmth of her skin exciting him. She had not put anything on after he left. She felt the embrace of him at her waist, pulling her close to his chest and she subconsciously grabbed his arm. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face and she smiled as she blinked sleepily up at him.

“Back early?” her voice was raspy as she slowly regained herself.

“I am,” he whispered. “There was a rather large pig in the market. Someone is going to be very upset to find it dead in the morning.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Shame.”

“We can watch their despair later. It looks like there was a small bakery nearby.”

“I can get some bread,” she smiled.

“My thoughts exactly,” he kissed her shoulder affectionately. “Now, hush. I would like to get some sleep.”

Ferelith chuckled, keeping her retort to herself. She would not ask him what brought him to her that night. It was unexpected, but she would let his own reasons settle with himself. There was no doubt he was unsure why he was there. And that was alright with her. In truth, he knew the reason why he was there. And he held it tightly against him as he told those thoughts to quiet down as well. There may have been a few things he had lied about. But his need for rest was not one of them.

*************************************************

The sun had cracked just over the edge of the windowsill, bringing the room into a reddish hue. He opened his eyes, as he was still unaccustomed to feeling the sunrise at dawn. He blinked, stretching his arms out as he lay on his back. But stopped as he felt a hand on his chest. Ferelith was still next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. And there was nothing disgusting about it at all. Not like he imagined. Just her. Pressed against him. He lifted his arm gently in an attempt not to wake her. But she was used to waking at the rising sun as well, and the moment her head left his chest, she strained to open her eyes as she rolled onto her back. Astarion propped himself up on his elbows with his head against the wall, looking down to watch her awaken. She blinked several times, looking down at the foot of the bed. Something seemed strange to her as she realized he had not left like she had expected him to. She looked up at him, somewhat in disbelief. And he gave a half-shrug as if he knew. It had been too long for either of them to remember what it was like waking to someone else.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked to fill the silence.

“I did,” she replied. “And you?”

Astarion thought on it for a moment, worried about how he might respond. Surprisingly enough, he had slept fairly well. But he struggled with that fact because he had imagined he would not have been able to sleep at all. She stared as he said nothing. He looked at her, diverting his gaze away for a few seconds, then looked back. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He nodded slightly with another shrug. Ferelith, who did not seem to understand his hesitance but did not care, became utterly amused at his confusion. The grin was slow to start but her cheeks tightened with how wide it had grown. Astarion struggled to hold back his own amusement and together, they began to laugh at how foolish they seemed; two adults who hadn’t the slightest idea of how to handle the embarrassment of the situation.

“Let’s just get dressed to start,” she said, sitting up and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s not,” he leaned over her, forcing her back into the bed. 

“We’ll be late,” she looked up at him, matching his devious grin.

“I… do not care…”

After all, what was the point of waking up next to her if he could not have her the moment he woke? Perhaps… he had been wrong about sleeping next to someone. Or perhaps he had finally met someone he was willing to tolerate enough to share a bed with. Either way, the feeling of her wrapped around him made his thoughts consider that the sunrise was no longer the best thing about his mornings.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Pretty Thoughts

Chapter Five: His Lies, Her Resentment

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: Bite scene! Woo! This turned out way fluffier than I imagined. But I like it. I almost wanted to make this it's own separate thing. Enjoy my confused babes trying to sort through their angry thirsty feelings for each other.

Read here on Ao3.

The worm twisted. And turned. It fed on thoughts, memories, ones that held no happiness in her head. A dark creature in the wood. A dead animal. A hand full of blood. A paper with black scratches across it. She turned as every single image flashed by. Sleep was not coming. And there was no voice to steady her muttering thoughts. A creeping feeling spread from the base of her neck into her skull. She opened her eyes, feeling the urge to roll over. She turned, meeting the red eyes of a very close Astarion.

"... shit," he said flatly.

He leaned back on his haunches with a guilty face, freezing in place with the anticipation of her retaliation. He grimaced at first, knowing fully well he had been caught. Whatever it was he was doing, it was enough to make him recoil in shame. Ferelith pushed herself upward, scooting back to put some distance between them. Astarion stood, stumbling a bit as he did from throwing himself out of balance.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said loud enough to cause Gale to look up from his book.

"No, no. It's not what it looks like. I swear!" Astarion said, his hands up, glancing behind him at the fear of an attack. "I just needed... well..."

Ferelith waited impatiently, her eyes scanning his face as it went into a panic. He still felt as if he could hear her heart. It made the hunger all that much worse. His head dropped, eyes staring hard into the ground. His shoulders slumped. His voice lowered.

"...blood," he finally admitted, his eyes hesitant to meet hers.

The humiliation he felt had transferred over to Ferelith as she realized how dense she must have been for not seeing it sooner. The conversations they had. The misleading and pointless flirtations. The stupid boar in the forest. And if that wasn't enough, his appearance alone should have been proof. She felt ashamed for her own intelligence.

"I knew it," she shook her head aggressively, propping herself up onto her cot. "The moment you saw that boar, I knew you were hiding something."

"It's not what you think," he continued his attempt to defend himself. "I'm not some monster. I feed on animals. Boars. Deer. Kobalds. Whatever I can get."

Ferelith reached up, grabbing the back of her neck as she remembered the sensation her body sent through her spine to warn her. "You... you were going to bite me."

"I wasn't going to hurt you," he reassured her. "I'm just too slow right now. Too weak. If I just had a little blood... I could think clearer. Fight better... please..."

There were too many instances of his deceiving nature running through her head. The persuasiveness. The lies. The hints that she knew she should have heeded.

"Why didn't you ask me?" she questioned, as it was the only thing she could.

"At best, I thought you'd say no. More likely, you'd ram a stake through my ribs."

"Ram a-" she scoffed at him. "You couldn't just tell me?"

"No... I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me," his words dropped into that low tone again, but all she could hear was more lies.

It was the same trick he used before. And regardless of whether or not he was telling the truth now, she only believed it was more of his persuasive tactics luring her to swoon over the sound of his voice.

"How am I supposed to trust you?" she pushed herself up onto her feet.

"Because we don't have choice," he said abruptly, his voice rising. "Not if we're going to save ourselves from the these... worms."

"I'm fairly certain I have a lot of choices right now," she straightening her doublet.

"I need you alive," he changed coarse. "And you need me strong."

He was still unable to identify the feeling he received when he looked at her. Ferelith was scowling, but it was more than that. He couldn't stand the look of her and he glanced away long enough to regain himself.

"Please," he begged, casting aside the seriousness of the matter. "It will only be a taste. I swear. I'll be well. You'll be fine. And..." he thought about the look on her face... and the teasing smiles they had shared before... "And everything can go back to normal. I swear."

"You swear?" her head dropped but her eyes were still fixated on his. "That's the best you can do?"

He held that gaze for as long as he could before his guilt caused him to look aside. Ferelith saw the weakness, snarling at his cowardly approach and pathetic begging. She looked across the fire to Gale who had been watching intently from his cot, but all together remaining uninvolved. He was interested in what she would do. And a twisted thought curled into her head as she did not care for his judgement.

"I just need time to process this," she shook her head, unable to answer him directly.

She took a step forward, but Astarion swept to the side to block her path.

"This is why I didn't want-"

"Astarion," she said abruptly and harshly, preventing him from speaking further, making him even forget what he had inherently wanted to say. "You've been lying to me and attempting to seduce me in order to gain my trust. How am I supposed to react?"

"What?" he questioned, admittedly confused.

"You've been forthcoming with the flirtations, it's hardly gone ignored. Not mention the tacky comments pulled from cheap romance novels. And the promises of protection? Guarding the camp? They were all lies. Every single one."

"Not all of them," he said desperately, not that she would believe him now.

"Tch," she cast her head to the side with an eye roll that could send the mountains to the sky.

He glanced down at her crossed arms where she pressed her chest tightly together. His sight craned upward, gazing at her neck, finally landing on her jaw. It was clenched tightly with frustration. Her laugh lines were apparent as she tightened her lips. Her brow pressed down to the bridge of her nose, causing wrinkles to appear across it. Ferelith was not just disappointed he had lied... she was angry. Rightfully so, but still... for odd reasons.

"You're angry because you believe my interest in you was an act," he almost sounded pleased.

"An act?" her head snapped, eyes now wide and focused on him. "You think I'm angry because you played pretend?"

Her hands unfolded and he realized this was far more serious than a temper tantrum. There was a flash of darkness to her eyes. He chose to remain silent, not only for his safety but also out of pure curiosity. He wanted to see how far her anger would take her.

"I might have understood why you lied if not for the way you chose to cover it. You felt as though you needed to toy with my emotions in order for me to trust you. That you could just," she flailed her hands,"roll me over like a common tavern whore to get me to go along with anything you said. I'm angry because you couldn't just be honest with the belief that I was worthy of the truth."

Her eyes lightened as the words filtered down, her voice with it. He looked at her... into her. And he could see something else. A reflection of secrets. Ferelith would have known what it was like to keep something hidden. It was what made her the most angry. That perhaps if she knew what he had been going through, she could have sought some solace herself. The book was a heavy burden. And without being able to commune to her patron, she had grown weaker. Now she had to deal with more burdens. More secrets other than her own. More than what she had bargained for.

"I'm angry..." she said after a break of silence, "... because I thought a little better of you. And you proved me wrong."

The muscles in his neck tightened with an unfamiliar feeling. One he could not place. It caused his arms flex, his hands to curl into fists. He was uneasy in his stomach when he looked at her. The face of resentment. He knew the face. But had never had such a reaction to it. It confused him. Infuriated him. He didn't want to look at it.

"And you don't like being wrong..." he spat back at her, bitterly disappointed at her rejection. "Do you, darling?"

"Somehow, I knew you'd turn out to be one hell of a pompous ass, Astarion."

Twice she said his name in anger. And twice it had gotten a rise from him. He clenched his fists, the churning fires in his chest turning as they raged. He had been yelled at for what he could remember of his entire life. But it was always down on him. Never his name. Never out of emotional anger. And never because someone cared. He knew he was supposed to feel guilty. But he didn't. What he felt... instead... was comfort.

"Ferelith," he called after her, not done quite done with their argument.

"I need to think," she shouted back at him. "If I talk to you anymore it'll just..."

Unable to finish her sentence, she bit her lip, shook her head, and left.

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As she approached him, he rose from his cot.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she said calmly.

"I had hopes you'd be back," he seemed nervous. "As naive as that may seem."

After exhaling with a long deep breath, she dropped her shoulders.

"I may not have come to terms with what has happened," she said, eyes still closed. "But I'll give you this. Just this once."

"Really?" he sounded concerned, as if her permission was a trap.

"Yes," she nodded. "I've put some thought into it. And you're right."

"Well," he smirked. "We can just set that aside for later. For now..."

He stepped closer to her, gesturing to his bedroll. Ferelith looked down, then back to Astarion with his extended hand. She took it and he gently squeezed her hand. He guided her over to the blanket where she knelt down and turned her back to him. She pulled her hair to one side.

"Perhaps you should lie back down for this," he suggested, preparing to kneel next to her.

"I don't want to lie down," she lowered her brow.

"Do what you want, but I imagine with losing blood like that you'll feel a bit lightheaded. Perhaps I can hold you?"

"That's a bit... intimate, isn't it?" she was repulsed by the thought.

"Darling, agreeing to  give yourself to another person no matter the degree is the greatest form of intimacy there is. If you didn't know this before you agreed, then I don't know what to say. Does the thought concern you?"

It did.

Ferelith had very little of herself to give anymore. But the discomfort was brushed aside. Matters of the heart were not in play. And there was nothing she needed to worry about. How romantic could it be? It's not as if watching a wolf feasting on it's prey was appealing to watch. She shook her head.

"This doesn't need to be so difficult," she situated herself.

"Though that is so very typical of you," he smirked, his knees hitting the ground behind her.

"I suppose," she sighed. "I suppose if you think I'll collapse you may... hold me."

"My hands will behave themselves, you have my word."

Ferelith smirked. The soft tone she had accused of being false had made it's return. She wanted to believe he was willing to be gentle, despite the brutality of the actual deed. He brought a finger to her chin, lifting it to expose her neck. The sight of it tensing before him made him eager. He could hear the singing of heartbeat once again. The excitement was overwhelming. Ferelith shifted as she became uncomfortable under his stare. They were both uncertain of how it would feel. And they both appeared nervous though they dared not to show it. Ferelith swallowed hard and he could see her throat moving as she did. He leaned forward and she felt her face turn flush. His face was close, his mouth slightly parted, eyes fixated on hers. It felt as if she was about to be kissed. Her heart pounded and he could hear it growing louder. But his head dropped. And his mouth struck her neck. The sting of him puncturing her flesh came first. Then the haze of the blood leaving her body followed. It hurt, but only a little.  What cloaked the pain was the odd sensation of the life being drained from her. Her body leaned into him, feeling part of herself lost as he drank. It felt invigorating. As if everything she wanted to forget was leaving her body. Her eyes grew heavy and she felt herself sway. A hand was placed on her her head while the other wrapped around her waste in embrace. From where his lips connected to her neck started a numbing sensation that began to spread into her shoulder. She held her eyes open to the best of her ability, but she was not going to be able to hold herself up and reached to clutch his arm. Everything became heavy. Black spots filled her eyes as they struggled.

"Alright," she said, squeezing his arm hard. "That's... enough..."

She felt her mouth move but was uncertain if the words came out. The confirmation she needed was Astarion, inhaling quickly to catch the last of her blood. He gasped as he pulled away.

"Of course," the cold sensation crept over as he removed his fangs.

The blackness swelled around her and she felt as if she were floating. Her body was lowered to the ground below. And hovering above her, with his hands gently laying her down, was Astarion. Through the black blur that outlined her vision he was watching her carefully as he lay her into his cot. Tenderly pulling her hair away from her face, he was willing to mind the fresh wounds bleeding on her neck. He pulled a cloth from his pocket, placing it to her neck to stop the bleeding.

"That... that was... amazing," he drew the blood from his mouth with a finger from his other free hand, licking it to savor her taste.

There was still a cloudiness to her sight, but she was able to bring her hand to his. Her intention was to hold the cloth in place. But in her haze, she grabbed his hand. Astarion was unsure how to respond to her touch... and let it linger longer than he should have, admiring the warmth on his cold skin. He pulled has hand away, guiding hers to the marks he had left. He rose up and looked down upon her.

"My mind is finally clear... I feel strong... I feel... happy."

"Let's not get too excited," she said, the will in her clearly stronger than her physical strength. "This was temporary. I'll not be so eager to agree to this again."

Astarion's expression dropped for moment, only to perk back up the appearance. "I wouldn't expect more from you, my dear," he gave a slight blow. "Now if you'll excuse me, you're quite invigorating. But I need something more... filling."

"I didn't imagine I would be enough for you," she blinked. "Go on then. Enjoy the rest of the night."

With his back turned, he looked out into the night. He wondered if he had told her truth, perhaps she would have not been so harsh. It was a mistake... he was more certain of it the longer he lingered on it. But there was no way to portray that to her now.

"This is a gift, you know... I'll not forget it..."

But as she drifted away, drifted back to sleep, she felt the blood rush to warm the rest of her body that had gone cold. All she could think about was the sting on her neck. And the touch of his hands around her body. Laying on his cot was the closest thing she would feel to that again. But it didn't suite him. There was nothing about it that reminded her of him. It didn't smell like him. It didn't feel warm. It just felt like... a blanket. And she fell asleep knowing she would have to crawl back to her side of the fire... eventually...

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Astarion made his way back to camp with a feeling beyond satisfaction. His hunt was successful. But more so, he felt something new in his body. Something stronger. He observed the camp and found that Ferelith was gone. It had been a few hours and he knew she needed very little sleep. He assumed she was off in the wood somewhere when a throat cleared nearby. Gale, sitting at his cot with his book to his side, was looking up at him.

"Astarion," he said, clearly to keep his attention.

"I really don't want to have this discussion with you right now," he shook his head, already tired from the rather eventful evening.

"There will be a discussion..."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

"I'm not going to sit here and pretend I didn't see what happened. At the very least, you owe her an explanation."

"Fine, fine," Astarion waved the man away, leading his steps toward his cot.

He did not need much sleep, either. But thought a decent rest would do some good. A chance to let everything sink in. The new blood coursing through him. The thrill of his hunt. The feeling of his new strength. The feeling of her in his arms. The taste of her. He closed his eyes. It was not the first time he had thought about her this way. But he hadn't considered it for some time. She was going to be angry with him in the morning. He was not looking forward to it. So he he lay his down to rest for the night with only pleasant thoughts of her swaying through his mind. As Astarion place his head on the makeshift pillow, he could feel the warmth of where her body was. He could still smell Ferelith on his cot from their exchange. First, he made certain no one was looking. And then, he turned his head, inhaling the fragrance from pillow. It smelled of sage, sweet flowers, and dead wood. How fitting...