Chapter Text
The day had been a particularly exhausting one, and the evening not that much more restful. Down in those caves, being reminded of the life he left behind, the goddess he had left behind, it was a lot for Elorin. The drow should have felt at home, sulking through caves, but when they were filled with the avatars and brutally transformed zealots of the deity he had betrayed, it made them feel significantly less welcoming. Between the emotional turmoil and the sheer volume of physical and magical exertion, he could barely even face eating with his companions, never mind spending the night brewing potions.
That’s when he knew things were bad. Normally his evening crafting was calming, rejuvenating. Tonight, the prospect felt like a chore. He would leave it for tomorrow. A potion that could heal, brewed in the hands of the careless, could just as easily cause harm instead.
Then Gale decided to bare his soul, share his story and all the rest that comes with it. It was an additional a hurricane of emotions Elorin could have done without. It turned out that Gale was not the clever, level-headed man Elorin had thought he was, but holding him on a pedestal wasn’t fair. After all, they’d hardly known each other long, and Elorin had deep, dark secrets of his own. It was common sense that what he knew of Gale was but a drop in the Glimmersea. While it was disappointing to learn that Gale’s judgement could be so poor, but his remorse felt genuine. More than genuine. Crushing. The poor man had offered to leave them, but Elorin had called him an idiot for such a thing. No, whatever his ills were, they’d face them together.
Astarion hadn’t taken it especially well, seemingly angered by the deception. “You can’t trust anyone,” the elf had said, before storming away with a flounce.
It had, of course, left Gale feeling wretched, but after a long talk and a little distraction, the wizard was seeming more his usual self when Elorin was finally able to extricate himself from the conversation and return to his tent.
The drow rubbed at his face, the strange combination of burnt skin and smooth scales beneath his palms, and grimaced at his bedroll. What he needed right now was a deep squishy bed to sink into, and a thousand cushions to consume him. A litany of guards at his door so that he might sleep. Alas, he had none of that. This evening, though, he would treat himself. Instead of trancing sat upright, facing the tent flap, he would at least lie down. Let his eyes close over and hope it would do something about how dreadfully dry and scratchy they were.
Trust. That was what Elorin needed. That was what set the surfacers apart from the drow. And he was doing a lot better at it. He extended his trust to the apparently explosive Gale. And to Karlach. Trusted Shadowheart with her secrets, until she had finally begun to open up about them. He hadn’t even been too over the top when that skeleton showed up.
Astarion was taking the watch tonight. Elorin would trust that his tent would be safe enough.
He changed out of his robes and into the oversized shirt and loose trousers he had found on their travels, and crawled inside the bedroll. For all it lacked luxury, it was a very welcome feeling. Truth be told, he had given up on luxury a long time ago. Something as simple as a soft bedroll could be all the comfort he needed – even if it did smell slightly of someone else. He was hoping that wouldn’t take too long to fade. He closed his eyes and slowed his breaths, and let himself slip away into the trance.
#######
There was someone outside his tent. Elorin remained still. Surely just Astarion stretching his legs. The thoughts came slowly, dizzied amongst the thoughts of his trance. His mind was still a little sluggish even as he heard the flap to his tent moving. It was subtle. Someone with a trained hand. Had he not heard the scuff of a boot, Elorin might have missed it all together. His ground sheet flexed. Someone was in the tent. Close to him.
Elorin opened his eyes and sucked in a gasp, bleary eyes going from reluctantly peeled open to wide and frantic. Astarion was knelt over him, looming towards him, mouth wide, fangs bared. Fangs.
Astarion paused, a picture of total shock. Were it any other circumstance, it might have been somewhat comical. Elorin blinked at him. Astarion blinked back.
“… Shit.”
The elf leaned back onto his haunches, fluidly moving his hands to a raised and placating gesture. “No no – it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” The man’s eyes turned down, a forlorn look to his face. A deep, cutting disappointment. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed – well, blood.”
Suddenly all the signs were visible, and Elorin felt like such a fool. His naivety and inexperience of the surface were cutting. Yes, the darthiir could be pale, but that pale? And his eyes were not the colour they should have been. Elorin hadn’t even noticed – after all, his own eyes were just as red if not more. Gods, he’d been so stupid.
Elorin’s eyes narrowed. “How long has it been since you killed someone? Hours? Days? And now it’s my turn?”
“Of course not!” Astarion replied, a twinge of desperation in his voice. “I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food. I feed on animals. Boars-”
“Like the boar you mocked me for investigating?” Elorin spat. Everything was so clear now. Gods, he’d been so insistent on leaving it, so sharp in his insults for Elorin daring to be interested.
Astarion grimaced. “Perhaps,” he said, the word quick and dismissive. “But I only feed on animals – whatever I can get.” He exhaled sharply, a touch of despondence in his voice. “But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so weak.” A faintly hopeful glimmer touched his eyes. “If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”
Elorin’s gut knotted. Astarion still had his eyes on Elorin’s blood. The drow felt his skin crawling. “You certainly aren’t clearly thinking if you decided to try and feed on me. Why not one of the humans, or anyone who actually sleeps?”
Astarion stared at him for a moment. “Drow sleep,” he said. “Don’t they?”
“We can sleep,” Elorin replied, hoping his tone truly conveyed how much of an idiot the apparent vampire was. “We tend not to though.”
“Oh.”
“Why didn’t you tell us what you needed?” Elorin asked.
“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” Astarion scoffed. “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”
Ah, trust. That magic word that surfacers loved so much. Little more than a bedtime story to a drow. And yet, he was a surfacer now too. “You tried to bite me. How can I trust you?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He genuinely did not know. How did this all work? How did these people pick and choose? Elorin had tried it in the past and lost everything for it. Yet here it was expected. Normal.
“Because we don’t have a choice!” Astarion snapped. He was clearly desperate. Perhaps starving. “Not if we want to save ourselves from these worms. I need you alive. You need me strong.” The logic of it, for all Elorin’s doubts, made sense. “Please. Only be a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.”
Elorin’s heart was hammering. Was he really going doing to do this? It was insanity, but that was life on the surface. Everything felt like madness. He did need Astarion and he did need to trust. He had given Gale the benefit of the doubt that very evening. Didn’t Astarion deserve that chance as well?
“Not a drop more than you need,” Elorin snarled at him, the anger in his tone leaving Astarion confused for a moment, while he disentangled the meaning of the words from the delivery.
The vampire’s eyes suddenly widened, face brightening. “Really? I- of course. Not one drop more.” He was almost giddy as he gestured to the bed roll. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?”
Elorin despised the idea of laying down, but he supposed Astarion knew best in this matter, so reluctantly he did. Thoughts flittered through his mind – should he have called on the others? It would have been more sensible to have supervision, but then that wasn’t very trusting, was it? Gods, what a mess this place was.
Astarion was clearly excited by the prospect, smile wide and eyes sparkling, and it made his assertion that he had only fed on animals that much more believable. His face was filled with an almost childish wonder, right up until he was all fangs and gaping maw, descending upon the drow.
The bite was quick and painful, and Elorin felt ice jolt through his neck and his limbs as those razor-sharp fangs sunk into his flesh. The pain was not as great as he had expected though, and instead what concerned him was the feeling of emptiness, the draining of life from every corner of his being. His body grew impossibly heavy, mind sluggish, and a deep chill set into his bones. This was wrong. Very wrong. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, Elorin was certain. Gut instinct kicked in and he lifted his arms, trying to push Astarion away, but they were too weak now.
“Astari-” he began, but the effort was so great. The half word was barely a whisper, and it was silenced by a slight guttural noise from Astarion, the vampire’s grip strengthening, his jaw clamping down more firmly. Elorin had waited too long. Oh fuck, he waited too long. Astarion wasn’t going to stop. A flare of panic burst through him, a quick flash of flame igniting around one hand, but he’d lost so much blood, so much magic with it, it stuttered out and died.
Mistakes, what a mistake… After everything he had survived, Elorin had just enough time to lament that this was truly a stupid way to die.