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It was all so sudden.
Half conscious, drunk on the thought of a long rest, you hadn’t even been planning on opening your eyes in the first place. That is, until a shadow blocked the dancing firelight and you felt someone’s breath cascading over the swell of your cheek.
It was Astarion hovering over you, teeth bared in an almost snarl. You weren’t able to get a good look at his expression, it being wiped off his face the moment he saw your wide eyes. If he could have gone any paler, he would have. He swore under his breath and pushed himself away from you.
Disoriented, but awake, you stand.
The pale elf backs away with hunched shoulders, his scarlet eyes darting between your face and your hands — as if he were expecting you to end his life with your bare fists.
“No, no — it’s not what it looks like! I swear.” His voice shakes, and you’re unsure of what to say. He speaks again before you have a chance to come up with anything, “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I… I just needed — well, blood.”
You squint, confused, sleep still clouding your mind. Holding your hand up, you signal for him to wait. Taking a moment, you rub the sleep from your eyes and stretch the fatigue from your limbs.
You and the others had figured there was something off about Astarion. He never ate around the fire with the rest of your party, always basked in the sun a little too long (and never turned pink from it, which was strange for someone as pale as him), and it wasn’t hard to miss his abnormally pointy canines. Until now, you had always pushed doubt aside. Perhaps he had simply been born with albinism.
Yet, there was no use denying it now. He was truly a vampire.
“Okay.” You hum. “What do you need from me?”
Astarion gapes, but recovers quickly enough to explain. “I usually feed on animals.” He gestures aimlessly, like he usually does, but there’s less energy behind it. Less charisma. “But I’m just too slow right now. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Please.”
“That didn’t answer my question.” You tell him with a yawn. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what I need to do.”
“I only need a taste,” he answers, vaguely. “I swear.”
You stand there, allowing his words to sink. “Ah, okay.” You nod, finally starting to feel awake.
You hear him say something else, his tone shocked — like he couldn’t believe you were agreeing without question. Then, his cockiness returns, because of course you would agree without question! You don’t pay much attention to his rambling, already moving to take a seat on your bedroll.
“Yes, yes!” He chirps, “let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”
Crossing your legs, you sit up as straight as you can. You don’t feel like laying down. What if you fell asleep? Would Astarion know when to stop himself? He was hungry. Hungry to the point of drinking from you in the night, to the point of appearing meek when caught. He must’ve been starving. It certainly wouldn’t have been the worst way to go, considering there was a tadpole in your head looking to turn you into an illithid. All in all, this was a better choice.
You tilt your head, presenting your neck to him.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His teeth are sharp, piercing your flesh with ease. You hardly notice the icy feeling that runs through your veins, not when your thoughts begin to waver. You’re shivering, though your skin feels hot. Unbearably hot.
Astarion suddenly pulls away from your bleeding neck. He wasn’t far enough for you to see his face, but far enough to speak without his voice being muffled. “My, my, darling. You’re trembling for me.”
It’s becoming difficult to breathe. Slurring, you reply, “‘m sorry.”
He laughs, but it doesn’t sound genuine. It’s almost nervous in nature, like you’ve threatened him. He caresses your wound with his tongue before he pulls away fully, a frown etched onto his pretty face.
He’s close, but you can’t really see him. It was as though you were laying at the bottom of a river, looking up at him through the surface of the water. You attempt to speak, but it’s unintelligible — garbled and unsure.
You hear your name being called. Everything sounds fuzzy at first, you can’t tell whose voice it is. Then, clear as day, you see Gale.
He’s smiling, holding his arms out for you. You run into them, pressing your face into his robe. He wipes the sweat forming on your brow before pressing a kiss there, “we’re safe.”
“Safe?” You mumble.
“We defeated the mind flayer!” Karlach grins, dancing with Shadowheart.
You didn’t know Shadowheart could dance…
Wyll watches from afar, cheering them on, “Shadowheart! Karlach—”
“Shadowheart!”
You flinch as your companion’s name switches from an excited chant to an anguished cry.
Your sweat has dried, leaving a heavy stickiness on your skin. You feel Astarion’s hand cradling your neck, he must have caught you. You let out a sigh as the soothing balm of magic flutters around you, easing your anxiety.
“Stop fussing, Astarion.” You hear someone scoff. “They fainted. Perfectly normal, given the circumstances.”
Your heart calms. Shadowheart. You slur her name. Your arms feel heavy as you reach out, searching for comfort with your eyes closed.
“All is well.” She soothes, taking your hand. “You’ve never lost that much blood before, have you?”
“No.” You answer honestly, slowly looking up at her. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
Astarion looks pained, his eyes never leaving yours, “I am. Truly.”
You can see Shadowheart tilting her chin up, likely rolling her eyes. “Be careful, won’t you? Some of us were trying to sleep.” Although her words are harsh, she spares you a soft glance before walking away — her dark hair swaying behind her.
“What happened?” You ask Astarion as he carefully lays your head down against your pillow.
“Just as Shadowheart said.” He replies, “you fainted.”
You blink slowly, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you.
“I…” Astarion hesitates, “I thought something far worse had happened.”
“What do you mean?”
You watch him swallow. “You were fine. Then, you looked sick. Very sick. Your skin lost all its color. Hells, your lips turned gray. I thought — I… I thought I…”
He thought he had killed you.
“And that’s not even the worst part!” He complains, sounding more like himself. “You were convulsing like you had been possessed!”
“I’m—”
“No.” He stops you. “No, don’t apologize again. It’s,” his voice softens, “it’s alright.”
You had never heard his voice lilt like that before.
“All this trouble.” He adds, “and for me, no less. I won’t forget this.”
You laugh breathlessly, “neither will I.”
“Rest well, my dear.” He whispers as your eyes shut, “we’ll both get our strength back tonight.”