Work Text:
He found himself lying in a dark empty tunnel with nothing but stone surrounding him.
Astarion could not remember how he got there, when he opened his eyes to see nothing more than rock and dirt both around him and under his feet. The tunnel was completely dark save for the slight glow of light from some lichen on the ceiling. It was just enough to allow his darkvision to function, though shadows still clung to the sides of the crevice like magical darkness would. The rock itself appeared to be a mix of gray stone he couldn’t identify, slate and a bit of obsidian, all minerals he’d grown used to seeing in the Underdark. The ceiling itself was dirt, barely high enough that he could fully stand up.
“What in the hells,” he said, stepping forward and trying to steady himself. He felt off, his mind foggy, like it often was back when he lived under Cazador and a mix of hunger and pain took up whatever energy he could spare. The hunger was at the forefront now, gnawing at his stomach with a fierceness he hadn’t felt in decades. It made it hard to think past anything that wasn’t his thirst, but he made an effort of it regardless.
What had he been doing last? Something with Rune probably, a job of some sort? They’d been taking more of those recently. He walked forward and pressed his hands against the stone that made up the wall behind him. It wasn’t too packed and when he pressed against it, some of it crumpled into his hands and fell through his fingers. Like it had when-
Oh no. Not this again. He was not going to do this again. He was free goddamn it. That meant he was done with beatings, done with using his body to keep feed and done with being buried fucking alive.
Buried alive probably wasn’t the right term exactly. It wasn’t like people got buried in tunnels, at least not intentionally. Cave-ins happened, sure, but it was much different than a coffin. Here, he could at least stand and pace a little. And given his undead nature, oxygen wasn’t a concern. But the low height of the roof, the smell of fresh grave dirt and the short distance that made up the width of the pocket of earth reminded him far too much of the coffin for his nerves.
Astarion tore his mind from the memory of wood splinters under his fingernails and streaks of blood above his head where he’d tried to claw himself free. This had to be a cave in. Not some intentional torture on Cazador’s part, just his own shitty bad luck. It had to be a cave-in. Which meant-
Gods he couldn’t remember what it meant. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear or the hunger that made it impossible to think clearly. Perhaps it was both.
He scoured through the tunnel, looking to see if there were any places that could provide an escape. He held his hand to cracks in the stone, trying to feel for air, but he came back empty. If there was a way out of here, it had been lost in whatever collapse had befallen it. Astarion briefly considered trying to dig through the dirt roof, but as soon as the soil began falling onto the floor, he thought better of it. He had more space than a coffin, at least. Best not chance limiting that area.
After three more pass through a to make sure he didn’t miss anything, Astarion sat down. Buried alive. Again. It wasn’t a coffin, but that wasn’t much of a mercy. It only meant there was more space here to claw at the walls until his fingernails bleed, that he could now hear his voice echo as his screams became the only way he remembered how to communicate.
A part of him was aware he was panicking. In his defense, this was something worth panicking about. He let the feeling take him, deciding it better than the hunger, and lost track of time for a little while.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he noticed the corpse, but it had to be at least several hours.
It was hard to see, there in the dark, but he saw it all the same. Crumpled down the tunnel where the roof was lower, was a dead body. The lack of movement or sound of breathing made its status rather clear. It was facing away from him, wearing a robe, and given how it was positioned on the floor, rigor mortis must have sunk in.
How he hadn’t seen it before was frankly astonishing. Had he been so caught up in his panic that he missed a whole dead body as he searched for an exit? He frankly doubted it; he hadn’t been here nearly long enough to lose all his senses. But he was positive he hadn’t missed any exits. His hunger had impacted his senses, sure, but he should have noticed a corpse with the smell of blood. Well, assuming the corpse had bled at all when it expired.
Astarion squinted to try to better make out the corpse at the end of the tunnel. Even with his dark vision, he couldn’t see much of them, but they didn’t smell of decay yet. Dead bodies tended to start smelling after 24 hours for those without enhanced senses, but Astarion had found he could pick up the scent of decomposition within the first few hours. He couldn’t smell blood at first either, there was none split alright, but when he closed his eyes, he could taste the very hint of it on his tongue. Salvia pooled in his mouth in response.
Gods was he hungry. It was frankly absurd how hungry he was. Even if he hurt himself in the cave in, he hadn’t craved blood like this since Cazador’s more brutal starvation punishments. It didn’t make any sense why he was so desperate.
He dug his fingers into the dirt under him, puffs of dust coming from the movement. Blood from a dead body was consumable within the first few hours of death, but it had a nasty aftertaste.If he was truly trapped here for a considerable amount of time, it would be best to drink immediately while he still could. Back during that terrible year, Cazador had locked him away without even a rat to satisfy him. A full body, even if stale, would be something of a mercy, even should starvation soon take him. If it didn’t provide him some extra time to figure his way out of this hellhole, it would at least save him from his hunger if only for a day or two.
The bastard was dead already, anyway. Might as well.
He made his way to his feet and walked over to the body. Now that he was closer, he could make out some of the features of the corpse. It looked to be over five feet though it was hard to tell for sure given how it curled in on itself, and it wore a tattered robe, the kind Astarion usually saw on spellcasters. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the color, but it was a darker tone, with flourishes of a lighter color to embellish the edge of the hood, the cuffs and the bottom of the garment. Astarion thought he could see some embroidery on the sleeves but it was hard to make out. Anyway, what use was paying attention to the craftsmanship? The most the robe could offer him was use as a blanket, if it wasn’t soiled with bodily fluids.
Another step forward and he could make out more of the body. A rounded pale ear was visible poking out from behind the hood; human then. There was a curl of light colored hair loose in front of said ear and for some reason, Astarion wanted to tuck it behind the shell, like that was where it belonged.
It wasn’t in great shape-the lobe was torn where a piercing was likely yanked out- but it didn’t seem off color, which could mean the corpse was poisoned.There was some dried blood from the remnant of that would, and whatever little thought Astarion still had in his mind vanished at the smell.
The figure was on the lean side, he thought, as he bent down in front of the corpse. It was hard to tell with the robe in the way. He shuffled to get closer to the body and paused as he heard the sound of something metallic rolling over the stone. It was hard to see, even with his dark vision. Feeling like an idiot, he tapped his hand on the ground until his palm rested on a metallic hook and what felt like a crystal of some sort.
The earring. Right, the corpse looked like it lost one. Astarion considered throwing it against the wall, pretty baubles wouldn’t help him here, until he considered the earring hook. Maybe he could use it as a tool, though he had no idea how it could be useful. But he couldn’t afford to waste any potential supplies.
He’d gotten lax in his freedom. 200 years of Hell had taught him to waste nothing and after a year on his own, he’d almost forgotten that hard earned lesson. Stupid.
He tucked the earring into his pocket and once again turned his focus to the corpse. Removing the hood and feasting from the neck would serve best, but for some reason, Astarion was reluctant to see their face. It wasn’t out of guilt, he needed to eat and the corpse wasn’t using it’s mostly fresh blood, but something in him screamed he needed to keep the hood on at all costs. So instead, he reached for their right wrist, and pulled it towards him. The pale skin was still a little warm to the touch; an echo of the life that once inhabited it. He barely waited for the sleeve to fall before he bit in.
There was nothing like the taste of the blood of thinking creatures. Astarion had thought it was perhaps overblown as a way to cope back under Cazador, but once he’d gotten his first taste, he knew there was no comparison to animals. While this blood was a little stale, and he had to work extra to consume it without the aid of a functional circulatory system, it was just as divine. All thinking creatures had a different taste, even among the same races, but somehow they were all delicious. Astarion closed his eyes and luxuriated in the taste as the hunger that gnawed at him shut up.
The corpse tasted like a rich brandy, full of sweet notes that were just shy of being too much. He wasn’t sure what fruits it tasted like, all food tasted like ash to him, but it smelled slightly of apples, perhaps? That wasn’t the only smell. He could smell a hint of flowers to it: as a practiced perfumer Astarion could make out an undercurrent of begonias which was overpowered by daffodils and hydrangeas. It was an odd combination of floral scents, but he found it intoxicating regardless as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful. He could even taste the slightest tinge of mint.
It was so good. As his mind cleared of hunger, the corpse below him almost drained, he could place another aspect to the flavor. A tingling of sorts on the back of his tongue, like harmless static. It was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it had something to do with casters? He’d tasted it before when he bit-
Astarion’s train of thought grounded to a stop as he drank the last sip of blood the corpse would offer him. He had tasted this exact flavor profile before. How could he forget, even under the haze of hunger?
Rune had been his first after all.
No. He couldn’t have. He’d mistaken the taste, lost in the memory of happier times. There was no way, even in his worst hunger that he wouldn’t-
Astarion pulled his teeth out of the now savaged wrist and his gaze fell to the sleeve of the robe. It had fallen when he fed and now that he was up close, he could make out some of the embroidery on the cuff. It was a pattern he knew well: he made it himself.
It was a sun. Stylized to have the rays stretch out in waves, but obviously a sun. He couldn’t see the color in the darkness, but Astarion knew it was stitched out of metallic golden thread, from a dwarf outpost near an entrance to the Underdark. It wasn’t real gold, such delights were for the extremely wealthy, but it mimicked the shine just as well. The artist had used intersecting lines of thread to add depth, and Astarion ran his thumb across the beads that adorned the rays. Those beads were from a different vendor, a drow trader who he’d stolen them from when their back wasn’t turned. They were a beautiful yellow that gleamed under bright light, not that he’d known it at the time. It wasn’t until Rune cast lightning bolt, the day after he finally gave them back their robes, that he saw the bobbles glean in the blue light.
( They’d asked him, once, why he’d made a sun on the cuff. He hadn’t been able to provide them a suitable answer. But he knew the rough outline of why, even if he couldn’t figure out how to put it into words. He missed the sun dearly, and despite Rune’s aspirations to return it to him, remained skeptical that he would ever enjoy its warmth again. But turning away from the Ascension meant he could still bask in the warmth of other more important things, like Rune’s gleeful embrace when they saw what he’d done with their worn robes) .
His entire body froze, like he was the one undergoing rigor mortis. It couldn’t be. Someone must have stolen the robes, taken them as their own. Anything other than the most likely conclusion. He dropped the wrist of the corpse. With a trembling hand, Astarion reached into the pocket he’d placed the earring from earlier and looked down at his palm.
“Oh, those are new,” Astarion teased, leaning forward to poke the new gemstones that hung from Rune’s ears. They were at a larger town outside of one of the largest entrances to the Underdark, stocking up on supplies before seeking out the spawn. The sorcerer tried to hide their smile, but the mirth in their eyes was frankly obvious.
“Got them from the market.” They tilted their head so the earrings swung, the torchlight glancing off the gems. “Do you like them?”
“Not as much as the wearer, but yes, they’re beautiful.” Astarion leaned in to get a better look at them. Rune delighted in shiny accessories, so much that Astarion teased them with the nickname “magpie” once or twice. The earrings consisted of silver hoops with two red stones hanging from the bottom. The gems appeared to be rubies, or at least, very good fakes. He couldn’t see any air bubbles, at least. “I am surprised to see you choosing red, though.”
Rune rarely wore red, disliking the way it reminded them of their father’s symbol and blood soaked halls. Of the three sets of earrings they had in their possession, two were silver and one had charms spun from bright blue glass. The last set Astarion had acquired (stolen) for them from a dreadful woman back in the gate while she was still wearing them, much to Rune’s delight.
Rune reached up and pinched the gemstone in their right ear. “It reminded me of something I’m fond of.” Before Astarion could inquire about what, they leaned forward and pressed a kiss between Astarion’s eyes. “I know they’re not your original color, but I still rather like them.”
It was nice to have his eyes compared to precious jewels rather than blood, Astarion thought.
Back in the dark tunnel, in Astarion’s palm, was a ruby gemstone, attached to a silver hoop. It was a perfect match to the earrings Rune wore that day with one exception; these were crusted in blood.
It was like time sped up again. Astarion lunged forward and pulled back the hood of the robe of the figure in front of him. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was someone else.
The world had dished out enough cruelty to him within 200 years, surely it could not do this to him as well.
The world did not care for his plight or maybe he was just made to suffer. Because when he pulled the hood free, Rune’s dead eyed gaze met his own.
“No, no, no, no, no.” He felt for a pulse, even though the blood in his belly and the clouding over Rune’s eyes told him he wouldn’t find one. When he didn’t find one, he pushed down further, as if he’d missed it the first time. As if he hadn’t drunk their corpse dry. “Rune, wake up.”
Oh Gods. What if they’d been alive when he bit them? He’d been so sure the body in front of him was dead when he approached it, but he’d also been so out of it that he hadn’t recognized Rune at all. What if they’d just been badly hurt? If that was the case, then maybe they’d only died just now. If that was the case, then revivify-
(If that was true, then he’d killed them. If he’d been wrong, he’d killed them himself, without even recognizing them in his hunger. Like a mad dog that tore into anything in sight).
(How cruel a situation, that he hoped he’d been the one to land the killing blow, if it meant he might be able to bring them back).
“Rune!” He shook them again. No response. Astarion almost ripped open Rune’s pockets as he tried to find anything that might help him. How much time had to pass before a revivify scroll would no longer work? Surely that timeframe was long gone, but he could try anyway. It was worth trying. He found a few spools of thread (likely a surprise for Astarion) some mint candies, and a few rags. No spell scrolls. As he reached for their next pocket, his hands shook.
“Don’t you do this to me, you absolute bastard,” he snarled as the contents of Rune’s second pocket fell to the floor. A compass, a map, their favorite lipstick but nothing else. Not even their journal, which they always had on them. Not only no scroll, but no remaining words that he could read. There was nothing here he could recognize that could help him.
With enough time in this pit, Rune’s body would cease to be something he could recognize either.
(He’d seen a corpse decompose before. Once or twice Cazador had locked him in a room with one for a few days. Just Astarion, the corpse and the maggots and houseflies feasting on what remained. With his vampire senses, the smell of putrefaction was even worse than it would be if he was a human. Would he be forced to remain here and see Rune’s skin discolor, their body begin to bloat with the gasses building up inside? Would he be forced to see places he once pressed kisses to turn black with rot? What about when their hair fell out, and they began to-stop it, stop it, STOP IT).
He yelled again. He doubted anyone could hear him, but it was worth a try, at the very least. “Let me out. I need help. Godsdamnit, please!” He hated saying the word please. He’d screamed his throat raw with the word in that tiny coffin and swore to never say it again. It was a promise one couldn’t keep, not with Cazador pulling his strings, but he’d meant it at the time.
No one answered.
“Rune,” he said, shaking them again, but there was no force to it. Their eyes stared back blankly at him, and while he was sure he was imaging the blame there, it didn’t help the nausea in his gut. What would they think of him, treating their corpse not with grief or horror but delight at a means of sustenance? It was monstrous. He was monstrous. He resented the sensation of feeling full, the blood he’d taken thoughtlessly, the clarity it would torture him with as they rotted away in this hovel. At least if he was starving, his mind would be somewhere other than this nightmare before him. Tears began to pool from his eyes, and he held them back, taking gasping breaths. What right did he have to them, after this?
He pulled his hands away from Rune, wanting to touch, but feeling like he hadn’t the right. It was always going to end this way, he thought, bending forward so his forehead touched the ground. An animalistic howl came from his mouth, almost unrecognizable. He gasped, thrusting his hands out to dig into the dirt for purchase-
-and there was moss under his palms.
Astarion stared down at the ground in astonishment. He was still on his knees. Gone was the dirt, the darkness of the room, the corpse in his arms. Instead, there was a musty smell in his nose, the kind of overpowering aroma that came from the underdark, and a hand gripping his shoulder tightly. A hand-
“Astarion?”
Astarion’s head snapped up. Rune was kneeling in front of him, their hand on his shoulder, mouth turned down with concern. Not dead, not a lifeless husk he would be forced to watch decompose in a claustrophobic tunnel, but alive. Their earrings were still dangling from both of their ear lobes. They shook his shoulder again, and Astarion couldn’t help but stare as they moved.
Alive.
“You got hit by a nasty spell,” Rune said, their frown deepening as Astarion continued to not say a word. “I think it was phantasmal killer. I tried to counterspell it, but-” They gestured behind them with their hand not grabbing Astarion’s shoulder, and a few meters behind them, Astarion could see the wizard on the ground, surrounded by shards of his skeleton minions. “I managed to get him, but it took more time than I wanted.” They moved their free hand back to their robes and shoved it into their pockets. After a moment, they brought out a rag and moved it closely to Astarion’s face. When he didn’t flinch away, they rubbed at the wetness under his nose. When the rag retreated, Astarion could see blood soaked into the fabric.
Right, nosebleed. A side effect from these types of spells. Given how much was on the fabric, he’d lost a significant amount. Memories started to return to him, memories that were lost to him in the spell of that stone room. They were on a job for some deep gnomes, who’d promised them a hefty amount of gold if they took out a human necromancer who’d been stealing their dead for experiments. The last thing Astarion could remember was aiming his bow at said necromancer when a blast of purple light overtook his vision.
“Astarion, can you say something? You’re scaring me.” Rune leaned forward just a fraction, brow wrinkled. Astarion still couldn’t find his own voice. Maybe he left it in that hallucination of a tunnel, where his world had collapsed just like the stone rocks around him.
“Okay, plan B,” Rune said, their frown deepening into a determined grimace. Astarion watched as they rolled up the sleeve of their robe and shirt and thrust their wrist out towards him, right in front of his mouth.
Astarion recoiled so hard he backed up into the stone wall of the cave. His fingers dug into the dirt, and even though he didn’t need to breath, he found himself gasping for air. Rune dropped their hand, startled and before they moved closer, Astarion’s words returned to him.
“No! I-“ he sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Phantasmal killer. It wasn’t real. He was in the Underdark. Rune was alive. “What in the Gods’ name are you thinking?”
Despite Astarion’s sharp tone, Rune relaxed significantly. They didn’t extend their wrist again, thank the Gods for that. “I thought you might need some blood. You lost a lot with the spell.”
“And waste a perfectly good dead wizard right there!” Even though Astarion felt unsteady, he managed to make his way to his feet. He wanted to embrace Rune, crush them close to his chest and listen to their heartbeat, but he resisted. Even with the necromancer down, there still could be danger about. His relief would have to wait until later. Astarion could almost feel Rune’s eyes on him as he made his way over to the dead wizard, who thankfully looked nothing like Rune. “You didn’t poison her or anything, did you?”
“That’s your thing,” Ruen replied, and Astarion could hear shuffling from behind them as they got to their feet. “Chain lightning, actually.”
Breaking out chain lightning for a wizard and half a dozen skeletons? He had scared them. Astarion brushed some of the dirt off his armor and leaned down to grab the arm of their attacker. He was pleased to notice his hand barely shook as he lifted their wrist up towards his mouth.
“As soon as I’m done here, we’re going home,” he grumbled. He bit down and for once, he didn’t close his eyes to properly enjoy the taste of the blood. Instead, his gaze was too focused on the wizard’s face, the soft jawline, small button nose and blonde hair. This wasn’t Rune. It was a nightmare.
He kept his eyes open anyway, less the corpse in front of him become Rune when he wasn’t looking.
He managed to keep it together until they were back home.
Rune asked him once about what he saw during the spell, but Astarion avoided the topic, wanting to stay away from the false image as much as possible. Rune didn’t push, but he doubted they missed how he held their hand during points on the walk back. He also didn’t doubt they missed how he had them take the longer path home that didn’t involve some more claustrophobic tunnels, but they didn’t mention it. When the pair finally made it back to the small hamlet they called home, he found himself thankful that Rune lacked darkvision. It was a nuisance to gadge how lit a place should be to support human eyes. But it also meant the house was surrounded by bioluminescent mushrooms, arcane lanterns and magical torches.
It was the opposite of the dank and dark space Astarion thought he was trapped in an hour previous.
When they got inside, Astarion finally pulled Rune into an embrace. They fell into his arms with no protest despite the dirt and blood on his armor. As he pressed his face into their collarbone, he felt their right arm wrap around his side, while their left began to comb through his hair. It would likely ruin his perfect locks, but he didn’t mind, feeling their pulse thrum steady and sure.
Having a mortal lover meant he wouldn’t go hungry, but it also meant that one day, he would go without them entirely. He knew how long humans lived, and while he tried not to think about it, it was hard not to after a day like this. Rune thought they were in their early to middle thirties, give or take. How many years did that leave Astarion with, when he had forever?
“Nasty piece of spellwork, huh?” Rune said, their fingers still tangled in his hair. Astarion could see the opening for him to speak about what he saw if he wanted to. He didn’t take it. Instead, Astarion took a deep breath that he didn’t need that felt steadying regardless.
“Nasty indeed,” he said, pulling himself reluctantly away from them. He needed to change, badly. “You should make yourself something to eat.” With that, he pressed a quick kiss to their lips before he went to change.
When he returned to the sitting room, Rune was already seated at the small table only Rune ate meals at, shoveling some sort of gruel into their mouth like they hadn’t eaten in years. While they were still on the lean side from years of malnutrition and lack of sleep, they’d finally managed to put on some weight. Astarion slumped down in the chair across from them, and placed his hands on the table, one finger following the grain of the wood.
“I have a question for you.” He didn’t mean to ask the question, truly, but the psychic damage must have rattled his senses enough to ask before he thought it through. Rune looked up at him, placing their now empty bowl on the table.
“I might have an answer,” they said, putting their spoon also in the empty bowl. Astarion considered backing out, maybe asking something inane instead, but the spell must have rattled his ability to lie too, because he couldn’t think of a possible alternative question.
Well, he had asked Rune how they would like to be murdered within weeks of meeting them and they’d still slept with him. Surely they wouldn’t run screaming from a question like this.
(A part of him had to know. Would they hate him, in that misery of a situation?)
“It’s a bit odd.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“And morbid.”
Rune chuckled. “That’s never stopped you before either. Or me, for that matter.” They watched him for a few moments, before a small frown pulled at the corner of their lips. “Astarion, what is it?”
It all came out in a rush. “If you died, would you be angry with me if I drank your blood?”
Rune stared at him for a moment, their eyebrows raising in a way that pulled at their forehead scar. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” Astarion nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of nausea roiling in his gut. It was truly unfair that he still could get nauseous in his undeath. it wasn’t like he still digested things like the living. There was a moment of silence before Rune spoke next. “Well, I guess I need more information first. I assume there’s no immediate way to revive me in this scenario?”
Astarion wasn’t sure how he felt about that being their first question. He would have hoped the answer would be rather obvious. Did they really think so little of him? “Of course. It’s offensive you’d think otherwise.”
Rune winced at whatever emotion they read on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I know you would. I just wanted to make sure I understood the hypothetical. And I haven’t been dead long, right?”
Astarion bristled. Sometimes Rune’s tendency to get stuck on the details could be rather annoying. Didn’t he just say he would revive them if he had the option? He couldn’t think of another reason the amount of time would be important. “No, but I already said I have no immediate way to revive you-“
Rune waved their left hand in front of him, gesturing for him to stop. He did, but his objections lingered on the tip of his tongue, should their interjection not prove satisfactory.
“Oh it’s not about revival.” Rune said. Astarion stared at them, rather lost, and they took his silence as permission to continue. “You told me blood goes bad after a while. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.” They paused again, their expression taking on that far off look again. “Actually, that was probably a stupid clarification to ask for; why would you bother if it would just make you sick?” They again, brow crinkling in thought. Astarion had often kissed that same brow when Rune made that expression, delighted by how the skin would untense under his lips. “Though I guess-”
“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Astarion managed to say. His pitch was higher than he liked. “How your blood would effect me!?”
Rune quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. “Well, it’s not like I’m using it and you need it. And if you drain me dry, it’s not going to make me more dead, so you might as well, even if revival is possible. Actually, it might not be a bad idea.” They tapped their fingernails on the table, something they did often when they were thinking. “The extra speed and strength would probably be helpful actually-“
He didn’t even notice the tears running down his face till Rune startled at the sight.
“Oh Gods, what did I say? Did I misunderstand the question? You wouldn’t have to, if that’s what you’re worried about. Like, it would be your decision, I’m just saying if you decided to do it, I’d be okay with it.” Astarion couldn’t find words, shaking his head and Rune got up and ran over to his side of the table, their robes catching on the wooden edge. There was the sound of fabric tearing but Rune didn’t even seem to notice. Astarion would have to fix that later, maybe add some new embroidery solely because he could. Rune’s hands fluttered in front of Astarion’s face, unsure if touch would be welcome. They were talking faster every second.
“Was it the revival thing? I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t bring me back, I know you would, I’d just be a little put out if drinking was your first priority.” They stopped, closed their mouth, and seemed to think a moment before speaking again. Their voice had a more regular pace when they began, but it began to speed up as they spoke, words blending into each other without space to breathe. “Though I suppose it might be a waste of blood if you didn’t, so I can be convinced as long as we agreed on it beforehand. Ideally the situation wouldn’t arise in the first place, but a lot of things don’t happen ideally, and given our collective luck, maybe I should plan for things to go for whatever the opposite of ideally is. Is there a word for that? No that it matters but-”
Astarion snatched one of Rune’s fluttering hands from in front of his face, and grasped it in his own, before covering it with his other hand. Rune shut their mouth, the torrent of words ceasing with it, and Astarion bent his head so his forehead touched where he held their hand with his own.
“I wouldn’t want to drink from you if you died,” he said. He felt Rune untense a fraction, and they placed their free hand on his shoulder, their thumb rubbing into his collarbone.
“You don’t have to,” they whispered, even only it was just the two of them. “I’m just saying if you did, it wouldn’t upset me. I don’t know what you saw in that nightmare, Astarion, but whatever it was, I wouldn’t hate you for it.”
Astarion sighed. He could leave this conversation here, he knew that, along with both the memory of the spell and the fear that underlined it. But if he’d learned anything over these last few months, including their time free of the tadpoles, it was that fears festered the more one kept them hidden away. Sometimes, you had to expose them to the light to confront them properly.
He didn’t have the sun, but the human in front of him had proven themselves capable enough of providing that illumination when he needed it most.
“I was in a cave-” He began, as Rune kneeled in front of him, their hand still both encased and covering his own.
Their touch was warm.