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He is not left alone in the warehouse until the sun sets. That is a surprise to him. He expected Solace and Halsin to stay, but the others were not bound to him by any sense.
The romantically entangled people stay close together and talk quietly; Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to be circumspect in their discussion of where and when they should sleep together. It’s a charming backdrop, really. The murmurings of people in love surround him while he is cared for by his own partners.
He is calmed by his paladin with their arm around him, and his still wildshaped druid laying behind him, wrapped around his body with his head on his lap. His friends have not left to see the rest of the city. Even Jaheira has remained, trying desperately to reason with Minsc and tend to his deeply lacerated shoulder before he wanders out into the broken city in search of villains to fight.
When the sun finally sets; Astarion is calm; his wounds have healed from time and only time, and it is time to return to Elfsong. The group walks through the city towards the tavern, glad to see that the building still stands. The vampire worries for a moment, that he will be disallowed entrance to the inn, but he is delighted to be reminded that it is homes he must be invited into. Public buildings are perfectly fine. Banks likely included in that definition. Or he hopes so. Even if he doesn’t need money, he still wants to make Cazador’s vaults as empty as his soul. There must be centuries of wealth to reappropriate for his spawn. Gods know they’ll need it.
“I’m ordering a shit ton of booze for us, anyone want anything special?” Karlach shouts over the clammer of patrons, muscling her way to the front of the bar. She is given a wide berth; her armor so dented and bloodstained as to make even the drunkest patrons give her space before she has to use her height and bulk to her advantage.
“Something that might make me blind, please!” Jaheira crows, huge smile as she shoves Minsc upstairs before he can get himself into trouble. Karlach’s laugh is heard as Halsin, still in his direwolf form, carries the once again nearly unconscious paladin to the suite upstairs. Astarion follows behind, helping Solace slide off the wolf’s back and sit on a bed, gently kissing the tiefling’s bruised temples when they stifle a pained moan. The vampire carefully removes the heavy armor from the tiefling, wincing at the many many bruises and cuts he finds under the plate metal that had saved them from much worse damage. Deep, dark marks where blood gathers in response to trauma. But it is a sign that they are alive. They are healing. They will be alright. Even if they’re a few bruises short of a drow for a while.
Soon, Solace is free of their armor; magically bathed by Gale, while their right shoulder is cleansed and bandaged by Jaheira. The druid kissed them gently on the forehead before setting them down on a few pillows to keep them elevated; a gentle but stern warning that if they get up, she will tie them to the bed. The paladin stuck out their forked tongue, awkwardly reached with their only hand for the blankets around their knees, and finally relaxed. The paladin reclines, right side available to be tended without hassle, despite the paladin whining about not needing attention. They had been soundly ignored.
Their face is bruised and swelling, but they smile, watching their friends begin to wind up or down as they choose. Their heart beats calmly in their chest. No fear. No anxiety for their safety. For the first time, Solace rests; completely alone in their mind. Their left hand flexes, reaching over to gingerly touch their right shoulder, an expression of nearly amused wonder at the limb they no longer had.
It’s strange to see them with only one arm. Astarion feels as if his mind is trying to complete a puzzle that defies all types of logic. He knows that their arm is gone. But his mind says that it should be there. Hopefully he won’t have to get used to it. Hopefully, his partner will be able to be made whole. It would be what is most fair. They have lost enough.
Solace tries to stay awake, but their body will not be denied. The paladin is asleep, mouth agape and snoring heavily within minutes. Astarion is at their bedside, listening to their heartbeat; steady and calm. He sits on the floor with Halsin, his wolf body curled behind him and dozing happily. It’s like being cradled by a rock made of blankets. He knows the description is inane but it feels correct.
Shadowheart comes over to the both of them, still visibly uncomfortable with wolves, even if the wolf is Halsin. The druid keeps his head down as she approaches, tail thumping in warm greeting. She speaks to the druid, apologetic and concerned.
“I can’t help with anything else today. I have no more in me. I’m sorry. Can you stay in your wild shape until the morning?” Halsin’s wolf head shakes in denial, letting out a deep whine in apology. Shadowheart’s expression grows incredibly tense.
“I’ll tell Jaheira then. Just be sure to be the patient you wish you had to take care of, yeah?” The cleric smiles, bravely reaching out and scratching the druid’s brow. A wolf chuckles behind a vampire and lays his huge head down on his paws to continue his nap. Shadowheart nearly manages to avoid Astarion’s eye contact, but not quite.
“You’ll tell Jaheira, but not me? That’s not fair, Shadowheart.” He chastizes her gently, his mouth frowning. She hesitates, but admits defeat and sighs, her eyes saddened. Halsin woofs in encouragement, tail thumping on the ground. Giving his consent for the cleric to explain whatever she had not wanted to. Shadowheart’s expression is a mild form of distraught.
“Halsin’s injuries are immense, Astarion. He’s in his wild shape because his elven body is… essentially immobile without aid. As well as being in very real pain because none of us have any healing abilities left, him included. I didn’t want to worry you more than you already are in regard to Solace. Halsin is stable in his other form, but will be in pain until we can either heal him ourselves or get to a powerful cleric. I really just wanted you to be able to rest without worrying about him.”
Astarion listens carefully, dread building in his stomach. It’s not fair. Everyone has already lost so much. It’s not fair. He tries to keep his expression stoic, but Shadowheart’s sympathetically furrowed brow tells him he failed.
“I… understand your intent, Shadowheart. In the future, please don’t do so again. Not knowing is… not helpful.” He scratches Halsin’s ears and gives a wan smile to the cleric, her expression understanding and apologetic. She gives him a quick smile and walks to tell Jaheira the other druid’s needs. Halsin whines behind him, massive wolf head curling around to press against the vampire’s chest.
“It’ll be alright, Halsin.” The vampire says, linking his arms around the massive wolf’s neck. The beast rumbles pleasantly, relaxing completely as Astarion tries to comfort him.
“I’m here. You’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.” He buries his face in the wolf’s fur, hiding the deeply scared expression he knows he can’t override. Halsin’s massive wolf head presses him into the bulk of his body; as intimate a hug that a wolf can provide.
At some point, Astarion feels the need to rest overtake him; and he tells the direwolf so. Halsin whuffs and clambers to his feet, nudging Astarion upright as he does. The wolf directs the vampire to a free bed, and he allows Halsin in his big dumb wolf form to pull the covers back for him and then cover him up. There is something deep within his mind that appreciates the genuinely unnecessary gesture, even as it feels juvenile. His eyes close as he begins to meditate, a wolf head resting on his stomach until his mind begins to wander.
He does not dream. He does not have nightmares. He simply rests.
Astarion wakes from his meditation, and he knows that it is nearly dawn. The curtains are drawn, and for a moment, he thinks that is strange. And then he remembers why they would be closed to the sun.
He feels a mix of appreciation for his friends, and a surge of bitter fury at the circumstances. It’s not fair. He wants to be in the sun. He doesn’t want to keep Solace and Halsin in the dark with him. He doesn’t want to limit them because he is unable to be with them.
Very few people are awake when he is, typically. Now is no different. Solace has evidently not moved an inch from where they had fallen asleep, propped up on pillows as they had been. The paladin remains slack jawed and utterly unaware, the tip of their tail twitching under the blankets occasionally. They do not seem troubled during their sleep, and that is more comforting to Astarion than anything else.
The vampire’s eyes drift lazily away from the slumbering tiefling, to Gale and Wyll; who have set their beds beside the other, hands held towards the other in a way that suggests they had been touching when they fell asleep. Jaheira and Minsc are sprawled on top of each other, pillows and bottles of alcohol scattered around the front of the fireplace as they drunkenly rest. Karlach is not in the room, and neither are Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Shadowheart’s parents were taken to a different Inn last night so they could rest without the festivities upsetting them. Yenna went to Jaheira’s house with Scratch before the siege had started, and Rion should be coming by with news sometime today. The only other person in the room that is awake; is Halsin.
The druid lays under a few blankets, his breathing heavy. From what Astarion can see, the man is in a great deal of pain. He would not be surprised if he did not rest well or at all, which likely meant his healing capabilities were not what he needed in order to fix whatever grievous wounds he had sustained.
The vampire slides out of his bed, making no sound as he does, and makes his way across the room, only allowing his feet to make noise as he nears the visibly uncomfortable druid. Halsin looks towards him as his footsteps become audible, and the handsome elf’s strain is clear, even as he smiles at him. Astarion feels his brow furrow and his lips press into a concerned line as he sees his partner recline in bed. He isn’t able to name it, but something is wrong with the bedding. Something is wrong with how Halsin is sitting under the blankets.
“Good morning, my heart. It is wonderful to see you and know that you are no longer under threat of ceremorphosis.” The druid’s voice is genuine and bright, but he cannot hide the pain he experiences. Halsin’s entire face is tense and strained, and even the genial nature of the man cannot stop Astarion from seeing the discomfort.
“I haven’t really had time to recognize the difference, really.” He replies, pulling up a chair and sitting beside his druid. The man’s hand is as warm and alive as ever, but his fingers twitch in pain. The vampire frowns and looks into the elf’s eyes.
“Tell me what happened. Tell me why you’re in pain.” He is demanding, not asking, and he is right to. His partner is a healer, and they are prone to thinking themselves unbeatable; able to heal any wound themselves. Halsin’s eyes flick away from him for a moment. The druid scowls before sighing deeply and nodding, his free hand rubbing his brow.
“It is… severe. Quite severe. It is not something I can currently heal myself, as I could not regain myself fully last night. I will have to wait for Shadowheart to mend me or mind me as I meditate. I am not in danger of death, Astarion. Let me be clear about that.” Halsin’s gaze is unwavering. He is not lying in any form. The vampire sighs and kisses the druid’s fingers. Five warm digits callused from centuries of hard work and toil. Worker’s hands that are so gentle when they touch anyone.
“Fine. I believe you. I’ll just wait impatiently for Shadowheart to return and fix you.” The druid smiles, but it looks like a wince. The druid groans and shifts to sit up further, asking for another pillow. He then asks if Astarion wishes to see the damage.
“You do not have to. It is quite gruesome, even for what I have seen and lived through. I would not ask you to witness the injury of someone you care for.” Grave words; utterly serious.
“I have already watched Solace die twice. I can handle knowing what happened to you.”
He can, but it is still alarming and distressing to witness. He forces his expression to be cool and calm, but his stomach churns at what he sees when Halsin pulls back the blankets.
Halsin’s legs are gone.
From the knee down of his left leg, nothing remains. A horrid, bubbled stump of a limb, as though it had been eaten by acid. His right leg is somehow, worse. From mid thigh, there is nothing left but melted flesh and armor scraps. Pock marked skin is the best he has; the worst nearly translucent, allowing Astarion to see severed muscle and tendon. The druid smiles wanly, squeezing the vampire’s hand.
“I may be able to regrow my limbs, but I would not count on it. Many things can forestall healing, and I would not be surprised if aberrant blood is one of them.” The druid sounds frustrated, but he smiles anyway.
“It will not be the end of the world if I cannot regain my legs. Prosthetics can be made and learned to be used. Do not pity me, Astarion. If injuries can be fixed, they can be fixed in time. And if not, then they can be worked with. Even in nature, the vulnerable are able to be cared for.” The druid’s voice, strained by pain, remains cheerful and calm, his warm hands in Astarion’s cool grasp. He reaches up to brush a lock of hair from the pale elf’s yes, gently holding his cheek in his palm.
Astarion knows his expression is deeply troubled. He doesn’t want Halsin to be like this forever. He doesn’t want him… in need. The druid is meant to help others. Not… needing aid. He can’t imagine the druid struggling. The massive elf confined to chairs until he is remembered. Until he is considered by those who might forget him entirely. Until neglect claims the elf from the world he cherished. Left to rot because he cannot help himself. The image his mind creates is vile and burns his eyes, a yet legless Halsin confined in a dark room, in a dismal state as his supposed caretakers have forgotten him. Abandoned and forgotten by those who would uselessly pity him.
“Halsin, I…” His voice quiet, close to trembling and afraid.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this. I really do.” He feels his lips tremble and dip into an expression of dismay. He can’t help the man he cares for. He’s going to be at the mercy of others forever, and he can’t fix it. The druid gives him a searching look, and seems to notice something that makes his brows soften.
“Astarion, do not worry for me. You’ll see. We are built to adapt. We would not have created community if we were meant to struggle alone. Have no fear, my heart. I am going to be just fine.” The druid leaves no room for doubt. His voice is warm and bright, and even with clear and unmitigated pain forcing his voice and breath to tremble, Halsin lets his partner know that he is going to be alright.
Astarion doesn’t respond with words. He leans forward and kisses the man, gently, carefully holding the man’s head in his cold hands. Tears slide down Astarion’s face and he tries to will any amount of his own health to the druid. He had once been able to do so; the tadpoles he had been able to stomach consuming had let him save others with his own vitality. Maybe he could do so now. Maybe the changes to his abilities had not all been purged by the Netherbrain’s demise.
He focuses, drawing on a power he had rarely used.
Nothing happens. No surge of energy for his partner to benefit from. No strike of pain in any part of his body to signify it had worked.
Halsin will not be able to rest any time before Jaheira or Shadowheart wake and return to sobriety.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, Halsin.” His voice is a despairing whisper; a shamed, wounded thing he can barely recognize as his own voice. His lips move against Halsin’s flushed skin, and the druid gently shakes his head in denial.
“Nonsense, Astarion. Your presence at my side keeps the pain at bay. If you would like to do so, I would benefit greatly from having you rest at my side. Your cold temperature soothes the ache of my limbs. Or the lack of them.” Halsin jokes, but Astarion is already climbing carefully over him and letting the druid place his cold hands where he needs them. Cold skin touches heated, mending flesh, and the druid startles before relaxing. A deep sigh escaping him as a sense of relief is brought to him.
“This is very good. Thank you.” The druid breathes, eyes fluttering closed as the vampire chases away the discomfort of over-heated flesh. Perhaps this is how Halsin can rest without the cleric or druid’s intercession. Astarion smiles into Halsin’s shoulder; pleased despite the situation.
“You’re welcome. I think this may be the first time I have been used for my body and not been bothered by it at all.”
It’s a poor joke, even if it’s true, but it’s the timing and borderline salacious tone to his voice that has Halsin struggling to contain his laughter. The druid’s shoulders shake and his lips press together into a stressed false smile before the elf explodes into deep laughter. Warm tears slip down the massive elf’s cheek and he pulls the vampire closer with a tree trunk arm, planting a warm kiss to the crown of his head.
“You are a delight, Astarion. I am so very glad to know you.”
Astarion doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t; simply nuzzling into Halsin’s shoulder, trying to hide the happy tears that prick at his eyes. He smiles against the warmth of the druid’s bulky torso and silently urges the man to rest if he can.
Elves do not usually sleep. Magic to force a state of unconsciousness cannot affect them. Yet for all appearances, Halsin is unconscious and snoring as Astarion keeps the druid’s limbs cold and possibly numb. It’s nice. Calm. He can hear several heartbeats around him and he knows his partners are alive and safe. Even if they are both down a limb or two; they are alive. Everyone is alive that he cares for, and that is more than he could ever have imagined in two hundred years.