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Tinuviel hummed softly to herself as she sat cross-legged on the sandy shores of the River Chionthar. She couldn’t fully remember whose idea it was to camp out on the beach, but she was more than happy to honor the request. As comforting as the forest was, there was just something about the river that gave the druid a sense of tranquility like no other.
The remnants of supper were set out before her in an earthenware pot, nestled in the dying embers of the campfire. Gale had been kind enough to leave out the pot, allowing Tinuviel to properly thank Silvanus for providing nourishment on their arduous journey.
“Each life, whether it be flora or fauna, deserves to be appreciated,” Her father, Bjorn, had taught her. “We are nothing but humble servants of Silvanus, and we should be grateful for the boons he provides us.”
The more that time passed since his untimely demise, the more that Tinuviel understood his words. A deeper connection with the Oak Father gave her a deeper connection with her own. She knew how proud he would be of her and all that she had accomplished.
“Alright,” Tinuviel whispered to herself, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s get started.”
Her mossy green hands swayed back and forth over the dull embers of the fire. She made an effort to attune herself to the ever-present song that whispered in the world around her. The crashing of waves, the distant hoots of an owl, and the distinctive low rumble of Scratch’s snoring– each sound played their part in the Oak Father’s great symphony. To Tinuviel, this was peace; one that truly was a gift, given these “interesting times” as Wyll had so eloquently put it. The druidess bowed her head, closed her eyes, and began to speak.
“Oak Father, I hear your song and request your humble presence. I ask that you guide my hands this gentle night and connect my spirit to yours. I ask for your kind and loving embrace,” She continued to whisper, beginning to feel warm smoke rise from the embers. The smoke caressed her soft palms and she smiled, continuing on. “And I ask for your–”
The feeling of hands as cold as the grave on her bare shoulders caused her to gasp. Almost immediately, the smoke dissipated and the embers went back to their previously dull state.
“Aaah!” Tinuviel exclaimed, her body alight with surprise.
“Gods, Tinuviel, it’s just me!” Astarion brought himself into her view, his brows stitched together with concern. The vampire spawn’s dominant hand was spread out in front of his chest to show that he meant no harm. His other hand held a dark bottle, filled with what one could presume was wine. “I wasn’t trying to startle you, I promise.”
Tinuviel looked him over and took in his form. Astarion’s broad shoulders filled out his white linen shirt just so. His subtle snow-colored curls were tucked behind his lowered, pointy ears. The expression that he wore was one that she knew well, with his crimson eyes as wide as porcelain dishes. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she realized his words were genuine; Astarion did not mean to startle her.
“Your hands are frigid, you know,” She exhaled and took a second to compose herself, then patted the sand to her left, inviting him to sit. “Come, sit with me. What are you doing out so late?” Tinuviel was certain that he wasn’t out seeking food– he had already fed from her earlier that night.
“Darling, I was going to ask you the very same question,” Astarion began, taking his seat next to her in the sand. “Sneaking off away from the others. Keep this up and you may just start giving them ideas.”
She rolled her cerulean eyes and cracked a soft smile before playfully shoving his shoulder. He chuckled in response and leaned into her touch. Though he wasn’t going to admit it now, the vampire relished each and every touch from the druidess– even the playful ones.
“Oh, stop! The only person I’m giving any ideas is you, Astarion.” His name felt like silk on her tongue; a name she wanted to repeat over and over. “I was giving thanks to Silvanus for the meal and requesting our journey to be less–”
“Difficult? Strenuous? Nightmarish?” Astarion’s thumb ran across the bottle’s cork as he questioned her. He moved backwards and got more comfortable in the sand, leaning on his elbows. “It sounded to me like you were doing a lot more requesting than thanking.”
Tinuviel's expression softened as she looked at him, hanging onto his words. She was fully aware of his complicated relationship with the gods and decided to not to press him further on his comment. She knew he meant no harm.
Astarion swiftly opened the bottle with a satisfying pop and gestured it towards her. The wood elf nodded and took the bottle from him, taking a deep drink.
“You know, Tinuviel, in all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
“Mm? Really?” Tinuviel passed the bottle back to Astarion, who gladly accepted. Their fingertips brushed against one another, her warm skin connecting with his own cool touch. “Are you sure about that? You’ve met a lot of people.”
Rather than taking his own drink from the bottle, Astarion set it down in the sand before taking her hands into his own, his thumb gently caressing her freckled knuckles. “I mean it. Most people live their whole lives without pause; continuing to march forward in time. They have no appreciation for the world around them, and how could they? It’s a reckless, dreadful existence.”
Tinuviel wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but listened patiently.
“You, my dear, have pause. Each step you take is deliberate. You relish each day and rather than march forward, gently glide through at your own pace. It’s admirable, really. You see the forest for the trees, and I find myself wanting to stop and view life through your lens.”
If his heart could beat, it would have leapt straight out of his pallid chest by now. Astarion squeezed her hands gently and gazed deeply into her eyes. It was as if time stood still for the both of them, with Oak Father’s grand symphony beginning to slowly fill the space between the two of them, not unlike the warm smoke from before. They began to move in sync, carefully moving towards one another, until…
“I think I love you, Tinuviel.”