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Chapter Text

   Halsin watched as the party came back from their adventure for the day; the sun he had been basking in began to set behind the large trees of the surrounding forest. Wyll and Karlach walked off to the middle of the camp and conversed with Gale as he made what he described as a ‘ Waterdavian Classic ’, Astarion sitting close by with a drink at hand but still distanced enough to not be forced into the conversation. Shadowheart had gone back to her tent, but she seemed to have been interrupted by Lae’zel requesting to train together. The last member of the group, Col, crossed through the middle of the camp and greeted Halsin with little more than a nod before lifting the flap of his tent and disappearing inside. It didn’t bother Halsin. Col seemed to be rather introverted and kept conversation to a strict minimum, but as he inhaled, he smelt the faint scent of sickness under the ranger's leathers. 

   It was so faint he almost passed it off as the strange smell that Astarion carried under his thick amounts of perfume, but it was distinctly different. Closing his eyes, Halsin tried to pull apart the sick smell to better gauge what it may be. The most prominent of scents was that of the beginnings of infection, followed by dried blood and residule saliva. The Bear stirred alert in Halsin's mind with worry -at least the both of them were in agreement- and he had to stifle a low growl from the back of his throat. With a deep breath to better center his mind again, Halsin thought back on what he had pulled from Col’s sick scent. The saliva helped to direct his train of thought; ‘perhaps Col had gotten attacked by some animal during one of his solo hunts ’. 

   But to hide the bite? To not take care of the wound so that the beginnings of infection would take hold? There were many potions of healing Col could’ve taken if he did not want to ask any of those in the party capable of healing for help. It left Halsin confused by the quiet ranger's actions. Any other time Col had gotten injured in battle, he had sought out the help of either Shadowheart or Halsin himself after administering a potion of health. Halsin wished to simply walk over to Col's tent and ask him upright about his sudden secrecy, but he did not want to intrude into the personal space of someone he didn’t know that well. 

   The sound of Gale calling out to the camp for supper brought Halsin out from his circling thoughts, and another deep inhale awakened his hunger for whatever Waterdavian classic the wizard had made today. Shaking off his thoughts, Halsin joined the middle of camp and sat next to Shadowheart as Gale began serving up what looked like a wild mushroom soup. The group ate in relative silence that was broken up with the occasional sentence or two. Somehow, Astarion had gotten hold of a bottle of Baldur's Grape and was soon teased by the rest of the group into passing it around. The fire started to die down, and dirty plates were collected for washing. The evening creatures had already begun to act more lively.

      “Does anyone know where Col is?” Wyll broke the silence, looking at the rest of the group.

      Astarion shrugged his shoulders as he continued to pick at his bowl. “Last I saw was him sulking to his tent.” Halsin was convinced the elf never ate any of the communal meals, another thing he worried about. 

   Now that the party was aware of their local ranger's disappearance, conversation quickly began in concern. Col was never the type to turn down a meal, especially the ones Gale would cook on the days he stayed at the camp, so his sudden absence brought worry to the rest of the party—or at least the majority of the party. 

      “I bloody well hope he’s not getting sick with something,” Karlach's face tightened into a serious look. “We’ve been searching in a swamp that's littered with Redcaps for two days now, and Col’s mighty good at spotting traps in all the muck.” 

      “ Tsk! If the weakling gets sick, we are better off without him.” Lae’zel folded her arms in disagreement. Halsin was not sure of many aspects of Gythyanki culture, but from the short time spent in Lae’zel’s company, it was clear to him that they were a very unforgiving group when it came to any potential ‘weakness'. 

   Astarion let out a rather inappropriate laugh and poured himself a glass of wine -the rouge had snuck two bottles, it seemed- before passing it over to where Gale sat. 

      “If the poor human is sick, why has he not gone to either of our ever-so-helpful healers?” 

   Halsin tensed his muscles slightly at the words. He knew that some animal had probably bitten Col, but to let the rest of the group know could be an overstep. He hadn’t even asked the ranger what was causing the sick smell he had caught earlier today. It was most likely a bite, but to jump to conclusions without consulting Col first could cause a breach in privacy. Halsin sighed ‘Silvanus, guide me ’. The Bear was growing restless from letting Col sulk away with an infected wound, fingers curling where they laid on the wooden log. The two sides of his mind came to an agreement. 

   Standing up, Halsin addressed the rest of the group. 

     “I’ll go check on him. See if everything is alright.” 

   With a nod of the others' heads and another 'tsk!'  from Lae’zel, Halsin turned around and walked towards Col’s tent. With each step forward, Halsin could hear his heartbeat growing louder and louder in his ears. A constant tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump drowned out the noises of the group outside, narrowing down the world to that of his mind and the flap of Col’s tent. Reaching the front of the flap, Halsin saw that his hand was trembling slightly. Sighing again, he closed his eyes and gave a quick prayer to the Oak Father for strength before calling to Col. 

      “Col, it’s just me, Halsin. You’ve missed one of Gale’s meals, and we’re concerned if you are feeling unwell.” From inside the tent, Halsin could hear the slight rustle of fabric but no words. “I’m coming in, just to warn you if you are indecent.” 

   Ducking down to fit through the opening of the tent Halsin inhaled deeply to try and asses the sickness again. Now that the man was stationary, the smell was stronger, despite being mixed with the usual scent he had grown to recognize as Col’s. The human’s scent wasn’t oppressive like Astarion's blend of perfumes or the overwhelming heat and brimstone of Karlach’s infernal engine; rather, it was subtle - much like the ranger himself, Halsin mused - with hints of grains like wheat and barley. Halsin's eyes looked up to where the scent led as he straightened to full height in the tent, his head nearly grazing the sloped roof of the fabric. 

   On top of the many furs that Col slept with lay the young human propped up on his elbows. His off-white undershirt looked as if it had been hastily thrown on, by the way the drawstrings weren’t even tied together to reveal the light amount of body hair on the human's chest, plus the fact the garment was inside out, showing the stitch lines. The skin around his cheeks and neck looked slightly flushed, and there was perspiration on his forehead. His hair was down from the tie he usually used to keep his light brown locks out of his eyes when active. The full image made the man look somewhat disheveled in Halsin’s opinion. If it were any other context to be in the ranger's private space, Halsin would find the sight to be rather appealing. 'Focus yourself!'

   The human moved to sit upright and nodded at Halsin.

      “I can see my tent is not high enough for you; please sit. No need to strain your neck.”

   Smiling softly at the ranger's words, Halsin sat across from Col on a large deerhide. Halsin had found the man to be very considerate when it came to others. Often, he was the first to read a person's demeanour correctly, much to Astarion’s jealousy. He had explained to the rogue one day that much like how he could read the behaviors of the various animals along the Sword Coast, he could read a person's mannerisms just as well. But it seemed Col’s altruism fell short when it came to his own needs. Halsin was here to fix that. 

      “Col,” he said, looking at the man's eyes with a sincere expression. “As a druid, I am more in tune with my senses. Earlier today, as you passed me, I caught the scent of infection on a wound. I do not mean to pry as to why you have not taken proper care of your injury, but seeing how you are already falling ill, it would be unwise to leave the infection to fester any longer.” 

   Leaning closer to the smaller man, Halsin whispered the next words to ensure any possible eavesdropper could not hear. 

      “The others are unaware of your wound but think you are under the weather. If you wish this to be kept secret, I promise not to tell a single soul.”

   There was a beat of silence, during which neither man spoke. The mild-mannered ranger’s expression changed from a friendly smile to a tight-lipped grimace, his body folding inward with embarrassment at being found out. At that moment, Halsin feared that he had overstepped a boundary and had offended Col by pointing out a weakness. He was well aware that in some cultures, such as most Orc societies, it was perceived as rude to point out any possible weakness. What if the small village Col had grown up in functioned similarly? But as the moment passed, Cole nodded his head and reached for the collar of his undershirt, pulling it off in silence. 

      Halsin’s reaction was instant: “By the Oak Father! Col -pray tell- what beast attacked you?” 

   The wound was large and inflamed, encompassing much of Col’s shoulder and over towards his left arm. Clear punctures where sharp canines met with soft flesh made a clear impression on Halsin's mind as to how the poor man was savagely attacked. Along his sides, there seemed to be a few scratches, thick gouges with yellow pus along the bloodied scabs. The sight was gruesome, and Halsin was surprised the ranger was able to go about adventuring when it looked like some beast had grabbed hold of him and had mauled his left side. Moving closer to Col, Halsin inhaled deeply through his mouth. The infection was sickly wet and warm. And by the man's flushed face and slight sweat on his brow, it was clear the fever had set in already. 

      “How long have you let this fester, my friend? What if no one were to have caught on? What would you have done when you are ill to the point where you are unable to stand upright?” Halsin shook his head. The Bear was pacing angrily, a snarl built up in the back of his throat. ‘How could he have been such a fool to not seek help?’

      “I was attacked the night of the celebration at the Grove.” Col looked down with embarrassment. 

      “The Grove celebration?” Halsin's hands shook with simmering rage, fingers curling into palms. “But that was almost two tendays ago!” 

   Halsin wished to wildshape, to let the Bear take control and rage. The anger wasn’t placed on Col; no, Halsin could never blame the human. He was upset that the man’s wounds had gone unnoticed for so long, upset that he hadn’t paid attention to how the man's mannerisms were more introverted and withdrawn than usual, seen how he never put pressure on his left side, how he had winced when Lae’zel had placed a hand on his shoulder. Halsin could practically hear his blood snarling inside, simmering with beastial fury at his shortsightedness. Closing his eyes, the druid steaded the raging thoughts. The Bear huffed and stopped his pacing, the pounding in his skull lessening, fingers uncurling and flexing against his thighs. 

   Opening his eyes again, Halsin looked at Cols green eyes. Slowly reaching out his right hand, he waited for Col to nod before holding his shoulder with a comforting grip. The human uncurled slightly from his hunched position, the rims of his eyes wet with tears. Col wetted his lips and sighed. 

      “It was dark, after midnight, but not quite moondark. I had drunkenly decided to walk amongst the trees by the abandoned village to get a better view of the full Selûne, perhaps spot some owls during their hunts. I used to do this back at my village with some friends of mine.

      I had found a clearing and was laying up to the sky. All I remember before the beast had bitten me was thinking ‘By the gods, Selûne is mighty bright tonight’ . Then this great heap of a beast clamped down upon my left shoulder and dragged my weight upwards, its claws digging into the sides of my flesh. 

      I don’t even know if it had made a sound before or if I was screaming as it dragged me. All I know is that next, I grabbed my dagger with my right hand and blindly started stabbing its head, over n’ over n-”

   Col’s entire body shuddered as he choked down tears, a gut-wrenching sob coming out instead of words. Halsin wished to embrace the man, to calm him, to assure him that he would be safe now, but he too was crying at the tale. All he could do was rub his hand down from the man's shoulder to his upper back in a circular motion in an attempt to soothe Col’s shaking body. 

      “ Shh… Shh… My friend, it is perfectly acceptable to cry. Please, take your time. Follow my breaths.” Breathing deeply together for a good minute, Halsin waited for Col to continue. 

      “R-right. Thank you, Halsin,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Where was I? Oh yeah, um, so I was stabbing blind. I think I was getting part of its head, maybe some of its neck. The entire thing is all fuzzy in my head… I think I was able to dislodge its maw from my shoulder - damm thing nearly ripped off my arm - and then I was stabbin’ it straight through the head.

      I think I stabbed its head multiple times cause next I knew, the thing was falling to the floor, and it looked almost unrecognizable. B-but I instantly knew what it was. Gods Halsin, I’m cursed now. I- I thought having an illithid tadpole behind my- my eye was bad; this, I fear, is even worse th- than that!”

   Halsin’s grip on the human's shoulder tightened slightly to help ground him as he started to hyperventilate again, fingers circling the toned skin under them. Col stopped speaking and closed his eyes with a deep breath. Once he opened them again, he hesitantly reached out for Halsin’s palm on his shoulder with a shaking hand. Staring at the druid's eyes with a sudden intensity, Col whispered to Halsin:

      “I’ve been bit by a werewolf. By the next full Selûne, I’ll lose myself completely. I-I might kill innocents, Halsin. I’ll be a man- a man-eating beast !”

   Col let out another gut-wrenching wail as his body crumpled into Halsin’s bulky frame. Body shuddering and half-formed and incoherent words left the man’s lips. Halsin could hear the wild hare-beating of Col’s heart against the palm of his hand as he pulled the sobbing man further into his embrace. He was well aware of Lycanthropes and how it progressed until the poor souls first full Selûne. He had heard tales from early on in his life, cautionary children's tales to ward young Or-tel-quessir to not venture too far in the High Forest, and he had even come face-to-face with a small handful of the Nightwalkers over the many adventures he went on during his youth. 

   But to be the one to watch as a new-found friend be warped by illness into a werewolf? To be left to only observe as fever took over the mind, as the body rejected food and water, as the wails would keep all within earshot awake? It was already far too late to try to look for the belladonna plant, and Col’s Lycanthropy was brought on by transmission via Lycanthrope, so breaking a curse on an item was out of the picture as well. Maybe a powerful mage could perhaps help? But so here, so far removed from the rest of civilization, the closest city to go to was Baluders Gate! ‘ Oak Father, strengthen me.’ He grimly thought as he pressed Col further into the warmth of his embrace. 

   Halsin was unsure how long the two of them embraced for; perhaps hours, or simply a minutes, time was irrelevant to him. All his senses were focused on comforting the shaking man; even the Bear agreed in this urge to comfort, to care. The rest of the world was of no importance to Halsin at this present moment as he breathed deeply in hopes of Col repeating. Slowly, the ranger's sobs died down, and his tears lessened. The incoherent babble coming from his mouth slowly quieted until his voice grew mute, and his lips merely mouthed the words instead. The entire time, Halsin sat there and comforted his friend. It was the very least he could do. 

   When Halsin became aware that the ranger had fallen asleep against his body, he gingerly laid Col down against the soft animal pelts below. The human's face was peaceful in sleep; besides the tear stains running along his puffy cheeks and the inflamed skin around his eyes, the creases of doubt on his face were smoothed away. Searching Col’s tent, Halsin found some bandages to wrap around the wounds and a small healing potion to rub into the bandages to help lessen the infection. 

   As he carefully wrapped the man's left side with the dipped bandages, he whispered a short prayer to Silvanus. A small number of tears dripped down the druid's face as he held one of Col’s limp hands, the skin already hot from the onset of fever. 

“Oak Father, guide me to aid my ally, Col,

Let my hands help to lessen the Lycanthropic infection as it ravages his body,

Whisper to me in the winds, Oak Father, and strengthen this poor soul,

Strengthen me, Oak Father, so that I may assist my friend,

Protect him from a feverish death, I beg of you.”

Chapter Text

   The sounds of the camp waking up often came with the rise of dawn. Halsin had noticed that a pattern usually occurred with the waking order of his new companions. First, Lae’zel would exit her tent with a sword in hand and begin sharpening the blade with a whetstone. This rhythmic grinding noise often woke up Shadowheart, who would exit her tent and angrily complain at Lae’zel to quit the noise as it was interrupting her morning prayers. The two’s yelling would continue to rise until Wyll would come rushing out of his tent. The young warlock would try to split up the two women from their fighting before their threats became true. More often than not, the fighting would cease, and Shadowheart would go back into her tent to return to her clerical duties. 

   The rest of the order typically went like this: Gale would groggily get up and start to prep his spells for the day, Col would exit his tent and meditate by the riverbank, Karlach would try to join Col in his meditation but would eventually give up, and finally Astarion would pop out of his tent and complain about the terrible nights sleep he had gotten. 

   Throughout the almost two tendays that Halsin had spent with this rag-tag group, he had begun to pick up on these types of small routines. It was amusing to see how they interacted with one another, not much unlike how the group hierarchies of crows or other social creatures he would observe in nature. During these mornings, Halsin would find himself up by dawn and sitting on one of the logs in the middle of camp, oftentimes working on a small whittling project he had begun since joining the group. 

   This morning began like no other. As Halsin woke up, he heard the distant sounds of Lae’zel working on her blades and Shadowheart beginning to argue with the githyanki warrior. But for some reason, something was terribly off to the druids' senses. Perhaps it was because he had slept a little bit more than he usually would. Shuffling into a full body stretch, Halsin took a deep inhale. The stench of fever and sickness hit him head-on, and his eyes popped open, his body sitting up in one swift motion. 

   His large frame had bumped into something that lay next to him, and the form groaned softly. Head whipping the where to sound came from, Halsin looked at the pale and sweat-stricken body of Col. Eyes widening, Halsin backed away from the furs where he had slept. The memory of last night filled the forefront of his eyes as he re-lived Col’s confession. 

      ‘Col was attacked the night of the grove party. He is sick, and he won’t be getting better anytime soon. Col is a werewolf.’

   Heart thumping in his mouth, Halsin attempted to recollect himself and lessen the roaring of the Bear in his mind. The anger was still simmering under his skin as he stood up and left the tent. Stepping out into the sun, the druid took a deep breath and looked around the camp. Everything was in motion like any other day. The others were going about their morning routines, completely unaware of the potential threat Col would be once his sickness broke. 

      “Halsin! I hope everything went all right with Col last night,” Wyll kindly broke Halsin from his thoughts with a smile. “Is he alright?”

      His eyes focused on the warlock. “Ah, right, Col. He seems to have fallen under the weather for the time being.” 

      ‘Because he has been infected.’ His mind reminded him. ‘Because he was alone in the woods, drunk.’  

      “Well then, give him my sympathies! Let’s hope he makes a speedy recovery.” 

   And with that, Wyll turned around and went back to where Gale and Karlach were sitting by the long-dead fire. Halsin let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and decided to go back into Col’s tent. If the ranger were to wake up anytime soon, it would be wise for him to be there to care for the man. 

   As Halsin opened the flap of the tent, he was once again confronted by the overlying stench of sickness on Col’s body. It had gotten stronger, much stronger, and with every inhale, the power of the Bear itched to be let out. Bending down to check on the ranger, he pressed the back of his hand softly to Col’s sweaty forehead. Despite the chilled skin, the feverish heat wafted off of the human with an overwhelming humid odor. Col groaned again, his cloudly eyes cracking open. 

      “H-halsin? What’re y-” His eyes gained sudden focus, and he shot up. It was clear the sudden movement had made the ranger nauseous as he closed his eyes and began to dangerously tilt head-first to the ground. Reaching out with a firm hand, Halsin held Col up as the human softly groaned in discomfort. 

      “Rest, my friend; you need to lie back down. Let me help you.” Grabbing a feathered pillow, Halsin sets it behind Col’s head as he sets him back down. 

   The human nodded his head and mumbled a soft thanks before raising a hand to softly feel the bandages that covered his wounded left side. Over the night, some of the scabs covering parts of the wound had re-opened and had bled through. The bandages would need to be changed sometime this day. And judging by the smell of the bite, another health potion wouldn’t hurt to help try and alleviate any of the swelling around the wound. 

   Halsin shuffled back over to where he had left the bandages and the rest of the health potion from last night. This type of care he was used to; helping the sick or the needy. Going over the repetitive task of dousing the wrappings with the healing potion helped to calm his mind and soothe the itch under his skin. He sighed and looked over Col’s body. The man was staring quietly at him with lucid eyes. Despite the thick smell of fever and the physical signs of weakness, the ranger's mind seemed to be as present as possible. 

   The druid shuffled back next to where Col laid. His large body was hunched over the small human's lean form as he began to unwrap the bandages near the bite wound.

      “I’ll be taking your old bandages off now and replacing them. Hopefully, the health potion helps lower any swelling and other physical pains some.” 

   Halsin tried to unwrap the old bandages with as much care as possible, but Col still winced as the pressure was lifted from the bite. It wasn’t as bad as when Halsin had seen it last night. The pus had practically all but disappeared, and the swelling from the surrounding skin was still fairly prevalent, but it looked less red, less angry. 

      “How is the pain? Does your skin itch?” 

      Col felt around the wound gingerly, his fingers dancing across the deep marks. “It inches some, but not as much now that the health potion did its job. I… Thank you, Halsin. For all of this.” 

      “It is the least I can do, my friend,” Halsin said as he dressed the ranger’s wounds with the doused bandages. 

   The druid worked the new bandages with as much tact as he could possibly employ. The two men stayed silent during the entire process, save for the occasional pained noises Col let slip out. With steady breaths, Halsin was able to hold at bay the ever-simmering rage that he had begun to feel since Col’s confession last night. He was capable of not bending to his lesser rage. He would not storm off right now and wildshape, letting the Bear tear away at the nearest tree until they both grew hungry and tired. 

   But the elf knew that at some point, he would have to go out and let the Bear take over if he were to keep himself from inappropriately snapping at the other companions. Maybe if he could convince Col to allow the group to share this burden, the two of them would not have to keep such a heavy secret. Halsin knew it wasn’t his place to try and convince the ranger. But he could at least air out his thoughts to the man and hope that Silvanus would aid him. 

      “Col, if you wouldn’t mind me saying this. Perhaps if you were to share with the group, it could help lighten the burden.” 

   The ranger’s eyes snapped to Halsin in an instant. A wild look took over Col’s face as he reached out for Halsin’s arm. The man looked half-mad, his hair stuck to several places on his sweaty face, and his body struggled to sit, hunched into Halsin. Wetting his chapped lips, Col shook Halsin’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

      “They mustn’t find out about this! I- if they do, I may be scorned! Or worse… I could be killed right then and there.”

      “But, my friend, they could help your affliction.” Halsin hoped the man would see his reasoning. Col had always been the one to see others' perspectives best. “We could take care of your illness as a group. Even if they protest at first, I will stay by your side.” 

   The sick man shook his head weakly, his nails digging into Halsin’s skin. 

      “They cannot, Halsin. Please… I beg of you to keep the nature of my affliction a secret only between us.”

   The druid nodded solemnly. He would do his best to respect Col’s wishes, even if he knew the majority of the others would be more than glad to help the ranger out after the initial shock of the reveal wore off. But he would not go so far as to betray the man's trust, gods no. With a sigh, Halsin softly patted Col’s back before bringing his hand further up towards the man's good shoulder to support him upright. 

      “I respect your wishes, and I promise to you that the truth to your sickness will stay between us and only us.” Halsin took a deep inhale before continuing. “But the others must be made aware that you have fallen ill, at the very least.” 

      The ranger nodded and let go of Halsin’s arm. “Tell them I caught a fever from the swamp. That I requested you to help me get back to better health.” 

      “I shall go do just that. Now, my friend, you must rest. I will be gone for only a moment.” 

   With that, Halsin helped lay Col back onto his sleeping furs and exited the tent once the human had closed his eyes to rest. The sun had risen more since he had first exited the tent, and now the entire camp seemed to have woken up ready for whatever this day would bring. Remembering what Col had told Halsin, he made his way to the center of camp where the others were gathered around. A quick inhale told the druid’s keen senses that someone had prepared a simple morning meal made up of oats and wild berries. 

   With a soft smile, he grabbed a warm bowl from Wyll with a small nod and sat by his usual place on the logs. Karlach seemed to be telling a rather animated story that the rest of the group was listening to. The large teifling was waving her arms about as she described a past exploit from her times in the hells. Small sprouts of fire lept from her body and caught on the ground around her; the spot was already rather singed from the many other times she would excitedly tell the camp stories. 

   It was endearing to Halsin how someone who had -quite literally- gone through the hells and back was still able to keep such a positive outlook on life. It was refreshing to be around such a vibrant personality, both in camp and when fighting. Her excited words on the battlefield helped to stir Halsin even when he was in wildshaped form. If he were to admit, out of all the other members of the group, Karlach was the one he got along with the easiest at first. Slowly, he was integrating himself into the new group and their pack hierarchy, but Karlach had greeted him first with an easy smile and offered him Scratch’s ball. 

   Finishing his bowl and going to grab seconds, Halsin realized Karlach had finished with her story, and now would be the best time for him to speak with the whole group before they all went about their days. 

   Halsin cleared his throat and waited for everyone to look his way. 

      “Now, I have taken an assessment of Col’s health, and after careful consideration, I believe him to be suffering from a fever most likely due to the swamp. I do not know when he will get better, but I will continue to watch over his health until he improves.” 

   The group looked on with mixed reactions. Gale, Karlach, and Wyll all looked on with clear sympathy for their ill companion. Astarion and Lae’zel frowned with disapproval. And Shadowheart had an unreadable expression on her face as she listened to Halsin finish speaking.

      “ Tsk! In my culture, weakness such as this would’ve been culled before being full grown.” The githyanki warrior shook her head. 

      Shadowheart rolled her eyes at Lae’zels’ words in clear disapproval. “Don’t forget that Col literally saved you from that Teifling trap. If it were up to me, I could’ve left you up there.” 

      “You wouldn’t even dare! I am a warrior from crèche K’liir , my skills outnumber yours.” 

      “I doubt it. So far, all I’ve seen you do is make loud noises in the mornings with that gods-awful whetstone you have.”

   The rest of the party looked on as Lae’zel stood up and strode over to where Shadowheart sat with her hands clenched into tight fists. In response, the cleric drew a dagger and pointed it at Lae’zel. As tensions rose between the two formidable women, the party looked at one another, unsure as to how to separate them with the least amount of bloodshed. Wyll bravely stepped in between the two with his hands out defensively. 

      “Stop! We are not fighting here. Keep your petty disagreements to yourselves. We have a much larger issue at hand.” He said while tapping his temple to remind the two women of the current tadpole infection. 

      Astarion frowned and took a long drink from his wine. “Spoil-sport. I was about to place bets on who would kill whom first with dear Gale over here.” 

      “Don’t involve me in your nonsense, Astarion!” Hissed Gale. 

   With the help of Wyll and some further encouragement from Karlach, the tension between Lae’zel and Shadowheart dissipated. With the gythanki warrior walking off to her tent, she made it clear that she would not be joining the group out exploring. Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, and Astarion quickly packed their items for another day in the treacherous swamp, while Halsin and Karlach were left in camp.

   Quickly, Halsin peeked in Col’s tent to find him fast asleep, and the druid went out by the riverbank to work on his woodcarving. The late summer’s air helped the elf to concentrate on his task at hand as the morning sun's rays kept the large boulders nice and warm while he sat. If it weren’t for the underlying worry over Col’s sickness, Halsin would’ve considered this day to be rather relaxing. Nature was his home, and being in the Oak Fathers' domain helped to lessen the simmering anxiety under his skin. The druid closed his eyes and sat for a moment in the sun. A light breeze brushed his hair and tickled his skin. In nature's playful embrace, Halsin sighed and went back to work on his woodcarving with renewed energy.

Chapter Text

   The days seemed to blur together for Halsin. The large elf was split between caring for Col as the human fell further into his sickness, assisting around camp during the hours Col was sleeping, or trying to care for his own needs (although they often were sidelined in favor of worrying over the ranger). It was almost repetitive in some respects—an odd flow of sickness and fear with Halsin’s attempts at comfort in between. The full moon of Selûne was not far away now, and with each new day, Halsin watched as the ranger fell into hallucinations and bouts of confusion. It was a true test of strength for the druid to stand by his friend's side, only able to help alleviate minor pains and pray to the Oak Father for further guidance. 

   Today had started rather typically, Gale was adjusting to his new eye after losing one to Auntie Ethel. The woman had turned out to be a hag who had stolen a young pregnant woman and, as Karlach had described to him, the woman had tried to bargain for her husband to be brought back from the dead. That was yesterday - or maybe the day before? - and now a group of Astarion, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Karlach were to set off once again into the swampland to do a final sweep. During one of the evening meals, Lae’zel had brought up the need for a crèche to rid the group of their mindflayer problem. And now that the group had exhausted any other way of removing the parasite incubating in their brains, it seemed the plan now was to search for a crèche . 

   The thought of moving a sickly Col disturbed Halsin greatly. The poor human could barely sit up most of the time, let alone have the strength to be moved. As the days until his first transformation grew nearer it became increasingly obvious that if it weren’t for Halsin’s intervention, the ranger would have most likely perished. Selfishly, Halsin hoped that the search for a crèche would take just as long as it had taken the group to clear out the swamp. 

   Gale, Lae’zel, and Halsin all saw the group of four leave camp for the day after having a quick morning meal of oats and the remainder of wild berries in their stores. Afterward, Lae’zel went off to the nearby river to clean the remaining grime from her armor from the hag attack, leaving Gale and Halsin standing in the center of the camp. 

   The wizard went to the caldron and dished up a small portion of the meal for Col. 

      “How has our dear ranger been? I do hope the poor man catches a break from this horrible fever he has.’

      “I fear the sickness has progressed more. The fever has left him unable to tell apart reality from his dreams.” Halsin took the warm bowl from Gale’s outstretched hands with a silent thanks.

      Gale nodded solemnly. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to assist you. If I were back to my typical abilities, I surely would have been able to find a spell to help alleviate the poor man's ailments by now.” 

      “Thank you, Gale. I assure you I will let you know if I need anything of you.” 

   The wizard nodded and shooed Halsin off towards Col’s tent, mentioning something about having ‘too many chefs in the way of his cleaning’ . 

   Opening the flap, Halsin looked at where Col was lying and found him sitting propped up by his elbows. Today seemed to be a better day, one with fewer hallucinations and sobbing barely legible words and more coherent conversations between the two. The ranger's head swiveled to Halsins hands as he smelled the warm oats and he made a motion to sit up properly with shaking arms and a great amount of effort. 

      “I see you’ve brought food.” Col reached out a weak hand to cup the bowl. “I assume this is Gale’s cooking? It’s far too put together to be Wyll’s.”

      The druid chuckled and sat on the fur pile next to Col. “You would be correct, dear Col. Although, I would say Wyll’s cooking is beginning to rival that of our dear wizards.” 

      Col snorted.

      “Now don't go around tellin’ Gale that. You’d break his frail heart!”

   A comfortable silence lay between the two of them. Only the occasional sounds of Col humming fondly over the taste of the porridge breaking the still air. After Col finished his meal, Halsin pulled out his whittling project and began to work on the defining shapes while Col read one of the many books he and Astarion had ‘borrowed’ from Gale’s tent. Glancing at the title, it seemed to be a random volume of a philosophy book. 

   After some time, Col set his book down and faced Halsin. 

      “You know what I miss? The sun.” The ranger looked away as he spoke, clearly embarrassed to some degree over what he was going to say next. 

      “This might be a strange ask. But since I can’t lift myself, do you think that maybe you could… assist me outside? Just for a while, then you could bring me back to my tent.” 

   Looking down at Col, it was clear that asking for help wasn’t part of his normal, as his round ears were tinted a slight pink. Halsin smiled and placed a hand on the human's shoulder to comfort him. The skittish man looked at Halsin's hand, touching him, then at the small smile on his face. 

      “Don’t be ashamed to ask for help, my friend. It must be against your nature to be inside for this long. The weather has been perfect the past few days, so why not enjoy it?”

   After some struggle from Col to get upright enough for Halsin to prop him up, the pair were able to easily exit the tent. The Highsun’s rays bled through the treeline and touched Col’s skin with a soft glow. The human sighed and tilted his head upwards into the warmth with a small smile on his lips, the sick sheen of sweat that seemed to have stuck to his skin disappearing in the presence of the sun. Halsin helped bring the man to a large oak tree just outside of the camp circle where they then sat together. 

      The human looked at Halsin as he whittled with a soft look. “Thank you. For all of this. I don’t know how I could ever repay you for your kindness.” 

   It broke the druid's heart to hear those words from Col. The assumption that he would expect anything in return irritated him. How cruel the world seemed at times, to leave the impression that nothing could ever be done without any type of underlying incentive. Despite his many years living amongst the many different peoples’ of Faerûn, Halsin still lived with his elven upbringing and the values that he had been taught there. He understood that Humans tended to have a more materialistic perspective on life, and given the short lengths of their lifespan it made sense, but to hear it from someone even as wise in the natural world as Col served as a heavy reminder that the young man was still a stranger to some degree. 

      “I am not expecting anything in return,” Halsin reached out for Col’s hand closest to him. “What I do, I do it out of my heart. You do not owe me anything, dear Col.” 

      Looking at his hand enveloped by Halsin’s larger one, Col sighed. 

      “I forget that you elves treat these things differently. You may say that you expect nothing in return, but that does not take away my obligation to return the favor. Please, when I am better, simply let me know and I will come to your aid much like how you have come to mine.” 

      “And what if I never call for you?” Halsin probed.

      Col looked into Halsin’s eyes with a sharp look. “Then I will take offense. Even if you do not understand it, to disregard my help is to disregard my capabilities in assisting you. I understand that our customs are different, but do not blindly forsake my duty.” 

      “Ah, I understand. I did not mean to possibly offend you, my friend. Whenever the time comes, then, I will make sure to call for your aid.”

      “Good.” The human's hand slipped out from Halsin’s grasp and he picked up his book again.

   Now that the silent flow of focus was back between them, time was irrelevant to the pair. So much so that they were both so engrossed in their hobbies that they failed to see that the party that had gone out had arrived earlier than expected. The sun was still quite far from setting, and there seemed to be no obvious injuries that would require them to fall back, but judging by the serious looks on their faces it was clear that something had prompted the early return. 

   Karlach walked swiftly to the middle of camp and called out for a meeting. The rest of the exploration party quietly walked over to the logs and sat down. Halsin noticed that as they walked they gave a rather wide berth from Astarion, who was the only one to have a few blood spatters on the front of his leathers. It looked like the blood was not from him, which both soothed and further confused the druid. 

   Nudging Col, Halsin helped the human up and walked the two of them to the center of camp. Sitting at their usual spots, Halsin noticed that Astarion was still standing. His typical air of detached coolness was gone; now, the rouge looked rather disturbed, with an unreadable expression on his face. Clearly, something had happened that caused the party to return early, and judging by the reactions from the others, it was clear that Astarion was somehow involved. 

   Karlach gave a pointed look towards where Astarion sulked in the shadows of the treeline and waved him over to the fire pit. The high elf scoffed and folded his arms as he looked over the rest of the group. 

      “Well. To fill in those who were not with us today, we came across a Gur monster hunter. I killed him”

      Shadowheart made a dissatisfied noise, to which Astarion flapped a hand dismissively her way. 

      “I’m getting there, darling. Let me take my time telling the details here.” Pausing for a moment, Astarion flipped his hair out from his eyes. Once he got ready to continue, Halsin noticed his face was back to its typical confident expression. 

      “As I was saying, I killed the monster hunter. Now before I was so rudely interrupted, I was about to reveal to the rest of the group why I killed the monster hunter. Ah, well, he was looking for a vampire spawn. That spawn just happened to be me.” 

      There was another pause as Astarion gauged the group members' reactions, his expression slipping in the briefest of moments. 

      “I am a vampire. Well, a spawn to be specific.” 

      Gale looked at Astarion and raised a finger in question. 

      “If you’re a vampire spawn, how are you able to walk in the sun? Better yet, where is your Sire?” 

      Astarion rolled his eyes with a shudder. “I’m just as confused as you are, Gale. But I think our unwanted neighbor has been assisting with the nasty side effects of vampirism for me.” 

      Wyll nodded along and nudged Halsin’s shoulder. 

      “After all my experience of monster hunting, the moment I am faced with the most obvious vampire spawn I overlook it. Hah! What irony.”

   Astarion answered a few more questions with as much as expected from the elf before walking off towards the river, stating that if he let his hair continue to sit in this blood it would ruin all the time he spent setting it this morning. It seemed that the group as a whole reacted rather fairly at the rouge’s reveal, and it gave Halsin an idea. 

   The ranger was leaning against Halsin’s side the entire time as he couldn’t support himself upright for such a long amount of time, and checking in on Col he realized that the man had fallen asleep sometime since sitting on the log. With a small chuckle, Halsin carried the man back into his tent and placed him gently on the pile of animal furs. Double-checking Col’s fever and the state of his wounds, Halsin walked out of the tent and towards the river. 

   Finding the rouge wasn’t hard when he wanted to be found. Astarion had taken off his leathers and was crouched over the cold river, scrubbing them with a rather delicate touch. With a flick of his ear, the high elf paused his scrubbing and turned his head to where Halsin stood. 

      “Come to gauk at the resident vampire now? Darling, I’m flattered.” 

      The druid shook his head and walked closer to where Astarion was crouched. Knowing of the rouge's somewhat skittish behavior, Halsin sat on the large rocks by the river shore to give the elf a clear pathway to leave if he wanted to. 

      “Just wanted to chat. That is if you wish to.”

      The vampire looked at Halsin with a slight smirk. He stopped washing his leathers and sat on a rock across from where Halsin sat. “I see. You have questions about my vampiric nature?” 

      “I do, yes.” Halsin sighed. “Given how the group has accepted your vampirism and Gale’s affliction with the orb, would you think they would just as readily accept something else?”

   It was tricky to try and talk about Col’s lycanthropy without explicitly bringing it up. The ranger had begged Halsin time and time again not to tell the others, but maybe (And with the Oakfather to assist with their luck) they would not be as harsh as Col feared they would be. Of course, this was wishful thinking on Halin's part. But given how Astarion was still accepted into the group after he was revealed to be a vampire spawn, maybe the group would react just as similarly to Col being a werewolf. They had already expressed their sympathies surrounding his illness and would chip in with their own ways whenever Halsin needed help, so perhaps just being honest wouldn’t help.

      Astarion cocked his head and hummed inquisitively. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. It depends on what this affliction is.” 

      “I’m sorry Astarion, but it is not my place to tell.” 

      “So it is whatever Col has gotten sick with?” Astarion’s eyes lit up as he connected the dots. “What is it that the poor ranger has come down with?” 

      Halsin sighed. He knew it would be hard to keep the truth from someone as nosey as Astarion. “I cannot say. Col has requested to keep the nature of his sickness between only the two of us.” 

      “You’re no fun, druid.” 

   With that, Astarion went back to cleaning his garments and Halsin took that as a cue to leave. What Halsin failed to notice was the way that Astarion’s gaze followed the druid back to the tree line, a clear sceaming thought coming up in the vampires’ mind. 

   Night came faster, the days had begun to get slightly shorter now that the Midsummer had come and gone a few days previous. The druid was attuned to the slight changes in nature, and with every breath, he could smell the coming colder months. Halsin was sitting on one of the many animal skins in Col’s tent, the human had awakened slightly confused for another small meal and was now deeply asleep, the wood elf was reading a short collection of poems he had borrowed from Gale. 

   Unknown to the kind druid, just outside the tent Astarion was perched in the shadows of the early night. The vampire was intent on knowing just what sickness Col had caught, and how he could possibly hang such blackmail over the large druid’s head. The night of the grove party he had failed to secure protection from the elf through the means of seduction, so now he was forced to go through the route of blackmail. 

   His keen ears caught the sound of Col waking up, clearly distressed and confused. Leaning closer to the tent fabric, Astarion was able to better hear the conversation between the two inside the tent. 

      “W-what? Where am I?” 

      More shuffling as Halsin came towards Col. 

      “Col you are safe. You are sick, remember?”

      Col coughed. 

      “Hal-halsin? I feel so confused. I-” 

      A thump on the floor, the sound of spilling liquid. 

      “What were you trying to give me? Halsin, what… what was that?” 

      “It is just something to drink. To clear your throat with, my friend.” 

      “I-I- don’t give that stuff to me. I think I was gonna gag.” 

      A moment of silence before Halsin made a noise of clear distress. 

      “You can’t drink the water? Col… what is that coming from your mouth.” 

      Another cough, followed by a gasp from the two. 

      “I-its like a fo- foam. Is it the… the lycanthropy?” 

   Astarion didn’t hear what was said next, as he had stepped back from the tent with wide eyes. So Col was a were-creature, newly infected it seemed by how he was sick. The vampire slinked into the shadows and crept into his tent, now he could come up with a plan. It would be perfect.  One way or another, he would find his advantage out here, and this bombshell would surely give him a secured advantage over not just Halsin, but also Col. That is if the human would survive the transformation. 

   Remembering the times at the manor, he had once observed a meeting between a group of werewolves with his Mas- with Cazador. The details of such a meeting had been long lost to him, but he remembered the briefest of conversations about how much of a physical toll the process of lycanthropy took on an individual. The strain on the body and mind would more often than not kill the poor sod that was infected. 

   Now if Col were to survive the transformation, the cool ranger would be replaced with the mind of a rabid animal. Pure carnage would surely follow wherever the were-beast would go. Astarion knew that Halsin would try to help Col with the effects of the transformation, but what such a beast would need was a heavy hand. If Astarion were to somehow insert himself into Col’s psyche, make the human want -better yet, beg - for Astarions help, he would not only have the strength of Halsin but also a formidable beast on a leash. A leash that Col would practically get on his knees and beg to be placed on his strong neck. 

   Astarion uncorked a rather nice vintage with a smirk on his face. Tonight he would scheme and celebrate a new opening. He would come back to Baldur’s Gate with a pack of followers, he would come back and show Cazador just how much stronger he was.   

Chapter Text

   The passage of time had long stopped for Col. Most of his days were spent in fitful slumber. According to Halsin, he would sometimes mumble nonsense from time to time. The closer it got to the full moon of Selûne, Col found he would often jolt awake with his heart hammering behind the brittle bones of his chest. The same bones that seemed to shift and groan under his itchy skin. More often, the human would dream of peeling his skin as if it were an ill-fitting piece of a tunic, leaving the wild energy coursing through his blood to finally free itself into the woods. 

   It could be said that the passage of time had stopped for Col, but that would be rather wrong. Simply, a new clock had been incorporated into his psyche. The turn of Selûne that drove him mad was his new time keeper, and as each time Halsin would remind him of the day, Col would already know, as he could feel it deep inside his skin. 

   Since the night the druid offered him water, Col was no longer able to drink without a foul, bile-like substance foaming from his lips. The human had less than a tenday, and the sickness was now in full force. Unable to drink, his eyes became sullen, his lips would crack and bleed, and his voice was reduced to just a whisper. Eating became a chore, too. The excellent meals both Gale and Wyll would make were no longer appealing to him, and more often than not, he would force down a few bites to expel seconds later. One day, the meal Halsin gave was a chunk of lamb roast. Simple with no seasoning so as not to upset his stomach any further. Col nearly bit off the kind druid's finger with how he lept from his back, teeth bared and salivating at the rich smell of flesh. 

   Blood was now appealing to him, and it scared the man to think of the carnage this beast inside him would cause in just a few more days. Every night, when Halsin thought the human had fallen into a deep sleep, the elf prayed to the Oak Father to assist further in his recovery. 

   Every night, Col could swear his eyes burned red when he closed them. 

   It had been just two days since the night Astarion discovered Col’s dirty secret, and those two days were maybe some of the most boring he could remember since being kidnapped by the Nautiloid. 

   They went out in small groups of four to scour for the Gythanki crèche that Lae’zel was bent on going to. So far, they had found a group of Gythanki warriors by the mountain pass, which would’ve been a good thing if not for the fact that the warriors had killed a small group of flaming fist. Oh- and not to mention the fact that these crazed astral fighters had a dragon that would very well evicerate the party with one simple breath of fire!

   That was the first day, and how fun it was to come back to camp to tell the others of what they had seen at the mountain pass. The second day was spent devising plans on how to go about the crèche without being killed. Lae’zel seemed fairly confident that if she were to lead the group to the crèche, there would be little issue with entering. Astarion knew better than the rest of the group; the others nodding along to an obvious suicide mission made the rogue even more certain that he was the best fit to lead such a group. 

   Now, on the third day, Astarion was left to help pack up camp while Wyll, Gale, Karlach, and Lae’zel went off to scout the mountain pass more. Halsin and Shadowheart were also there, packing up, but the large elf was often distracted whenever Col would so much as turn in his sleep. It was barely half an hour since Halsin had last run off when he did so again. Both Astarion and Shadowheart looked at one another with an unamused expression on each of their faces. It was clear that the two were getting tired of having to stop so often. 

   Placing the bag of supplies down in a rather haphazard manner, Astarion sauntered over to where Shadowheart was taking stock of the healing supplies. 

      “You know, Shadowheart darling. What if we were to just call it a day?” The rogue gave an exaggerated yawn, batting his eyelashes. 

      The cleric smirked at his acting but shook her head. “If we didn’t have the inevitability of cerimphorasis, I would take you up on the offer. Although I loathe to say it, Lae’zel is right. We must find a cure for these tadpoles as soon as possible.” 

      “Hmp! You’re no fun, darling.” 

   Shadowheart went back to her task at hand, carefully taking stock of the healing potions and other herbal supplies that the group had. At the same time, Astarion leaned against the counter with an exaggerated sigh. 

   Eventually, Halsin came out of Col’s tent. The druid looked worse than usual, it was clear that something that had happened inside that tent had spooked him somehow. His hair was in an unkempt attempt at his usual style, and he had a constant furrow between his brows. Astarion knew that today was the perfect combination of stress that would allow him into the tent Halsin guarded every night. 

   The druid walked over to where the other two were and made an attempt at fixing his rather moody expression before letting them know he would be going out to hunt. Astarion gave Shadowheart another knowing look at this; there was plenty of meat in camp, but they both understood what the good druid needed was to make a quick escape back into nature. 

   Ugh , nature. After the shock of being in the sun wore off, Astarion quickly had to deal with the shock of being in the wilds. After two centuries spent in the closed-off walls of Baldur's Gate, being surrounded by things like trees and bugs made the vampire wish there would be some civilization soon in their travels. 

   It was a double-edged blade, this new freedom was. No longer forced under the compulsions of his Sire - and with the persuasive skills the tadpole gave- Astarion was free to act as his own person again. But some days, being stuck in such a goody-two-shoes group as this (especially the so-called Blade of Frontiers ) made the rogue half mad with having to agree to help every other stranger for free. 

   So here Astarion was, patiently waiting for his perfect plan to fall into place. With Halsin gone, all he needed was for Shadowheart to go off somewhere to not bother him. ‘Perhaps a convincing bribe?’ The cleric was unaware of the scheming elf as she continued to take stock of the medical supplies. She was still oblivious when Astarion carefully crept into her tent and swiped some of her armour. 

   Halsin was still out in the woods by the time Shadowheart finished with the healing supplies and went into her tent. Within seconds, she burst out from the flaps, holding her armor with a face of pure rage pointed towards Astarion. 

      “What in the Hells did you do to my armour, Astarion!” She shoved the armor in the vampire's face with her shaking hands. 

      Trying his best not to let his carefully collected mask of nonchalance slip, Astarion put down his book with an unamused expression. “Darling, I don’t know why you would assume I would be the one behind this.” 

      Reading the anger still on her face, he knew that she did not believe him so far. So with a sigh, he raised a single delicate eyebrow and flapped his hand dismissively at the armor. “I mean, clearly, whoever did this sloppy dye job is nowhere near as experienced as I. Frankly, it’s quite insulting to assume I would be behind this.” 

      “Fine,” She seethed. “I hope whatever you’re up to is worth this, you asshole.” 

   The cleric stormed off towards the riverbank with a scowl across her face. Silently, Astarion got up from where he sat and smirked, his mask of indifference morphing into that of conniving excitement. 

   Now, all he had to do was visit poor Col., maybe check his temperature, or do whatever Halsin had been doing these past few days. 

   Astarion opened the tent flap and was immediately greeted with the stench of sickness. One of the many perks of being a vampire spawn was a heightened sense of smell, but for right now, he regretted it as the smell was overwhelming. It was different from the stale stench of death that he and his siblings had, where his smell of death was almost a soft undercurrent; this was a warm stench of death. The vampire would’ve gagged if he still were able to do so. Instead, Astarion simply stopped breathing for the time being. 

   He stood over the proranger's prone form and scoffed at how this painted such a stereotypical image: the monstrous vampire looming over its next victim, quite a sight for any person looking.

   Col shifted and opened a bleary eye, the sharp-sensed ranger instantly taking notice of Astarion's presence. The human struggled to lift himself into a sitting position and made a noise of confusion. 

      “Astarion? W-why’re you here?” 

      The rogue coos at Col. “You poor thing, so sick you can’t even sit up.” With a light touch, Astarion grabs the human's chin, a sharp nail caressing soft flesh. “Let me help you, darling.” 

   Col looked up at Astarion with unremarkable brown eyes. A bead of sweat made its way down from his forehead to his chin, where small amounts of stubble had begun to grow in. Astarion inhales through his mouth and tastes the warmth of the fever. ‘ Perfect.’  

      “How long did you think you could keep your illness from me? From the rest of the camp?” Astarion watches as Col’s overheated brain registers his words with a faint smirk. 

   The human stutters and shakes, but Astarion cuts him off. 

      “You know how detrimental lycanthropy can be. And I’m not talking about just you, no, what about the rest of the party? Would you just let them be condemned to death when you transform?” 

   Sharp nails dig into the soft skin of the human's neck. A tender hold turning into a brutal grip as Astarion forces Col to look up at him. 

      “ Tsk Tsk, you poor thing. Thinking that Halsin would help you. I bet you didn’t even know that he had told the rest of the camp of your… affliction days ago.”

   Col’s bleary eyes widened, his warm frame shaking even more as he accumulated fear. A shaky hand reaches to grab where Astarion grips his neck, sweaty and sickly warm. The rogue loosens his grip and tilts his head in amusement. 

      “You want to live, isn’t that right, darling?” The human weakly nods against Astarion's hand. “Then you need to listen to me very carefully now. The others want to leave you behind, including Halsin.” 

      His smirk widened as he felt the human's chest rise and fall quickly. “Everyone else wants to leave you behind, they think you’re too dangerous. But I know better. I know that you can survive your transformation without mauling anyone.” 

   Astarion pauses and taps Col’s cheek lightly. He wanted to hear the human beg for his help. For him to plead to Astarion to help protect him from the others. 

      Col wets his lips. “P-please help… I can’t kill anyone. Please!” 

   Now, Astarion would be the knight in shining armour. How brave he was, helping such a poor soul and protecting Col from harming others when he would transform. 

   The vampire crouches down to Col, his mask shifting to a look of empathy.

      “Of course you won’t,” He threads the fingers of his other hand through innocent blonde locks, “I’ll be there to help. That is, if you want my help. I don’t want to force your hand here, darling.” He starts to move his hands away from Col, but the human reaches out with sickly warm fingers.

      “No! Please… I need y-your help, Astarion.” Col sobs. 

   Astarion shushes the humans' sobbing and holds his shaking form, lightly carding through his soft hair with delicate fingers. A dangerous smile creeps onto the rogue's face as he continues to comfort the sick man. The two embraced until Col’s heartbeat began to slow as he got tired from such an emotional outburst. Gently, Astarion placed the sleeping form of the human back onto the pile of furs he lay on and exited the tent without a sound.  

   His plan is set in place, and now all he has to do is sit back and watch the fallout happen. It would be quite entertaining to see Halsin react to Col’s sudden distrust, and Astarion -swooping down like a hero in legend- would be there to offer his help.

   The fallout was swift to come. By nightfall, Halsin had gone into the rangers' tent with a small bowl of meat stew - it was more meat than stew, to be honest- and the entire rest of the party could hear Col’s sobbing yells. The sounds died down after a few more minutes, and Halsin walked out of the tent with an unreadable expression on his face. 

   He mumbled to the rest of the party that he was ‘going to meditate’ in the woods and swiftly walked into the treeline. Astarion quickly found an excuse to leave the group, which was easier now that they all knew he was a vampire. All he had to say was that he needed to go out to hunt, and he trailed behind the druid as Halsin made his way further into the woods. 

   Once the druid found a small clearing, he stopped. 

      “I know you’re following me, Astarion.” His voice was empty of its usual cheer as he spoke. It was almost pitiful to see how deflated the druid was.  

      The rogue slipped out from the cover of darkness and approached Halsin with silent steps. “We all heard Col yell at you. Clearly, something is up, darling.” His crimson eyes meet the kind elf. “You can trust us, well, at least most of us.” 

      Halsin shifts his stance and sighs. After a few seconds, he looks up at the night sky with a contemplative look. “Col was bitten by a werewolf the night of the Grove party. He asked me to keep it a secret, but after what happened tonight… I can’t continue to act as if everything is fine.” 

      “The full moon is two days from now, Halsin.” Astarion softly spoke so as not to upset the elf further. “Col isn’t in the right mind; he most likely didn’t mean whatever he said to upset you.” 

   The vampire moved closer to Halsin. For now, he would have to play the shining hero for both Col and Halsin. He would lift the burden from their shoulders in an act of uncharacteristic bravery, all while he whispered sweet lies. This plan would have to work, it had to be foolproof. 

      “Astarion, he, Col practically begged for me to kill him!” Halsin sobbed, his face contorted with rage. “I-I don’t think I can help him fully anymore.” 

      With a soft voice, Astarion swept in to save the poor druid with comforting words. “If the burden is too heavy to carry, let us, let me , assist.”

      Then, in a moment of vulnerability, Astarion let his cool mask slip by a bit. He sighed and reached to pat the druid's arm with slender fingers. “I know what it is like to have your body be puppeted. To lose your sense of autonomy. It is horrible, and what Col needs is all the help we can give him.” 

   Halsin looked down at Astarion with teary eyes and nodded slowly at the vampire's words. He knew it was true that Col would need more than just Halsin to help him, but the ranger had asked not to let the others know, so he complied. At this moment, he knew what needed to be done. He couldn’t deal with hearing Col beg for his death again. 

   The cool night air brushed against the trees, their leaves slowly changing from deep greens to a spectrum of yellows and oranges and a few deep reds. As the two elves made their way back to camp, a stray leaf fell into the druid's palm. It was a green oak leaf, a sign of Silvanus, that Halsin played with between his fingers as he walked in deep thought. 

   Even if he knew that the first transformation for a werewolf was the worst one, all he could hope for was for it to be an easy one.

Chapter Text

   The sun was high in the cloudless sky, and a slight breeze picked up the cool ocean air, moving it further inland. The fields of wheat and corn danced with the wind, and small black and brown birds chirped from the shade of the old oak trees. Following a dirt path, Col made his way through the large expanse of farmland to the small wood in the valley. 

   As Col approached the woods, the wooden fences along the path slowly deteriorated; lichen and patches of moss dotted the old wood. The young human whistled a field tune as he walked under the cover of the old trees. He was well acquainted with the layout of the woods, stepping lightly on the exposed roots and rocks so as not to make a sound. 

   In his left hand, he carries some rope and metal for a snare trap, and in his right he carries a small cloth full of berries and other wild nuts he had found in the early morning. Just past the babbling creek was a lush clearing where rabbits could be caught around this time of the year. Usually, Col’s older sister would catch rabbits while Col and their other siblings and cousins would either help out in the field or around the house, but this year she had gone off with the caravan full of produce and other goods for Baldurs Gate. 

   Thankfully, she had taught Col how to set trappings. The two siblings were both mindful of nature, more so than the other villagers. Their mother often commented on how Silvanus had blessed them with an uncanny ability to track animals, while the other kids in the village would insult them and say they were half-fae. 

   As he made his way to the creek, Col stopped for a moment to reach a hand down for a few sips of the cold water. From this crouched perspective, Col watched a lone Kingfisher dive into the water before reemerging with a small and thrashing minnow between his beak. The water droplets flew off the Kingfisher’s small body as he flew off into the reeds to claim his meal in private. The young human watched the whole show with an excited glimmer in his eyes. 

   Once the Kingfisher had flown off, Col crossed the creek and walked into the small clearing. Col could see several sets of rabbit prints across the soft ground as he walked further into the middle of the clearing to set the snare. Once set, the human hid behind a few bushes to wait for a rabbit to come by. 

   It did not take long before the snare was set off, and the shadows around the meadow had moved slightly since Col had set the trap. He stood up from the cover of the bushes and waited for the rabbit to tire itself out some before approaching. It was what he was taught to do, to try to respect the animal before he would kill it. His sister had once gotten upset when Col and a few of his cousins were out throwing stones at the chickens that roamed the village. She had scolded them as she dragged them back home, saying that all animals were to be treated with kindness and the utmost respect. 

   Col stopped joining his cousins to throw stones at the chickens since that formative day.

   The sharp smell of blood snapped the young man from his mind and back into the present moment. Something was… off. His hands and mouth felt wet, but it was too thick to be water. Looking down at his hands, Col’s breath hitched at the sight of the mutilated rabbit in his hands, its dead stare meeting his eyes. Hesitantly, he set down the rabbit and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic to see that it, much like his hands, was stained red with the rabbit's blood.

   His breathing came in sudden, shallow bursts as the reality of the situation set in. He had gutted the rabbit with his bare hands and ate its meat raw like some sort of beast. With an aborted yell, Col hunched over the desecrated body of the rabbit, trying to expel any of the raw flesh he had consumed. All that came out of his mouth was a thick, blood-red spit. 

   The smell of the rabbit's corpse wafted up to Col, who sat over it. A sudden, all-consuming hunger took over him. All previous emotions of disgust and fear were replaced with a strong feeling of pure hunger as the human grabbed at the insides of the rabbit again. 

   Bloody fingers pulling apart muscle and fat, snapping its brittle bones and tasting the marrow inside, the wet noises of slurping up the corpse's blood, all the sweet sounds of the carnage of the hunt to Col’s ears. 

   It was addictive. The scent, the taste, all of it pulled him further into a rising madness that was in the back of his mind. The time that passed did not matter to the human as he was pulled further and further into this bestial nature of his. 

   And if the village went looking for him? Maybe raw human would taste better than the rabbit. 

…

   Col woke up sick in the stomach with just enough time to roll over onto his side to heave up his last meal. Disoriented, the man looked around and checked his hands and his mouth to see if the blood was still there. And when he felt nothing, he let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

   From the shadows of the tent, a pair of blood-red eyes watched with careful interest as Col lay back to sleep.

   There was an unspoken tension in the air at camp. Now that everyone was aware of what Col’s sickness was, each second closer to the night of the full moon was a second closer to possible death. Those who were sympathetic helped Halsin whenever they could, now that Col refused to let the druid into his tent. 

   Gale and Wyll both worked on special meals that the ranger could stomach. Shadowheart helped keep the fever in check while trying to keep the ranger hydrated. Karlach offered Col her teddy bear, Clive, as her fiery engine wasn’t safe enough for her to enter the tent without almost setting it on fire. Even Lae’zel helped in her own way. The Gith was surprisingly gifted at storytelling and would sit by Col while he was in a more lucid state. Despite the group's help, it was clear that the human's health was deteriorating quickly. 

   No further adventures were planned that day, and everyone stayed close to camp to prepare for the night's events. That morning over breakfast, in hushed tones and quick glances to the tent flap of their ranger companion, a plan was devised to ensure minimal damage during Col’s transformation. The rest of the day was spent making preparations for the inevitable. 

   From a wooden log, Halisn watched the shadows of the trees grow long as the sun began to set below the horizon. Cupped between his palms was his current whittling project, a half-formed duck sticking out from the wooden block. The druid sat less with the intention of whittling, but instead with the intention of contemplation over Col’s sudden shift in demeanor towards him. Paranoia was a common symptom found in the early stages of lycanthropy, but Halsin still worried if the ranger would continue this shift even after the fever subsided. 

   He rather enjoyed the company of the human. The ranger and the druid quickly connected over a shared appreciation of the natural world, even if their approaches differed. During the early night of the grove party, Col had approached the sidelines where Halsin stood to get to know him better. The kind human had even offered Halsin a drink as they chatted together. And when he had joined the group officially, Col was the first to offer help with his tent with a quick smile. 

   Halsin sighed as he thought over the interactions he had with the ranger and found he missed the humans' presence greatly. 

      “Watching the sun set alone, are we now?” Astarion's voice came from behind, his steps light and silent with a rogue's ease. 

      The druid turned his face from the sun, meeting the vampires' unreadable countenance. “Just settling my mind before the night comes.” 

   The two elves fell into silence as the sun swiftly set on the horizon, and with it, most of the forest sounds grew quiet too. At this point, Halsin had set down his whittling knife and was just holding the carving between his two hands as he listened to the sounds of nature. This type of meditation was one that the druid enjoyed greatly, small moments of silent appreciation to his god, where he allowed himself to slip away from any present worries. 

   Astarion, on the other hand, was not deep in meditation. Instead, the silent rogue was busy calculating his next move. He knew that once Col would wake up, he would have to keep an eye on the human, but the thought of being mauled to death by a freshly turned werewolf wasn’t the top of his list of priorities at the moment. Halsin and his ability to wildshape would be good to have around, but the druids’ dreary mood did not make the chances of a happy night high. 

   Both of the elves were interrupted from their respective tasks by a sudden commotion in the camp. Several voices and the sounds of clattering dishes (a handy trap set in front of Col’s tent) that were followed by short, savage, inhuman growls. 

   It was clear Cols’ transformation was beginning in full, and was made even clearer as the hunched body of the dear ranger came crashing through the brush by Astarion, causing the keen rogue to side-step away from the feral man's reach. Halsin leaped up from where he sat to face the growling human fully, and let out a small gasp at what he saw. Col was hunched over his sickly form, with nothing on but his underclothes, it was clear how much weight the fever had taken from him —the man's bones pointing out from his sickly pale skin in a grotesque statement to how the lycanthropy had malnourished him— even though many attempts at feeding him were made. What shocked Halsin the most was the feral gleam in the human's eyes and how it reflected the moonlight. 

   With another inhuman noise from Col, he pushed past Halsin, bare feet thudding against the undergrowth of the forest. Not a word was shared between the two elves, but their instincts seemed to be combined as they both took off after the feral man. 

   The bear roared under Halsin's skin, demanding to be let out with such vigor that if Astarion were to look into his eyes, he would see them turn gold. The demands to protect the human from potential harm, but also protect others from the werewolves’ path, were shared amongst Halsin and his bear, and it took several moments of strong willpower for the wood elf to continue to stay in his form.

   The branches that Col had broken in his reckless run grew larger and larger in number and in size, with the most recent ones having small patches of fur sticking to them. Every so often, the sounds of footfalls against the forest floor and heavy breathing were broken up by increasingly louder howls and yelps of pain, the voice distorting and breaking as if Col’s very throat were ripped and stretched to fit a larger body. 

   A thud up ahead spurred the two into a faster sprint as the finally caught up with Col. The human had ended up hitting a large oak tree that he had missed in his frenzied sprint, now he lay crumpled against the trees bark with one arm over his abdomen and the other clawing at the oaks roots. His face was obscured by his limp and greasy hair, but his feral eyes still held that inhuman glow. From his throat came a pattern; first whimpers of pain, then of fear, once his eyes flitted over to either Astarion or Halsin— he would growl weakly from his broken larynx. 

   It was pitiful to see such a strong ranger as Col reduced to a mere husk of what he once was in only a few quick days. Halsin had, of course, read about lycanthropes in books from many druids of the past and present, but never had he seen the transformation process happen in real time. With each passing second, it grew harder for him to control his more primal nature, nostrils flaring and teeth grinding in a poor attempt at keeping his bear at bay. 

   Col let out a sharp cry and jerked his head upwards to where the full light of the moon hung in the night sky before falling limply onto the ground. Astarion looked at Halsin with shock on his face. ‘Had he just died?’ They both thought with their stomachs sinking in guilt. But the moment of fear stopped a second later as the human's body started to shake slightly. Then the shaking got increasingly violent, similar to that of a seizure, with foam bubbling from Col’s mouth and his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. A pained groan wheezed its way out of the human's mouth. 

   Then, the bones began to snap and shift underneath his increasingly hairy skin. Once dull teeth grew into razor-sharp fangs, nails curled into claws. His face elongated as he grew a snout from where his nose once stood, and his ears grew pointed and furry. The body flinched, turned, and writhed as both Halsin and Astarion looked on in silent horror as the most painful part (the formation of the tail) began. 

   It was truly unnerving, given how the tail formed. A small protrusion of skin burst with blood as bone and sinew began to slink out from where it grew, tendons and muscles rapidly forming and covering each other, with the layers of flesh and fur coming in only a few seconds after the formation began. The process was obviously painful, and Col wheezed and howled with an ear-splitting screech. 

   A small pool of blood had collected underneath Col’s new form from all of the bodily trauma inflicted in a few agonizing minutes, its scent wafting its way over to where Astarion stood by. It was horribly sour from all the pain, but underneath it held a sweet richness that the vampire knew was a distinction of thinking creatures. His thoughts were interrupted by the movement of Col’s new body. 

   Tapping his sharp claws against the oak tree as he used it for support, Col stood up and looked at the two elves with a weary expression, his ears flat against his head. He was easily taller than Astarion, and if he were not hunched over himself, he would be almost taller than Halsin. Baring his teeth, Col snarled and snapped at the two, his altered mental state becoming clear. Most lycanthropes would go on killer rampages, and often over the years, the shift of mental states during their transformation would bleed into every waking hour. Unless the urge to kill and maim was controlled, a lycanthrope was set on a course of madness and destruction. 

   That is what Halsin knew to be true, and seeing his friend-turned-werewolf snarl at him with little recollection in his eyes, it was made concrete. He would have to assist Col during these transformations and ensure that little damage would be done by the man and his altered mental state. 

   The werewolf snarled and barked as saliva dripped from his deadly maw. Both Halsin and Astarion noticed the change in behavior and footing, going from defensive whimpering to making preparations to attack. Any sudden movement made by either elf could potentially set off Col into a killing frenzy that would doom both of them. 

   Praising Silvanus, time seemed to slow with Halsin letting go of his resilience as his wildshaped bear took over in a shimmer of golden light, briefly stunning the werewolf with blinding light. The bear let out a fearsome roar as Astarion moved behind his protection. Both Col and Halsin were evenly matched in these beastly forms, but the hope was not to win, but to corral Col away from the rest of the camp and to prevent too much carnage. 

   Astarion looked on with his dagger ready as the two ferocious beasts postured against each other. At this moment, a rather ingenious thought came that would change his plan just slightly. ‘What if, instead of having just Col protect me, I add Halsin?” He smirked at the thought. 

   Things were just beginning, and Astarion had the entire road to Baldur's Gate to build up his followers' loyalty.