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“This is far more beautiful than I imagined,” Astarion said, taking in the Archdruid’s chambers spinning slowly on the spot.
Halsin frowned, “there is a pervading belief that because I am straightforward, practical and revel nature’s bounty that I am therefore uncouth and tasteless in my chosen surroundings. But I do not see why one’s abode cannot be both functional and bring the peace of beautiful things.”
Astarion’s eyes lit on the hot spring that shimmered in the centre of the room. It was a circular cavern, the rock of the ceiling was high enough to prevent Astarion feeling too much like he was back in his master’s palace, and somehow a breeze rustled through. There must have been passages up high in the rock walls that disappeared into the darkness above. There was an open stone fire pit nestled in the crook of the spring, like a burning ruby sitting in the curve of the waning moon. By the fire were pelts and solid cushions. Behind the centre piece of spring and fire, on the far side of the chamber to the door was a sort of cot. The stone walls of the cavern were lined with shelves and bookcases, on one side of the entrance was a small place for meals and preparing food. On the other side, closer to the fire was a desk, chair, and another workbench filled with bottles, herbs, and flasks.
Everything looked rumpled and used, but in a way that spoke of a perfect marriage of form and function. Halsin had managed to choose furnishings and decor that looked perfect whether strewn carelessly or squared away neatly. Exquisite taste, and exceptional knowledge of oneself and one’s habits. Oh he would be staying as close to this one as he possibly could.
“I confess, I did not think that you would be so swayed by comfort as to have your own personal hot spring for a bathtub…”
“I see no point in denying oneself the pleasures it desires. Pleasure is one of the great blessings of life,”
“Hmm,” Astarion pursed his mouth, “You would think that wouldn’t you. As though all pleasure is pure, miraculously free from malicious intent, as though it couldn’t hurt. Oh dear Druid, you are exceptional sweet.”
“I should have been more clear. To me, pleasure is only pleasure if no one is hurt in the process. I do not speak of the realities of nature, the cycles of life, or the twisted lure of power. I speak of the beauty of a smile from a loved one, of a cool shower of water on a warm day, and yes, of a warm bath for an old bear after a long day of dealing with things he would rather not…” he gave Astarion a rueful smile, “speaking of such tasks, I was rather impatient to see you to the peace and privacy you deserve. I fear I much leave you for a time to deal with whatever idiocy has taken place here while I was off chasing foolish dreams,”
“Do what you must,” Astarion waved a careless hand, “I shall take great pleasure in your delightful abode while you wrangle your grove…” he stuffed the lump in his throat down. Surely this room was safe. Surely. And being alone, being alone would be fine. It’s not like he hasn’t had practice.
“I will ward my chambers, no one but me will be able to enter. However, the warding will not work the other way. If you wish to leave at anytime, you are free to do so,”
“Dearest,” Astarion rolled his eyes, “exchange this for the filthy forest floor? I very much think you will be the one to forcibly remove me when you tire of me,”
“Unlikely,” Halsin smiled again, “I will return as quickly as I am able,”
*
Without Halsin in his home, it felt strangely large. So much space for Astarion to explore. He was drawn to everything. Every trinket, every small wooden carving. The chair that sat at the desk. There was such care in everything. The bookshelf called to him, but he caught sight of his filthy hands, and drew his gaze up his arms to examine his clothing. He sorely needed to wash. If Cazador ever saw him like this he would— but Cazador wasn’t here.
Astarion decided he should bathe now anyway.
He peeled off his clothing gingerly. It was rank with sweat, dirt, and blood. The worn fabrics fraying in places that they hadn’t been before this strange misadventure. Well he would have to see to that next.
The spring was incredible. He could not remember the last time his body had experienced such luxury. He stamped down the guilt, he knew this was forbidden, he knew when Cazador found out he would be flayed for this undeserved indulgence alone, let alone everything else. But he was not going back. He was not. This pleasure was his.
He lingered long in his bathing. Halsin’s soaps were like everything else; strong, functional, and beautiful… his skin was left smelling of sandalwood, balsam, and honey. It was really quite lovely.
Next he rummaged through Halsin’s belongings and extracted some ludicrously large clothing for him to wear in the meantime. He certainly did not duck his head into the collar of his tent-sized tunic every few minutes to breath in the smell. Not even once. It carried faint hints of the soap, something musky like bark or moss, and cedar.
His next stop was the large sink. He filled it with buckets of water from the spring and began working on his clothes. It took an inordinate amount of time, but the familiarly of the chore soothed him, it let his mind drift into a safe place where it was just his clothes, the dirt, and the process. Eventually he laid them by the fire - meticulously arranging the folds of the fabric to ensure they wouldn’t crumple, noting patches that needed mending. That finished he turned a few circles, wondering what was next. He fussed a bit with his appearance, there wasn’t a lot to be done about his clothes, but he set his hair as best he could without his usual tools and tidied his nails.
He supposed it had been a couple of hours… but the large Druid was not back.
His next task would be the mending once his clothes dried. Surely a Druid like Halsin, so practical and pragmatic would have needle and thread. Astarion set about the room for his tools. He found many strange ornaments, from glowing shards of rocks, to beautiful carved sculptures. Glass sand jars. Horribly sharp scalpels, tweezers, and needles that were most certainly not for cloth. Astarion dropped that particular case like it burned and did not dare pack it back up and put it away. Eventually in a bottom draw by the sink he found a single needle and two spools of thread, one a heavy durable cotton that would hold even the hardiest sack together, and the other a fine undyed silk. He took them both, placing them on a small stool by his clothes.
Halsin still was not back. Astarion would not pace, Astarion had practice at waiting. But rarely in his memory had he waiting for something that might potentially bring hope. Gods, less than two ten days out of his masters thumb and he was already turning into a regular fool. No, he would remember his lessons from his master. Remember the pain of learning them. That would be his motivation to never have to learn another again.
He had finally settled close to the fire with a shamelessly sappy romance novel when he heard a voice calling as the door creaked and groaned.
Halsin walked in, somehow clean. His hands laden with a tray to feed five people and a large carafe of something that made Astarion’s eyes snap open.
“That took longer than I expected,” he said a huff. “You said you drink the blood of animals, yes?”
“Yes,” Astarion answered, unsure. Halsin had asked him a number of questions as they’d made their way through the wilderness.
Would you like to accompany me to the grove?
I suppose it’s not a terrible idea.
Would you like to bathe when we arrive?
A bath sounds quite delicious.
Do you prefer to bathe privately?
What luxuries you offer.
Would you like solitude?
A pause, I would rather not see another soul if it’s all the same to you… of course I’ll make an exception for your magnanimous self.
A chuckle. Then finally, What do you usually eat?
Oh never mind, darling. I don’t eat people, I feed on animals. You’re quite safe with me.
Of course, they had seen souls. I couldn’t be avoided. But Halsin had done his best to shelter Astarion from the druids and their business, and their watching eyes. But that couldn’t be—
“One of the many benefits of living in harmony with nature... There was a doe brought in this night, I asked if the blood could be kept. I hope it is not congealing, I brought it as quickly as I could. If it is distasteful I could warm it by the fire if it will help?”
Astarion watched, struck dumb by the sight of this ridiculous Druid carrying a tray of food presumably for himself, and a carafe of fresh doe blood towards him where he sat motionless by the fire. His last meal flashed before his eyes, a putrefying rat, the blood long settled to the underside of where the rat had laid motionless in it’s death. The blood had been the consistency of cold porridge. The fur and flesh had stuck in his teeth. He remembered his relief when it had been brought. His desperation. The frenzied way he had tried to angle the small body when it was long dry in case he had missed a single small clot.
His words failed him.
“Astarion?”
“Apologies, darling,” a part of him recognized that his words were more breathy than normal, “your hospitality has rendered me momentarily speechless,”
Halsin placed the tray on the rug between them, and perched on a stool facing the fire. Astarion ignored the food that Halsin began devouring and reached towards the carafe. There was a wooden mug next to it, beautifully detailed with engraving of leaves and vines twisting their way around the cup. It was large, with a handle that looked made for a hand the size of Halsin’s. With shaking fingers Astarion reached for the carafe. What if he spilled it? What if he lost control and drank from it like a heathen? What if his body could not handle a feast this size? Astarion narrowed his focus, this was just like kissing a neck, focus on the task, don’t be greedy. He picked it up, it shook, so he steadied it with his other hand. Mesmerized he watched as the warm, deep crimson liquid flowed into the beautiful mug. Hands still shaking he set the carafe down and brought his hands to cradle the mug. One whole hand slipped through the gigantic handle. It shook all the way to his lips.
It was nothing like rat. It was metallic, but had a full-bodied wildness that contrasted deeply with the sharp, shallow tang of rat. He barely swallowed his moan.
He drank deeply, refilling the cup twice before he remembered himself. He looked to Halsin. He was eating steadily, watching him, but he made no comment.
Eventually Astarion’s carafe was empty. He breathed deeply and looked back to his companion. He had managed to work his way through the entire meal.
“Thank you,” he managed. The words were stiff and he thought they sounded ungrateful.
“It cost me nothing but kindness,” Halsin smiled at him.
Astarion rolled his eyes, “Gods, one more sappy line like that and I might get a rash,”
Halsin huffed. He began clearing away the empty vessels taking them to a bench.
“Were you looking for something?” He asks nodding towards the open roll of scalpels and other sharp instruments.
“Just a needle and thread dear. No need to fret, I got what I needed,”
“I’m glad one of us did,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Oh?” Astarion asked, fluffing his curls and arranging himself in a relaxed position on the rugs, “trouble in the wellspring of nature? The heart of the wild? The virally verdant valley? The—”
“The morning wood?”
“Ooh yes, I like that one,” He clapped his hands together and threw his chin up with a small giggle.
Halsin let a brief smile wash over his features before it slipped off, “when is there not?” He sighed.
“Oh come now, darling. You will soon realize that I do not tolerate anyone outdoing my own melodramatics. What ever could be wrong with you sappy sausages?”
Halsin chuckled and shook his head, before growing somber again and folding himself by the fire, too far to touch. When he leant back against a cushion he shut his eyes, “I fear the common thread in each problem is my leadership,”
“Well that is hardly surprising considering the problems exist within the grove and you are the leader of it. That would be like saying the leaders of Baldur’s Gate are responsible for every problem within the city. It’s ludicrous,”
“Is it? Are they not responsible, as leaders?”
“Well, perhaps a little,” he tilted his head, and leant forward, raising his hands to gesticulate, “But problems, as you call them, are rarely the result of a single individuals actions, leader or not. It’s always a compilation of conditions and context…”
Halsin shook his head again, but smiled indulgently, “Quite the philosophical little vampire,”
“Oh gods, don’t insult me. I am no such thing. I am shallow, petty, and beautiful,”
“My mistake,” he smiled. Astarion let his mouth twitch in response. Halsin’s smile was really quite charming. “How can I apologize?”
Astarion felt a small needle of dread prick his guts. He’d already worked him into the perfect position. It would be so easy, a tilt of the chin, a well timed smile. But… perhaps he needn’t rush, maybe not tonight. Maybe he could give himself just this one night to just indulge.
“Your apology will be two-fold,” he said imperiously, quirking his mouth and flicking him a sideways glance, “firstly, you will tell me what this was doing on your bookshelf,” he tossed the book he’d been nursing at the Druid. Halsin caught it easily. His brow furrowed into the frown lines that Astarion was quickly becoming familiar with. Suddenly his face broke and a loud, deep belly laugh erupted from the Druid.
Astarion waited, completely unconscious of the grin on his face as he watched Halsin.
“This,” Halsin laughed holding up the book entitled The Courting of a Contrary Cambion, “whenever I leave the grove, a friend, Rath, leaves me a book. Sometimes it is a ludicrous account of a boasting adventurer, once it was a very entertaining erotic fiction about a sailor and umm, well, you get the idea. He insists on weaving parts of the story into everyday conversation until I can prove to him that I’ve read it. I’m glad you found it! I had almost forgotten to look for it,”
“I hadn’t pegged you as a romantic fiction reader,” he answered, watching the corners of Halsin’s eyes crinkle as he chucked and flicked through the pages.
“You might be surprised by how many I have read over the years,” he looked up at Astarion, “Do you know this one?”
“No, but I was lucky enough to stumble on Cinders and Centaurs a few years ago in a, ah, acquaintance’ collection,”
“I’ve not had the pleasure,”
“It’s probably one of the most fabulously gaudy gems of the romance genre… not my favorite kind of reading material, but it is wonderfully entertaining,” Astarion glanced towards his clothing, the shirt must be dry. He picked up the thread and needle. He felt a strange warmth, a combination of the heat of the fire, a fresh meal, and something less tangible.
“And pray tell, what is the second part of my apology?” Halsin asked.
Astarion threaded the needle deftly, “You,” he said holding the threaded needle between his lips as he examined cuffs, “will read it to me. I’m rather desperate to know everything.”