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karalovesallthegirls · 4 months ago

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Kara has always dreaded the day she’d meet her soulmate.

There’s relief in knowing she has one, of course. The person meant for her didn’t die with Krypton. That’s something! Even still, it’s hard to feel excited for the moment they meet, because that’s the moment Kara will hurt them. She’s had their exclamation of pain inked into her skin for as long as she’s been on Earth. In some ways it’s better. Most people have phrases like “good morning” or “hold the door please” as their soulmate’s first words. They have to endure hundreds of almosts, breath held just in case that stranger really is the one. Kara won’t have to do that. Her words are far too distinct.

It's agony, thinking about how their meeting will go. She spends years imagining every possible scenario, each one more painful than the last, yet the day it happens she barely even registers it. The words wash right over her, drowned out by the loud crack as her hand makes sudden contact with a stranger's face. The telltale crunch of contact shocks her. She hadn't registered anyone was there during her dramatic retelling, otherwise she would have kept her gestures small. She wouldn't have flung her hand out with such force.

The woman she's hit is hunched over, clutching at her face. She gasped loud and sharp when it hit, and now she's just wheezily breathing in shock. Kara can see blood starting to drip down her wrist.

“Did you," the woman gasps, and her voice sounds wet. "Did you just break my nose?” Kara wants to die.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

People are looking at them and the woman keeps cursing under her breath and Kara really, really doesn’t know what to do. Her hands hover uselessly over the hunched figure, desperate to soothe but scared to touch in a moment like this. “I didn’t mean to – I was telling a story and I got too excited with my hands I guess, I didn’t see you there. Are you- can I-”

She looks to Alex for guidance, but she’s just staring at the interaction with a wide-eyed wonder. Typically her sister knows what to do in a scary situation, but now she’s looking just as clueless. They’re both barely awake at this point – it’s six in the morning and they’ve been at this airport terminal since midnight, miserably watching their red eye flight push into a mid-day departure. They’re both half-delirious, which is fun when you’re goofing off but less so when you’ve just broken a stranger’s nose.

And then it hits her. The words she’s carried on her arm for so many years are tingling, she realizes, and they’ve been tingling from the second her skin met the girl’s.

Did you did you just break my nose?

“Oh wow,” Kara says, dumbfounded. “It’s you.” The woman falls silent. She must be realizing too Kara thinks as she fumbles with her sleeve, pushing it up enough to show her inked arm. The woman's eyes drop to the tattoo that's brought such shame to Kara for so long. She feels her eyes like a touch. “I – I’m so happy to meet you! I’m so sorry it happened like this.” She laughs and it sounds strained. Her hands are shaking. The woman doesn't look up from her arm.

Even hunched over in pain, it's clear the woman is beautiful. Important, even, considering how she's dressed. She's dressed like she's en route to lead a business conference, her tight black skirt and matching blazer scream business professional. Though the effects are tampered a bit by the splattering of blood that’s dripped down her white blouse. Kara wonders how old she is to be dressed like that. She must be older to look like that. At nearly nineteen, Kara has never had anything more than a graduation to dress nicely for, and even then she wore her stained dress pants. This woman - her soulmate - must be much older than her, which feels strange to think. She looks Kara's age, maybe even younger. If not for how clearly tailored to her body her clothes are, she'd almost look like she was playing dress up.

Kara feels self-conscious then, sharply aware of how she must look to her soulmate. As smart as it felt to come to the airport in pajamas for her all-night flight, standing in rubber duck pajama pants while trying to have a conversation with her goddess of a soulmate did little for Kara's confidence.

When Kara’s eyes finally track back up to her face, she finds sharp green ones staring back. They're the prettiest eyes she's ever seen, and they don't seem interested in looking away. That's fine with her - she's more than content to stare right back.

It's only the soft plop of blood hitting tile that draws her attention back to her crime, and she can see the way the woman's hands have become covered in blood. "Oh gosh, here - let me…” Kara fumbles in her backpack for a moment with no clear plan. All she knows is she has to do something to fix this. She fumbles about before pulling out a clean t-shirt. “Here. For the-” She holds it out to the girl and gestures at her own face. Slowly, like she’s scared Kara might grab her or something, the woman takes the offered shirt. She wipes the blood from her face and hands, dabbing beneath her nose. The bleeding seems to have stopped, at least, and the shirt helps contain what's escaped. Watching a stranger wipe blood on her high school band t-shirt shouldn’t thrill Kara as much as it does, and yet.

Kara laughs again, the sound nervous and high-pitched, before taking a step towards her. Her soulmate’s eyes go wide, tracking her movements, and Kara's heart clenches when she steps away. The rapid race of her soulmate's heart beats into Kara's ear - she can literally hear her fear. She holds her hands up in surrender, stepping back to where she’d been before. The last thing she wants is for her to be afraid. “Does it hurt?” she asks, and her soulmate shakes her head no. “That’s good. That’s good. I- uh." She has nothing more to say, and her soulmate's certainly not contributing. Kara’s palms are sweating. She hasn’t sweat since she was thirteen, but one look from this person has her rubbing her hands on her pajama pants like a middle schooler at a dance.

The woman finishes wiping up and lets her arms fall, blessing Kara with her first real look at her face. Bloodied and skittish, she’s beautiful in a way Kara can hardly comprehend, in a way she could never imagine. Kara's pretty sure she's blushing now for some reason, and she has to flex her toes to be sure she’s still touching the ground. “My name’s Kara,” she says, and then gestures over her shoulder. “That’s my sister Alex. We’re flying home for winter break. Midvale - Midvale is home for us. Where- where are you flying to?”

The woman stares and stares, and Kara's starting to panic thinking she'd given her soulmate a head injury that's muted her somehow, when at last the woman speaks just barely above a whisper.

“Home,” she says. It feels like her heart might burst just from hearing that one stilted word. Kara wants to hear a thousand more, wants to hear nothing else for the rest of her life.

“That’s awesome. W-where’s home for you?” The woman's lip trembles as she opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and then throws the t-shirt at Kara’s face.

Kara fumbles catching it, distracted by the shock and gross factor of having a blood-soaked shirt hurled at her face, and it takes her far too many precious seconds to realize her soulmate is gone. Bewildered, Kara looks around before just catching sight of her vanishing around the corner, high heels and racing heart clattering away. She looks at Alex. Alex waves at her, frantic. “Go!” Alex yells, and Kara takes off.

Pretending to be a human has never been harder than it is while chasing after her soulmate. Normal human pace - especially what's acceptable at an airport - is not fast enough for this, not when the woman has already gotten so far ahead. Kara must look ridiculous, bursting into sprints only to trip suddenly into a walk over and over again, her ears locked on to the thudding heartbeat and faint whispers of her soulmate mumbling, “crap crap crap crap,” ahead.

Kara’s thankful they’re in an airport, at least. Her soulmate can’t just run outside, and Kara is fine embracing the romcom trope of following her love onto the plane. Her soulmate stops moving ahead and Kara speeds up, nearly wiping out twice tripping over luggage and small children. Her heart is in her throat as she clears the corner her soulmate is behind and pushes her way into the door she's passed through. All the wind knocks out of her lungs then when she sees her again. The woman looks up at her in shock, as if she didn't think Kara would chase her. As if Kara would just let her go. With a visible gulp, her soulmate flees around a corner and disappears out of sight. Kara manages a single step forward before a body blocks her way, and she looks up to see a massive security guard staring down at her.

“Membership card, please.”

Kara tries to peer around him. He steps in her way, cutting her vision off. Her soulmate led her into some private place you can't just walk into, she realizes, glancing around at the sleek appearance and exclusive atmosphere. “I- uh, left my card in my other bag,” she says, gesturing back over her shoulder. She can hear her soulmate’s breathing and it's all she can focus on. She’s right there. Just out of sight. Kara is so close. “I’m afraid you need your card to enter the fly lounge,” he says sternly. He starts pushing gently at her, trying to nudge her back out of the sliding glass door she’s come in. Kara almost forgets to let him move her. “I- I’m sorry, someone I need to talk to just went in there and I-” She stops in the doorway, hand firm on the wall. She can hear the way the guard huffs against her solid pressure. She’s not acting very human right now and she knows it.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, ma’am," he says, pushing more forcefully against her. Forceful enough that she knows she has to move even as all her instincts war against it. “Can- can I buy a membership? Like a day pass or something?”

The guard looks over at the front desk, making eye contact with a woman who looks like she would rather watch Kara be flayed alive than allowed another step inside.

“A day membership is $189 plus tax,” she whines out in a nasally voice, tone making clear she already knows Kara won’t be affording that. Which is accurate. Kara barely has enough to buy a meal.

Looks like her soulmate is rich, then.

The man nudges her back again and a flash of panic echoes through her chest. For a moment, she envisions herself throwing him out the open door, tossing aside anything or anyone that tries to keep her from her future. But she’s already scared her soulmate enough for one day, so she smiles with forced bashfulness and allows herself to be walked back out of the lounge.

The frosted glass door marked High Flyers Club Lounge shuts her out mockingly. But it’s fine! Eventually her soulmate’s flight time will be here and she’ll have no choice but to come out and face her. Kara just has to be patient. (Kara hates being patient.)

She takes a seat against the wall across from the lounge entrance. Her glasses rest low on her nose as she stares her soulmate, soaking in every inch of her as she paces in the luxurious lounge. Her heart is racing, she seems on the edge of a panic attack, and Kara wants desperately to be in there with her talking her down. But she can’t, so she’s left to watch – at least until the girl steps into the private restroom. She stops watching after that. Instead, she settles down to listen to the comforting beat of her soulmate’s heart, closer now than it’s ever been.

Her mind wanders as she waits, mentally reviewing every moment of their interaction. Considering where she failed, where she succeeded. Making lists about what to say to her next. She never got her name, for one thing, and she still doesn’t know where her home is. There’s so much for her to learn.

Her mental meandering is so consuming that it takes her a bit to realize the heartbeat has moved farther away. At first she thinks her soulmate is just moving around the club, but no- she’s moving away from the airport. A quick glance through walls shows her that her soulmate isn’t in the club anymore. The heartbeat is elevating, she realizes, and Kara runs to the glass wall just in time to see the plane - small, private, with an apparent access point from within the lounge – take off.

Horror and confusion overwhelm her, bringing tears to her eyes. This doesn't make sense. Why would she just leave without saying a word? Why would her soulmate do that? It's almost unbearable, the pain of it. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, face pressed to the glass, listening as the heartbeat grows quieter and quieter before vanishing all together.

Kara learns a lot about grief after that.

She knew a lot already – far more than any one person should ever know – but that grief carried a different weight. The loss of her people wasn't a choice by them. They didn't want to die. The loss of her soulmate is its own beast, sharp and cruel in her heart, because this time the person she mourns chose to abandon her. Her soulmate chose to leave. She saw Kara that morning and decided that one look was enough, that Kara wasn't worth any more of her time. She left her there with nothing but a bloody t-shirt and a thousand questions. Kara never even learned her name.

She goes through the stages – she feels her anger burning out in her eyes, feels the sorrow take hold. She denies it, she bargains with everyone, anyone. She calls the Flyer’s Club, tries calling the FAA. She tracks flight logs and makes cold calls and still finds nothing at all. She writes about it on soulmate websites and Medium articles, casting a wide net so that someday when – if, her mind reminds her. if if if - her soulmate ever looks she’ll be able to find her.

Time dulls the sharpness, though, and the years shift that rejected feeling into a more muted anger. Kara doesn't care about the love lost. She doesn't care if the person is her other half. All she cares about is the anger. Finding her feels more like a hunt than a quest for love – she’s got a lot to say to the other woman when they finally meet again. She just wants one more meeting, that’s all. Just enough time to tell her exactly where she can go. Kara doesn’t need a soulmate, after all. Her life is full of love and joy and adventure, and she doesn’t need another person to complete her. She graduates college with a degree in English, minor in Journalism – her attempts to track down her soulmate really ignite the journalistic bug in her, and with Clark’s constant encouragement it feels inevitable. She moves to a big city despite her small-town fears and she gets a job almost no one survives. Kara is thriving.

It almost shocks her, then, the way her heart trips over itself when she sees her again.

They’re watching the trial, her and Alex, and Alex is halfway through a lecture on how she’d always known Lex Luthor was evil by the way he wore his pants – (“Good guys don’t wear their pants that high, Kara, it’s common sense.”) – when Kara's nerves jolt like a lightning bolt has rushed through her. Her gasp is so sharp Alex screams almost in sympathy.

“What? What is it?” Alex yells at her, looking around for some danger lurking nearby. Kara tumbles to the floor practically crawling to the television screen. Someone new has taken the stand, someone she'd recognize anywhere.

“Alex,” she says, jamming her finger against the somewhat grainy image projected on her television. “It's her.” “What!” “My soulmate!" Kara knows it like she knows herself, even after all this time. She looks different. Six years of struggle sit clear in her hard gaze, her mouth twisted into solemn resignation. She looks almost casual on the stand, sitting comfortably despite the eyes of the world on her. Like it's just a regular conversation. Like she’s not about to help send her brother to prison for life. “Lena Luthor, sister of the defendant” reads the helpful banner beneath her grim face. Even after everything, Kara is struck by her. She's breathtaking. Kara kind of hates her for it. “Hold on, that’s- you barely even saw her when you met! You don’t know for sure.” Alex sounds desperate, which is fair. The younger sister of the man who tried to kill Superman is certainly not an ideal soulmate for someone like Kara, but it doesn't matter. It's her. “I’m sure,” she says, and feels the truth of it deep in her bones.

A giggle hits her then that's so inappropriate for the moment it makes her feel crazy, but she can't help it. As Lena Luthor begins to explain the piles of evidence she’s gathered against her brother, Kara giggles away. She feels almost drunk on it, smug and satisfied. “Found you,” she says, almost like a taunt. She drags her finger over the screen, feeling the static of her ancient television biting back at her as she caresses Lena Luthor's face. The anger that’s long settled inside of her seems to reignite with every charged word Lena speaks against her brother, with every glance she makes at the camera. She can feel Alex’s nervous energy behind her but she doesn’t care. The politics of this, the implications - none of it matters to Kara. What matters is she has a name, and she has a general location. She's so close she can practically taste it. “See you soon, soulmate,” Kara whispers, and for a second it feels almost like Lena is staring right back.

#Hey man here's a soulmate au that burst out of my brain and demanded to exist #this will probably end up on ao3 but I want to write another chapter at least before that #also this follows my standard formula that I love but rarely see in soulmate aus #where one (or ideally both) of them are like HEY ACTUALLY NO THANKS and try like hell to deny the deep and inevitable drag of destiny #mine #supercorp

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utterlyazriel · 4 days ago

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

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nerdallwritey · 1 month ago

Text

Worth the Peril

Summary: In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian. Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it. And right now, he was entering a rage. OR Upon arriving in the Underdark, you go down in a battle, leaving Astarion to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ (no smut) Word count: 15.1k CW: reader gets hurt - violence, severe injury, blood, descriptions of wound, depictions of pain, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, protective Astarion, blind with rage Astarion, soft Astarion, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), everyone else sees what Astarion can't Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 5 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SHE'S HERE!! I am SO excited to be finally be posting the newest chapter of Beauty and the Bard! Thank you so much for your patience as I was sorting this one out. I've always been a huge fan of the hurt/comfort trope and the "Person A gets hurt and Person B loses it" trope, so this is my take on both of those tropes in one! Did I fudge the numbers of the Duergar fight in the Underdark from Act One? Yes. Did I fudge the numbers in terms of injury severity and what's actually possible through magical healing? Also yes! But in a world where a skeleton will bring you back from the dead for $200, OR, simply sleeping a full eight hours will heal you completely, I think I was able to make it make sense. Hopefully. Apologies to anyone working in the medical field who knows I'm a sham. But this is a series about smooching a vampire, so we gotta suspend our disbelief somewhere! There's no smut in this chapter, and for that, I apologize, but it'll make sense why it doesn't. If it helps, my beta says that this is her favorite chapter to date! Woo! Please enjoy. (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading! - Also! She just got married! And a tiktok from it went viral! We love her, she's the best.) As a reminder, last time, you and Astarion had a little romp in the river while watching the sunrise.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

Barring a few dirty looks from Shadowheart and Lae’zel, your return to camp with Astarion - both of you now vaguely damp - was largely ignored in favor of packing up camp in preparation for venturing into the Underdark. So long as you were both there to help with the pack up efforts, it didn’t really matter where the two of you had spent your morning.

Astarion squeezed your hand fondly before sauntering over to his tent to loiter and drag his feet until the camp was mostly all packed away. You knew his game; look busy without actually lifting a finger until it was absolutely necessary. You rolled your eyes before bending to gather and organize the loot in your tent. He was so annoying.

Gods, you hated him.

And you loved him.

Why, of all people, did you have to fall in love with the emotionally stunted, incredibly dramatic, freak weirdo vampire? Wyll was perfectly nice! Shadowheart had a good head on her shoulders! And yet…

Your eyes flicked over to his tent momentarily.

He wasn’t even trying. He was fully looking at his nails. He looked up briefly and met your eye. He smirked before moving his hand to wave at you delicately with his fingertips.

“Pack,” you called to him from across camp.

“What?” He cupped a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear you from the relatively short distance away. “You’ll have to speak up, darling! Or, better yet-”

He left his tent and made his way over to yours.

“Oooh, no,” you scolded and pointed towards his tent. “Get back over there and pack, you jackass.”

“Ouch, love,” Astarion squatted beside you. He looked around your tent at the trinkets you’d accumulated and picked one up, rotating it in his hands. A tiny statue of a mermaid, her face sculpted in midsong. “Heavy little bugger,” he said, testing its weight in his hands.

“It’s made of iron, I think,” you said.

“And you’re going to make us lug it into the Underdark? Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?”

You snatched the figure out of his hands. “Can I help you with something, Astarion?”

He spread out his legs and leaned back against a chest you kept close-by. “Not particularly.” He rested his arms behind his head, very clearly trying to flex his arms to keep your attention on him.

You laughed and pushed him, making him fall sideways. “Stop trying to distract me and go pack your own stuff up. I will not help you when you’re inevitably scrambling later.”

“Yes, you will,” he said, using your shoulder to help himself stand up. He squeezed it once before heading back in the direction of his tent.

“No, I won’t!” you called after him, but he turned and cupped his hand to his ear again, pretending he couldn’t hear you. You groaned loudly and continued packing.

“Hate to say it, Soldier,” said Karlach, whose tent was set up between yours and Astarion’s, “but you probably will help him.”

You sighed heavily. “I know.”

~~~~~

It hadn’t been as bad as you thought.

You’d had the foresight to keep your belongings relatively close together, making use of the traveler’s chest you all shared. Once you’d gathered all your possessions and dismantled your tent, you placed everything you couldn’t carry on your person into the chest. Karlach had helped Halsin lift the trunk, full to the brim with everyone’s overflow, into an ox wagon that you all planned on taking with you to the ruined goblin camp and down into the Underdark below. Even Astarion had managed to gather most of his things before inevitably earning your help with a bat of his eyes.

It had taken maybe two hours total, but looking around the area that you had called home for the last few weeks, it was as if your party had never been there to begin with. It was a little sad to be leaving, but you were pleased with the progress you all had made and were ready to keep moving forward in order to get these damn worms out of your skulls.

The trek into the Underdark, meanwhile, was long and frustrating; Gale had to cast Feather Fall on half of your team, the ox cart, and Scratch and the Owlbear cub, while the other half of you used the deceptively long ladder down into the abandoned Selunite outpost below - much to Shadowheart’s dismay.

Much to Astarion’s dismay, you’d actually stumbled upon a colony of Miconids after bumbling through a battle with a pair of minotaurs and looking for a place to rest. It was there that you spoke with the head of their colony, Sovereign Spaw, about eliminating a clan of Duergar dwarves threatening their population.

Which was how you now found yourself smugly walking beside Astarion as Gale and Shadowheart led the way towards the supposed Duergar hideout. The rest of your party had (begrudgingly, in the case of Lae’zel) agreed to help Halsin set up camp close to the Miconids and their beautiful glowing mushrooms, and had stayed behind.

“You must wipe that stupid expression off your face, darling,” Astarion rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Otherwise you might get stuck like that.”

“I told you they were real.” You waggled your eyebrows in victory.

“And their music was far less irritating than yours,” he teased. “So I suppose that was nice.”

“Bastard,” you muttered. “I’d love to play something with them when we get back.”

“You would.”

“Ass hat.”

“Loud mouth.”

“Would you two shut it?” Gale turned and quietly shouted. “We’re swiftly approaching the Duergar clan, according to Sovereign Spaw’s directions.”

“I still think we should have rested for the evening,” Astarion complained. “A specimen such as myself requires copious amounts of beauty sleep.”

You withheld a yawn, willing the vampire not to see it. You were still tired from your lack of sleep this morning, and your romp in the river. Not to mention the hike to get down here, and the minotaurs you’d already faced. You were able to get a short rest in at the colony, but you were definitely feeling it, and you didn’t want to worry your teammates. Plus you knew Astarion would never let you hear the end of it, given his protests about it earlier today.

“Enough, Astarion,” Shadowheart groaned. “You heard Spaw; the Duergar are a looming threat to their colony. We couldn’t risk a possible ambush in the night. Especially with all the refugees seeking shelter there.”

Astarion sighed. “And, I suppose I must admit, I like the sovereign’s approach. A little genocidal, but effective.”

“Yes, great, you’ll get your fill of blood, now would you hush!” Gale halted, causing the rest of you to stop, too. “Something’s wrong.”

You surveyed your surroundings. Wooden structures stood decaying all around, from bridges, to long forgotten buildings, and nets once used for ladders. It had probably been home to a village of people at one time.

“Looks abandoned,” you supplied.

Off in the distance you could make out a lake through some fog. Boats rocked gently against a worn looking dock, illuminated by purple crystals that populated the area. That must be the lake that Spaw had described. But wait… were those-? Lit torches?

You were about to take a step forward to investigate further, but Astarion held out an arm to block you.

“I smell a trap,” he warned.

Suddenly an arrow shot past your ear and landed in a wooden post behind you.

“That’s quite a sense of smell you have,” Gale quipped, prepping a spell in his hands. “Think you could sniff out where that arrow came from?”

Your eyes frantically searched the area but couldn’t make anything out.

“Duck!” Shadowheart shouted, as a flaming arrow seemed to appear out of thin air and hurdle towards your party.

You hit the deck, lifting your head ever so slightly in the direction where the arrow came flying from. A figure appeared out of nowhere as you watched, taking a step to the side to hide behind a wall. That explained it.

“Our attackers are using an Invisibility spell,” you said quietly. “If we can get them to attack us, we can break the spell and see them clearly before they have the chance to cast it again.”

“Sounds fairly dangerous,” Gale muttered, holding a hand to his chin in thought.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Shadowheart whispered, pulling her shield and morning star off of her back.

“Not really,” Gale said after thinking for a moment.

Astarion, meanwhile, had already unsheathed his daggers. “Let’s spill some blood.” A wicked grin graced his features.

“Let’s think about this for a second,” you said, holding out an arm to block him from getting up and feeling him deflate. You peered around the large rock that you and your companions had ducked behind. Platforms were littered throughout the decrepit village, perfect for you all to spread out. Quietly, you removed your lute and your backpack.

“Now’s not really the time to serenade us with a sappy love song, dearest,” Astarion said, his eyes on your loose lute that he’d recently gifted you.

“Shut up, and take this,” you said, handing him a scroll of Misty Step that you pulled out of your bag. You handed one to Shadowheart as well. “Gale, how are you doing on magic?”

Gale flexed his hands, the purple of the Weave sparking at his fingertips. “Good enough to take out a few dwarves, I’d say. But I have my crossbow if necessary.”

You nodded and turned to Shadowheart. “You?”

She nodded back at you. “I should have enough for some healing if anyone needs it, but I’ll stick to cantrips if I can.”

You nodded again, thinking deeply. “Okay, our magic is running kind of low, so we have to be smart about this.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my magic, darling?”

Shadowheart laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. As if you won’t rely entirely on those knives of yours.”

He scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I’m also very skilled with a bow.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t rest more before we had to do this.”

“The life of a hero is not an easy one,” Gale pointed out. “One cannot always put their feet up by the hearth when lives are at stake.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“What’s the plan?” Shadowheart asked you. “We might want to hurry, given they know our location and we don’t know theirs.”

“I was thinking we all cast Misty Step,” you turned back around to look over the boulder and pointed to the various empty structures, “and land on those platforms.”

“Ah, the high ground! Very logical,” Gale nodded in approval.

“But do we want to be out in the open? They’ll shoot at us and we won’t have any cover.” Shadowheart raised a good point.

“I’ll cause a distraction,” you said, “no worries.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “I hate the sound of that.”

“What do you mean?! I’m great at distractions!”

Rather than responding, Astarion hummed skeptically. Then he leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. “I’m going to go kill some dwarves now.” With that, he unfurled the scroll, recited “inveniam viam,” and you watched as he disappeared and reappeared on a platform hidden in darkness. You lost sight of him as he vanished into the shadows and turned back to face Gale and Shadowheart.

“Be smart with your magic, and be safe.” Both of them nodded wordlessly at you and prepared to cast Misty Step. You picked up your lute and stood up straight. “See you on the other side,” you winked and started descending down a hill towards your hidden enemies.

Strumming a quiet tune, you created a Minor Illusion around yourself to look like a traveling musician, rather than an armored spellcaster. You slung your lute back around onto your back.

“Sorry!” you called, holding your hands up above your head as if in surrender. You spotted an armored dwarf on a wooden walkway up ahead, currently visible, and walked towards him. “So sorry!”

“What?” The dwarf looked surprised by your unarmed approach. “Gehk! Got someone sneaking up on us!”

“No!” you assured. “My band mates and I,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the area where you’d been spotted with your companions, “we got a little turned around. See, we thought there might be a secluded place down here to practice for our upcoming gig, and well, we didn’t know you were already here, and-”

“Too loud, sun-scum,” came a voice from above you. You looked up to see another Duergar on a platform overhead. He wore an amulet of the Absolute and had a large battle axe strapped to his back. “Could hear you and your mates stumbling. Can hear you blinking.”

“That seems unlikely,” you muttered. Your eyes wandered around, pretending to look for more dwarves in the area, but really checking to make sure your companions were in position.

“Noise gets you eaten down here,” the dwarf with the amulet went on. “Reckon I’ll hush you before something hungry comes along.”

“You’d hurt an unarmed musician?” You held your hands up higher.

The dwarf above you barked out a laugh. “Nice try, bard.” He spat the word. “Saw you lot from a mile away. Your little disguise is pitiful.”

Something seemed off. You felt a chill run down your spine as something brushed against you. The illusion of your plain clothes fell away, revealing your armor. You had a feeling your invisible foes had you surrounded.

“Now,” said the dwarf, “where are your little friends hiding?”

You laughed. “I was just going to ask! Why would you all surround me when my little friends are over there?” You nodded your head towards one of the platforms.

The dwarf’s eyes widened as he spotted Shadowheart, whose hands were poised with a Firebolt spell. “They’re up there!” Before the dwarf could point, an arrow pierced through his shoulder from behind, knocking him forward off the platform. You sidestepped his falling body and made eye contact with Astarion who smirked down at you.

“Attack!” The first dwarf you spoke to shouted, and all hell broke loose.

Light surrounded you as Shadowheart cast Bless, and you were able to out-maneuver the dwarf who’d yelled as the light momentarily blinded him. Arrows flew towards Astarion, who’d been the first to shoot, and with those arrows, multiple dwarves’ Invisibility spells broke. Astarion was able to easily dodge and avoid the onslaught of attacks, thanks to the advantage of being on higher ground. You grabbed your lute and cast Shatter, causing the dwarves around you to fly backwards in a wave of thunder. Gale launched fiery arrows at your foes, and Shadowheart summoned a Spiritual Weapon to fight for you all on the ground below.

“You’re here because of those rotflowers, aren’t you?” The dwarf with the Absolute pendant got to his feet and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. “You reek of justice and good deeds.”

“Funny,” you said, using the pommel of your rapier to push a now visible dwarf off the platform you were on, “and I just took a bath this morning.”

“Would you classify that as a bath?” Astarion called down to you, mischief in his eyes.

You smiled, but could already feel yourself starting to lose steam, even though the battle had just started. Still, you pressed on and cast another Shatter, scattering your enemies further and buying you some time to catch your breath. “And what would you classify it as?”

“I can think of many things, but we’re in such polite company, I shan’t say.” He shot a flaming arrow down onto the beach and hit multiple dwarves at once in the explosion.

“I don’t like whatever’s happening here,” the dwarf with the Absolute amulet said. “But I’ll make you pay for siding with those mushroom abominations.” The dwarf raised his hands and uttered a spell you didn't recognize, but a cacophony of noise from below caught your attention. The lapse in focus cost you, as one of the dwarves you’d been fending off pushed you off the platform.

You heard your companions yell your name as you landed hard in the sand below. It took you a second to regain your bearings before you realized what the sound had been. Fallen Duergar were now rising, life not returning to their eyes, but risen all the same.

Animate Dead.

You’d heard of this spell; had seen it in action with Mayrina’s husband, Connor. But you had yet to see it used in battle.

Now you were surrounded by undead dwarves, hell bent on tearing you apart.

“Hi,” was all you could manage through the spinning of your head. You blinked a few times before blocking the heavy strike of an axe with your slim rapier. When it was clear that the axe was going to prevail, you rolled out of the way and the axe connected with the sand that had been beneath your head.

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart called after hitting you with a Healing Word.

You squared your shoulders and entered into a fighting stance. “Better now, thanks!” While it was true, you were still exhausted and could feel your magic actively getting weaker. You’d have to remind yourself to get a sturdier sword after this battle. You heard a clang as Shadowheart’s Spiritual Weapon was destroyed by a few zombies that now turned their attention on you.

“Hardly the place, darling,” Astarion called, downing one of the zombies in front of you with an arrow of ice. “Dying down here? Embarrassing.”

“Stop talking and help her kill the bloody things!” Gale yelled, still slinging spells and arrows at the dwarves from up on the platforms.

The undead kept rushing at you, and you were able to keep them at bay with brandishes of your rapier and weaker casts of Thunderwave, but it was getting harder and harder to fight back. Meanwhile, living dwarves had made it to the other platforms and started climbing up to your companions. Astarion’s help began to dwindle as his attention was split between you and the dwarves he had to face head on with his daggers. You could hear less and less of Gale’s magic as he opted fully for his crossbow, especially now with dwarves attempting to climb up to him. Shadowheart was facing the same obstacles, instead swinging her morningstar and shoving her shield to throw dwarves from the platform.

“Guys,” you said, not as loudly as you would have hoped. There was too much going on. Even if you did manage to raise your voice, it would be hard to hear you over the sounds of fire arrows and spells.

“Guys,” you tried again but to no avail. You cast a small Cure Wounds on yourself, but instantly regretted it. You could have saved that spell for an offensive attack, and now you felt yourself completely depleted of magic, despite trying your best to use it sparingly. Which was difficult when you were surrounded by enemies and your companions were occupied with their own battles. You were just one person. This was too much.

The undead dwarves still standing were backing you up against a cluster of boulders in the center of the beach.

This was okay. You were fine! You’d been in tough spots before and you and your team had always come out on top. You could do this. Undead dwarves? Pah! What kind of lethal damage could someone with dead muscle inflict, right? Sure, Astarion was undead and he was a vicious killer, but that was Astarion, and these dwarves had just been resurrected. They were just getting their sea legs! Life…. legs? It didn’t matter. They probably couldn’t even think for themselves. You could handle this.

With a boost of confidence from your mental pep talk, you surged forward, away from the center of the beach, and stabbed a zombie through the chest. The visceral sound of metal entering flesh was loud and oddly satisfying.

“Ah ha!” you shouted as the zombie slumped to the ground.

But the stab had been louder than your slim blade should have been able to muster. You pulled the blade out of the slumped zombie to inspect, but upon looking down, you saw silver glinting with red through your midsection.

Another zombie had come up behind you and cleaved you with his axe. The head of it peaked out through your stomach.

You heard your name roared from somewhere up above.

The metallic taste of your own blood rushed into your mouth as your vision started to blur. You fell to your knees.

“Guys,” you said one more time.

Then everything went black.

~~~~~

In another life, Astarion would have made a decent barbarian.

Despite Karlach’s cheerful demeanor, for the most part, barbarians were known to be violent, brutal, and cruel. All things that Astarion could easily tap into if the situation called for it.

And right now, he was entering a rage.

Red.

That was all he saw.

Red, and the corpses of the dwarves who dared cross his path on his way down to you.

He hadn’t witnessed it.

Had been too caught up in his own hacking and slashing to see the moment when the axe had made its way through your torso. But he had smelled it. Instantly, he had recognized the sweet notes of your blood entering the air. That’s when he’d looked down and saw the state of you. He’d screamed your name, far louder than any of the magic and explosions that were still triggering in the fight.

Shadowheart and Gale’s heads snapped down to look at you, terror in their eyes. And yet they still had to fight. The zombies surrounding your unconscious form began to move away from you and up towards them instead.

Astarion downed dwarves left and right, going overboard in his violence on the warpath to get you into his arms.

“Shadowheart!” he yelled, as if she wasn’t already aware of the situation.

“I know!” she shouted back. “I can try a Healing Word but my magic’s nearly spent!”

“Do it! NOW!” Astarion bellowed as he sliced through the abdomen of a dwarf preparing to fire a spell. He heard a chant of “te curo,” followed by the aqua magic that usually came with a healing spell, but you remained motionless in the sand.

“The wound is too deep and my magic isn’t strong enough!” Shadowheart slung her morning star into the head of a Duergar that had successfully climbed up to her platform.

Gale looked over to Shadowheart and the two shared a brief, silent conversation before Gale nodded and Misty Stepped down to you.

“Don’t you touch her, wizard!” Astarion yelled as he fought his way through what once must have been a house of some kind. “Unless you can bring her back up!” His daggers stabbed through the Duergar with the Absolute amulet; the one who’d raised those dead in the first place. Astarion made sure his death was extra painful with each twist of his knives.

“Be reasonable, Astarion!” Gale yelled back and shot an arrow at one of the zombies still slinking across the beach. He bent and attempted to get you to swallow some healing potion. You’d already lost a lot of blood.

“She’s DYING!” Astarion bellowed before jumping down, out of the house, and down onto the beach. He made a sound of pain as he landed, but stumbled as quickly as he could over to you on his hands and knees.

Before he reached you, however, he spotted an unarmed zombie halfway up a ladder. That must have been the vile creature whose blade was still lodged in you. He made a beeline for the abomination and pulled it down with enough force to rip the rope that made up the ladder it was climbing. His blades were entering the zombie repeatedly before he even realized he’d pinned it to the ground. It stopped moving fairly soon after its first stab wound, but Astarion wouldn’t let up.

“It’s dead, Astarion!” Gale said, trying to bring him back to reality. “Truly dead!”

Astarion finally stopped and breathed heavily. He abandoned the corpse and made his way over to you, sinking to his knees.

“You’re okay,” he cooed. “Help is here.” He gently pulled you into his lap, careful not to touch the axe head. “I’ve got you.”

“She’s still alive,” Gale confirmed. “I gave her some healing potion and checked her pulse.”

Astarion wasn’t listening. He rocked back and forth, wiping matted hair out of your face. “Darling,” he said quietly, “you’re too pretty to die. And look at all the precious blood you’ve wasted.” You shifted a little and he paused.

Your eyes opened briefly. When you realized it was Astarion looking down at you, you smiled.

“Hi,” you said weakly.

Astarion laughed, but it was a choked, mangled thing. “Hello, my love.”

“That hurt,” you said, smiling blearily until your eyes closed again. He brought his forehead lightly to yours.

Gale touched his shoulder. “Take her to Halsin. He’ll be able to help more than any of us at the moment.”

Astarion wanted to argue, but knew that Gale was probably right. Annoying bastard.

“Help me, would you?” He made to stand up and Gale moved to help guide you gently into Astrion’s arms as he stood. The axe rested uncomfortably between the two of you, but Astarion knew better than to try and pull it out without the proper healing implements nearby to stop the bleeding.

“We’ll be fine here,” Gale said, shooting another arrow at a dwarf on his way to Shadowheart. “You cleared most of the sorry mongrels just now, anyway.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Astarion snapped, readjusting how he was holding you.

“Only trying to help,” Gale said sharply. “None of us want to see her suffer.”

Astarion sighed. “I know,” he admitted.

Gale placed a hand on his shoulder again. “Proprae,” he said, and warm magic surrounded Astarion. “Longstrider,” Gale explained. “It’ll get you to Halsin faster. Now go.”

Astarion nodded and took off back towards the Myconid colony.

“You just had to play hero, didn’t you?” He didn’t look down at you as he sidestepped purple crystals and wayward wooden planks. “Couldn’t stay back for once and let someone else handle it.”

You coughed a little and peered up at him. “I do it for the glory,” you wheezed with a joking smile.

Astarion’s eyes flicked to you for a second. “There are better ways to get attention, darling.” He smiled despite himself. “Now stop talking, please. Save that strength.”

Rather than argue further, you closed your eyes again and nuzzled your face into his neck. You were so tired. And cold. Numbness had overtaken your body except for a dull ache in your midsection. You didn’t even realize when you slipped away again.

Astarion felt you go slightly more limp and swore, dodging exploding mushrooms and trying to remember the way back to the Myconids.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he growled. “Not now. Not you.” He refused to shed a tear. You’d be okay, and then he’d have words with you about your pesky bleeding heart.

Speaking of bleeding, he didn’t like how easily he could smell your blood. Usually he’d be thrilled to be surrounded by such an intoxicating aroma, but right now it was making him sick to his stomach.

“Do you know how selfish you are?” he asked, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “Wasting all this blood. Some of us need a proper meal.”

He hated your silence. Hated that you weren’t strong enough to tell him he could feed from you if he wanted because of course you would. Or maybe you’d come up with some sort of jab about him being selfish for thinking about food at a time like this. He missed your voice.

“How dare you scare me like this, you stubborn clod.”

In the distance, he saw the glowing mushrooms of the colony. He ducked his head and willed himself to run even faster.

“Where are they?!” Astarion shouted to a mushroom sentry at the entrance. The Myconid remained stoic, but flashed a somber song through Astarion’s mind. “Not helpful!” he shouted as he ran up the steps.

There! That halfling woman who’d asked you all to find her bumbling husband.

“You!” he yelled, his eyes wild. “The group I was traveling with! Where did they go?!”

The halfling woman fumbled for words, shocked at the bloody sight of you before her.

“Tell me!” he exclaimed.

“I believe they found a clearing not far off. The druid came by earlier to swap herbs.”

Astarion didn’t respond before booking it again, the Myconids singing a mournful ballad to him as he passed them.

“HALSIN!” he screamed when he left through the other entrance of the colony. “WYLL! KARLACH! LAE’ZEL! YOU BLASTED WHELPS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” He kept running, following along a path of glowing mushrooms.

“Astarion?” It was Wyll.

“WHERE ARE YOU?!” Astarion repeated, recalibrating to run towards the sound of his voice.

“OVER HERE!” Karlach shouted, and Astarion saw Scratch appear from around a corner a short distance away, followed closely by Karlach. Wyll and Lae’zel caught up behind them.

“Dear gods,” Wyll murmured before running into camp and creating a space for you.

“I’ll get Halsin!” Karlach turned and ran.

“Kaincha,” Lae’zel breathed as Astarion passed her.

“Lay her here,” Wyll said, having prepped a bedroll next to the fire.

“Like hells is she going on the bloody ground,” Astarion hissed, looking around for something more comfortable. “Grab my pillows,” he nodded from Wyll to the ox cart.

Wyll nodded and ran to the cart before coming back and beginning to fashion a makeshift mattress.

Lae’zel looked around for Gale and Shadowheart. “Where are the others?”

“Damned Duergars. They’re in a rotting village by the lake southwest of here.”

“I shall avenge our fallen,” she nodded before running to her tent, grabbing her greatsword and taking off in the direction Astarion had come in from.

“She’s not dead yet,” Astarion muttered as Halsin and Karlach entered the space frantically. “There you are!” He addressed Halsin icily. He had yet to put you down.

Halsin ignored Astarion in favor of approaching you and assessing the damage. He held multiple bowls and jars of unknown substances, and his face gave nothing away. “Bring her this way,” he said, motioning for Astarion to follow him. Halsin led him to a giant mushroom cap. “Lay her down here.” He set down the materials he was holding nearby.

“On a damn mushroom? You must be joking.” Astarion held you tighter.

“Astarion,” Halsin said gently, “I’m going to help her. You have to trust me.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes and reassessed the mushroom. It did look soft, and big enough for your whole body to spread out on. He looked at Halsin again who remained calm and collected. Astarion nodded.

Halsin nodded back and helped him untangle you from his arms. “We’re going to lay her on her side,” he instructed, and Astarion did his best to roll you gently onto the mushroom cap.

“How can we help?” Wyll asked, making Astarion jump. He’d forgotten about anyone outside of his current line of sight.

“Fetch my pack, if you would, Wyll,” Halsin said.

Wyll nodded and ran towards Halsin’s tent on the other side of camp.

“And me?” Karlach asked.

“Can you heat up some water?”

“You got it,” she said before rushing to grab a bucket.

Halsin held out his hand, golden magic emitting from his palm. He closed his eyes and hovered his hand up and down your body.

“Well?” Astarion asked impatiently.

Halsin opened his eyes and Astarion caught a flash of panic in them.

No.

“We need to get this axe out as soon as possible,” Halsin explained. “She’s going to lose more blood, but you were right to leave it in on the battlefield.”

It was then that Wyll came back, lugging Halsin’s backpack, along with other supplies he deemed might be useful.

“So get it out and heal her!” Astarion exclaimed.

“I’ll do my best, Astarion, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“Where’s Withers?” Astarion looked around but caught no glimpse of the skeleton.

“He said he’d find us once we’re settled,” Wyll reminded him kindly.

“If we lose her and he can’t bring her back, I’m ending him.” Astarion knew how unlikely it was that he’d be able to kill someone who brought people back from the dead for a living (why Withers needed a living in the first place was still a mystery), but he needed someone to threaten. He was terrified.

“Astarion,” Halsin said, “I’ll need you to help me remove her clothes. Wyll, can you prepare some bandages?”

Wyll nodded and began to gather materials from Halsin’s bag.

Astarion hesitated before unsheathing his daggers to help cut the leather armor off of your body. Halsin helped maneuver your limbs out of it until you were left in what once was a white shirt, now a deep red around your midsection.

“Her shirt as well,” Halsin said. “Your skill with a knife is far more refined than mine.”

Astarion frowned, knowing you’d probably hate being shirtless in front of everyone, but shook off the thought in favor of helping Halsin heal you. He quickly and carefully cut your shirt away from your body, depositing it on another mushroom nearby, and leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. The gash in your back was brutal, and rather than stare at it, Astarion took your hand. It was growing cold, but he could sense your blood still pumping beneath your skin.

“She’s so weak,” he murmured.

“She’s a fighter,” Halsin put a hand on Astarion’s shoulder before moving to mix some sort of elixir he had in one of the bowls he’d brought over. “My magic isn’t strong enough to heal her all by itself, not completely, but Oak Father willing, she’ll make it through this.”

“She better,” Astarion growled, still holding your hand, squeezing it harder than he knew he should.

Halsin smiled faintly, then moved around to your head. He tipped your head back and made you swallow the contents of the bowl he’d just been mixing.

“And what-”

“That should keep her from waking up right away.” Halsin came back to stand behind you and examined the state of the axe.

“So, she won’t feel any pain?” Astarion asked.

“She shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” was all Astarion could manage to say, hoping that was enough to convey his gratitude to the druid.

Halsin nodded and motioned for Astarion to hold you in place. “Wyll, can you help with this?”

“Of course,” Wyll moved around the mushroom to hold you from the other side.

“I’m going to remove the axe,” Halsin said. “She’s going to bleed more, but I should be able to stop it with what I’ve brought with me.”

“Enough talking,” Astarion held you tight. “Get to the healing part already!”

Halsin frowned, but nodded. “Steady now,” he said, placing his hands on the wooden handle of the axe. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Astarion snapped.

Halsin let out a calming breath before pulling on the axe. Everyone held their breath to make sure you didn’t cry out in pain. When you didn’t, Halsin continued, taking the blade out in one smooth motion.

As he’d said, you began bleeding more profusely and Astarion let out a pathetic whining sound. Halsin immediately held out his hands, aqua healing magic surrounding you from both sides. Astarion couldn’t look away as your skin knit itself back together, a clear scar forming in its wake.

The aqua magic faded and Halsin instantly dipped his hand in some sort of salve and began rubbing it along your back.

“Wyll,” Halsin said, handing him a bowl with an identical salve. “Please cover the wound on her stomach with this.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, moving around the mushroom to your front. Wyll handed him the salve and he went to work spreading a generous amount along your stomach.

“Sorry,” said Karlach, running up with a steaming bucket of water. “I was looking for where we packed all our towels.” She held up a few. “I found them.”

“Thank you, Karlach,” Halsin said. “We can start cleaning the area around her wounds.”

Karlach bounced on her feet. “Um… I’ll incinerate her if I try to help with that.”

“I know what you can do,” Astarion said flatly, focusing deeply on globbing enough salve onto your stomach. He lifted his head and nodded towards the axe on the ground behind Halsin. “You can destroy that wretched blade.”

Karlach smiled and cracked her knuckles. “I’ll make it wish it was never fucking born.”

“Blades aren’t born, Karlach,” Wyll said, wiping blood away from your skin with the warm water she provided.

“And yet, this one will die a fiery death,” she smirked, flaring her flames menacingly. She took off, presumably to be as hot as she pleased without endangering others.

“Can one of you help me sit her upright?” Halsin addressed the two men still tending to you.

“Sure,” Astarion said, noticeably calmer now that you weren’t actively bleeding. “How are her, um… her innards?”

Halsin smiled. “If you’re referring to internal bleeding, the potion I gave her and the spell I cast should be enough to have stopped it. But she’s still very fragile. I’d imagine it will take her some time to fully recover.” He once again held out his hand and cast a golden spell from his palm like he had earlier. “Yes, the internal bleeding has stopped. Though I’d suggest not giving into any carnal desires until she’s completely healed.”

“Carnal- I don’t want to have sex with her like this!” Astarion looked offended. “Who do you take me for?”

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t think you would, but it still needed to be said.”

“Of all the-” Astarion narrowed his eyes but didn’t finish the thought. “You needed help getting her upright?”

“Yes, she’ll need to be bandaged up. It’s possible she’ll bleed again depending on her movements in her sleep and various other factors, but she’ll also need to keep reapplying fresh salves to prevent infection and minimize scarring.”

Astarion nodded as Wyll finished washing away most of the blood on your back.

“Let’s lie her on her back first,” Halsin said.

Astarion and Wyll helped to gently roll you onto your back, and Halsin helped sit you up straight. Astarion came up quickly to place a gentle hand on your chest and another on your back to keep you upright as Halsin began to wrap bandages around your torso.

Though your head was tipped forward in your unconscious state, Astarion whispered encouragements in your ear that Halsin and Wyll politely pretended not to hear.

“You’re going to be okay, my love. Soon I’ll get to look into your pretty eyes again and hear your lovely voice. Everything is going to be okay.”

~~~~~

Everything is going to be okay.

How could that be true when you were drowning?

Surrounded by inky blackness. Floating through nothingness.

Your limbs were heavy. And more than anything, you were tired. So, so tired.

You’d messed up. You’d allowed yourself to fight, even though you knew you weren’t at your best, just because you didn’t want your friends to be upset. Right? They had been people you cared about? And now the last thing you remembered was being curled into someone’s side as they ran, presumably, to find help.

Idiot.

You were an idiot.

The person had looked so scared.

This was all your fault. You hated being the one to cause a problem. You had to be good. You had to do everything right so no one would have to worry about you.

The person who’d held you so close and protectively shouldn’t have to worry about you.

Whoever they were.

You vaguely remembered saying something to them, but you couldn’t recall what it was or why you’d said it. You faintly remember making them snicker, at least.

You’re doing so well, darling. Hang in there.

It didn’t feel like you were doing so well. And yet the words filled you with comfort. Somewhere, a thousand miles away, you felt someone squeezing your hand.

We’re going to move you now, but we’ll be gentle.

That was very kind of them. You were having trouble moving through this darkness.

Easy, now.

Was it possible to swim towards the voice? It sounded like it might be within reach, even though mere moments ago it had seemed incredibly distant and far-off.

You’ll be much more comfortable here, my love.

Though your head was filled with fog, something in your gut told you to go to the voice. You knew it was familiar, but you couldn’t make the connection. With all the strength you could muster, you kicked your legs as hard as you could and pulled yourself along with your arms.

Don’t worry, my sweet, I’m not going anywhere.

Thank you, you wanted to say, but you couldn’t quite grasp the words.

Try as you might to swim towards the voice, it remained just out of reach, a wall of pain shooting through your abdomen whenever you got too close.

I’m here, you tried to tell the voice. I can’t reach you.

Sleep now.

It hurts.

I’ll be here when you’re ready.

Please.

~~~~~

Your sleep was fitful. It had taken about an hour before you’d started thrashing unconsciously and moaning in pain.

“Something’s wrong,” Astarion called, emerging from your tent.

He and the others had moved you onto the makeshift mattress Wyll had created, and built your tent around you, next to Astarion’s. Or what would be Astarion’s; he had yet to set up his space, having spent all his time at camp so far by your side.

Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel had arrived at camp about half an hour after Astarion had rushed in with your unconscious form, all three covered in generous amounts of blood and gore. They had immediately asked after the state of you and were pleased to see you bandaged and sleeping soundly.

Now, however, that wasn’t the case.

Halsin and Shadowheart were quick to check on you.

Shadowheart felt your forehead and frowned. “She’s burning up.”

“Likely fighting a possible infection,” Halsin hypothesized.

“Well, can anything be done?!” Astarion asked, taking his place next to you again and holding your hand in both of his.

Halsin watched him carefully. “Actually, your cooling touch may bring her some comfort, Astarion.” He looked to Shadowheart, who nodded slowly.

“She needs to cool down. I’ll fetch some cold water, but Halsin is correct. You may be exactly what she needs. But don’t let that go to your head.”

“Of course I’m exactly what she needs,” Astarion puffed his chest, “but it’s nice to hear that that’s true in more ways than one.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes before leaving and muttering, “Why do I even bother?”

Astarion looked to Halsin. “She’ll be okay?”

Halsin smiled softly. “She’ll need water and nutrients to help fight the fever, but with you by her side, I presume she’ll be better in no time.”

“Right then, get out of here,” Astarion said, waving him away and looking slightly embarrassed.

Halsin chuckled. “I’ll prepare some food for her.”

“Yes, go bother someone else with your sappiness.”

Halsin paused in the entrance of your tent. “Being vulnerable is not a weakness, Astarion. It’s quite clear how much you love her, and that’s incredibly-.”

“You need to leave,” Astarion snapped and dropped your hand, physically shooing a laughing Halsin out of your tent. “Be useful, why don’t you?” he called after him coolly as Halsin made his way over to where Gale was preparing tonight’s meal. The vampire closed the flaps of your tent firmly.

Love?

He shook his head. He was worried about you, yes, but that was because he… cared about you. More than he cared about anyone else at this freakish camp. And that was… fine. It was fine that he cared about you because you cared about him, too. And that was important because caring meant safety and protection.

Which is why he’d been so panicked about finding help for you! Obviously! If you weren’t around to protect him, who would? Not Gale, that’s for sure. No, Astarion was looking out for you for purely selfish reasons.

Right?

You made a tiny sound of discomfort and he was by your side instantly, holding his hand to your forehead, and then pressing both of his palms to your cheeks. He felt your body sag and watched the features of your face relax a little.

“There, now,” he cooed. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

He paused and narrowed his eyes in thought.

That was troubling.

He refused to think any deeper on the subject. Instead, he undid all the straps and clasps of his armor, trying to be as quiet as possible as he removed it all, then placed it outside so it wouldn’t take up any of your space. Next, he rearranged some extra pillows that Wyll had brought by your tent to make a space where he could lie next to you. Once he’d done that, he removed his undershirt and laid next to you properly.

“Come here, my darling,” he said quietly, snuggling himself into your side. His body jolted reflexively at how hot your torso was, but quickly moved back into position and wrapped his arms around you as gently as he could. Your face scrunched in discomfort for a moment before settling into something akin to peace.

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall quietly, and let out a silent sigh of relief. One of his hands absently fiddled with the ends of your hair. You’d need a bath at some point. So would he, for that matter. You were both still covered in gore and filth, and some strands of your hair were bound together by enemy blood. Astarion didn’t much feel like licking it off of you or tasting their blood in any capacity, unless he could watch the life drain from their eyes as he drank them dry. But he’d hate every minute of it. He found your taste to be his favorite.

His favorite.

So, you were his favorite. Who cared! He knew it! Everyone at camp knew it! It didn’t need to be any deeper than that.

He exhaled through his nose. Being vulnerable was a weakness. Any of his siblings would tell you that. Show one shred of fragility towards anything and it would be torn away from you and exploited in any number of violent and cruel ways. He couldn’t let that happen to you.

“Can I come in?” Shadowheart’s voice was quiet, but loud enough to shake Astarion from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he answered.

She pulled back the flaps of the tent and paused, taking in the scene before her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said slowly, entering the tent with a bucket of water and a few clean cloths.

“Not at all, I’m simply taking advantage of this furnace,” Astarion gestured up and down your body. “The Underdark gets so chilly at night. Who knew?”

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart nodded and felt your forehead before dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out and placing it there. “You know,” she began, “and I hate saying this-”

“Do go on, then.”

“Ugh. I really hate saying this, but… she’s lucky to have you.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion sounded quietly flabbergasted. “Do you mean it? Truly?” He was being overly dramatic and held a hand to his chest.

Shadowheart avoided his gaze and dipped another cloth in the water. “I just mean…” She sighed. “I just mean, you make her happy, in your own annoying way. Even before you both started-”

“Holding hands?” Astarion batted his eyelashes.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, but continued. “I don’t need to tell you how lucky you are to have her because I think you know that, but… You make her laugh. You encourage her to fight better, you steal lutes for her… And… you get her to be selfish. Which, while I don’t agree with all of your selfish suggestions, does cause her to think of herself every once in a while. Something that’s quite hard for her, as she so competently displayed for us today when she didn’t tell us how tired she truly was.”

“She was a lost cause before I showed up.”

“Be serious for a moment, would you?” Shadowheart placed another cloth along your neck. “That’s something you both need to work on; being serious.” She held his gaze. “We almost lost her out there today. And I don’t think you’ve thought about what that would mean for you.”

“Of course I have,” Astarion snapped.

Shadowheart raised her eyebrows. “Our Lady of Loss teaches that-”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Astarion said sharply. “She’s fine now. Or she will be, assuming you and the druid are correct in your assessment of her condition.”

“Pain is a part of life, Astarion.”

“Don’t say that to me,” he snapped. “You know nothing of my pain.”

Shadowheart dabbed another cold cloth across your arm that wasn’t currently cradled into Astarion’s torso. “I know that. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” He was aware that he was mildly flashing his fangs in warning.

She dabbed some cold water over your shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. That's all I mean.”

“And what the hells is that supposed to mean?” Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Afraid of what?”

“You care for her.”

“So what?”

“You’re aware of that?”

Astarion trilled his lips in disbelief. “Of course I’m aware of that.”

“Okay,” she turned her attention to wringing a cloth of excess water.

If his arms weren’t currently wrapped around you, Astarion would have pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shadowheart, if you’re trying to tell me something, just tell me.”

“You’re allowed to love her.”

Astarion felt himself recoil away from Shadowheart, but he still held onto you.

Shadowheart nodded calmly, searching his eyes. “We all see it. You haven’t known each other for long, but she’s changing you.”

Astarion gave her a sour expression but didn’t say anything to argue.

“She’s not what you expected, is she?”

“She-” he hesitated. “She’s not.” He looked at your slumbering face fondly.

“I don’t think she’s what any of us expected.”

Astarion nodded, quiet for a few moments. He was too tired to pretend he was uninterested. “It’s a wonder we all found her,” he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Or, rather, clung to her. And in some cases, attacked her. Or threatened to.”

“It is,” she laughed softly.

“Poor girl.”

Shadowheart smiled. “She saved me, up on the Nautiloid. She and Lae’zel broke me out of my pod. Though it was mostly her. Actually, it was all her.”

“That’s typical.”

Shadowheart laughed. “Very typical.” She shifted to face Astarion more directly. “We don’t know each other very well.”

“No.”

“And probably never will.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“But I know that you’re not the same person who held a knife to her throat a few weeks ago.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I would.” Shadowheart gave him a piercing look. “A few weeks ago, you would have been fine letting her bleed out on that battlefield. You possibly would have laughed at the brutality of it. Or, you would have written it off as a fine dining experience. But the Astarion I’m looking at right now was ready to burn the entire world before he saw her suffer today.”

Astarion’s grip on you tightened minutely.

Shadowheart sighed. “I don’t like letting others get too close to me either. Partly because that is the way of Lady Shar, and partly because I’m afraid of forgetting. Or remembering. I’m not sure which is worse, truthfully.”

“What does that-”

“It doesn’t matter. My point is, our leader here makes me want to remember. Remember our times together, her kindness… And how she makes me feel.”

“Careful…” Astarion said slowly, narrowing his eyes but smiling slightly.

“She might be the only person I’ve ever considered to be a true friend. I think. But I know she’d do anything for any of us. And I want to remember that.”

“Okay, so commit it to memory?” Astarion was confused about all the talk of remembering. Surely Shadowheart’s memory wasn’t that bad.

“I’ll try,” she chuckled. Then, after a moment of quiet, she inhaled deeply. “All of this to say, Astarion,” she looked him in the eye again, “heartbreak is also a part of life. And while we’re lucky she’s still with us, you shouldn’t be afraid to love her. I think you want to live.”

~~~~~

Darkness.

All consuming and quiet.

But at least the pain had stopped.

It was rather lonely here. Nothing to do and no one to talk to. Whenever you tried to move, the blackness that surrounded you gave little away as to whether you were actually moving or not. There’d been waves of extreme heat, bitter cold, and heavy nausea, and while none of that was particularly thrilling, it was nice to know that you could still feel something in this liminal space of sensory deprivation.

The voice would occasionally interrupt the profound silence to address you.

Come on, my sweet, eat just a little more. I know you can.

What are you dreaming about in there?

Are you going to wake up anytime soon, darling?

You didn’t know. No matter what you tried, it didn’t seem likely that you were close to leaving this place. And just when it felt like you were finally getting somewhere, the pain would overtake you again and stop you in your tracks.

It was exhausting.

You felt someone squeeze your hand distantly.

Brought a book.

Your head instinctively turned towards the voice.

Thought I might read to you. Since you’re doing an abhorrent job of entertaining me.

Something about the tone made you want to argue. You try… whatever this is! you wanted to say.

Thought this one might be fun. “The Curse of the Vampyre.” Maybe we’ll learn something.

Vampire… why did that word send your heart racing?

“Harken close and beware the Vampyr.” Off to a good start. “Beware its cold beauty.” True. “Beware its charm.” True. “Beware its curse.” ………True.

Again, you had the overwhelming sensation that you knew this voice. The sense of comfort that washed over you felt all too familiar.

“How doth one protect from the beast?” When was this written? A pause, as if the voice were investigating. I’ve decided I don’t care. The voice cleared its throat. “Walk not in the blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other.” I was rather enjoying my time in the sun, actually. “If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care.” What kind of advice is that? The moon? The moon and I get on just fine. That wouldn’t protect you, darling. “Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times.” The voice snorted. Yes, because the Gods have cared so much about stopping my acts of debauchery in the past.

Something in the voice’s airy tone lifted an aching weight from your chest. Yes, you knew this person. You were sure of that. You could listen to them all day. Mindlessly, you drifted closer to where the voice was strongest.

“But remember, your home is your fortress, if protected well.” Hmm. “If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home.” As if we make house calls these days. “If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan?” Rude. “See you any mark upon their neck?” Collars, darling. Though, I’ve found that most people don’t pay close enough attention anyway. Especially when you’re distracting them with- Well, you know. The voice exhaled loudly. “See you any dirt upon their clothes?” Yuck. “Unless their need is great, turn all away but the most trusted.” You trust me, don’t you, my dear?

Yes, you tried to say. Of course I trust you.

The voice was growing louder. More clear.

Of course you do, the voice said, though you were sure it hadn’t heard you. Stupid. “And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee.” I’d say that’s good advice, but unfortunately for you, you can’t really flee right now. And I don’t plan on leaving.

Good. You exhaled, frustrated that you couldn’t speak.

The hand holding yours tightened mildly.

I’m here, darling.

I know. Thank you.

It took a moment before the voice started speaking again.

“Lease love and family behind.”

You felt an indescribable tension as the voice paused once more. Had this passage just said something important? You replayed the phrase in your head.

Family?

Love?

Love…

Oh.

The voice was quieter when it spoke again.

“You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.”

Astarion.

Of course it was Astarion. How could it be anyone else?

He was here.

With you.

Just out of reach.

Well, that’s a rather ominous passage, isn’t it?

Astarion! you tried to say. I’m here!

Shh shh shh, he tutted. Don’t strain yourself.

Something you had said or done had gotten through to him.

Astarion! you tried again.

Nothing. You were met with silence.

Fuck it. Fuck the pain, fuck this freakish darkness. You pulled yourself towards his voice.

Shall I continue reading, darling?

Yes, keep talking. You winced as a flash of pain pulsed through your middle.

I’m going to skip ahead. I hope you don’t mind.

As long as I can still hear your voice. The pain was becoming more consistent and noticeable.

Ah, this sounds rather interesting: “Vampiric Duality.” Ahem. “Now look, the thing is: your basic vampire has two instincts, right? Feed and make little vampires.” Immediately, a vastly different tone. Is this even the same book? The voice paused again, presumably to check the cover. I admit, I do love to feed, but I’m not sure how much this person knows about vampiric biology. Not that Cazador ever allowed us much research into the subject…

You felt yourself physically recoil at the mention of Cazador’s name and heard Astarion chuckle.

No, you’re right, darling, I won’t mention him again. He hummed and mumbled under his breath. Blah blah blah… “The personality of a vampire has as many facets as a schizophrenic diamond?” What? I appreciate the comparison to a diamond, obviously, but a schizophrenic one? What does that even mean?

You would have laughed if you weren’t actively fighting to get to him. The pain in your torso was almost unbearable, the closer you got to his voice. Tears pricked your eyes, and every part of you hurt like nothing you’d ever experienced before. When the torment started to become white hot and all consuming, you hit what felt like a physical wall.

Ah! Listen to this part, beautiful: “Yet who doesn't adore the darkly romantic complexity of the vampire-”

You did. You adored this vampire. Though you were hurting severely, you reached out and punched against the wall that was blocking you.

Astarion! you all but wailed.

“-the gusto of their love-”

Again, you pounded with all your might, screaming out in agony and rage as the pain physically held you back from reaching out and touching him. You still couldn’t see him, but you felt his presence. So, so close.

“-the wildness of their passion!” You heard him let out a delighted laugh.

I’m here! you shouted, using both fists to bang against this wall of pure suffering.

Oh, my dear, if you were awake, I’d shower you with the absolute wildness of my passion. You could practically hear his smirk. I’d demonstrate the gusto of my… well. My-

Gathering all the strength you had left, you wound back and threw your entire body against the wall. You squeezed your eyes tight as an overwhelmingly bright light spilled in and your ears began to ring.

You gasped for air, sitting up quickly, and immediately regretted it.

You heard your name said softly in disbelief and a book slamming shut.

“Ow…” you whined, clutching at your abdomen and feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

Before you could register what was happening, you felt cool palms on your cheeks and soft lips kissing all over your face. You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m so mad at you,” Astarion said, still kissing your face, his voice filled with nothing but relief.

“What… happened?” you asked between hiccups of tears.

“Lie back down, precious,” he said, gently helping you back onto what seemed to be a pile of pillows and pulling a blanket over you. “You scared us, is what you did.” He wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks, but they kept flowing. You couldn’t stop.

“Did I… die?” You turned your head to look around. It looked like you were in your tent, your things strewn about somewhat neatly and similar to how it had been at your camp by the lake. A few candles were lit.

“Nearly,” Astarion confirmed quietly. He looked exhausted. “An undead Duergar got you with his battle axe.”

“Ah,” you said, at a loss for words. “That’s not good.”

Astarion stared at you. “‘That’s not good?’ That’s all you have to say?” He held a hand to your forehead briefly. “Your fever is gone, but it’s possible you’ve got brain damage.”

You chuckled, knowing he was kidding, but the action caused a searing pain in your stomach. You let out a pathetic whine, reaching for the hurt area, but Astarion caught your wrist.

“Careful, darling. You’ve got a pretty severe wound there.” He released you and pulled back the blanket that was draped over you. Upon looking down, you saw that nearly your entire midsection was covered in bandages. A spot of red spread slowly, disrupting the otherwise pristine white of the cotton.

“It h-urts,” you sniffled, your voice breaking.

Astarion’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Looks like sitting up quickly may have opened the wound again.”

“Should I go get Shadowheart?” you asked without really thinking about it.

Astarion snorted. “If you think you’re strong enough to fetch the cleric, you’re delusional.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in agreement. “Should you go get Shadowheart? Or Halsin, maybe?”

He shook his head, turning away from you to rifle through some supplies that were out of your line of sight. “Everyone’s asleep, my dear.” He sat back up straight and set out a few items next to you: fresh bandages, healing potions, a salve of some sort, and a small bowl of water. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you myself.”

You almost laughed. “How long was I out? What happened to you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You were out for nearly twelve hours, I’d say. It’s a little before dawn, I think. Though there’s no sun to go off of.”

You nodded, not sure how to feel about this information. Twelve hours was a long time. And yet it felt even longer. Like you’d been out for a lifetime.

“As for what happened to me, well, someone I… care about… nearly died.” He cleared his throat. “Is it so bizarre that I want her to get better?”

You smiled. “I guess not.”

Astarion returned your smile before hooking his arms under yours and helping you sit up. Someone had stacked two chests on top of each other behind the makeshift mattress to act as a headboard, and he helped you scoot back to sit against it.

“Careful, my sweet, the axe entered through your back. Let’s try not to lean and put pressure on it, hmm?”

You nodded, wincing when you moved incorrectly. “When did you become such a medical professional?”

He was busy prepping the new bandages. “Shadowheart showed me how to change the bandages once or twice while you were out, and Halsin provided the salves and potions.” Astarion got up onto his knees and crawled over to you, helping you scoot forward, away from the headboard. “And my sister, Dal. She was a doctor, before Cazador. She’d help the rest of us every once in a while. Especially when things got particularly brutal.”

“That’s much cooler than being a magistrate,” you teased, flinching a little in pain.

“I don’t know, magistrates can sentence people to death.” He squeezed your arm.

“No they can’t,” you laughed. Then paused. “Can they?”

Astarion shrugged. “Can’t remember, honestly.” He leaned forward to reach for where the bandage was tucked into itself on your front. “I’m going to undo this now, okay? Let me know if I hurt you at all.”

You nodded, holding his gaze.

“Oh,” he said before turning to grab a healing potion. He handed it to you. “This should help.”

You took it and downed it as Astarion began to carefully unwrap the bandages. You could feel the unpleasant sting of something having dried beneath the cloth that was now being tugged at as the bandage was unraveling.

Astarion was nothing but complete focus as he reached his arms around you and back towards himself, carefully unwrapping you. You watched him the entire time.

“I heard you, you know.”

He looked at you, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Heard me what?”

“When you were talking to me while I was sleeping.”

He went a little stiff at your words. “What exactly did you hear?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I heard you reading just now.”

His shoulders dropped in relief. “Horrid creatures, vampires.”

“The worst,” you agreed.

Astarion pulled away the last of the bandage and you looked down, your eyes widening at the huge gash along the right side of your stomach.

“And we’re sure I didn’t die?” you asked, cautiously poking the area around the wound. The healing potion had stopped the bleeding.

Astarion slapped your hand. “Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re still here with us. I would have killed Withers if that weren’t the case.”

“You can’t-”

“I know. But he would have gotten an earful at least.” Astarion crawled on his knees back over to the supply area that you previously couldn’t see. Now you could see that there were a few buckets of water with towels and cloths of various sizes. He dunked his hands into one of the buckets and lathered his hands with soap.

“Thorough,” you commented.

“You already fought off one infection,” he explained. “Don’t want to risk another.” He finished washing and drying his hands, then made his way back over to you on his knees, careful not to touch anything on his way.

“I had an infection?” you asked, watching as he dipped a cloth in the small bowl of water next to you.

“Yes,” he said, “or were fighting one off. Like I said earlier, you had a fever, but it’s gone now.” He brought the cloth up to your stomach. “I’m going to clean the wound now. It might hurt.”

You nodded and he began dabbing your skin lightly. He was right, it stung and pierced whenever he hit a particularly raw area and your body jerked despite attempting to stay still. Tears welled up in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion said, reaching up to wipe a tear away.

“I’m the one who got cleaved,” you deflected. “It’s my own fault.”

“Which reminds me,” his face morphed from apologetic to irritated, “why didn’t you tell us you were so exhausted? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-” you squeaked at a particularly sharp pain. “I didn’t want you all to worry.”

Astarion’s hand paused and he narrowed his eyes at you. “Fine load of good that did, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked away from him. “I didn’t know how involved the fight was going to be.”

“It doesn’t matter how involved the fight was or wasn’t going to be; if you weren’t feeling your best, you should have stayed behind and let one of the others take your place.” He sniffed pompously and added, “Would have given me an excuse to relax, too.” There was a sharpness to his words, but his actions remained careful and kind. You gave him a curious look and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I would go out and fight when I could laze about at camp for once.” He was suddenly very focused on not looking you in the eye.

You smiled. “You liiiiike me.”

“I’d have spent the entire time on the other side of camp.”

“Liar.”

“The point is, darling, you have to listen to yourself and what you need. I do it all the time. For myself, I mean.”

“I know you do,” you chuckled.

Astarion set down the wet cloth he was using and got a fresh one, before moving behind you to clean the wound on your back.“Why do you even care what we think?”

“Because you’re my friends, and I value your opinions?”

“No, I mean, why aren’t we allowed to be worried about you?”

“Oh,” you winced and flinched a bit at the cloth pressing against a tender spot on your back. “I don’t know. You all have your own problems to worry about. I shouldn’t be one of them.”

Astarion tsked. “I might be new to this whole ‘caring about someone else’ thing, but even I know how absurd that is.”

You tried to stay quiet, focusing on not moving to minimize the pricklings of pain shooting through your back. Yet despite your best effort, you still let out a few weak whimpers of discomfort.

Astarion sighed and moved away from you, back to the caché of supplies at the end of your bed. He came up with a steaming bowl of stew and reached across the bed to hand it to you.

“Careful,” he warned.

“How?” you asked.

“Halsin made soup. Gale knew a spell to keep it warm. This is the result.” He handed you a spoon. “We were able to get you to eat some while you were unconscious, but Shadowheart said you should eat properly whenever you woke up. I forgot until just now.”

“Thank you,” you said gratefully, shoveling some of the stew into your mouth. It was rich and heavy; full of meat and vegetables. Delicious.

Astarion took his place behind you again and went back to cleaning, but not before sighing dramatically. “Playing nursemaid is so far beneath me. I can’t believe you’re making me do this, you wretch.”

You swallowed some broth then said, “I offered to get Shadowheart.”

“Not a chance,” he growled in your ear, leaning around to kiss your cheek. “But if I ever have to do this again-”

“You’ll kill me?”

“Without a second thought, my sweet.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed through more food. “I think you’re enjoying this, honestly.”

“Seriously? When I could be out killing something? Or drinking from that gorgeous neck of yours? Or thoroughly ruining you? Nice try.”

“Are you hungry?” you asked, suddenly feeling very guilty for not thinking of him.

“This is what I mean, darling.” He sounded annoyed.

“What?”

“You are very weak at the moment. You lost quite a bit of blood from this wound, and you’re still offering to feed me.”

“Because I want to help you! I have something you need and I lo-like you so much.” You caught yourself, but not very smoothly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Flattered as I am, I know that drinking from you right now could be fatal. And I think you know that, too.”

You shoveled some more stew into your mouth shamefully.

“That’s all I mean, pet.” Astarion set down the cloth he’d been using to clean your back and moved around so he could look you in the eye again. “You’re incredible. You always want to help others, which, while I don’t personally understand it, is seen as very admirable to some people. But it gets you into trouble, and I don’t think you care that it does.” He took your chin in his hand to make you look at him. “But I care now. And I don’t want this to happen again.”

“I can’t help it,” you said quietly.

Astarion pouted mildly with genuine sympathy and kissed you chastely. “Try.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled. “Besides,” his flamboyant cadence returned to make you laugh, “I already drained some poor beastie dry earlier while Shadowheart was changing your bandages.”

“Poor beastie.”

He kissed you again, more deeply this time. “It meant nothing to me,” he teased and you laughed. “It was purely for sustenance.” He nosed along your neck to his favorite feeding spot and kissed you there.

“I may never find forgiveness in my heart for this,” you teased back.

Astarion’s eyes went noticeably soft and a small smile tugged at his lips. His hands came up to your cheeks and he kissed you once more, tugging at your bottom lip with his front teeth. You matched his rhythm, moaning softly, and unconsciously rolling your hips, which made you cry out in pain.

“Bad idea,” you groaned, tilting your head away from Astarion’s eager kisses.

He chuckled and rested his forehead on your temple. “You know, Halsin actually warned me not to ‘give in to any carnal desires’ until you were fully healed. I told him I wouldn’t.”

“And yet you did anyway?” you raised an eyebrow with a smile. “You selfish prick.”

Astarion tsked. “I’m not the needy one rolling my hips, now am I?”

“You bit my lip!”

“Call it… a vampiric sign of affection. Nothing more than that.”

You blew out an annoyed huff, causing a strand of hair in your face to fly upwards.

“I didn’t even draw blood,” Astarion said. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you,” you rolled your eyes.

“But of course.”

“I so badly want to strangle you right now.”

Astarion growled from the back of his throat. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing you again, despite your laughing protests.

“Would you please finish with this?” you asked, pushing him back and gesturing the undressed wound on your stomach.

He groaned loudly. “If I must.”

“I can handle the front,” you said, nodding towards a bowl of salve, but not attempting to lean forward and grab it for fear of accidentally hurting yourself further.

Astarion hesitated in giving you the bowl, but quickly gave in. “Fine.”

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

He nodded once and took his own bowl of salve to spread on your back.

The balm was cool and caused you to jump a little when it first made contact with your skin. Astarion paused his work to make sure you were alright.

“I’m okay,” you assured. “Just cold.”

“You get used to it,” he smirked, globbing more cold substance onto your back.

Delicately, you took your own salve and began to apply a generous amount to your stomach.

The two of you remained silent, locked in concentration as you administered the medicine to your wounds. It stung mildly, but the cooling effect it had became comforting soon enough.

“So…” you broke the silence after you were satisfied with your work, “what did you do while I was… out?”

Astarion exhaled through his nose and didn’t answer right away. “Oh, nothing special. A little of this, a little of that. My world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“Sad,” you pouted, “because while I was unconscious, all I could hear was your voice.”

“Could you, now?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I was all you could hear?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “Which means you must have spent a lot of time by my side.” You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw Astarion’s hand hovering just above your back, frozen in place.

He cleared his throat and continued to apply the salve. “And so what if I did?”

“Well, it’s just that there’s so much else you could have been doing,” you chuckled. “Like killing, or maiming, or drinking, or stabbing-”

You stopped talking when you felt his forehead press against your bare shoulder. He mumbled something against your skin, but you couldn’t make it out.

“What was that, my love?”

He sighed heavily and pulled back. “I was scared.”

“You… were scared? You?”

“Of course I was scared!” he exclaimed, looking irritated and confused. “I may already be dead, but it’s not your time yet. I would never wish that on you.”

You weren’t sure how to process that.

Astarion.

Scared, on your behalf.

You knew he cared about you, that was obvious by now, he’d told you as much, but that was a fairly recent development. In the past, he’d only cared enough to save his own skin. He’d always watched your back, sure, but there were days where you knew he’d only helped you or another companion because it had been convenient for him in some way. Although, you had to admit, since you two had become… whatever you were, he’d seemed to take extra precaution when looking out for you. Both in battle and out.

“Astarion,” you said slowly when he returned from behind you to grab the fresh bandages, “what happened when the zombies got me?”

He remained quiet, fiddling with the bandages in his hands.

“I carried you here.”

“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Not too far from those horrid singing mushrooms. They were no help.”

Your eyes went wide, knowing how far the journey from the Myconid colony to the decrepit village was, and how he must have traveled further than that to get here. You shook your head, banishing the thought. “How did you get to me from your platform?”

Astarion came close and unwound the bandages in his hands again, making sure he had the right amount. “I may or may not have… gone into a blind rage, killed some dwarves, yelled at Gale… It was no big deal.”

“And then you… carried me.”

“Yes.”

“All the way here.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“And then I helped Halsin with healing you. Why does it matter?”

“You…” You trailed off and allowed Astarion to start wrapping the bandages around your middle. Your eyes were unfocused on something in the distance and your mind was blank; too overwhelmed with thoughts to think anything at all. You shook your head to bring yourself back into the moment with him.

His voice was quiet. “I’ve been powerless far too often in my life. Seeing you go down, and not being able to stop it, it… broke something in me.”

You watched him carefully.

“If I was powerless in that situation, and you… If I’d lost you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t lose me then,” you said, attempting to lift the mood while focusing on his hands.

He shook his head and paused with the wrapping. “Shadowheart said I was ready to burn the world. I think she was right.”

“I’m touched,” you joked again.

“I’m serious, darling.” He picked up where he left off with the bandages.

“You were that worried about me? Even though you were also surrounded by enemies?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not pleased about this turn of events. Normally, in a setting like that, I’d be mostly worried about myself. But lately I seem to somehow be worried about you more.” He hummed as if he were surprised to hear himself say that aloud.

You brought a hand up to gently wrap around his forearm as he continued wrapping you up. He met your eye fondly.

“You give me something to care for. And that’s worth the peril.” He smiled at you for a moment, then pulled on the bandages to make sure they were tight enough. “Is this alright?”

Try as you might to not let him see, your eyes welled up with tears. “Fine, yes.”

“Oh gods, don’t lie, you’re crying!” He immediately began to loosen the bandages and you started laughing.

“No, no, dummy,” you wiped a tear and stopped his hands with your own. “I care about you, too.”

“We’ve established that, darling,” but his eyes went soft. “Let me finish this, you sap,” he gestured to your bandages, still not properly secured, and you released his hands. He once again returned to wrapping the wound and pulled the bandages tighter, but not as tight as before. They were firm enough that they wouldn’t fall, and you could still breath easily, despite the mild ache that lingered in your stomach. He tucked the end into the top of the wrapping beneath your chest. “There now, my sweet. All patched up.” He brushed both hands through your hair before resting them gently on your shoulders.

You smiled at him, but something occurred to you upon hearing the affectionate nickname. “Is there a reason you haven’t called me ‘my love’ since I woke up?”

Astarion looked taken aback. “Erm…”

You were quick to explain: “It’s my favorite. That’s why I call you that, too.”

“Your favorite…” Astarion stared at you blankly for a second and his hands squeezed your shoulders absently.

You could practically see the cogs in his head turning. You brought a hand to cup his cheek. “If I did something-”

Astarion shook his head. “No, darling, you did nothing wrong. Other than almost getting yourself killed, I mean. It’s just that… I’m in the process of coming to terms with how I feel - about you.”

Oh.

He’d thrown “love” and “my love” around so casually, practically the entire time you’d known him. Abruptly stopping their use was incredibly unlikely unless it was deliberate.

Did this mean he was starting to rethink those words? And what it meant to say them to you?

Did that mean he… loved you?

Your heart started pounding as a million jumbled thoughts entered your mind. It seemed like Astarion noticed the change in your pulse.

“If that scares you-”

“No!” You were grinning widely and tried to hide it behind your free hand. “Take all the time you need, my love.” You hoped calling him by your preferred pet name might convey how you felt, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You knew better than anyone how new this was to both of you.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your wrist. “Now lie down, would you? You need more sleep.”

You handed him your now empty bowl of stew. “But… I’m not tired.”

Astarion gave you a look as if to say really?

“I’m not! I’ve been sleeping all day!”

“And for good reason, might I add.”

The two of you stared at each other, willing the other to give in. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, annoyed. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Carnal desires,” you reminded him in a scolding manner.

“I don’t plan on ravishing you right now, dearest,” he said, a bit of bite in his words. “If you’re not going to sleep, at least lie down with me.”

He moved the medical supplies off of the makeshift bed and blew out a few candles as he awaited your answer.

You nodded, a smile overtaking your features. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said as he got onto the pile of pillows and placed his knees on either side of your hips. He took your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

“I know,” you said, using him as an anchor to lower yourself onto your back and further into the pillows.

When he was satisfied with your position, Astarion carefully lifted himself from hovering above you and transitioned himself to curl into your side. You stayed on your back so as to not jostle your wound, but turned your head to look at him. He watched you intently, his hands palm-to-palm and resting under his cheek. You ran your hand through his hair.

“I couldn’t reach you,” you said.

“When?” Astarion lifted his head slightly.

“When I was sleeping. I could hear you, but I couldn’t see you. And it hurt to try and get to you.”

“Oh, my darling,” he said, running a hand along your cheek. “I’m here now.”

“I know,” you repeated, warmth overtaking your chest.

“Nervous it’ll happen again if you sleep?” he asked. When you nodded, he nodded back in understanding. “Nightmares are dreadful.”

“Any tips?”

“Hmm… not really.”

“Thanks.”

Astarion laughed softly and reached for your hand. “I’ll stay awake with you for as long as you need.”

“You need your rest, too.”

He clicked his tongue. “If you think I’m going out with the others tomorrow, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You exhaled an amused breath and turned your head back up towards the top of your tent to sort through some of your many tangled thoughts.

While it was true that you and Astarion hadn’t known each other for very long, it floored you how much of a change you saw in him now versus when you’d first met. Back then, he was cruel, and violent, and prone to laughing at the misfortune of others. Now, he was still all of those things, but there was also this soft side of him that he continued to surprise you with. He’d actively chosen to stay by your side all day, even though he could have let the others handle your care. He probably would have opted for that option just a few weeks ago. He was also making the choice to stay at camp with you tomorrow, rather than venture out with the rest of your party to be rewarded by the Myconids for your efforts, and possibly spill more blood throughout the Underdark. Knowing how much he loved to spill blood, that was a big deal.

He’d also shown you the most tender affection the first night you’d slept together and every heated encounter since; he was showing he cared in the ways he knew how. He was trying his best (for the most part), and that’s what mattered to you. Astarion could take all the time he needed to sort out his feelings.

But you knew how you felt.

“So other than the peril, are you enjoying the Underdark?”

Astarion groaned. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long exhale, the cool air of his breath tickling your neck. “You know, for all the time I spent lurking in the shadows, I’ve never ventured into the Underdark before.”

“So you’ve told me,” you squeezed his hand.

“Hardly a… luxurious setting, but it definitely has its upsides for a vampire.”

You nodded, still looking up at the top of your tent.

“Or its… undersides? Because it’s - you know what I mean.”

You snorted at his feeble attempt at a pun. “Boooo,” you teased and looked over at him.

“I’ve been awake for nearly 24 hours, need I remind you.”

“Then trance, idiot.” You poked his nose.

“I said I would stay awake with you.”

“I’ll be alright,” you insisted, “though I appreciate the offer, my love.”

Astarion blinked slowly, his eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. It was as if he were finally allowing himself to relax, now that he was able to hear your voice again. He wore a lopsided grin as his eyes drifted closed.

“I really did miss you,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“I missed you, too.” You brought your clasped hands up to your mouth and kissed the back of his hand. “Thank you for saving me.”

He didn’t properly respond, and instead hummed out a sleepy acknowledgement.

“You’re so heroic.”

“Mmm.”

“And handsome.”

“Mhm.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you for staying by my side.”

This time he didn’t respond. He looked entirely peaceful and his lips were parted slightly.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” you laughed quietly, brushing a loose hair out of his face. “You should sleep though,” you said more to yourself than to him. “I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”

You watched his chest rise and fall with the unnecessary breaths he still took after all these years. You couldn’t believe that mere moments ago, he’d admitted that he was beginning to care more for your safety than for his own. Much less that he might even love you.

Astarion made a small sound, like a tiny grunt from the back of his throat that you’d come to learn meant that he was likely out cold. He rarely fell asleep before you did, given how little rest elves needed, which only further showed how exhausted he truly was.

“I love that noise,” you smiled.

You turned your head back up to the top of your tent and sighed. “I love how funny you are. And I love how even though you’re incredibly intelligent, you’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met.” You looked back at him. His slumbering expression remained unchanged. “I love your eyes, and your ears, and the annoying way you put your hand on your hip when you think you’ve gained the upper hand in something.” You squeezed his hand ever so slightly and watched to make sure his features stayed even. “I love how kind you pretend you aren’t and how fiercely you deny it when I bring it up. I love your laugh, and how gently you hold me when you feed, and how you think about me when you could so easily think of yourself instead.”

Again, you brought his hand up to your mouth and kissed his fingers.

“I love you, Astarion.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you swore you could see the slightest smile on his face as you felt your eyes flutter closed and you drifted into your own contented sleep.

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