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After the events of Cazador’s palace, the group quietly head back to the inn, covered in blood and downcast. Astarion keeps his distance from your limp body gently cradled by Halsin, gaze fixed on the ground and disappears the moment the party reaches the inn.
“Where is the vampire spawn going?” Lae’zel hisses. “He is the reason why Y/N is like this, he should be here.”
“Leave him be, Lae’zel. He’s taken the events hard, give him some space for now.” Halsin chides, setting you down on a bed. Your physical injuries can be easily healed with some blood, fortunately Cazador hadn’t gotten far with his poem before the party had crashed the ritual so your scars wouldn’t be as bad as Astarion’s but the main issue is the emotional scarring. Halsin had hoped Astarion would remain by your side so that when you woke up, he could help you but the vampire had gone off by himself and Halsin wasn’t sure when he’d return.
The druid slices open a wound on his wrist and lets the blood drip into your slightly ajar mouth. Your throat bobs instinctively, swallowing the precious fluid but your eyes remain close. At least you’re drinking the blood, that was enough at this stage. He continues letting his blood drip into your mouth until your eyelids flutter and you stir slightly.
“Y/N.” He says. You groan in response, eyes opening blearily.
This place smelled different, looked different. You were in a different place, where were you? You shoot up, eyes wide and muscles tensed, ready to fight. A quick glance around the place told you you were in a room of sorts and the only other person around was Halsin.
“Where am I?” You croak. Your body felt cold, sore and you wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep slumber.
“You’re at Elfsong Tavern’s Inn. Don’t worry, you’re safe now. Cazador is gone, he can’t harm you anymore,” Halsin reassures you, but keeps a distance away to give you some space. You press a hand to your head as memories come rushing back to you. Astarion’s siblings coming for him, you defending him, Cazador appearing and kidnapping you, Astarion’s cry for you, Cazador using you as Astarion’s substitute in the ritual, the pain that followed, the others rescuing you, Astarion holding you tightly in his arms, comforting you…
'“Astarion,” you whisper, “where…”
“He’ll be back soon,” Halsin says, but you can tell he’s lying.
“You don’t know!” You snap accusingly, “stop lying! Where did he go?”
“Calm down, Y/N. After we brought you back, Astarion left for somewhere, although none of us know where or how long he will be gone. He still hasn’t returned.” Halsin raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to worry you after all you’ve just been through.”
“It’s just that simple! Just tell me! Like that!” You snarl, fangs bared. Halsin leans away so that your fangs are far enough from him and you realise what you’ve just done.
“I’m sorry. It’s not even your fault.” You sit back down on the bed, shoulders hunched. “Everything’s been so…much.”
Halsin shakes his head, “it’s quite alright. You have a lot to adjust to, with your new…condition.”
“At least the tadpole still lets me walk in the sun,” you give a hollow laugh, “if Astarion’s ability to do so is anything to go by.”
You smile sadly at the bed beneath you. “Things can never go back to the way it was, and I was so looking forward to doing so many things once we had our tadpoles removed too.”
Halsin remains quiet and you sit there in the silence with him, tears sliding down your cold cheeks. You curl up, hugging your knees to your chest, causing tears to stain your kneecaps. The warmth you once had is all gone now, replaced by a chill that reminds you of what you have lost, of what you once had.
“Are you still hungry?” Halsin quietly breaks the silence, extending his wrist towards you. You shake your head despite the sanguine hunger gnawing at you, afraid of what the act of feeding solidifies.
“Then I will take my leave first. Call me if you need anything.” The druid rises from the stool, sending you a look of concern but leaves you with your thoughts.
You stare at your hands, your cold undead hands and bite your lip. Your new fangs pierce through skin with ease, drawing a little blood and your nostrils flare instinctively at the scent. The sanguine hunger roars again, louder this time. It craves blood, it demands blood but you force it down as far as it can go. You hate it, you hate your new condition. You hate the thought that once your tadpole has been removed, you’ll never be able to enjoy the sun again, feel its warmth. You finally truly understand why Astarion had been so adamant about ascending, the temptation to do the same is strong.
Suddenly, a new scent floods your nose.
“Who’s there?” You call, glaring in the direction of the scent. Astarion steps into view, smiling a little too widely — a sign that he was nervous.
“You’re awake, darling. That’s good.” He moves to sit on your bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve just been turned into a vampire spawn?” He flinches at your words and you wish you could take them back.
“Sorry.” You mutter. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”
Astarion quietly looks down, fidgeting. The silence between the two of you isn’t the comfortable kind, the tension in the air waiting for one of you to cut it so you decide to take the initiative.
“What’s it like, being a vampire spawn. Is there anything I have to take note of?”
“It’s…something that takes time to get used to.” Astarion murmurs.
“Well, good thing I have you to guide me, don’t I?” You smile, reaching over to take his hand in yours. Both your hands are cold now, freezing to the touch, reminding Astarion of one more thing he has lost to Cazador.
“Even when permanently dead he still haunts me,” Astarion mutters, squeezing your hand tightly. “How badly did he scar you?”
The concern in his ruby red eyes is genuine, a softness you’ve missed filling the crimson orbs. You turn around despite everything in your body screaming at you not to, feeling yourself shake as you slip your top off, flashes of memories you’d rather keep buried burning through your mind. Astarion suppresses the angry growl that threatens to spill from his throat, hatred for Cazador burning once more and wishes he could drag the vampire lord from wherever dead vampires went just so he could make Cazador pay with pain a million times worse than yours.
You swallow as bile rises to your throat, the overwhelming scent of your blood filling your nose, screams of pain flooding your mind, then the scent you’ve saved as Astarion’s fills your nose as he wraps his arms around you, whispers of love falling from his lips.
“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you. I promise you’re safe. Focus on my voice, breathe together with me.” He whispers into your ear. “In…out…in…out…”
Through the haze, you struggle to regain control of your body, tears blurring your vision once more but with Astarion’s help, you find a breathing rhythm and grasp tightly onto it.
In, out. In, out.
When the room shifts back into focus, you realise that the scent of your blood wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Long claw marks decorate your arms, your clawed fingertips stained crimson while the sheets beneath soak up whatever has dripped onto it.
“Shit, I’m a mess,” you whimper.
“Everyone is,” Astarion reassures you, pulling a bottle out. “Here, you’ll need to drink this. All of it. Don’t leave a single drop.”
The sweet scent of blood fills the air as he uncorks the bottle and your hunger growls, eager to lap it all up but you push his hand and the bottle away. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion scowls. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death, trust me, you do not want to be starving as a vampire. It’s worse than death.”
“I don’t want to drink another person’s blood,” you croak weakly. The very thought of doing so makes you want to vomit, but your body says otherwise.
“It’s bear blood. I went out to hunt and came across a bear,” Astarion swirls the bottle. “I promise I’m not lying.”
You cautiously take the bottle from him, lifting it up to your lips. You have to trust him on this, it’s not like you know how bear blood smells like as a vampire. Locking gazes with him, you tilt the bottle, letting the sweet liquid wash down your throat. Strange new flavours burst in your mouth but it’s a pleasant taste and sends a tingle down your spine. Soon, you’re greedily sucking the bottle dry until there is not a drop left.
“There, not so bad, is it?” Astarion leans in to give you a peck on your cheek. “Now, your instincts should help but this is the best place to drink from on a wrist.”
He points to a spot on his wrist and lifts it up to your lips, “give it a try.”
You eye him warily and he sighs at your reluctance, “I can’t keep giving you bottles of blood to drink from, love. You’re going to need to learn how to feed yourself.”
“But I don’t want to,” you mumble. Astarion frowns but doesn’t push the matter further, instead he reaches for the medical kit Halsin has left behind and starts to clean up the dried blood on your arms. You let him, silently watching as the cloth starts to turn brown.
“There, all beautiful and blemish-free again,” he presses kisses along the length of both your arms, tossing the cloth aside. “Being…this doesn’t change anything about you, love. You’re still the same person, and that is more than enough for me.”
He cups your cheeks, letting his thumbs run over the skin of your cheeks. Leaning in, he presses his forehead against yours and feels you wrap your arms around him. With a small smile, he pulls you in, feeling your head rest on his shoulder as he embraces you tightly, breathing in your new scent. One of his hands gently rests on the back of your head, fingers running through your matted hair.
“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you, right by your side whenever you need me. That I promise. I won’t let you go through what I went through, I won’t let you be alone in this.” He swears, holding you tightly. “We’ll face this together, side by side.”
You clutch desperately at his tunic, crying for what feels like the millionth time today into his chest and he lets you, ignoring the way your tears dampen and stain his clothes. Instead, he curls around you, wishing he could shield you from the world and the suffering he knows is to come and cherishes the way you cling onto him, the way you so clearly trust him with everything you have. No one had ever bared their soul like this to him, even all his prey had always kept a thing or two from him, no matter how sweet the lies he used to ensnare them.
You were different. You had let your walls down around him, bared your sweet neck at him, let him drink the first night he had tried drinking your blood instead of staking him on the spot and in return he had fallen for you. He let you have his back, let you into the shattered pieces he called his heart and let you see his broken self, hoping it wouldn’t scare you off and it hadn’t. Now you were the broken one and you had let him see it all, returning the favour was only natural but it wasn’t the only reaosn he was doing all this. He wanted to help you without needing anything in return, he wanted to see you smile again, he wanted to…he wanted to show you how much he truly loved you.
He had changed, that much he knew. It wasn’t long ago when he’d have chosen to ascend no matter the cost, but that night when he had seen you bound by glyphs with Infernal being carved into your back, all he could think about was how if he ascended you would be sacrificed too. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, he couldn’t sacrifice you no matter what he would gain in return.
He wouldn’t have needed to consider that if you hadn’t been turned into a vampire spawn.
Years of self-hatred gnaw away at him, reminding him of his failure, his weakness that had led to this whole mess. If only he had been stronger, faster, better, then maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer his fate, the fate of a vampire spawn. His thoughts tear into him again and again, berating him, a whirling wind of destruction that threaten to unravel him. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, fighting the darkness that threatens to drown him. He doesn’t have time for this, he has to help you adjust, to be there whenever you’re drowning and he can’t do that if he’s wallowing in self-deprecation. Those damned thoughts can wait another day.
A quick glance down lets him know you’ve fallen asleep in his arms, worn out from recent events and he lets out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“I meant everything I said, my love,” he says, knowing you can’t hear his words but that’s fine by him. He doesn’t want you to hear his next words anyways. “I love you.”