Chapter Text
“I already apologized, what more do you want? Unless of course…you’re looking for another nibble.”
Erro, the clearly irked elf that had somehow been unanimously designated the leader of their ragtag group, narrowed his emerald eyes at the newly revealed vampire. Said nocturnal creature offered a sly smile in response, bolstering the haughtiness of his suggestion. He arched a brow in question—icing on the cake. The dark-haired elf clenched his jaw and turned his head to the side to regard the others as they approached from behind him.
“A vampire among us? So be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him.” Lae’zel hissed, her short nose wrinkling further in disdain.
Shadowheart gave the githyanki a quick, distasteful glance but then turned her narrowed eyes to Astarion. “I’d just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat”, she stated a bit more amicably.
“Enough, we need him…like it or not.” Erro grumbled, fingers grazing delicately over the fresh puncture wounds in his neck.
The others heeded the elf’s advice, yet their expressions remained chagrined as they spun around and headed back to their respective tents. All except…Gale. Those inquisitive brown eyes of his bored into Astarion as the others retreated, catching the pale elf’s attention. He met the stare challengingly, spine rigid but lips curled charismatically. The wizard quirked a corner of his mouth but otherwise gave little of his thoughts away. Instead, the human crossed his arms and made a show of looking his companion up and down.
“Vampire, eh?”
Astarion fought the urge to scowl. Nevertheless, he was, if anything, a man of theatrical disposition. He lifted a hand and pretended to study his nails, feigning disinterest.
“Does that bother you?”
Gale scratched at his beard thoughtfully, eyes finally settling on the other’s face.
“No. I just find the revelation…curious.”
The vampire scoffed. “You really are no fun at all.”
Gale quirked a small, knowing smile but said nothing more as he gave a slight dip of his head and turned to make his way back to his selected spot in the camp. Red eyes followed his movements until the wizard disappeared behind the flap of his tent. Astarion glowered for a moment before turning his notice to the others as they gathered their things together in preparation for their next outing. Erro slipped into his heavy, chain-link armor and then shouldered the strap of his sword’s scabbard across his back. The large elf fidgeted a bit until his wears seemed to fall into place. Then he glanced up and paused upon catching the inquisitive eyes of his fair-haired companion. He worked his jaw briefly before opening his mouth to call over to him.
“Astarion, you mind watching the camp this time while we’re out? We won’t need any fancy fingers where we’re heading.”
The vampire hid a scowl.
“Oh? Good to know that’s all I’m good for.” He muttered just loud enough for the other to hear.
The fighter offered an awkward smile.
“It’s a show of trust. If all is well when we return to camp this afternoon then there’s no need for any of us to try and run a stake through your chest, no?”
Incredulity sparked and slipped through Astarion’s well-crafted mask. However, he was quick to recover and refrained from gritting his teeth together as he replied in a sing-song tone.
“I shall endeavor to prove your faith in me is well-placed, darling. I suppose I’ll stay here and lounge about by the fire while you do all the hard work.” He tilted his head to the side with a slight pout.
A true smile split the other elf’s face at the familiarity of his companion’s melodrama. He let out a snort as he turned to walk towards where the others were waiting for him on the edge of the clearing behind Wyll’s tent.
“Sounds awful.” He joked and then waved for Lae’zel to start trekking.
Red eyes scanned their backs as they retreated further into the treeline. Erro, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll…which left just himself and the wizard to hold the fort. Astarion glanced drearily at the purple tent across from him on the other side of the campfire. Wonderful, so he’d been demoted to the same level as the walking bomb who was too dangerous to take anywhere. A sigh escaped him, a habit ingrained from the life he’d lived before his untimely demise. His useless lungs deflated with the action. What a situation he’d found himself in. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t really expected he’d get this far. From the moment his connection with Cazador had been severed, he’d braced for death at every turn. Yet somehow…there he still stood. He placed a hand on his still chest, feeling for a nonexistent wound from a stake that he’d only envisioned Erro would’ve driven through his chest the moment he’d revealed his true nature. How odd. Why had he, a monster, been spared?
The entrance flap to Gale’s tent slipped back as the man stepped out and stretched his arms up over his head, yawning as he did so. He blinked a few times, readjusted his ghastly purple top, glanced across the camp, and then froze. He was clearly unprepared for the scrutiny he was receiving. Red eyes narrowed dangerously. Predator and prey.
“Astarion? They left you behind? They must’ve really been put off by the whole vampire thing.” He pondered and lifted a hand to his scruff covered chin.
The predatory tension dissipated in an instant, and the pale elf found an unamused smile creeping across his face.
“Right, and I’m sure they’re very taken by the notion that you could blow us all up with that explosive dark magic writhing in your chest.”
Gale frowned and met his eyes.
“I didn’t say they weren’t. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend.”
Astarion rolled his eyes and plopped down into the wooden chair set up right in front of his tent. He let out a dramatic sigh and crossed an ankle over his knee. His arms overlapped over his chest—the very picture of defiance—and he glared at the small branches that lay charred in the remains of last night’s campfire.
“Don’t worry, I don’t take you seriously enough to be offended by anything that spews from your mouth.”
Gale’s eyes widened for a moment before he let out a small, astonished huff of a laugh and began to walk around the campfire to where Astarion sat, brooding. He waved a hand in a vague gesture when the toes of his camp shoes met the end of the blanket spread out before the vampire’s tent. It didn’t escape the elf’s notice that the human didn’t move any closer. Their eyes locked as Astarion lifted his head to give the other his reluctant attention. The wizard’s dark eyes were brewing with…emotions. The elf’s stomach churned at the notion, pulling down at the corners of his cupid’s bow lips.
“Have I done something wrong? Is there a reason why you’re always turning your nose up at me in particular?” Gale’s voice had lowered in that way that made him sound like an actual person and not just a walking encyclopedia of magic.
“Bold of you to assume I pay you any special attention. I treat everyone with equal amounts of…distaste.” The elf said the word through his bared fangs, hissing it into the uneasy air between them.
Gale set his jaw stubbornly and crossed his arms.
“Why?”
“…Why?"
“Yes, why? Why do you hold such distaste, as you so eloquently put it, for everyone around you?”
Astarion turned his head sharply so that he was frowning at the ground. He was already sick of looking at those soft, brown eyes brimming with hope, rainbows, and butterflies.
“Perhaps I simply have a refined palate.” He grumbled.
“So, you’re saying no one else holds up to whatever unfathomable standards you’ve fabricated in this wild make-believe world of yours?” The accusation came out slightly amused, but when those ruby orbs jumped back up to glare in annoyance, they instead widened a sliver in surprise.
Gale’s brow was furrowed, urging his eyebrows to point inwards in a rare show of disapproval from the man. If he hadn’t been so caught off guard, he probably would’ve made a joke about the uncommon display. Instead, he cocked his head keenly. An honest answer escaped him—a reward for the wizard’s willingness to act in any way but the delicate, bumbling fool he inspired others to perceive him as.
“Perhaps this little make-believe world is all I have.” He allowed his edges to soften a bit, shoulders relaxing. “Perhaps, it’s nice to be able to be say no…to even have standards of my own and to not accept everything that’s presented to me because I have to.” His words trailed off into a low, contemplative murmur, and he noticed that the man had leaned forward a little to better hear him.
Something shifted in Gale’s expression, but Astarion didn’t recognize the alteration. That furrowed brow smoothed out and his brown eyes blinked slowly as he considered the other.
“…You’re being an asshole because you can be, not because you are one.”
“That’s the inelegant way of putting it, I suppose.”
“Do you feel that you’re getting anything out of that behavior?”
“If you must know, it is quite amusing watching all of you squirm.”
Then Gale’s eyes did that soft, brimming-with-feelings thing they did when the well of pity overflowed within him. Something dark gathered deep inside the vampire’s lifeless heart. He growled, a low, warning sound that reverberated deep between his ribs. The noise was enough to keep the human from spouting out anything further.
“What’s with all of the questioning? Has the revelation of my monstrous secret put you on edge?” He didn’t wait for the other man to respond, “Well, if that’s the case, then you can put your nerves to rest. I won’t bite. I’m just a simple elf with simple needs, and I need protection. I’m not idiotic enough to do something that would get me left behind or killed. So, stop trying to psychoanalyze me. It’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth.”
Gale seemed to weigh the words for a moment before giving a small nod and leaning back to glance up at the sky. He let out a long, slow breath.
“Well, I’m glad we could have this talk.”
“I’m not. Please, for the love of whatever gods you believe in, don’t ever speak to me again.”
Gale laughed. The sound surprised them both. Then the human moseyed back over to his tent and disappeared inside once more. And, once again, Astarion found himself staring at the offensive, purple construct. What a strategically disadvantageous color.
Astarion was more than stunned when Erro and the others returned from their outing with a fiery, large tiefling in tow. She was intimidating—tall and muscular and brandishing a single, curled horn atop her head. Flames flared and licked across her skin periodically, giving the immediate impression that she was likely too dangerous to touch. Her chest pulsed with an eerie glow that painted the shadow of her ribcage through the straps of her revealing, leather garments. The vampire bared his fangs instinctively and made to back into his tent, however, Shadowheart caught his eye and jerked her head back sharply to motion for him to approach. With tense shoulders and aching fangs, he trapsed forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gale do the same—though, his demeanor was much more welcoming.
“Astarion. Gale. This is Karlach. We crossed paths with her after killing some gnolls. She also has a parasite in her head and has agreed to join us in our search for a cure if we help her take out some evil paladins up on the hill beyond where we found her.” The elf waved his arm dramatically, as if slicing the air with his sword.
The tiefling in question sported a brilliant grin and brought her hands together in a loud clap.
“I am jazzed to meet you! Big man here has told me about both of you, and I—”
“Hang on,” Astarion interrupted as something clicked in his head, “Aren’t you the devil Wyll’s been hunting?”
Karlach’s spirits were only doused briefly as another wave of energy coursed back through her.
“It was all a misunderstanding! We hugged it out and all that.” Her grin widened even further and she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.
Astarion shot a quick glance at said monster hunter and was surprised to see him smiling bashfully at the burly fireball. The elf almost laughed. Almost.
“Well, I suppose a friend of a monster hunter is a friend of a vampire then. Why the bloody hell not?”
Karlach didn’t know him well enough yet to recognize the vampire’s cynicism and proceeded to give him a hearty clap on the shoulder and wander off to start setting up her tent. The thin fabric of Astarion’s evening shirt retained an alarming amount of warmth from the brief contact that had him hissing and patting at his upper arm irritably. All the while, entertained, brown eyes regarded him from several feet away.
“She seems lovely.”
“Lovely,” the elf growled, “is a glass of red, a soft pillow, and no one else around to be so disgustingly…cheery.”
Gale inclined his head, amusement still gently manipulating his features.
“I take it you’re not one for a relaxing cup of tea, Astarion.” It wasn’t a question. “And I imagine wine even dulls in comparison to the preferred red in your glass.”
Astarion did smirk at that.
“Careful, wizard. It sounds like you’re trying to get to know me.”
“…Would that be so strange?”
Ruby eyes held brown opal for a long, thoughtful moment before rolling in insincere exasperation. The vampire turned on his heel and made his way back to his sleep roll. He could feel the human’s eyes boring into his back, and, for the first time since he’d been abducted by the mind flayers, he felt like prey.
“Let’s see…I’ll take Lae’zel…Gale…and Astarion. As for the rest of you, I’m leaving the camp in your capable hands.” Erro saluted and started tossing things into a leather pack.
Astarion grabbed his drow armor that he had left laying atop a table just outside his tent for what felt like weeks. He was almost shocked that it didn’t leave an imprint in nonexistent dust when he unfurled it. After slipping into the light garbs, he fastened the green laces of his dirt-colored boots—a magical pair of footwear that electrified water when stepping into it—and sheathed his many daggers into hidden places across his person. He dropped a couple of healing potions and a bottle of basic poison into his pack as well. Just in case. His companions were quite impractical, after all.
After getting himself sorted, he slunk over to the edge of camp where the others were gathering. Once they noticed his presence, Erro did a quick headcount and then motioned them onward. From what he had gathered from his halfhearted listening to their leader’s explanation, he knew only to expect angry gith. And, if his short experience with Lae’zel was anything to go by, they were in for a rough encounter.
They journeyed past the town that had been attacked by drow, and then started to slow their pace when a bridge came into view. Erro held up a hand, motioning for them to stop, when they were almost under the large, wooden structure. He opened his mouth to say something, but right when he did so a huge shadow flitted over them. Instinctively, they all lurched sideways into the shadows and pressed themselves flush against the rocky face of the cliff supporting one end of the bridge. They all looked up at the same time when a large, red dragon descended from the sky and landed on all four legs with an earth-shaking rumble that had the party gritting their teeth. Eyes blown wide in shock, Erro shook his head urgently in a clear sign for them to wait. So, they stayed hidden where they were, crouched and watching from a safe distance away as a group of armor-clad gith gathered in the clearing on the other side of the bridge.
“I will speak with—” Lae’zel started in a harsh whisper but was almost immediately cut off by Erro’s gloved hand slapping over her mouth.
His eyes shone with apology, but his words were firm when he told her to stand down and wait. She glared but offered a curt nod. It was almost laughable how quickly they had all decidedly followed this unknown elf—a stranger. They may be a team, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make their own decisions. Besides, if there was one thing that Astarion was absolutely brilliant at doing, it was surviving. He took a swift step back and pivoted to face the other side of the bridge, his back to the others.
Fingers gripped at his upper arm from behind before he could slink off. He shot a look over his shoulder to see familiar, brown eyes staring at him incredulously. The vampire bared his fangs and motioned up with his free arm to the bridge. If he could just sneak up there before shit went sideways, he’d at least have a better vantage point for ranged attacks. He tried to somehow convey that to the confused wizard with just his eyes, and, to his surprise, the man gingerly withdrew his hand, tossed an uncertain glance at the other two, and then gave him an affirming nod. The sudden resolution in those brown eyes stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The unexpected show of understanding and loyalty was…
Odd.
Astarion dipped low and nearly crawled around rocks, moving steadily away from his still-hiding companions. He kept to the shadows as he reached the opposite cliff face and deftly clambered up, using jutting rocks and stray vegetation as hand and foot holds. Once he reached the top, he hoisted himself over the side and crept forward until his feet met the wooden planks of the bridge. If his organs still worked, his heart would surely be pounding as he peeked over the edge and looked down at the still gathered gith below. His eyes bounced around as he calculated and strategized how best to attack when the altercation inevitably began.
His shoulders stiffened when one of them, a male with pointed, sandy hair, turned his head sharply to look over in the direction he knew his companions were crouching. Then he watched, dumbfounded, as Erro, flanked by Lae’zel and Gale, slowly approached the githyanki warriors. Even with his elven ears he couldn’t pick up what they were discussing, but, judging by the warriors’ expressions, they weren’t happy. The vampire tskd softly and retrieved his longbow from where it was slung across his back. He reached back and pulled an arrow from the quiver and notched it against the wood right above the pointer finger of his left hand. His other fingers danced across the sturdy string, waiting for the right moment to—
He swiftly pulled back the string and fired the arrow. The point embedded itself into the neck of the female gith that had abruptly drawn her greatsword. She let out a gargled screech and then collapsed into a heap on the ground. Everyone below stood still for a moment, stunned, and then all eyes flickered up to ogle at him. He didn’t bother hiding, the arrow had already given him away. Then all hell broke loose. Swords clanged, curses were shouted, and magic boomed and sizzled. Astarion ran along the length of the bridge, ducking to dodge stray arrows sent his way and then firing them back in turn. His expert eyes scored over the battlefield, watching for brief openings for him to intercept with his ranged attacks.
Fortunately for them, that dragon had taken off minutes before everything blew up, but that didn’t mean the gith were any less formidable. They were definitely holding their own, proving that Astarion’s first strike was simply a lucky shot. He growled every time an arrow’s head clanged uselessly against a metal breastplate. And he was noticing his companions were hardly fairing any better in their advances. Erro was locked in a head-to-head battle with the lead male gith while Lae’zel tried to manage two of the warriors on her own. That left Gale with…shit. The wizard was being pushed back by a female fighter, her long sword swept out every now and again, just barely avoiding the human as he tried and failed to produce a spell. He must have already drained himself. Frustrated, Astarion reached back to grab another arrow…and grabbed at nothing. He had wasted all his arrows missing the exposed flesh of his targets.
Damn it all. He took off sprinting across the bridge, dropping his bow and quiver, and catapulted over the edge. As he fell, he conjured a ball of flames in one hand and thrust it down. Heat exploded below him, accompanied by a scream of pain. As the bottom of his boots connected with the female gith’s very solid armor, shock jolted through his legs. But, before either of them hit the ground, he slipped a dagger from his belt and plunged it into the searing face below him. Blood splashed across his skin in a way that would have sent him into a frenzy had he not been so preoccupied with simply killing. He took a moment to assess the slightly charred body beneath him and then bent down to grip the hilt of the blade he’d buried in the creature’s eye. He jerked it free, and the blade slipped away from flesh, blood, and bone with a sickening sound. He wiped his weapon across the fabric of his armor, removing the gore, and then slid it back into its sheath at his hip.
“Thank you.”
The vampire looked over his shoulder at the wizard, noting the uncertainty contorting the man’s face as he took in Astarion’s blood-stained figure and blown pupils. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air. But he was practiced. The elf inhaled deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth. He flexed his fingers and then reached back to draw the shortswords clinging to his back behind where his bow had been.
“Repay me by not getting yourself killed, you fool.”
And then he was gone, off to jump back into the fray.