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Tonight, Astarion was at peace.
He often took on first watch – he would take the time alone to hunt, get a break from the chatter of his companions, and he would read uninterrupted, winding down from a full day of travel or exploration or combat. It was the benefit of being an elf – he’d seen his companions running on less-than-ideal amounts of sleep, and their performance always suffered when they were poorly rested. Meanwhile he was free to hunt, crawl back into his tent, trance for four hours and be back to his usual perky self. He liked to lord the fact over Lae’zel, who begrudgingly agreed that being able to enter into a trance was a lot handier than needing to sleep – he cherished what wins he could have over her.
He had nowhere to be tonight – he had drained a bear the night before, spotting it sniffing around towards their camp chest which had just been restocked with supplies carefully catalogued by Gale. It wasn’t much of a challenge, and probably the closest he would have to a restaurant experience as a vampire, but the bear was extremely filling, and he didn’t want to be picky. He was feeling sated enough and didn’t really need to hunt, so he took the time to catch up on his reading while he sat watch, lounged on his carefully stacked pile of plush pillows at the entryway of his tent, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the mild breeze on his skin.
He greatly valued these moments. He occasionally wondered if this was how he would have spent his nights if he were still alive (minus the outdoor aspect of it). Often, he would look up at the sky and think about his old life at that wretched castle, and it would steel his resolve to never return. He prized his freedom, however temporary, and other than the occasional intrusions from his guardian, his mind was his own. His companions (tadpole included) made for far better company than his siblings. His companions listened to him and there was a friendly camaraderie that the surlier members of the group refused to acknowledge. They never told him to be silent, never tried to sabotage him, never told him he wasn’t good for anything but lies and seduction. They valued his input, and he, in turn, begrudgingly depended on them. It was the closest thing to friendship for him (although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was that stopped it from completely crossing over).
But what he appreciated the most was the ability to manage his own hunger. Gone were the days of mind-numbing starvation. Gone were the days where he fed on rats and bugs, getting what little sustenance he could from fetid and rotten blood. He was free to hunt as he pleased, though he stuck with animals as he’d been requested to, save for the times he got to bite into the necks of the less-friendly thinking creatures they encountered.
The most delicious of all, however, remained his first. Which reminded him —
Tav, their leader, had offered herself for a drink this morning, and he was waiting until she was well within her dreams before he wandered off to top himself up. While he didn’t explicitly need to feed, he always took her up on her offer as he couldn’t miss the opportunity to have some of her blood. Hers, for some reason, cleared up his mind the best.
He decided it was a good time to do so when Halsin woke up to take over – the two elves had an arrangement where they took turns to watch while the rest of their companions got their eight hours (or as close to it as they were afforded to). It worked out for everyone, and it meant Astarion would get his me-time guilt-free. He watched as the druid wandered towards the fire with blocks of wood and his beloved set of carving tools – he was in the process of creating little wooden trinkets for some of the party, after Shadowheart had requested he made her a little trinket of what animal he thought she would be if she were a druid. She got a little wooden goldfish the next day, which she carefully hung at the entryway of her tent, dangling like a sad, friendless mobile. She was so very pleased, smiling wider than usual as she cooed over the gift, and Astarion was surprised that the idea of being a forgetful fish didn’t offend the Sharran.
Neither of the elves said anything – they were both very good at keeping silent, not wanting to disrupt their companions while they slept. Astarion pulled himself up, leaving a folded note about camp chore allocation he’d been left one day as a bookmark. Wordlessly, he headed towards Tav’s tent as Halsin began carving away – tonight’s project seemed to be Karlach’s, and it looked to be a bear that looked more like Clive than an anatomically accurate one.
Astarion pushed past the flaps of the tent, careful not to let too much of the light from the campfire through. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he was a bit soft on Tav, wanting to make sure she got her rest and was inconvenienced as little as possible by his feeding on her and accepting her generosity. Normally he would find her sleeping peacefully, exhausted from the day’s travels, and he would sup just a bit generally as a dessert before he left for his bedroll feeling lighter and happier.
He blinked at the sight in front of him as he let the tent flap fall behind him, and the sliver of light that came through from the campfire shrunk to a line and then nothing. His dark vision meant he could see her clearly even without the light.
She was hunched over, in such a poor posture he had to actively bite his tongue to not comment on it. Her hair was showing signs of chaos – she always was a bit of a wriggler in her sleep, and so her hair often tangled from the back (or so he noticed – he also noticed it tangled worse when it was freshly washed, as was the case tonight). With one eye open and the other closed, she lifted a finger at him in a gesture that he took to mean as ‘hold on’, while she chugged down the contents of her waterskin.
She looked charming. Adorable in a very unruly, wild gremlin kind of way.
She popped the cork lid back on the skin, smacking the top of it with practiced precision. Keeping one eye closed, she began to lay back down on to her bedroll, her hand gesturing towards him with palms up, inviting. Tensing her core, she brushed the hair from her neck and pushed her hair up on to the pillow, making things easy for him to access. She closed her eyes.
“Are you awake?” he whispered, as he began to kneel alongside her. Was she… sleepwalking? Was she conscious? He’d never run into her awake for feedings since they started their arrangement. She adjusted her position as she laid down, laying her entwined fingers together over her stomach like a princess in a coffin, ready to rest. It was a comical sight with the unruly bedhead looking like a nest-crown.
The eye closest to him fluttered open briefly. She muttered, “yes,” like a childish princess impatiently waiting for her true love’s kiss. He wanted to snort at the sight.
“Shall I come back another time, darling?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. He watched as she pursed her lips and let out a forceful sigh through her nose. It had been a while since he’d fed from her while she was awake, and while the first time went better than he expected he didn’t want things to be awkward given how intimate the whole experience tends to be.
“It’s fine,” she replied, muttering under her breath. She cleared her throat quietly. Her voice was a bit scratchy despite the water, and Astarion wondered if she was perhaps getting sick. Humans were always so susceptible to illness. He wondered if the ground was too cold for her despite the bedroll. Maybe the bedroll was too thin?
Ah – he really was soft on her. The others must not be allowed to know. Regardless, he tried to scan through his inventory in his mind. He may be able to spare her another blanket to tuck under her bedroll, just to stop the cold from seeping into her back. But he’d have to do it in a way that made her think she “made him” give it up.
He enjoyed teasing her – it was so easy when she was so gullible.
He began to position himself over her neck, like he often did when she was in deep sleep and lightly snoring. “Well, at least you’re not snoring this time.”
Her eyes popped open and her mouth fell slack in shock, and she smacked his chest lightly, though she tensed when she noticed that he had his arms over her like a makeshift cage. Why did everything about vampirism hinge on sensuality? “I don’t snore,” she argued. She was on the verge of pouting, staring up at him as he hovered over her. Her eyes looked so large and so round in the dark. He could stare at them forever.
“You convince yourself that, darling,” he said with a smirk, as he lowered his mouth towards her neck. He could hear her heartbeat speed up, thudding loud in the silence of the tent. Gods, teasing her was just so fun. Excitement made her blood taste a little different. He made sure to let his breath hover over her skin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
She tilted her head away to give him easier access to her neck, almost reflexively. He glanced at her from his periphery, noting the full pout and frown that marred her eyebrows. Petulantly, she snorted. “Absolutely not do I snore,” she whispered furiously, relacing her fingers together over her diaphragm. She closed her eyes again, but the small pout remained. It looked like it could be dispelled with a kiss, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.
He shushed her, enjoying the way she shivered from the base of her spine from the sensation. He knew a thing or two about appealing to someone without actually touching them. Breathily, he whispered, “Now, now – let’s be professional about this, darling.”
“Yes, let’s,” she said, quickly sparring against his flirting like she always did. Gods – he loved the sparring. It kept him on his toes, and not in the fight-or-flight manner he had grown accustomed to. “I always am. I think this is a you problem.”
He sighed again, dreamy and content. His hand found its usual place against the other side of her neck to keep her still. “I do so love dessert,” he muttered – his lips brushed against her skin closely before he bit down and began to feed. She stiffened at the action – she always did, even when she was asleep, but she remained stiff. He rubbed slow circles against the skin of her jaw near her ear. He pulled away briefly, keeping his lips mostly against her, to whisper, “relax, pet.”
She melted under his touch upon instruction, and he resumed his meal. He hummed in appreciation.
He tried to take little – he was still full, after all, and he didn’t technically need to feed. He just wanted to accept the offer, selfish as he was, to help clear his mind. He gave the puncture site some kitten licks, cleaning up the remaining blood, leaving nothing wasted. “Let me wipe that up,” he said, as he pulled back and straightened back to sitting position, studying his companion who now seemed to be at the edge of sleep. Her head lolled back as if trying to follow the sound of his voice.
“M’kay,” she slurred, as she began to turn on her side. He knew she was a side sleeper – she liked to sleep with her knees tucked up towards her chest and one hand tucked under her head. She often complained about pins and needles the next day, but never did anything to change her sleeping position. He knew she drooled, too, when she was extremely tired – he usually wiped the drool off when he was cleaning her up post-feed. “Thanks.”
“Do you… want water, darling?” He asked, as he tipped out some of the healing potion they kept explicitly for clean up into a clean handkerchief. He approached her and gently held her chin as he took care in dabbing the handkerchief against her wound. He checked for drool – nada. Good.
“D’be nice,” she muttered, her words fading into silence as sleep began to take her back into its arms. “Thanks, melon.”
He frowned. “Excuse me, darling – melon?” Where did that nickname even come from?
She hummed in agreement. “You’re my melon,” she said simply as her voice gave way to a light snore. Her breathing evened out, betraying slumber.
He shook his head as he took her empty water skin, making his way out of the tent and towards the big cauldron they used for clean, potable water. Halsin watched him with mild interest as he carefully refilled the water skin, before cautiously punching the cork back in place. No words were exchanged as he strode back to Tav’s tent, sliding in to find her with her arm stuck up.
“Gimme,” she muttered, and he rolled his eyes to hand the water skin to her. She sat back upright, eyes lidded and hair still a mess. “Gods, I’m so thirsty tonight.”
“That’s because you drool.”
“I do not,” she disputed, lips wrapped around the mouth of her water skin, but he was amused to find her reach up to her cheek anyway. She grumbled, before taking a big drink – he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d emptied the damn thing again. She gulped down the liquid greedily, before she let out a light ‘ah’ as she put the lid back in place.
Astarion’s hand shot out, offering to take the item. With a confused look, she passed it to him, and he put it back on top of the crate she used as a makeshift table. He stood and prepared to leave. “Thanks, Astarion. You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, with a dopey smile that made her eyes crease at the corners in the way he adored. It made her look so innocent.
Never one to let opportunities pass, he countered, “well, nice of you to remember my name now, my dear. You called me a melon a few minutes ago.” He didn’t address the rest of her statement. He didn’t know how to deal with gratitude – so he didn’t.
She laid back down, closing her eyes and trying to paint herself as a picture of peace. It didn’t seem like she noticed his avoidance. “I didn’t call you ‘a melon’,” she clarified, though it did nothing to demystify the topic to Astarion, “I called you ‘melon’.”
“Yes, okay, darling – but where in the hells did that comes from?”
She frowned and one eye cracked open. “I thought you knew Elvish. Isn’t that ‘friend’ in Elvish?”
Oh. She meant ‘mellon’, but she used the wrong tone, didn’t elongate the correct syllables, and essentially got nothing of it right. He pursed his lips together, unsure of whether to correct her. It would be funnier to… not. Plus, he found he wasn’t very pleased with being called ‘friend’, but he was somehow fine with being called ‘Melon’. It was… cute. And it was special because no one had ever used that pet name on him before. He could let it pass.
“Yes,” he lied, “well, you just butchered the pronunciation a tiny bit, darling, but I see what you’re going for now.”
The single open eye rolled. “That’s what I get for being friendly. Get out of here, you melon.”
He scoffed. “Well, goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered, as he turned to head out of the tent. He cast her one final glance. He could make out her beady little eyes peeking at him and the telltale crease in their corners betrayed a grin she tried to hide beneath her threadbare blanket. He could imagine the little wrinkle her nose would make when she made such a face – it was his second favourite feature of hers.
He felt the intense urge to bundle her up and take her away – she looked so vulnerable and innocent at rest, and the fact that she trusted him while she was in this state gave him conflicted feelings. A part of his mind told him she was an idiot and the perfect target – too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Fell quickly for a pretty face and a kind word. His insidious mind whispered there must be an ulterior motive to it all – a fetish or some such she was wanting to fulfill. Surely no one was this kind? This giving? If she were in Baldur’s Gate she would have followed him to slaughter without question. And he would have led her there, and the world would have been less bright without her in it.
It made his phantom heart clench. Another voice in his mind asked – what does that make you? You fell quickly for a pretty smile and a generous heart.
Well. It seemed they were just two fools meandering around.
“Sleep well.”
She let out a sleepy chuckle, followed by an impressive yawn. “Goodnight, my melon.”
Astarion emerged from Tav’s tent to find Halsin still carving away, deep in focus. The larger elf looked up at him and his expression softened, before returned to his work with a slight smile. The vampire walked over to his tent, slid in, located the spare blanket he was going to bait Tav into taking in the morning, and laid down to prepare for his trance. He was surprised to find his cheeks hurting.
As he closed his eyes, he thought of melons and wood carvings, and the faint scent of the rosewater that always lingered in Tav’s tent.
Tonight, Astarion was at peace.