Work Text:
Entering the spider’s cavern under the Blighted Village had been an absolute and unnecessary failure, Astarion thought furiously as he scraped off the last of the spiderwebs entangled to his clothes. They had been lucky enough to have been mostly out of range for the spider matriarch’s poison sprays, though as he whirled around to glare at the party, the image of Xuan ducking to get closer to the spider matriarch flashed in his mind.
If he had fed recently, his blood would have been boiling.
“That was the most idiotic thing you could have done,” he snapped, rounding upon the monk. She was tearing the tattered sleeves off of her monk robes where the spider poison had made contact. The sight only made him angrier. “And that’s saying something after being dragged into all your little heroic quests for all these strangers.”
“I wanted to do good—” Xuan protested weakly, but Astarion barked out a sharp laugh.
“Good? Good?” He spat, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. The image of her running headlong into the battle — a battle to save strangers, no doubt — only spurred on his panicked fury. How could she be so foolish? To risk her life for some passerby on the road? Didn’t they have enough problems as it was? “At best, the only good you’ve done is been a carnal distraction to our impending death. A wonderful distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. If we don’t find a cure—”
He would have continued, but the silence from the others made him pause. And when there was no angry or sharp retort from Xuan, Astarion paused for a beat longer, turning fully now to look at her.
To his horror, the monk — his strong-willed, stubborn monk that rushed into battle with the most stoic of expressions — seemed to wilt a little as she turned her face downwards, her brow knitting together as she blinked rapidly at the ground. The fabric that she had been ripping hung limply in her hands.
He wanted to take her by the shoulders and give her a good shake. Didn’t she know it was folly, that it was pathetic, to have her heart so visible, he wanted to scream as he watched her expression crumple. Instead, Astarion stared at her, stricken and unsettled as his anger quickly melted into a growing unease.
Eventually, Karlach let out a disgusted sigh, breaking the thick silence.
“What?” He snarled, desperately barbing himself in his anger so he didn’t have to think too hard about the poignant hurt on her face. “Am I wrong? What good is it to blindly throw yourself into a pit of spiders? What if something happened to y—” Astarion cut himself off sharply from that thought to rapidly pivot. “What if something happened to us after you dragged us into your little heroics? Are you going to take responsibility for playing the hero?”
She let out a laugh, but it sounded a little wet. Something in Astarion’s chest seized uncomfortably. “You’re right,” she said, her voice forcibly airy as she cleared her throat. The residue of her hurt was clear enough on her face that Astarion had a difficult time looking directly at her. Not that she was looking at him anymore. “I’m sorry everyone for dragging you into all these tasks, I won’t ask that of anyone again,” she said. The worse part, Astarion realized, was that she meant it. “Um,” she began, rummaging through her pack, her face downturned away from him. “Here. For the book,” she said choppily, thrusting a purple stone into his hands. It took him a moment to recognize it as the amethyst she had picked up in the spider’s lair.
Astarion held it in his hands dumbly, his words caught in his throat and his anger rapidly waning. “Xuan— I—” he began as he reached out to her, not knowing where his words or his hands were going.
Fortunately — or rather, unfortunately — for him, it didn’t matter that he didn’t know where they were going, because before he could finish his sentence or touch her, she recoiled back, her expression finally shuttering close.
“I’ll head back to camp first.”
— — — — —
A soft rustling outside his tent. Astarion recognized those footfalls anywhere, but before he could speak up, a gentle rasp against one of the wooden poles holding up his tent. “Astarion?”
He surged to his feet so quickly that the unopened Book of Necromancy in his lap clattered to the ground with a thud. He carded a hand through his hair swiftly as he cleared his throat, “Yes?” The tent flap opened just enough for him to see her. “What can I do for you, darling?” Inwardly, he grimaced at the eagerness in his voice.
With her backlit by the campfire, it was difficult to see her face properly. “It’s been a few days,” she said quietly, still standing outside his tent.
A tremble of something akin to hope stirred in his chest. They hadn’t properly spoken in days now. It was starting to drive him a little mad. And though he had suspected that his long term plans of manipulating her into protection were over, he had spent the better parts of the past few nights wracking his brain on ways to salvage it. To save his plan, of course, was the only reason why he continued to think about it. Maybe they were still salvageable. Perhaps she was there for an apology, one that he wouldn’t mind giving if it meant that there was still a chance for him.
Astarion opened his mouth quickly, eagerly, when she continued, “You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.”
Oh. So that was why she was here. He closed his mouth, ignoring the crumbling sense of disappointment. What reason was there for him to feel dismay? This was the best possible outcome, he told himself. He didn’t need to apologize or do anything to salvage their relationship or his plan and the foolish monk would still give him sustenance.
So why did he feel so wretched?
“Oh,” Astarion said glumly, before catching himself and drawing his posture straight. His delighted smirk came to him with more resistance than normal as he beckoned her in. “You already know that I’d love to if you’re offering.”
Xuan didn’t respond as she stepped into his tent carefully, closing the flap behind her. He watched as she settled quickly on the floor. Astarion followed, dropping to kneel next to her. She smelled intoxicating over the cheap jasmine scent of the rubbish soap she had bartered from the trader. He swallowed thickly as she swept her hair back from the nape of her neck. Though he had seen her do it countless times now, he still felt something deep within him warm and thrum.
Astarion leaned in before pausing, waiting for her to grasp at his shoulders or his arms to brace for the sting. Only, she sat perfectly still and stiff as he leaned closer, her hands still clasped tightly in her lap. He waited for a moment longer before she cleared her throat expectantly. “Is something wrong?”
Astarion blinked down at her, fangs still out as he tried to give a reassuring smirk though he knew she couldn’t see it anyways. Maybe it was more for him. “No, of course not, sweetheart.” Swallowing the feeling of unease, he closed the distance between them and pierced her skin.
He was careful this time to keep count of his gulps despite the haze that rapidly surrounded him at the taste of her blood. Even around his hunger and daze, he could feel how she stiffened in his hands and never quite relaxed. After the seventh gulp of her blood, Astarion drew back, licking at his lips. He raised his arms preemptively to bracket around her shoulders, expecting her to droop a little against him as she always did after the blood loss, but before he could properly hold her, she lurched to her feet stiffly, pale-faced and wobbling. “Darling? You’re going to hurt yourself—” he began, alarmed as he rose to his feet after her, his hand reaching out to support her.
But again, before he could properly touch her, Xuan flinched back from his hand. Astarion felt something in him twist violently as she took another staggering step backwards. He realized then, belatedly, that she wasn’t properly looking at him, her expression shuttered close. “Find me whenever you’re hungry,” she said, voice as formal and stiff as when he had first met her. The perfect image of an impartial monk.
“You’re not going to stay?” He blurted, disbelieving as he lurched after her. He felt as though she had clubbed him over the head. He knew he had upset her, but he figured… since she came to offer him her blood, that maybe it was all sorted out now. That they would return to before, when she would lean against him for a few wonderful moments to recover, when they’d talk about nothing in particular in low murmurs. Maybe steal a few kisses.
She paused outside his tent. “Is there any reason to?”
Astarion felt a little ill. So he fell back into the persona he knew best, letting his face relax and eyes go half-lidded in the way he knew made her blush. Only, she was still not quite looking at him. “Oh, I can think of several reasons to stay,” he purred. “Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.” He was rambling now, though he was sure she wouldn’t be able to tell past the smooth honey of his words. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”
Finally, she looked at him. Astarion froze. She looked so terribly resigned, her shoulders set. “No, that’s not what I want,” she said softly, her voice distant as she looked away from him again. “And even if it was, you made it perfectly clear that it was a distraction. Good night, Astarion.”
For the first time ever since he’s gotten the tadpole in his brain, Astarion felt an emotion he knew too well. He felt miserable.
— — — — —
When he emerged from his tent the next morning, after a long night of trying not to repeat her words, Astarion was met with an unsettling silence. The others had already awoken, but they were milling around nervously. He frowned at the tension as he took a mental headcount. Their party that did most of the heavy lifting outside of camp seemed to be gone. “Where did the others go?” He asked, his question directed to Gale, who was putting salve on a new injury that had been keeping him at camp recently.
The wizard hesitated, seemingly not quite able to look him in the eye. “They left at dawn,” he said reluctantly. “Well, she was going to go by herself but Wyll caught her sneaking out,” Gale said pointedly, giving him as much of a glare as he was capable of. “The others insisted on going, in case you were wondering.”
“All of them?” Astarion pressed impatiently, looking around camp again. Xuan, Halsin, Wyll, and Karlach were indeed gone. He ignored the sharp twist of hurt in his gut at being left behind. Halsin? She took the bulking druid over him? He knew for a fact that the bear of a druid wouldn’t be able to sneak anywhere.
“She said something about monster hunter by a hag’s den—”
A cold jolt ran through Astarion as he stiffened. “Where is the hag’s den?” He demanded, already reaching for his pack and crossbow.
“You made it rather clear that you didn’t approve of activities unrelated to the tadpoles, spawn,” Lae’zel said from behind him.
To everyone’s surprise, he ignored Lae’zel’s jab as he towered over the wizard. “Where is the hag’s den?”
— — — — —
Astarion ran like he had never ran before. Past the Emerald Grove Environs, past the Blighted Village, straight to the Putrid Bogs. It was fortunate he didn’t need to breathe as a spawn because he was sure he would have collapsed on the ground by then.
When he rounded the bend of the Riverside Teahouse that Gale had marked on his map, the sight made his already-cold blood run colder.
“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Astarion demanded as he neared the party, his eyes tracking over her limbs to make sure they were intact. Her face was deathly pale, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. She was clutching at her stomach as she leaned heavily against Wyll. Astarion stared intently at where she was holding, but there didn’t seem to be any blood or gaping wound on her torso.
“Astarion? What are you doing here?”
“Give her to me,” Astarion snapped at Wyll, reaching forward to grasp at her shoulders carefully before the tiefling could argue. “Where are you hurt?” He asked again, running his hands carefully down her limbs again, just to make sure. “Was it an arrow?” She always left her left flank open — that’s where Astarion normally stood. Gods damn it, he cursed inwardly, taking in the cut on her cheek. He should’ve told the others to fill in her left flank.
She shied away from his grasp, but Astarion kept a firm hold on her. “Astarion, I’m fine,” she began unconvincingly.
He swallowed back his growing panic and bent at the waist, looping one arm swiftly under her knees, the other behind her back to carry her bridal-style. At his lift, she yelped in surprise, but before she could argue, Astarion moved forward, not bothering to see if the others were following. “Shadowheart can heal you back at camp.”
“Astarion, I’m fine. Put me down,” she demanded. When he didn’t pause, she continued. “I didn’t get hurt, I just… I just ate a bad apple.”
Astarion stopped mid-step. “A bad apple,” he repeated.
“Yeah, we found a few in the crates by the den and I…” she trailed off, clearly embarrassed.
“Non-vampires,” Astarion huffed under his breath, feeling his panic begin to ebb away slowly. He almost laughed at how ridiculous the situation was. “—always going around and eating the first thing they see.”
“My blood will be fine in a few hours if that’s why you came—”
A sharp twinge in his chest. He ignored it. “That’s not why I came.”
“So can you put me down now?”
Right. He was still carrying her against his chest. She was so wonderfully, terribly warm. It felt like he was holding the sun against his chest. But it wasn’t until he was holding her that he realized how terribly fragile she seemed. Dimly, he wished she was part-orc. If she was going to be such a stubborn monk and not use armor, how could she be so flimsy? “No, I don’t want to,” he said mulishly, resuming his walking.
“But I’m fine, really, nothing a little rest can’t fix up later—”
“Then rest now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“I’m getting blood on your tunic.”
“A waste.”
To his satisfaction, she fell silent as he continued walking, though he could practically hear her unhappiness. “So why did you come, Astarion?”
Astarion thought he would never tire of hearing his name from her. After 200 years under Cazador, he had gotten too used to being referred to only as spawn or worse names. He kept his voice level as he trudged forward, careful not to step on any uneven parts of the path. “The wizard said you found a monster hunter.”
He felt her stiffen in his arms as she tried to straighten out of them. “He was looking for you. Sent by someone in Baldur’s Gate.”
Astarion ignored the chill that ran down his spine. “I know.”
She wriggled a little more, clearly trying to see his expression, but Astarion kept his attention forward steadfastly. “I didn’t say anything about you, if that’s why you came,” she said, almost indignantly. She was practically bristling in his arms. “I would never give you up.”
Astarion ignored the warmth that spread in his chest. “I know.”
She didn’t seem to hear him as she continued, her voice rising in anger. He would never admit it, but he was relieved to see that she was angry — even if it was at him — rather than that awful distant formality that’s been between them. “I would never,” she said again bitterly, working herself into a little tiff. “I know you see me as just a distraction, that you think that I’m just… just—”
“You always keep your left flank open.”
“I always keep my left flank open,” she parroted instantly, before pausing in clear disbelief. Then she bristled. “I always keep my left flank open? So now you have no faith in my fighting either—”
“You always keep your left flank open.” Astarion said again, swallowing thickly. To cover it up, he sighed, as if she was being unbearably daft. “That’s why I came.” She fell silent and Astarion found it unsettling enough that he continued onwards, his tone growing more dramatic the more nervous he grew. “Because who else is there to fill in your left flank? The gods know that with Halsin as hulking as he is, he’d probably stumble over his feet and crush you. I doubt he has the dexterity to fill in your left flank if the situation calls for it. ”
“And you think you’re the better option to fill it?”
Astarion’s irritation flared. “Of course,” he snapped sharply before forcing his shoulders to relax. He took a slow breath. “I guarantee you that none of our other companions have as keen a sense as to when you’re going to rashly throw yourself into the path of a goblin. No one else is paying nearly enough attention, of course.” She was silent again at this, and Astarion couldn’t help but continue as he began to work himself into an indignant sort of vexation. “Speaking of keeping your left flank open, you also really ought to not carry your heart so openly on your sleeve,” Astarion berated. “The wrong person might come by and use it against you and… and…”
“And?”
“And it’s unpleasant to see!” He blurted, chest heaving now. He clamped his mouth shut much too late, mortification coiling through his body. She also fell silent, his mismatched words undoubtedly playing through her head.
When she finally spoke up again, Astarion nearly dropped her. “You know, if you were concerned about me, you should have just said so from the start.”
He closed his eyes, willing for patience. “Was it not clear enough from the start? Anyone with two eyes would be concerned about a naive monk rushing headlong into battle,” he muttered irritably to the air.
Her voice turned solemn. “I can’t keep up with you, Astarion,” she said softly, sounding glum. “You do things like this that make me think that maybe, just maybe, you care for me. And then you go about with the most cutting words to say that I’m a distraction.”
She was already ignoring his lecture about not wearing her heart on her sleeve. His stubborn monk. Something deep in Astarion’s chest throbbed painfully, the ghost of a heartbeat. “Yes, well, it’s entirely possible you’re a distraction because I’ve grown to care for you,” he said stiffly. It was perhaps the most honest he’s been with her and it was an entirely uncomfortable feeling. It was an awful feeling, entirely disgusting, he thought. Astarion fought the urge to flee. “I’m putting you down now.”
“No, I don’t want to,” she said mulishly, parroting him earlier smugly. His chest tightened when he felt her tuck her head against his shoulder, her fingers grasping at the collar of his shirt. Astarion stilled instantly, any thoughts of putting her down quickly disarmed. If this was what he got for being honest, maybe he would consider it. At this proximity, he could smell that awful jasmine scent she seemed to love. He really needed to steal her some fragrance oils the next time they came across a trader. He started walking again, belatedly realizing that he had already lost the battle he had inadvertently started.
Gods, help me, he thought as he tightened his grasp around his little sun.