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“So… you can’t go into the sunlight at all?” Robin asked, taking a sip of her spiced tea.
Astarion scoffed. “Not unless I want to be turned into a pile of smoldering ash, no,” He threw a log of wood into the bonfire. “That day when the nautiloid crashed, I couldn’t get off the ship for hours. I was waiting for nightfall when one of those wretched brain things chased me off board. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t promptly burst into hellish flames.”
“I see… it must have been quite a relief to feel the sun on your face again.” She said, nodding her head. “Is there anything else that vampires can’t do?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. Her curiosity would almost be endearing if it were about anything else.
Astarion cleared his throat. “Well, if you must know… We can’t be in running water. Something about it causes our skin to sizzle like hotcakes at the Mermaid.” He scrunched up his nose. “I do miss swimming in the lakes in the summer heat. I barely remember how being in the open water even feels. Just another thing Cazador took from me.”
Robin thought for a moment, nodding in acknowledgment. “I’m sorry, Astarion…” She scratched her chin. “Have you tested to see if you… you know, can be in the water now? With the tadpole and all that?” She asked, quite matter-of-factly.
Astarion’s eyebrows lifted. Now that he thought about it… he hadn’t. “ Huh. I suppose not.” He crossed his arms over his knees, lowering his face into it. Why didn’t he think of that earlier?
“Well, I think you should give it a go. If you hear a crackling noise and feel a burning sensation, then maybe get out.” She joked. He waved a hand at her dismissively. There was a time when a quip like that would’ve set him off, but he was too lost in thought, pondering if what she said had any truth to it.
Suddenly, a hazy memory began pouring into his mind. It was aged, yellowed, and ragged at the edges, like an old photograph found in the floorboards of an attic. His mother, beautiful as the stars themselves, had her arms outstretched to him. There they were, in a pristine river, surrounded by evergreen trees. He remembers his heart, once beating so strong, was racing as he kicked his legs as hard as he could. He didn’t know how to swim and yet, the water held him so gently, suspended in the safety of its embrace, as did his mother’s arms. Mother… her dazzling smile. Something he couldn’t forget in a million centuries. He kicked harder, and moved his arms with all his strength, to reach her.
Astarion closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the fire on his cheeks. These memories were all the worldly belongings he took with him that night he was buried. It was the only thing he loved that could never be taken, destroyed, or killed, and remembering them was his only reminder that he, too, was once born and a part of this world.
Robin, sensing a moment of sadness circling above him, took another sip of her tea and rubbed her lips together in thought. Her hand hovered tentatively over his folded arms, longing to comfort him. But to sit quietly with pain, she decided, was in his right.
A few minutes passed with nothing said but the crackling of the fire. Robin wondered if he had gone into a trance, and decided to get up and grab the blanket from his tent. She placed it gently over his shoulders, to which he responded by fluttering his eyes open and turning around.
“Oh, dear… I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off… Ahem, sorry about that. A long day of vanquishing foes and all that. What were you saying, darling?” he was clearly flustered, eyebrows knit together. He instinctively pulled the blanket closer to him and smoothed out his curls. Robin bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, as she had never seen the man look so… vulnerable.
“Oh! Um… I was asking questions about vampirism.” she said. Whatever he had just gone through, was not for her to know quite yet. She sat back down on the log. “Is there anything else that can hurt vampires I should know about? Lest we encounter them going forward.” She tilted her head just a bit, listening intently.
Astarion cleared his throat once more. “Well.. a wooden stake to the heart would definitely do me in… But I imagine that would probably kill you too.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, the sarcasm creeping back into his voice. Robin let out a hearty laugh, perhaps louder than she truly felt, and clasped a hand to her belly. The other hand was lightly slapping her knee. Astarion, slightly surprised at her intense reaction, curled his upper lip up at her. “Darling, it wasn’t that funny.”
Robin wiped away a tear and sniffed. “Yes, it was! A wooden stake would kill me! Why is that so important to vampire mythology if…if...” She started chortling a little bit again, covering her mouth in an attempt to keep it in. Astarion chuffed as she excused herself and stumbled to her tent, trying not to giggle. What a strange young lady this was, in an even stranger place. Not an unwelcome strangeness, perhaps.
+++
The following night, the traveling companions had decided to set up camp outside of the city, just shy of a local embankment. Robin, their fearless and often unpredictable leader, insisted they had to stop to do laundry.
“We all smell like death,” she said, smelling her own underarms.
Lae’zel crossed her arms and turned her nose up. “Ch’k! There is no fragrance more enticing than the drying gore of your slain enemies.”
Robin shook her head. “Unfortunately, I must disagree. Additionally, I don’t think the patrons of Baldur’s Gate will take kindly to a group of violent vigilantes moving through the city in a giant visible stink cloud.”
“I, for one, must concur,” said Gale, lifting a finger to the air. “I spent close to an hour searching my tent yesterday for the deceased rodent I had suspected of dying within its woven walls, only to find that it was, in fact, me.” Shadowheart, who was standing next to Gale, eyed him up and down and took a few steps to the right.
So it was decided. There weren’t too many complaints, considering Robin always offered to do everyone’s laundry. It was her “quiet time”. But on this occasion, a giant basket wrapped in her arms, she decided to ask for assistance.
“Astarion?” she grunted, trying to keep the basket off the floor.
“ Hm? Oh yes, darling, I have a pair of trousers that need soaki-”
“-would you mind helping me with the washing this time? Pretty please?” she furrowed her brows, pushing out her lower lip.
Astarion scoffed. “My dear… You want me to help? With what, washing Gale’s dirty underthings?” He crossed his arms in indignation.
“It’s just, there’s more to be washed than I expected, and we have to head out at dawn. I could use an extra hand with drying, hanging, things of that sort.” She finally gave up on suspending the basket and dropped it to the ground with a thud. “ ...And you are so very good at it.” she said pleadingly.
Astarion, who had been quite happy with the in-house laundry service, was a bit annoyed at having to suddenly do domestic chores. But … Robin did look quite tired…
He put his hands on his hips. “Oh, Alright. But I am not touching anything of Gale’s. That man should really see a healer of some kind. And that’s coming from a walking corpse.”
Robin beamed at him, a wave of new vigor spreading across her face. “Oh, thank you, Astarion! I’ll do the washing and soaking first, just come meet me at the river at nightfall,” She reached out and grabbed the trousers he was holding and added them to the pile. “I’ll be done by then!” With that, she gave him a small grin and lumbered off toward the waterfall in the distance, struggling a bit to drag the basket behind her.
Well … washing and drying his companions’ clothes wasn’t exactly the ideal way he’d choose to spend his evening. But at least it’d be something to do.
+++
When the sky began to dim, Astarion made his way toward the river. He had rolled up his sleeves, not unfamiliar with how messy laundry could get. It was often his job in the palace, with swift punishment raining on his head if he failed to scrub out a stubborn stain. It wasn’t his favorite chore, but also not the worst thing he was made to do within those walls, and with those hands.
As he stepped over slippery rocks and swatted away swarming bugs, the sound of the gushing waterfall was getting louder. He rounded the corner, expecting to see Robin hunched over, washing away. Instead, he saw a small woven basket and a note. sitting beneath all of their clothes and armor, which had been polished and hung to dry.
He looked around, questioning if he had made a wrong turn somewhere, and crouched down to read the parchment. The neat, familiar handwriting read the following:
“Astarion,
If you hear a crackling noise or feel a burning sensation, get out!”
-Robin”
Astarion knelt there for a second, completely bewildered by what was in front of him. What was all of this for? Was it a thank-you for helping with the laundry? … But he hadn’t done anything yet. In fact, it seemed like she had done it all on her own.
Confused, Astarion placed the note on the floor and turned to the basket. Inside were a few bath rags, some scented soap bars, a worn novel, and what looked like… a little jar of blood? He picked it up and took a whiff.
Elderflowers… eastern spices… definitely hers. He wonders how she managed to drain an entire jar full on her own. Perhaps that was why she looked so run-down earlier. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the mental image of her eyebags and sallow skin, holding a laundry basket equal to the size of her body. Peculiar, indeed.
He turned to look at the bubbling river. The water looked relatively clean and calmer than he had seen it prior. The night itself was warm and inviting. He raised his hand to the sky, usually cloudy and full of city muck, now clear enough to count the stars between his fingers. He couldn’t recall the last time he had had a quiet moment to himself, with a nice plunge in the books.
He knocked himself softly on the head. “Listen here, you wretched tadpole. If you’re going to make a nest in my brain, you had better at least give me the ability to take a nice dip. This is an equal partnership until I am rid of you, got it?”
With that stern warning uttered, he cautiously, nervously, stripped down to his underthings, neatly folding the rest of his clothes and placing them next to the freshly washed laundry.
He took a few steps toward the water, soil cold under his bare feet. He felt a tinge of fear as it beckoned him forward. He looked out at the river, and suddenly thought again of his Mother.
She was a high elf, born with the inherent ability to manipulate water and long, cascading hair, whiter than the snow that capped the northern mountains. Fishermen on the wharf would mistake her for a nymph, in awe of the way she seemed to float effortlessly on the horizon.
Some of his earliest memories were by the lake, as he watched his mother waltz with water, giving it life with her fingertips. His sisters, she would call them. They tried to dance as gracefully as Mother, but they never could. She was divinity beyond worship, a drifting breeze, weightless, a woman so breathtaking that the ancient waters of earth danced in obedience so that they may touch her skin.
She taught him to swim the summer he turned ten years old, and he was terrified. He was born with no such abilities to move the element as he pleased, and he feared it would swallow his tiny body whole. But Mother took him gently by the hand and led him into the lake, steps rippling far beyond, and laid him on his back to float.
“The water loves you as I do, Astarion, so you need not fear it.”
In the present moment, he heard her voice echo in the air, clear as it ever was, and he set his foot into the flood. The river was cold, but not bitterly, and as he moved forward the water grabbed his ankles and guided him into its hold. He felt the weight of his body break underneath him as he sunk deeper, ripples of water cascading around his form. He turned his head back up towards the stars and put his arms out, pushing himself onto his back. He could almost feel her benevolent hand stroking his hair as he tried to breathe through the fear, phantom heartbeat pounding in his ears. The cold water caressed his cheek as he lay there, in faith, feeling both heavier than planets and as weightless as the clouds within them.
He slowed his breathing.
He… wasn’t burning. He wasn’t crackling.
He was silent.
For the first time in two miserable centuries, his body did not betray him.
He was once again small, young, untouched, and back in his mother’s embrace, feeling the water trickle into his ears and whisper sweet promises of peace and quiet. He shut his eyes and imagined the stars falling into the river, and he wondered if they would be content to lay there with him. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, and when they did the lapping tide stood by to wipe them away.
He turned his hands up in reverence to the sky and as the fingers of the river’s waves pooled in his palms, he felt as if perhaps a higher power had heard his begging after all, and had in his plight rendered him mercifully reborn.
+++
After a very long bath, in which Astarion pampered himself with soaps and scrubbing and the like, he walked back to camp, feeling incredibly refreshed. He had wrapped the larger bath rag around his waist while rubbing the other against his head vigorously in an attempt to dry his drenched curls. He loved being in the water, yes, but being damp after getting out was more unpleasant and… sticky than he remembered.
As he rounded the corner to their tents, he saw Robin sitting cross-legged at the bonfire, chin in her hands as she steeped her nightly tea. The color was back on her face, but she still looked quite exhausted. Doing laundry for an entire company of bloodied ruffians was nary a small feat.
Her half-lidded eyes perked up as she saw the pale figure walk towards her. “ Astarion!- ” Her eyes flicked downwards and noticed his lack of clothes. She quickly looked away, ears threatening to blush red. “I, uh, see you managed to take that bath. You needed it.” She smiled, meeting his eyes once more.
“Yes, yes… it was … sensational .” he sighed, truly meaning those words. “I can’t believe that is what I’ve been missing out on for two centuries.” He ran the towel over his skin as he sat down across from Robin, hoping to dry faster by the warm campfire. “I almost forgot how wonderful it felt, to swim in open water.”
Robin grinned a bit, looking and feeling very proud of herself. The vampire spawn was seemingly reinvigorated. In fact, standing there, dripping wet next to the roaring blaze, he had never looked so alive. “Well… now you know you can.” She rubbed her arms and let out a relieved sigh. The teapot began to whistle.
Astarion stopped drying his hair for a moment and looked across the flames at Robin. She was stirring her tea again, dropping a few leaves in here and there.
“Robin… I, uh… thank you. That was…well, It was incredibly thoughtful of you to do… that .” He coughed slightly, clearing his throat. Hardly does he ever get tongue-tied, and yet saying a simple thanks was proving exceedingly difficult. “I don’t think I would have ever had the nerve to try, if not for it.”
Robin looked up from her kettle and gave him a sweet grin. “Is that a hint of gratitude I hear on that sharp tongue of yours?” she teased.
Astarion rolled his eyes. “Yes, and you had better accept it before I take it back, darling.” he retorted, a slight smirk creeping onto his face.
Robin nodded in acknowledgment. “You are very welcome.”
There was a brief moment of silent understanding between them. A gift had been given, with more depth than either of them realized, still left unexplored.
Robin pulled the kettle off the fire and poured it into a chipped green mug. “Perhaps… we should test to see if the ‘ wooden stake to the heart ' thing still applies as well…” she said cheekily, blowing at the steaming tea.
Astarion let out a reluctant nose laugh. “You know, darling, you’re incredibly adept at ruining a pleasant moment. There aren’t many to be had these days, so you’d better learn to appreciate them as they come.” He ran his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it behind his ear.
Robin nodded again, giving him a “thumbs-up” while taking a careful sip from her steaming cup.
Astarion wrapped the rag around his shoulders, allowing the warmth of the balmy air to push against his bare chest. In the days of his imprisonment, he would sit in front of the castle’s only functioning stone fireplace, knees pressed against his body, and close his eyes, imagining the heat on his eyelids was the sun’s rays that he yearned for but could never meet. Every time he opened them, it would only be the familiar red wallpaper of those bloody rooms, mocking him for his aching hunger and the spreading bruises that splashed across his back and lips.
But on this night, when he opened his eyes, the stone walls ceased to exist, and there was that raven-haired girl, sitting just beyond the crackling flames, now fanning her mouth and panting after burning her tongue on the hot brew.
Gentle remnants of river water dripped from the tips of his curls and landed harmlessly on his arms. The sounds of his companions bustling, arguing, and laughing around the campsite were just enough for him to briefly forget the deafening, fear-ridden silence laden throughout his former prison. The safe haven of his Mother’s river, he realized, was stubbornly finding its way back to him in the form of his fellow travelers.
He started to believe that, perhaps, there was still yet a place in this realm where he could be untouchable and untouched. Even when the water was beyond reach.
The moonlight bled through the dancing leaves as his own blood, once frozen solid, had itself begun to thaw steadily in his veins, under the watchful gaze of each rushing waterfall and searing cathartic sunrise he stood beneath, exalted, as his Mother’s son.