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It seemed like it had been hours since they had departed from the Myconid colony. Despite the little respite offered by Shadowheart and Axael’s healing spells, Astarion was sore, exhausted, and he didn’t have a proper meal in days.
He didn’t have a lot of options in that regard, since Lae’Zel, Wyll, and Gale were back at the Emerald Grove. He could have asked Shadowheart, but he didn’t want to risk being staked for even thinking of asking her.
So that only left one option to him, since Karlach’s body was still scorching hot. But he didn’t want to ask Axael for blood. Astarion was desperately trying to convince himself that it was because of how emaciated the other man was, but really, it was because of how good it tasted. Apart from the fear of of being unable to stop himself, he was scared of becoming addicted to his taste. His blood was incredibly rich, even compared to other humanoid’s (even if he had only tasted Wyll’s so far, Axael’s blood seemed to be a whole other category).
So that option was out of question, too. And here in the Underdark, the rare potential preys he could come upon were rancid, and acidic in taste. So only one option was left for him: bite his tongue and wait until they were back in the Grove. Surely, a charitable soul would give him their neck to feast upon.
Eventually they stopped in front of a rock. A rock which, for some reason, had a sword embedded in it. Axael dropped to his knees in front of it.
“Erm...Everything alright, soldier?” Karlach asked, uneasy.
“Can’t you hear her? Can’t you hear her sing?” He asked softly. His eyes were closed, and a soft smile had spread on his lips.
Shadowheart approached him from behind, observing the sword as well. “Well, I think our dear leader has finally lost his mind,” she smirked, “although, that’s what you get for mingling with living mushrooms and mind flayers, I guess.”
Axael turned towards them. “You seriously can’t hear her?”
“Her?” Astarion asked. This situation was almost as amusing as it was concerning. “Please, tell me you’re not talking about the sword.”
The bard sighed and turned back to the sword. “Her name is Phalar Aluve, one of Eilistrae's parting gifts to the drow in the Underdark. Although, I’m not sure how she ended up here specifically, there aren’t a lot of drows who actually live in this portion of the Underdark, from what we’ve seen…I’m pretty sure she won’t mind if I take her sword.”
“Hold on, so you can really hear that sword sing?” Shadowheart asked, incredulous, before leaning over his shoulder and to hear better. After a beat of silence, her eyes widened. “You weren’t joking, then. It does sing! And you came straight for it, too! How did you hear that from that far?”
Curious, Astarion leaned in, too. Yes, he could indeed hear it now; the faint hum of a melancholic song was radiating from the sword. “That’s pretty impressive, indeed, I can barely hear it from where I’m standing, and I’m an elf and a vampire, I’m supposed to have a better hearing than all of you! How come you heard it from that far?”
Axael shrugged. “You all seem to forget that this is how I’m able to see. I use the sound of music to locate myself. Before the tadpole, I could sense music like that from half a kilometer away. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a prayer to make, and a sword to retrieve.” They all fell silent at that, and they all exchanged a worried look. If that was him with the tadpole, what was he like without? Astarion had an hypothesis regarding that, but he wasn’t sure it even made sense. He wasn’t sure it was even possible.
Eventually, the tiefling got up from his kneeling position and took hold of the sword while taking a deep breath. Slowly, he pulled it out of the stone, and the sound it emitted seemed to amplify threefold as the sword got freed.
“Ohhh I’m going to take such great care of you…” He carefully sheathed the weapon, and turned to his companions. “We can go back to making our way, sorry about that.”
“Is that supposed to be this famous ‘Nightsong’, then?” Karlach asked, a little confused as they started walking again.“After everything we’ve heard about it, I kind of expected more...”
“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Axael answered pensively, scratching his neck. From where he was, Astarion had a perfect view of the droplet of blood that slid down his throat when he did. “Sure, Eilistraee is often pictured dancing under the moonlight, but the sword’s name is ‘Phalar Aluve’, and it certainly doesn’t translate to anything close to ‘Nightsong’, so either it’s a very disappointing mistranslation or myth, or the Nightsong is something else.”
“How come you know so much about drow culture? Or even about that specific sword?” Astarion didn’t even register who had asked that question, too focused on the sight of the drop of blood that disappeared under the bard’s collar.
“Ehhhhh...Ask that again in five minutes, after I come up with a convincing lie.”
The rest of their journey towards the Selûnite Outpost seemed long and torturous to Astarion, whose hunger was just increasing with each second. Eventually, Axael slowed down his pace, letting the girls lead the way while he got to Astarion’s level.
“Are you alright?” He inquired as he put his hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “You barely said a word since we left the colony…”
Astarion didn’t really have it in him to tell him all about his desperation, about the mistake he had made by indulging in his blood in the first place. After so many years of forced starvation, it was harder to control his hunger once he had over indulged. He opted for a lie.
“Oh, that sword of yours is just dreadful darling, that’s all.”
Axael smiled and let his other hand rest on the hilt of the weapon. “Well, at least, now you won’t have to hear me whistle every minute anymore, so I’d say this expedition is a total win.”
“For you, maybe…” He mumbled.
The other hummed quietly. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem upset.”
Astarion sighed. This man was frustrating, sometimes. “And you’re bleeding in front of a vampire, what do you think is happening, darling?”
He answered him with a soft “oh” when Astarion wiped off the dried trail of blood from his neck. “OH! Shit, I’m so sorry! How long has it been since you’ve had anything to eat?!”
Astarion threw his own hand over his shoulder, as if dismissing his concerns. “A few days, but I’ve survived way more time without anything. Besides, we’ll soon be under the sun again, won’t we? So don’t worry your pretty head with that.”
“Just because you’ve survived this long doesn’t mean you should be forced to starve again. You deserve a chance to stop surviving, and start actually living.” Astarion was about to answer that, being undead, by nature, he couldn’t really “live” anymore, but Axael cut him short. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
Time to be persuasive, then.
“Have you seen how thin you are? I’m surprised you even survived the first time I bit you.” Come on, believe me this time.
Axael facepalmed at his answer, and the skull tattooed on his hand perfectly lined up with his features. How deliciously edgy.
“So, you’re telling me you didn’t ask me for my help – and by help, I mean your main sustenance – because you were afraid I couldn’t take it?” Oh, so he did buy that one. Good. “Love, I’ve been alive for gods know how long, I’ve been through horrors even you can’t comprehend, it’s not a vampire bite that’s going to take me out.”
Despite his words, his tail was swinging a little too widely, with its tip a little too downturned to be interpreted as anything else than doubt and discouragement. Every tiefling didn’t use their tail in the exact same way, but having had a tiefling sister for years surely helped Astarion to interpret Axael’s body language.
“Yes, yes, you’re old and experienced, I get it,” he raised his hands in surrender, “but you still look like you’re one skipped meal away from passing out-”
“Yes, but it’s not just that, is it?” He interrupted.
“So you’re allowed to lie whenever you please, but I can’t? That’s hardly fair, you know?” The renewed hunger was putting him on edge.
“Alright, alright. Keep your secrets, then, I won’t pry further.” Astarion’s body relaxed when he heard that, and the gentle chuckle that followed. “Although,” he added, “if you want to take a bite, you’re welcome to. I promise you I’ll survive, and, here…” He paused in his tracks, and lifted his sleeve up to his forearm, exposing his wrist to the vampire. “If you really don’t trust yourself enough to stop, you can bite me here, it will be easier for me to snatch my wrist back than to try to take you away from my neck.”
Astarion carefully took hold of his wrist, holding it like a child would a new porcelain doll. He swore to himself he wouldn’t seek Axael’s blood anymore, but this was being offered freely, and the feeling of a strong and quick pulse under his fingertips was so tempting…Surely, one more bite wouldn’t hurt.
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In the end, only a few mouthfuls of blood ended up being sufficient to satiate him. This time he had known what to expect, and had known when to stop, even if the act of feeding itself earned him a dirty look from Shadowheart when they joined the two women at the Waypoint.
They were back at the Grove, and most of the tieflings were sharpening their weapons to prepare for the following day’s battle before going to bed. Karlach and Wyll were entertaining and reassuring the children with stories of how they had destroyed this or that monster, Gale was studying his spell book, and Shadowheart was praying while Lae’Zel, Axael, and Halsin were strategizing about the defenses with Zevlor and what few other druids weren’t preparing for that damned rite.
Astarion had tucked himself into his bedroll for the night, but no matter how much he was tossing and turning, he couldn’t focus enough to fall into his usual trance. He gave up on his attempts after half an hour, tried to distract himself with a book and tossed it away five minutes later, then tried to spot some defaults on his clothes and armor and threw his thread and needle away when he couldn’t find anything, then tried to sharpen his already razor sharp blades, organize his already tidied poisons and elixirs, and counting the gold he accumulated on the road (five hundred and forty seven pieces, he had counted them twice).
He didn’t know if it was because of the anticipation of the fight to come, a side effect of the full night of normal sleep he had had the night before, or if he was missing something (someone), but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t make himself relax. In a desperate attempt to calm his racing mind, he got out of his tent to get some fresh air. It helped somehow.
He wandered aimlessly in the sleeping grove, stopping here and there to help himself with the contents of some unattended crates or chests until he got close enough to the ‘strategy room’ to hear screams of anger which sounded awfully like Axael and Lae’Zel’s. That sounded promising.
He tried to get closer without triggering the stone door’s opening mechanism. The voices were clearer, now. Axael and Lae’Zel were indeed both shouting about about this or that defense mechanism that wouldn’t work, (something about boiling water not having effect on goblins because of the toughness of their skin), and strangely enough, they weren’t shouting at each other, but with each other at someone else. Well, that was new.
But each argument they threw was met with Zevlor’s own screaming voice, scolding them for being too young and inexperienced to know about the ‘reality of war’.
“Zevlor, I know you’re probably a good leader – you’re a great leader, in fact, but this. This will not work!” Axael’s voice called out. “This is a waste of our resources, and will be a hazard to our own troops! So please, let’s get to something else!”
“What would you know about it?! It has worked in the past, it will work now too!”
“It doesn’t matter if you put oil or water to boil, it will get too cold before we can do anything of it and – I need a break.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone with this istik! He’ll lose us all-”
“Just five minutes, Lae’Zel. Please.”
“Fine. But don’t be surprised if you find him dead when you come back!”
The door opened, giving way to a very upset bard, with a sword that seemed to hum an equally upset tune despite it still being sheathed. It was almost scary how fast the sword had attuned itself to its bearer, immediately reflecting his emotions.
“Clope, clope, clope, clope…” For now, he was too focused on muttering to himself to notice his presence, but, ever since Phalar Aluve had been attached to his hip, the blind man had only used its constant humming to guide him, and it seemed to have worked pretty well until now. So it was only a question of seconds before he did.
The door eventually closed, and Astarion waited patiently from his hiding spot, and just as Axael passed before him, he slightly shifted his position, disturbing his environment and obviously startling him, making him yelp in surprise.
“Ah! Put-!” He cleared his throat, trying to regain some sort of countenance. “What are you doing here? You should rest before tomorrow.”
Astarion got up and swiftly joined his friend. “You’re one to talk.”
He hummed a non comital noise. “I need to smoke, you’re free to join me if you wish.”
The elf scrunched up his nose at that, but followed him nonetheless. The smell of tobacco was a foul thing, but he would do about anything to escape his boredom in that moment.
He followed his companion towards the outside of the cave, and Astarion inhaled deeply. The crisp night air was refreshing, the stars and the moon were beautiful against the night sky. Not a cloud in view.
Axael dug into his shirt and retrieved a little metal box from an inside pocket. He took a cigarette from the pack, and lit it with a fingertip, carefully blowing the smoke away from Astarion. They both leaned against the stone wall.
“Why aren’t you resting?” He asked eventually. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us, you ought to rest.”
Astarion shrugged and huffed a breath. “I can’t relax enough to trance, but the night is still young, so I thought that maybe if I took a walk, that would help clear my mind.”
“Do you want some help to fall asleep?” He wiggled his fingers, which glowed a gentle silver as he seemed to invoke some sort of magic. “I know a few tricks for that.” Oh, so it really was that, wasn’t it? Astarion had been suspicious about that for a while, after seeing a bunch of goblins promptly fall asleep under “a simple sleep spell”, or after witnessing the amount of yawning of their companions increase as soon as he got too close to them. Being an elf, Astarion wasn’t even supposed to be affected by that kind of hypnotic magic. And yet…
“So you really are the one I have to thank for that delightful night of sleep, aren’t you?” Axael smiled, and nodded as he took a long drag of his cigarette. “What even are you?” He couldn’t quite hide the fascination from his voice. Unlike everyone else’s, Axael’s sleeping spell was particularly powerful, since he even seemed to have an aura of sleep around him at all times. Obviously he had heard stories about people being granted powerful sleep and dream related abilities by the gods they worshiped, but if Axael was religious, he never displayed it publicly.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, Astarion watched it rise towards the moon. “What am I indeed? Am I a creature of the night who feeds on Dreams? Am I a god? A simple follower? Am I a Dream? A Nightmare? Or just a man?” He slipped to the ground in a nonchalant position, a perfect contrast to his serious, almost scared intonation. “You know, I always try to make sure the people I care about know when I’m lying, but I really don’t want to lie about this one. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t like talking about this. So I’ll let you figure it out, take a guess by yourself, but this is the only question I won’t ever answer, lie or not.”
Some might have been disappointed by his answer, but Astarion understood. He himself had planned to keep his own vampirism a secret for a long while, and he probably still wouldn’t have told anyone if Axael didn’t come to him that day he asked for a comb.
“I guess we all have our secrets, but I can keep yours, you know?” He couldn’t really stop himself from trying to pry further, after all, how was he supposed to manipulate the tiefling if he didn’t know enough about him? Deep down, he knew that that ship had sailed and sank almost immediately after, because Axael had been just so godsdamned caring with him ever since the beginning of their journey. Deep down, he knew he was starting to see the man as something else than a potential prey, of protector, he knew he was really starting to see him as a friend.
“Astarion, this is a matter of life or death for me,” he said gently, “you know, I think you’re the one I trust the most here, aside from Karlach.” Astarion was halfway through opening his mouth when Axael beat him to it. “A horrible decision, I know, but this is not a simple matter of trust. This is simply a matter of survival to me. To make up for it you can ask me anything, and I promise I’ll answer truthfully this time.”
“That hardly seem fair,” he replied as he sunk to the ground beside him, “I know you have a hard time opening up, but you know almost everything there is to know about me, while I know next to nothing about you.”
“Well, you know about my spouses, you one of the two stories about how I lost my eyes…”
“And that’s merely the surface.” He laid his head on Axael’s shoulder, forcing him to pass his cigarette to the other hand to prevent him from inhaling the smoke. A sweet, but mostly useless gesture. “I know you’re a tiefling, a bard, and a widow, but that’s about it. Like you said it before with me, I want to know the real you.”
“You want to give what we have a real chance at sincerity?”
“I don’t want to live in prettily crafted lies anymore.”
Axael thought about it for a moment, and the silence that fell on them seemed seemed to stretch the time in an excruciatingly long period. It was as if all of a sudden, every sound from the forest around them, the distant voices arguing in the strategy room, and even Phalar Aluve had decided to tone it down a bit to offer them this moment of calm.
“Alright,” the tiefling said eventually after taking another drag of his cigarette, “let’s make a deal then. Every day, you can ask me one question, and I swear I will tell you the truth.”
It was still unfair, but this time, it seemed unfair to Axael. Surely, he wanted something in exchange.
“And what would you like for your honesty?”
“I don’t know…Maybe actually come to me or someone else in the group when you’re feeling hungry?”
Astarion scoffed at that, but didn’t say anything. Now was not the moment.
“So I get one question a day?” Axael nodded. “And you’ll have to answer honestly?” He knew exactly what he was going to ask, this question had been on his mind for quite some time, now.
“Yeah, that’s what I said, what do you have in-”
“How old are you?”
He had expected Axael to sigh, to get angry or frustrated, but he laughed. An unexpected, genuine laugh. “How straightforward! So that was what has been on your mind since this morning?”
“Answer the damn question, Axael.”
“Alright, I lost count at some point, to be fair with you.” he lost his smile, and a grim expression replaced it. “Last time I checked it was...around four...four thousands, three hundred, maybe?”
It wasn’t that rare to find immortals around Faerûn, he obviously had heard of “simple people” like Elminster, who became immortals thanks to their god’s graces. Hells, Astarion himself was technically immortal! But 4300 years seemed a little excessive. Especially given how discreet Axael had been until then.
“I’ve suspected your immortality for a while now,” he said after a pause, “although four thousand years seem a little disproportionate. It means you’ve been born at the beginning of the Age of Humanity, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so, yes. I’m not exactly from this realm, so I wouldn’t know what it was like then. Congratulations on figuring it out first, though, even if I think Gale and Shadowheart might be onto me.” He finished his cigarette and crushed it beneath the sole of his shoe. “I’m a traveler. I’ve been staying here for what? Four hundred years? Unless I find a good reason, I think I’m going to leave soon.”
Astarion straightened up and carefully observed his companion’s features. He looked melancholic, and as soon as he had finished his cigarette, his now unoccupied hands restlessly tapped against his knee at the rhythm of his sword’s humming. Astarion grabbed his left hand, allowing him to play with his own fingers. Axael smiled at him at the gesture.
“How soon?”
“I don’t know, as soon as I’m strong enough to travel again. It might take ten years, fifty or maybe a hundred depending on what happens.”
A million more questions flowed through Astarion’s mind. He didn’t really care enough yet to be saddened by the fact that his friend would leave at some point, but he couldn’t help the little feeling of relief he felt upon hearing he wouldn’t depart as soon as the worms got extracted.
“Whose favor did you gain to become immortal?”
“I didn’t gain any favor, I…” His hesitation lasted less than a second before he resumed his sentence. “I ate a magic mushroom and then I couldn’t die anymore.”
Right. Only one honest answer a day. But that didn’t stop Astarion from playing along. “Is that why you hate eating mushrooms? Because you’re scared they’ll strip you of your boon?”
Axael nodded, smiling. “That, and the texture is outrageous.” He leaned his head on Astarion’s shoulder and sighed dramatically. “I should get back inside, or Lae’Zel will strangle me with my innards.”
Astarion hesitated. Come on, this used to be so easy. But he didn’t want things to be like before, even if asking for something like that was easy. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.“Will you come to my tent when you’re done? I could use the company.”
“I will try.” The tiefling huffed. “Although, that entirely depends on how entitled to his two copper worth of strategies Zevlor is.” He got up with a groan and dusted his clothes before extending a hand towards the vampire. “Try not to lament too much over my absence, sweetheart.”
The elf scowled at him and swatted his hand away, getting up by himself. “Don’t give yourself too much credit, darling . And if you call me that one more time, in such a condescending tone, I will drain you of all of your blood.”
Axael suddenly grabbed Astarion’s arm in a tight, almost painful grip, but when Astarion looked at his face, his expression was one of desperate hope, with the hint of a humorous smile. “If you do it, does that mean I get to escape that meeting?!” He dramatically let himself fall on Astarion, like a princess swooning over her prince. “Please save me from the crushing weight of my responsibilities.”
Astarion playfully pushed him away and started walking back towards the strategy room. “I think that if you keep stalling, the only ‘crushing weight’ I’ll have to heroically save you from will be the weight of Lae’Zel’s sword over your guts.” He exhaled almost as theatrically as his friend. “And here I though age made people more mature.”
The tiefling made a face and said in mock offense. “Well, that’s what I get for sharing my secrets, I guess.” He reached for Astarion’s hand and stopped in front of the door. Screams were still echoing from the room, and they seemed to have gained in intensity since Axael’s departure. “Thank you, for tonight,” he bent down in front of him and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, “I needed it.”
“Have a good night, Astarion.” He said as he turned a last time towards Astarion and shot him a wink.
The elf answered him by blowing him a kiss, before adding, “Good luck, and try not to get dismembered.”
And with that Axael turned back towards the room a second before it opened on an outraged Lae’Zel, whom Halsin was trying to calm down. Astarion slipped into the shadows, back to his bedroll, with his mind finally clear enough to get some rest.
However, he swallowed back the slight feeling of disappointment when he woke up from his trance a few hours later, and Axael was nowhere to be seen.