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D'ylân wasn't even fully awake yet and he already regretted it. A deep groan of agony died in his dried throat. The consequential coughing shook his body, sending another jolt of pain through what felt like every joint, limb, and bone.
"Fuck," he said, or at least, tried to. What came out of his mouth sounded like the last creak of an old door before it fell apart.
Pressing his eyes tighter shut didn't help, either. As much as he wished to just drift back to sleep, he was already too aware of the sorry state of his body. He steadied his breath and forced his senses to focus on anything that wasn't his pathetic state of existence.
Chill dampness surrounded him, thankfully not cold enough to bother him. The air was off, it lacked the saltiness from the sea or the smell of green from the forest. Or the stink of goblins. Yet, it wasn't bad enough to be called stale. No, not stale. Just old.
He breathed more easily and, slowly, he began to feel his arms and legs in the diffuse cloud of pain.
There was more to the scent. Something earthen, like the soil of the forest in the middle of fall, when the leaves began to rot on their bed of moss. Just…different. Secluded.
Cave.
Why was he in a cave?
Finally, he opened his eyes, flinching when the sight of light was like needles poking through his eyes and into his brain.
He blinked a few times and it got better.
"Ugh…" He tried to sit up but only came halfway before he had to pause, leaning on his arm. His coat that had been thrown over him slid off his chest. After catching his breath, he looked around.
This wasn't their camp! Or the goblin camp or a cave in the forest.
He was lying on a patch of moss on a rock plateau, surrounded by natural stone walls that were covered in more moss and fungi that emitted a soft, blue glow. Above him, where the sky should have been, stretched a massive black ceiling of stone as old as the first god that set foot on Faerûn.
"The…Underdark?" he managed to cough out. He closed his eyes again, trying to make sense of his situation. Yes, this was the Underdark, no doubt. How the hells did he end up here?
"Drink something," someone with a familiar voice mumbled. D'ylân hadn't noticed anyone approaching him until they quickly scuttled away from him. When he opened his eyes and blinked through the blur, he just saw Astarion sitting down, cross-legged, a small fire between them. So that was the light that had hurt so much before. And how funny that he hadn't even noticed Astarion's presence, and that the vampire spawn was fast enough to come up to him and rush away during what was nothing more than a prolonged squint.
"Drink," Astarion repeated and pointed at a dented pewter cup standing next to the tiefling. Clenching his teeth as he fought against the torn muscles in his back, he picked it up and took a sniff. Water.
"We were lucky." Astarion stared at the fire while he spoke. "There's a rivulet carrying clean water coming down the wall, just a few steps away from our fall."
"Our…fall?" He took a careful sip of water. It had the sweetness of fresh water with a tinge of earth and mushrooms, not much unlike a cold herbal brew. But it also made him aware of the metallic taste in his mouth. Quickly, he downed the rest. Maybe every bone was broken and maybe he was bleeding out internally but at least, his throat felt a little better.
"Uh, yes? You do remember, yes? Us falling, and how it was your fault, as usual?"
D'ylân frowned as he dug through his memories. After a short moment, he shook his head.
"We were on our way out with the archdruid after he helped us kill the leaders. You were going on my nerves, that I remember, but after that." He hissed in pain when his mind hit a pitch-black blockage. "Nothing. So we- wait!" He dropped the cup. A sudden rush of adrenaline forced him into a sitting position despite the protest of his back and hips. Squinting at Astarion, his fingers felt the sides of his throat.
"Oh. Oh! Wow!" Astarion inhaled sharply. "You're barely fully there yet and that's the first thing you do? Check for bite marks? That's just rude!"
"Don't act like sneaking a bite is above you."
"It is and you know it. That with Durge, that was a one-time occasion. A foolish lapse of reason on my part. You even acted like you believed me."
"I did believe you but I'd call waking up in the Underdark with no memory of how we got here a one-time occasion, too." He regretted sitting up, now that the rush was gone. By the gods, he swore that even his tail hurt but turning or moving it to check if it was broken would have hurt more.
"Speak for yourself." Astarion made an indignant scoffing noise. "I remember everything clear as day. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have slipped, and then, well, it was your stupidity that got us tumbling down that damn hole in the ground. You, uh…" He looked away, his pale cheeks changing to a greyish colour. Okay, that wasn't great either. If the vampire spawns blood wasn't strong enough to make him blush properly, he needed to eat, soon.
D'ylân's attitude softened a little.
"Anyway," Astarion continued. "Gale fired a feather fall spell after us but missed." He pointed to a pile of broken wood and what looked like debris of giant, orange mushrooms.
"By sheer fool's luck we came down right above the fringe of a shroom dell. I think I felt at least my tadpole finally making itself useful shortly before the impact. If either the shrooms or the tadpole hadn't been a part of the equation, you'd be dead and I'd wish I weren't immortal for a long time."
"Fool's luck indeed. Ouch." D'ylân flinched as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. "Well," he said through a weak smile, "Sorry for suspecting you. I appreciate you didn't bite me when you must be hungry."
"Please, unlike some people present, I have manners. Just don't make me regret it." Astarion shrugged. "I'd like to make it out of here alive, you know. The sooner, the better. So, if you didn't try anything, that would be lovely."
"Are you joking?" The tiefling groaned. "Why the hells would I want to try anything that would hurt you in any way? To quote you, that's just rude, Astarion. And once we got out of here, I'd like to hear what even gives you that idea that I'm out to get you. But," he said with a crooked grin, "If my word isn't enough for you, right now, I'm not even sure I could take a piss on my own. A fucking unarmed squirrel could take me down. You are quite safe from whatever horror tale you have made up about me."
"I suppose you're right." With a sigh, Astarion unknotted his legs and stood up. "You're too pathetic to be a threat. But I refuse to help you relieve yourself if it comes to that, just so you know. I would, however, like to check something for myself, if you agree."
"And what would that be?" D'ylân watched sceptically when the spawn kicked the empty cup out of the way and knelt down next to the tiefling.
"How bad your injuries still are after your nap and if there's something to be done to make you useful faster. Rest assured, I find this utterly unenjoyable. Now." He vaguely waved his hand at D'ylân. "If you'd lie down and tell me where it hurts, that would be great."
"If you want this to be over with as quickly as possible," D'ylân laughed through another wave of pain as he lay down on his back, "I better tell you where it doesn't hurt."
"How wonderful, and now without stupid bard jokes, please." Astarion's expression was cold but D'ylân sensed the tension in the spawn's body when he put his hands on the tiefling's hips.
"Ah!" D'ylân inhaled sharply when Astarion's fingers pressed hard into his flesh. "I'm not even sure, it feels like everything hurts. But I think the critical parts are my hips and back."
"Hm. I had a look at your arms and legs earlier," Astarion mumbled. "Badly bruised and one ankle and wrist were broken but seem to be all right now," he kept talking, more to himself than D'ylân while his fingers felt his waist, hips, and legs from the joint to the knee with unexpected purpose and precision. "I also don't think your hip bone is broken. Maybe it was before and the tadpole already took care of the worst." Suddenly, he raised his head, looking D'ylân in the eyes for the first time since he woke up.
"Now that I said it, I'm not even sure if you have natural healing powers or not."
The tiefling shook his head when he answered, "Not more than any regular guy. It's another gift from our little squatter here." He tipped his temple. "Even healing potions are much more effective than they used to be before the kidnapping."
"I noticed the same effect. Naturally, as an elf and my vampiric condition, my injuries heal faster than those of mortals without any arcane powers. I, well, I hope it won't dampen your mood when I tell you that you were not exactly doing great after our landing." Again, the colour of the spawn's cheeks changed and he looked away. He was hiding something but D'ylân had other worries.
"I should really be dead, shouldn't I?" he asked, trying not to sound as crept out by the thought as he was.
"For all intents and purposes, yes. Even with the mushroom roof and the tadpole, it was close. And without the tadpole enhancing your body's self-healing…" Astarion shrugged. "You can guess the rest. Sit up!" His tone abruptly changed, as if he had realised he sounded more bothered by the thought of the tiefling's death than he wanted to let on. "I want to have a look at your spine." With the fluidity of a two-legged feline, he moved behind D'ylân as soon as he forced himself back into a sitting position.
"You seem to know what you're doing," the tiefling hissed through clenched teeth when nimble fingers knowingly pressed against every single vertebra. "I thought you were a magistrate back in the day, not a nurse."
"Once you understand that you might end up hurt so bad that a wrong step too soon will worsen your injuries faster than your fae- and spawn powers can heal you, you learn." Astarion's voice became hard and cold. It sent a chill down D'ylân's spine. "And that's all I'm going to say so don't bother pestering me with your admirable thirst for knowledge," Astarion continued, mimicking Gale, creating a much harsher, much more unsettling version of the wizard.
D'ylân remained quiet. Hunched over, he let him do his thing. There was nothing sensual to Astarion's fingertips as they moved over the thick skin and ridges of his back. They drilled into torn muscles and pressed against sore joints, he tried to put together what he had just heard with the few other pieces Astarion had let slip lately. He knew a thing or two about vampires and their spawns. That vampire lords rarely treated their so-called offspring well was common knowledge. But the small fragments of Astarion's life under his master already began to paint a much more sinister picture than anything D'ylân had learned in the past.
His hair fell into his face, tickling his nose, but he refused to sneeze, fearing if his back wasn't thrown out yet, a violent sneeze would quickly change that. He glanced at the long strands. They were dusty and tiny pieces of moss were sticking in his hair. Here and there, dark dried blood clumped them together. Fuck, he must have been in a terrible state. Thank the gods, the fall had thoroughly knocked him out and allowed him to sleep through the worst.
"One day at a time," he finally said, softly, when he didn't feel Astarion's hands on his back anymore.
"Sure, whatever. If it's any comfort to you, nothing is broken, just strained and bruised." Astarion stood up and returned to his spot across the fire. "The worst that should happen if you move around is pain. Provided you don't drag us down another hole in the ground."
"I promise, I'd sooner bed a troll than even jump down a step." D'ylân laughed wearily. Knowing that he wasn't about to die or ruin his spine for good by just sitting or standing, the pain became a lot more bearable. However, with one sorrow less on his shoulders, he suddenly felt very, very tired.
"I'd honest to the gods rather watch you taking a free fall through the nine layers of hell than that." Astarion wrinkled his nose but in the middle of a pretended shudder, he perked up. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He leaned back and, fully stretched out, rolled onto his belly, his hand feeling for something behind him, outside D'ylân's sight.
D'ylân was again reminded of a cat; Astarion moved with a natural grace that was pleasant to watch. And, also again, the tiefling felt a pang of regret that, on a normal day, the spawn was such a little asshole that even his pretty face and nimble body couldn't make up for it. Although, today, Astarion seemed to have broken out of his usual hostility towards the tiefling. There was a fire, for warmth and to keep the light-sensitive predators away. He had dragged D'ylân over here, where he could rest more comfortably. It couldn't have been easy for the much smaller man. Astarion had brought him water and even overcame his distrust and touched him to make sure he was okay, as far as the circumstances allowed.
"I don't think I've properly thanked you yet," he said. "For your help. Hells, I'm just grateful you stayed instead of running off and leaving me to rot."
"Fuck off with that, I can still change my mind. Here!" Astarion had pulled up a dirt- and moss-covered backpack. D'ylân's face brightened when he recognised it as his own.
"I doubt that anything in it has survived the fall," Astarion said, hurling the large bag around. "But that thing seems to be fine."
D'ylân's grin grew wider when he saw his trusty violin. Unlike Astarion, he wasn't surprised to see it in one piece.
"What is that thing made of?" Astarion asked. He removed it from the strap that tied it to the backpack and reached past the fire, just far enough to shove the instrument within the reach of its owner. "The impact and both of us landing on top of it should have turned it into sawdust; yet, it doesn't even have a scratch!"
"Astarion, thank you!" He picked up the violin. Once he felt the smooth wood under his fingertips, the pain lost all importance. Well, almost. He stretched his hands and carefully turned his wrists. "I fear I need to take another nap before I can play it properly. Even a healing song can turn nasty if not performed correctly."
"There's always a catch, isn't there?" The bard's pure excitement over being reunited with his violin softened not only Astarion's tone but also his face, D'ylân noticed when he looked up. In the warm glow of the fire, the spawn suddenly looked much more youthful, now that he wasn't frowning or scoffing or acting all haughty and huffy around the tiefling. The only time he saw him looking so long was…
D'ylân flinched but now that there was a crack in the darkness that blocked his memories, they forced their way through.
The fall. A spell missing its aim. Screaming above him but instead of the opening he just fell through, he looked into the pointy, pale face of a youth, the red eyes wide and stricken with horror.
Catch.
He saw himself reaching out. Grabbed. Pulled. Held close.
'It's okay. You'll be fine.' His own voice, choked up when the arcane blast of Gale's feather fall shot past them.
If they crashed, Astarion and his violin would survive.
He, though, well, he'd cross that bridge when he got there.
'DON'T LET GO!'
'I won't. Close your eyes and hold on.'
And shortly after he closed his own, the impact knocked the air out of his lungs and the pain of his shattering spine turned the world black.
"D'ylân? What is it now? Don't you dare tell me the pain is getting worse!" Astarion surely meant to sound sarcastic and impatient but failed to ban the worry from his voice.
"Nothing. It's nothing. I'd even say, it was nothing." D'ylân chuckled. Carefully, he tugged at the strings of the instrument, burning to play it again.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
D'ylân smiled when he put down the violin and reached for the empty cup.
"One day at a time," he said again, with a quiet laugh and shook the cup. "But in the meanwhile, how about a refill?"