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Astarion didn’t understand dogs. Filthy creatures with a propensity to stink and eat their own feces – foolish creatures with no self-preservation instinct, who would instantly befriend anyone who so much as scratched their ears.
Suffice to say, he was not happy when their bleeding heart leader who insisted upon talking to frogs and pigs recruited some random mutt with a ‘tragic backstory’. And he wanted nothing to do with this ‘Scratch’.
And Scratch… well, he was a formidable foe. Astarion was used to using his puppy eyes to get what he wanted, but in came this mangy beast who soaked up all the attention. The flea-ridden creature couldn’t even talk! …Well, except to their leader.
This meant war, clearly. And he was certain Scratch knew exactly what he was doing.
But looking at the mutt now, Astarion felt he was winning. After all, how Wyll would feel watching the dog he let lick his face as he not only vomit onto the dirt, but then attempt to lick it up?
“You know that’s disgusting, right?” he tried.
Scratch didn’t react.
Astarion sighed, looking back at the campfire. Stupid dog… of course he was going to get sick if he did stupid shit like that. If the others were awake, he was sure they’d be all over him – hugging him, putting on sad voices, ‘oh you poor thing’ – the whole bloody racket.
Unfortunately for Scratch, Astarion was the only one awake this time of night. He had just finished his hunt for the night, and the blood running through his system was making it hard to sleep. He was leaning against a tree, the thrumming liquid wine in his veins making his craving for human blood, real blood, nearly unmanageable, to the point where he was alone on the outskirts of the camp.
Well, alone except for Scratch. And the dumb mutt was not getting any sympathy from him. No way.
He heard small, four-legged pawsteps coming towards him. There was a small, discontented sigh as Scratch laid next to him.
Scratch never laid next to him. The mutt had learned very quickly that Astarion was not a dog person, and went to literally anybody else (save maybe Lae’zel) for comfort.
“What is with you?” Astarion asked, exasperated, and not at all concerned.
Scratch didn’t respond, his head laying on his paws and eyes closed. Was he… he was, in fact, trembling .
“You really are sick, aren’t you?” Astarion muttered in disbelief. The thing was so ill it was coming to him for help.
Astarion shook his head, getting up and walking to where Shadowheart was sleeping on her bedroll. He placed a hand on her shoulders, shaking her awake. “Get up, Shadowheart, the mutt’s sick.”
Shadowheart stubbornly turned over in her sleep. “Find another blood bag…” she grumbled.
“Oh for gods’-- wake up you damned cultist, the dog is dying! ”
She turned around, eyes blinking blearily. “Scratch? What’s wrong with him?”
“Hells if I know – I’m not a bloody cleric! This is your job!”
Shadowheart blinked blearily, then got up. Upon seeing Scratch lying down across the way, her eyebrows knit in concern, and she quickly walked over to him, Astarion following. Once by him, she crouched down. “Oh you poor thing, ” she cooed.
Astarion rolled his eyes. For gods’ sake, was everyone in this camp secretly a bleeding heart!? At this point, he was gonna wake to Lae’zel having a bloody tea party with a squirrel .
Shadowheart looked all over Scratch’s body, concerned. Upon being rolled over, Astarion’s eyes widened as he saw a red gash on one of his white legs. Shadowheart noticed it too, reaching out with a finger and touching the area around it, causing Scratch to whimper.
“Gods’ sake, Shadowheart,” Astarion said, exasperated, “are you trying to make him feel worse?”
“I’m checking to see if the wound’s infected, spawn, ” Shadowheart sneered at him. “Which it is. ”
“It is? Oh shit…”
Shadowheart sighed, turning back to Scratch. I can close the wound for him, but I can’t reverse the infection.”
“You can’t? What do they even teach you in that cult!?”
“ Some things can’t be instantly fixed with a spell. You should know this with your condition.”
Astarion threw up his hands in exasperation. “So what, you’re just leaving the poor thing to die? ”
“ Obviously not,” she snapped. I just need to gather some plants out here that can help fight the infection. You keep a watch on him while I’m gone, okay?”
Astarion huffed. “ Fine. ”
Shadowheart went off into the woods then to find the curative plants. Could Scratch even eat those, or were they toxic to dogs? Not that it mattered if he was this sick anyway.
Scratch let out another whimper and Astarion sighed. Crouching down, he took the mutt’s white-furred face in his cold hands. His pitiful, brown puppy-dog eyes looked up at him.
…Damn it. He had already lost this battle. Fine. He wanted the mutt to get better. Anything to get the mangy mutt to stop looking at him like that.
“You’ll be fine, you little drama queen,” Astarion murmured to him. “Shadowheart is going to make you all better.”
Scratch sighed, as though in relief, his eyes closing as he let the weight of his head fully be supported by Astarion’s hands, as though he trusted him.
Gods. Fucking. Damn it. Astarion had never even had a bloody chance to win this war, had he?
Shadowheart came back with a bunch of plants which she promptly mashed up then mixed in with some raw meat. Scratch, enticed even in his sickness by the smell of raw meat, gobbled it up immediately.
“There,” Shadowheart said, relieved. “Now all he needs to do is rest. And… so do I,” she continued with a yawn. “Good night, Astarion.” And, her voice becoming a lot higher-pitched, she kneeled down, kissing Scratch’s scruffy head. “And good night, precious.”
She walked off back to her bedroll, lying back down. Astarion also made to move to his own bedroll, hoping that after this fiasco he was tired enough to finally fall asleep…
But he stopped. Turning around, Scratch was still lying on the dirt, going to sleep.
“Don’t you want to be near the fire?” Astarion asked helplessly.
He didn’t respond.
Astarion sighed, tapping the dirt impatiently with a boot. Then, giving up, he grumbled under his breath to nobody in particular, picking up the corner of his bedroll and dragging it over the dog.
“You know,” he huffed, straightening it out next to the mutt, “I’m beginning to think this entire camp is a bad influence on me. And don’t think you’re clear of any wrong-doing either, Mr. Puppy-Dog-Eyes.”
Scratch grunted as though in protest, and Astarion rolled his eyes, lying down onto his bedroll, feeling completely like a fool. It was cold so far from the fire, and… he wasn’t going to ever hear the end of this when the others woke up, wasn’t he? This was a mistake.
Then, after a few minutes, Scratch crept up to him, snuggling up to his side. He was… warm. Not as warm as the fire, but still…
“This might make me a hypocrite, but you are the worst manipulator,” Astarion whispered, pulling the dog closer to him. “You might be the most evil thing here.”
Scratch only responded with a content sigh.
And finally, Astarion fell asleep.