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While Astarion hadn’t quite gotten used to being able to feed whenever he pleased, it was unsettling for his stomach to be aching just as it had beneath Cazador’s control. The man was sadistic in many ways, one of the many being his enjoyment in practically starving his spawn, Astarion included, only throwing them a plagued and half-dead rat every few tendays so that they wouldn’t decay prematurely. He enjoyed playing with them— manipulating their survival and toying with their very meager existences like a puppet master attached to a puppet’s strings. Despite being severed, Astarion felt that same hunger in the pit of his stomach now in the Underdark, just as they approached the shadow-cursed lands, another area in which he would not be able to feed. To say that the sensations were overwhelming and stirring up memories he’d like to pretend were easily forgotten— would be an understatement.
The group had been traveling for what felt like ages, Astarion whined and moaned about it for the first few hours, but the more they continued, the more unwell he’d begun to feel. The grumbling of his stomach had turned into a trembling in his bones, as well as an exhaustion that blanket his entire body. He felt heavy and light all at once, something he’d gotten used to feeling beneath Cazador’s thumb, but not so much now that he was expected to play his part in a team. He wouldn’t dare show an ounce of weakness lest they decide he wasn’t worth keeping around. He was merely a vampire spawn, after all, a liability and nowhere near as heroic as his tadpole infected companions. His worth was located somewhere between his slender fingers and beneath the hem of his trousers, and perhaps on a good day, in the blade of his dagger. Regardless, he kept marching forward, just as a soldier was expected to do, just as Shadowheart and Karlach set about doing feet before him. He’d fallen behind greatly, and hadn’t noticed the Druid’s worried hazel eyes trained on his body, though when the large elf decided to speak, it nearly scared the much smaller of the pair directly out of his skin.
“Astarion, are you feeling quite alright?” Halsin had managed to fall into step beside the pale elf at some point. He had half a mind to bite the man’s head off at the question, how dare he assume that Astarion was anything but? He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms indignantly before formulating an annoyed response.
“What makes you think that I am not? You nosey oaf.” He hissed, gritting his teeth as he pointedly marched onward. Though it was as if mentioning it had really made Astarion acknowledge just how horribly he had been feeling. He felt warm, uncomfortably so, and yet he was still chilled, practically shivering against the two combatant sensations taking over his frail body. Halsin gave him a look that said he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just said, and Astarion was going to let him have a piece of his mind about it, spat that he didn’t need the Druid’s pity, nor did he need his concern, but his tongue sat heavier in his mouth. He couldn’t will himself to speak as he swayed a bit, tingling making its way down his limbs for a particularly terrifying moment. He didn’t know if he was going to vomit or faint, but neither of the two sounded appetizing.
“Steady now, little star. Stop a moment, I am not trying to belittle you. I am merely concerned.” Astarion could barely feel the warmth of Halsin’s hand as it rested atop his shoulder, using very little effort to keep him from moving forward once again. The spawn couldn’t help but panic, this had undoubtedly brought the attention of the other’s by now, and he couldn’t even force a response between his lips to insist that he was fine. Instead, all he could do was heed the other’s words, stopping completely in place and glancing up into his eyes, blinking owlishly at him for a moment. He couldn’t even remember what he was fighting against as lead dropped into the pit of his stomach, and any blood that had been on his head had done the same. He swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, ears ringing as he spoke, his face somehow going even paler as he forced the words out.
“I think I am going to faint.” With that, it were as though his consciousness was ripped directly from his body, his strings had been cut and his knees crumbled out from beneath him. He didn’t hit the ground, though. The last thing he remembered was a curse as two arms darted out to catch him and he was lowered unceremoniously to the ground beneath him.
-
The next time Astarion awoke, it was to the familiar scent of his tent. It took a moment for everything to come back to him, but when it did, he groaned aloud. He’d done the one thing he’d been fighting so hard not to do. Everyone would find him useless now. They would think that he was pathetic and powerless and they would have to put a stake through his heart to prove it, how easy it would be to take his immortal life. Though, he supposed they could have done so when he was unconscious. Small victories? Or perhaps they were sadists, worse than Cazador himself. He moved to sit up, head swimming as he did so, before he was forced right back down into the lying position by familiar hands. Crimson eyes met hazel one’s as he floundered, searching for any excuse to explain his display, but before he could come up with anything, Halsin was speaking.
“You mustn’t jostle yourself too much, you fainted.” He spoke gently, not in the scolding way that Astarion had been expecting.
“How long has it been since you last fed, Astarion?” While the question wasn’t accusatory, it certainly felt as though it was. Astarion’s ears tilted downward in an embarrassed frustration as he frowned.
“How long have we been in the Underdark?” He rebutted, spitting out the words as though they had been poison on his tongue… as though Halsin didn’t only have good intentions by asking. He only felt slightly guilty when the man frowned in earnest, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he put the pieces together quite easily.
“That is far too long to go without feeding. Forgive me for not seeing your predicament sooner. You did not have to let it become this dire. Should you need to feed, you need only ask.” The sincerity in his voice felt like thorny vines wrapping their way around Astarion’s throat as he blinked at Halsin as though he’d sprouted another head. He swallowed against the uneasy feeling, against the anxiety that told him he couldn’t trust this. He couldn’t offer his body in return in such a condition, so what was it that Halsin wanted? He blinked away unshed tears before squinting, quickly returning the mask that had briefly slipped.
“And what is it that you expect in return for your kindness?” Loathing dripped from his words like honey as he spoke, Halsin only sighed in return, as though he’d expected that sort of response from the spawn.
“The knowledge that my companion will not grow ill from his own neglect.” He spoke, and Astarion took pause, for once not knowing how to respond. He had no clever quip, nothing absolutely ghastly to say, he was just… empty. Was this what he’d missed out on for nearly two centuries? Stones settled once again in the pit of his stomach as his chest ached from something far less familiar than anxiety. He didn’t know that he wanted to place the feeling just yet, but he did know that he wanted to accept the Druid’s offer. Somehow he knew there were no falsehoods in what had been said. Halsin had been telling the truth. His face contorted into something much more melancholic than it had originally been, rather than bitter and angry, he turned into the victim of Cazador’s abuse in mere seconds, the curtain falling on his performance for once. He was glad that only Halsin was there to bear witness.
“Oh.” Astarion breathed lamely, digging his claws into the flesh of one of his palms as he forced himself to remain in the moment, giving Halsin the smallest of nods as he returned to himself.
“I would like that.” Unbeknownst to him, that would be the first of many times he got to indulge in the Druid’s blood, the nectar providing life for just a while longer— and the key to breaking his shackles forevermore.