Chapter Text
Progress has been made, but they haven’t found the druid yet. The goblin camp is just ahead, but they all need to rest first. And Weiren needs to have a chat with Astarion. They’ll just have to be upfront with him; that’s the best way they can handle it. They stand from their newly-pitched tent and glance around, wondering where he’s set up. Lae’zel has just been recruited to the group at her insistence; Weiren unable to decline under the face of overwhelming girlbossery. Regardless, her skills have been particularly lethal and very helpful in the face of fighting off terrifying gnolls, so they consider it a positive change overall. Her and Shadowheart make them feel more confident during battle, as they’re used to fighting alongside two other martial allies. It’s been unfamiliar to have two less-hardy comrades far behind them or hidden amongst the chaos.
“Have you seen Astarion?” They ask Gale.
“Now that you mention it, not since we picked this location,” the wizard returns, hand rising to his chin inquisitively. “He’s quite good at skulking about, isn’t he?”
“Better than me, that’s for sure,” they agree. Hampered by heavy armor, the wood elf is not the stealthiest paladin, which is a common affliction among most paladins. “Oh, well. Thanks anyway. I’ll get started on dinner shortly.”
They depart with a wave, Gale easily one of the most agreeable of the companions, especially since they don’t mind listening to his spontaneous lectures. Not so for the rest of the party, so he greatly appreciates their patience.
Perhaps if the rogue is nowhere to be found, they can at least forage some of the edible berries they spotted earlier and add it to the night’s dinner. If Astarion is an undead, namely an impossible vampire, perhaps he’s out to hunt for the evening. It may be some time before he returns.
Down to a comfortable tunic and trousers, Weiren steps into the trees carefully, eyes open as they look into darkness. Their elven eyesight is a great boon as always, and it takes them no time at all to retrace their steps for a scant four minutes and find the blueberry bush, though still no sight of the high elf. They make a show of dropping to a knee and setting down a satchel before the bounty yet-to-be-picked, and then bending their head to focus on the task at hand.
Eyes lowered, they listen as they quietly and intently harvest berries. A few minutes pass, and they raise a hand to their pendant to send out a prayer.
Weiren had been listening carefully, but despite their sharp hearing, Astarion is only ten feet away and still slowly creeping forward. Hair stands straight on the back of their neck.
“Astarion,” they say as their sense fades and they rise. “Uh. We should talk.”
They turn slowly with hands raised nonthreateningly to see a wide-eyed Astarion, a hand on the dagger sheathed at his hip. His expression is hidden away quickly, shifting to a smirk as his hand falls.
“I see my skills seem to be a bit rusty,” he says casually. Two elves in the dark, yet they can see one another perfectly. He’d had red eyes all along. “I was just watching over you, darling! It’s hardly safe to venture away from our little camp all alone.”
“I was waiting for you,” they offer. “I’m sure if I wasn’t prepared, you would have gotten me.”
His eyes flash across emotions, indignation and confusion altogether, and his eyebrows knit together.
“Luring me out,” he returns carefully, looking at Weiren’s empty hands pensively. “For what purpose, dear paladin? That hardly seems the noble thing at all, in my personal opinion.”
He’s feeling them out. Astarion must not be certain if Weiren truly detected him, or at least be wondering why they failed to inform everyone upon learning the truth.
“Okay. So,” Weiren starts, and then feels kind of like a fish flopping uselessly upon a wooden dock. “Uh. You uh. Uh. Are you a vampire? A sun-walking vampire?” Tone uncertain and still truly confused, Weiren feels pathetic asking it. And Astarion blinks, equally stunned by just how weakly and unthreateningly that question even came out of their mouth. “Right, haha. That’s totally not possible, right? Vampires can’t walk in the sun. But you… well… you’re too… um. You look too normal to be any kind of ghoul.”
Floundering further, Weiren sweats, a nervous ramble beginning.
“You’re not here to kill me, are you?” Astarion finally cuts in, looking inquisitive.
“No!” Weiren exclaims quickly. “I just. Uh. Well. I sensed an undead energy in you; I want to understand exactly why. I’m… well. If you have different needs than the rest of us, I’d like to know. Then I’ll be better equipped to support you.”
He continues to stare, almost completely bewildered. “I thought you’d be leaping at the chance to swing that sword of yours and smite me into nothingness. Aren’t you a paladin? Of Lathander no less?”
“Not… quite,” Weiren says. They’ve been taken from a place quite far away, and are guided by a deity of another pantheon entirely, different from what they’ve heard in their brief time in Faerûn. “We’re allies, right? I’d like to have mutual trust between us.”
“Allies,” he repeats. “Of course we’re allies, darling. I feel so very safe behind that shield of yours.”
“Right. So. Does that mean you… are… a vampire?” Weiren tries again, still uncertain as the man has yet to fully affirm the idea.
“And so what if I was, Weiren? What does it matter to your noble, holy heart?” The supposed-vampire drawls, an exasperation slipping into his words. “It’s hardly any of your business, darling, what I am. Unless I was a horrible bloodsucking monster and you, a radiant paladin, were to so kindly offer up that delicious neck of yours?”
Weiren presses their lips together and matches his gaze. At that, he squints at them.
“Wh- you can’t be serious.” Astarion’s face stretches in a comical disbelief as the paladin scratches the back of their head, his composure lost to the sheer strangeness of the situation. “I don’t understand. If you knew, why haven’t you woken the entire bloody camp screaming about it?”
“Well, you’ve proven yourself a reliable comrade,” Weiren says. “I don’t think we have conflicting goals.”
Flickers of distrust still dance in Astarion’s gaze. Weiren simply hopes that being as straightforward as possible will help.
“Perhaps. And I was joking about the neck,” the rogue sighs. “You hardly need to offer it up on a silver platter.” Weiren blinks this time, having thought that it would be an appealing prospect to him, but perhaps he still doesn’t fully trust them. His expression shifts again, and his eyes bore into them as he snatches up a new theory. “Unless you think this is how to best catch my eye, pet. Desperate, are we?”
Now that is a very poorly-aimed assumption, and they hurry to correct it.
“It’s not my first time,” they confess, and he shoots them a look of pure incredulity that makes them embarrassed. Their eyes fall briefly, noticing marks upon his neck, just above his collar. “Look. If you are a vampire… which I’m assuming you are somehow despite the sun not harming you, then we need you in the best shape possible. That’s all. I understand that it can be… difficult to function properly without sustenance.”
“Let me get this straight,” Astarion says, running a hand through his hair. “You think I am a vampire. You want to offer me your blood? A paladin? Just to keep me in good health? Not even because you want me? Forgive me if I find that to be a reeking pile of false sh*t. I’m sure there’s other things you’d want in exchange for that gift of yours.” With every sentence his voice rises, anger coloring his words.
It isn’t going well, they think. Weiren shakes their hair back and tugs the neckline of their shirt away from their shoulder, revealing an unmistakeable vampiric bite scar. “Use the tadpole,” Weiren says, unable to think of anything else. “You’ll find the truth there.”
His mouth snaps shut as he realizes the gravity of their offer, eyes locked onto the scarred skin. Weiren stands still, allowing the rogue, more a frightened cat on edge than anything else, approach at his own pace. Astarion steps closer, intrigue etched into his face. It isn’t like the vampire of their past experiences, a stoic and firm woman that chilled the air around them when she took them in hand.
Hesitation halts the elf from coming closer than a few feet, and then the waves of psionic energy pulse as he reaches into the opening of their mind.
Pierced by enchanted arrows, she’s fallen to the floor. Blood across the cracked windows, soaking into a dress so dark it hardly affects the hue. A vampire, on the farthest edges of her undeath, on the brink of a true end.
Arrows are pulled free. Dark red eyes glint as she awakens. She stands away, furious. They step forward, and offer their blood. Discussion erupts, protests amongst companions. They stay resolute.
She comes, pushing away their outstretched hand, and teeth sink into their flesh.
“What in the fresh f*cking hells,” Astarion says, stepping back, completely taken by surprise. The connection breaks and Weiren shakes the psychic remnants away. “You’re serious. I can’t- I can’t believe it. What in the hells is wrong with you? Who are you even, to have survived that? Was that a vampire lord?”
“Do you want the blood or not?” Weiren huffs, cheeks warming. “I’m trying to help you!” He’s got no business knowing anything about her.
He falls silent again, frowning.
“There’s no catch,” Weiren adds, calming their voice. “You owe me nothing more than you already give: your allyship in battle and in our journey for the cure. That’s all. Though I’d hope to remain friends after, even though I’ll have to find a way to return home.”
“A very tempting offer.” His voice becomes smooth as he pulls together his usual air, practiced in the act. “You really are a noble one, aren’t you? Well. Far be it from me to decline a gift of such high honor. Please accept my dearest apologies in behaving so poorly. I was rather thrown off guard, you know.”
There’s a sort of whiplash from how he shifts from fear and distrust to this, a charming man out to take what he wants, now having seen the value in what Weiren has to offer. It’s a very different sort of facade to the other vampire they last assisted; hers masked all emotion and left only an unreadable expression as she considered everything with great care and power.
“No worries,” the paladin coughs, throat a little dry as he slinks closer now, no longer quite so afraid of them.
“You won’t be telling the others, will you?” Astarion muses in a low tone, lifting his chin. “Keep it our precious little secret, it’ll be fun, Weiren.”
“It’s your secret to tell,” Weiren returns easily. “You haven’t harmed any of us, and I don’t think you plan to, either. We’re allies.”
Again, his attitude falters briefly.
“You’re strange,” he finally says, soft in his tone, a flicker of his genuine thoughts.
“And the rest of our crew isn’t?” Weiren asks, tilting their head, and he lets out a laugh.
“Fair point.”
“Well, now’s the best time if you want to get this done discreetly. They’ll be expecting me to handle dinner soon,” Weiren reminds him, glancing down to the partially-empty basket.
“Right,” he agrees. “Right. Would you be a dear and lie down? Best be comfortable and all.”
Weiren assents and gets on the ground beside the bush, though their prior experiences were when on two feet. Astarion, still just a bit tentative, drops to his knees and leans over them. The paladin, still relatively unused to close proximity with others, stiffens slightly. She probably wouldn’t be happy if she knew about this.
Or would she care at all?
“Relax,” he says, gazing down at what must be the scar.
“Yep,” Weiren says, definitely relaxed. They swallow thickly, wanting to extend this support to Astarion despite their differing ideals.
He descends, and he drinks.
Familiar yet different, they inhale sharply and focus on the sensation as this vampire sups of their blood. They count each second, tracking the time after the woman had nearly lost control not once but twice. Likely, Astarion will, too.
And he does, his grip digging into their shoulders harder, his gulps coming faster. But they’re prepared.
“Astarion,” they say after a round thirty seconds, but he doesn’t notice. Another attempt, and then they quickly place hands at his chest to shove him away. They’re almost surprised at how easily he moves, expecting a supernatural strength that he doesn't seem to possess for some reason.
“sh*t!” The rogue says, blood dripping from his lips. Again, that fear dances in his posture, but it flows away to something else, naturally this time. “Ah, that- that was amazing!” His mouth stretches into a grin as he breathes heavily, a thirst somewhat sated for… the first time? “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel… happy!”
“Was that…” Weiren starts, staring intently at him as he tastes droplets spilt on his fingertips, “your first time?”
“My first person,” he says, voice still in awe at how good it feels. “I’ve only ever fed on animals: boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But this… is completely different.” His eyes linger on their neck again, where blood still trickles. “It never was enough, before this. But now I feel as if I can take on anything.” His lips purse briefly as his words fade, his brief loss of control apparent to them both.
“You’re fine,” Weiren assures, sitting up with a hand pressed to the wound. “Well. I look forward to seeing your prowess in battle. Glad to help.”
He stares, dazed, as he has several times this very strange evening. The paladin takes a moment to cast a spell, infusing their body with health and mitigating the blood loss.
“See? Nothing to worry about.” Weiren grins sheepishly.
Astarion finally laughs, jarringly and in disbelief still. “You really are a strange one,” he says, licking up the blood he wiped on the back of his hand. “This whole situation can hardly get even weirder. I never thought anyone’d offer up a taste all by themself, let alone someone with your background.”
“I’ll take this to confirm my suspicions; you are a vampire, aren’t you?” Weiren says goodnaturedly, getting back on their knees to finish harvesting berries. Funnily enough, Astarion hardly knows a thing about their background. They’re from different corners of the world, after all.
“Hmm. It seems unlikely. I walk in the sun, and all,” Astarion answers, and they snort. “To my knowledge, it’s all a benefit of this tadpole. Anyway. I do appreciate your kind donation. You have my utmost trust.” They’re glad to see how he’s warmed up to them and the whole situation. Somehow, it turned out alright.
“You’re quite welcome.” Weiren breathes in relief, feeling like they’re decently on their way to making friends. “So… help me make dinner?”
“Haha. No, thank you.” Astarion stands. “Cooking was never a strong suit of mine, darling. I think I’ll keep on the hunt, tonight. I can see a good score in my future; your help has made me faster.”
“Ah-” Weiren starts, a few round berries falling from their hands. They’re not enough? “No killing. Please.”
He matches their gaze, weighing it.
“No killing,” he finally says. “I’ve never killed a person for food.”
“Not even animals,” they add. “Don’t kill those, either.”
“It sounds as if you want to monopolize me all for yourself, when you put it like that,” Astarion muses.
“You can drink without killing, Astarion. You just did,” Weiren presses, not willing to compromise. His flirtatious, goading comment bounces off of them, nigh invisible in the face of their determination. “If you need to come back to me, you can.”
“Alright. Anything for you, my trusted ally,” he relents after another look. “But if something’s already dead, I won’t be wasting blood.”
“That’s fine.”
“Then we’re in accord. I hope you offer yourself up again in the future, Weiren. Your blood is positively divine. Sleep well, I’m off.”
He disappears into darkness, and Weiren lets out a large sigh of relief. Gods.
Well. That’s one problem dealt with. They stand, hefting the basket. Time to go make dinner.
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