Chapter Text
“Feara, don’t you think this is a bit much?” Shadowheart said.
“Of course not!” The dragonborn replied from her perch on a tree branch ten feet up in the air, where she had spotted a beehive a few minutes ago and decided she absolutely needed to raid for honey. Shadowheart, Wyll, and Astarion stood around the base of the tree and were craning their necks to watch.
“We need… to gather camp supplies… and like a good leader I am, I’m taking the full responsibility of obtaining sustenance!!” Feara growled, reaching up to try and snag at the beehive just above her.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea…” Wyll muttered. Astarion chuckled next to him, “Oh, no, don’t try to stop her now. This is far too entertaining!” It was often tiring with how often their party leader stopped every time she saw a bit of edible foliage, but sometimes the lengths she’d go to were worth it for a little show. Even if Astarion wasn’t able to eat any of it…
Wyll continued to watch with a concerned expression much like a restless parent. “Feara, be careful!” Wyll cried out. “I don’t think that branch can support y-” With a loud crack, the branch tumbled to the ground. The three adventurers stepped back out of its way before snapping their gazes back up, seeing Feara clinging to the tree with her arms and legs like a cat.
“I HAVE THIS UNDER CONTROL,” Feara ground out, muscles straining to keep herself aloft. “JUST… A LITTLE CLOSER…” she began to shimmy further up to the buzzing hive. Her tail swung out and wrapped around the base to give her an extra bit of support as she reached up with one hand to the bee’s nest. She thrust her clawed fist in, crunching through layers of beeswax and papery film. “Come on, come on…”
Astarion couldn’t hold back a giggle at seeing a swarm of angry bees begin to form around the sorceress. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” Wyll and Shadowheart shared a nervous glance. “Here’s to hoping that dragonborn scales can block bee stings…” the cleric said.
After a few tense moments, there was a loud shout and a series of crashing tree branches from above. A black and violet blur fell to the ground before them with a loud thud. Feara lay motionless in a heap of leaves and twigs. The three just stared with bated breath… was she even breathing?
Feara’s arm suddenly shot up, clutching a large slab of glistening honeycomb. “GOT IT!” She shouted triumphantly.
Wyll and Shadowheart both shared a sigh of relief. Astarion couldn’t help but giggle at the whole spectacle… he casually glanced up, and the smile dropped from his face. “Then in that case, we should probably be going- NOW!” As the swarm of righteously angry bees began to descend upon them. The sorceress scrambled to her feet, and the four of them took off with their sweet ill-gotten gains.
—
After a while of running, and a few fiery spells, the group had successfully deterred the bees from following them anymore and were back on their way.
“Trust me, you’ll all thank me when we’re feasting upon honeyed ham and sweet cakes tonight at camp!” Feara declared.
Astarion grimaced to himself, but said nothing. Great. He’d have to come up with another excuse to avoid dinner that night.
“You know Feara, we can always just buy the camp supplies rather than risk our necks for meager forage,” Shadowheart offered with a tinge of exasperation. “You’ve plenty of gold, after all-”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Feara snapped. “We need this gold for emergencies.” She played the last word out for emphasis.
“I’d reckon that being stranded with illithid parasites and being hunted down by cultists would count as quite an emergency, but that’s just me I suppose.” Wyll said wryly with a shrug. They all knew it was rather pointless to try and argue with her. It was her pure dragonblooded heritage that made her a natural hoarder of gold and goods alike.
Feara let out a huff of smoke through her nostrils, a telltale sign of her frustration. “Why would we even bother buying overpriced goods from some hack of a merchant when the fruits of the wilderness are ours for the taking!?” She spread her arms out wide.
Astarion shrugged, “Well, those same overpriced goods are also technically free for the taking if no one’s watching and your hands are quick enough…” Feara perked up at that “Oh, true.” The two bowed their heads and giggled, muttering about a new possible heist they could pull off back at the grove. Astarion noticed the disapproving look on Wyll’s face, and the warlock opened his mouth to intervene- but he was interrupted by Feara coming to a halt and sharply turning in another direction towards a berry bush, cutting everyone off. “See!? This is what I mean! Nature’s bounty, gladly here to support us at no charge!” She practically dove headfirst into the bush to pluck up a bunch of the sweet fruits, her tail wagging behind her with glee.
The other three stopped and watched with weary expressions, just waiting for her to be done with it. Astarion sometimes wondered where on earth she got all that energy from… meanwhile he himself was living off of boar blood, and lately that wasn’t enough for him.
Suddenly, Feara let out a high pitched yelp of pain that interrupted his thoughts and startled the whole group. She shot upright, bright red berries tumbling from her grasp as she clutched at her left hand. “My finger!” She cried out. In her eager haste to collect the berries, a bramble thorn had pricked at the sensitive skin on her fingertip.
Shadowheart’s brows furrowed, and she quickly stepped forward to check on her. Astarion, however, was thoroughly amused. He stepped forward as well, feeling a bit of sadistic glee at seeing their haughty party leader fall to pieces about a little pinprick. “Are you serious?” He couldn’t hold back a guffaw, circling around to get a look. “You fall from the top of a tree without a scratch, but a little thorn is all it takes to-” He paused. It was the smell that hit him first.
Astarion had smelled blood before, whether it flowed beneath the skin of a living creature or pooled across the cobblestones of an alley. The blood of thinking creatures- elf, human, dwarf, drow- each with a distinctly unique aroma that could permeate the air around them like an aura. Though he’d never tasted the blood of any of them- his master forbade it-, the odors always taunted him for more than a century as a forbidden fruit. He could even recall sniffing at the ichor of a few dragonborn similar to Feara and mark their own distinct notes.
But her scent was different… when leaking from her body, the smell was richer, hotter somehow, and absolutely overpowering in a way he couldn’t describe. And then he remembered Feara’s frequent boasts—how her grandmother had been one of the last of the magma dragons, whose pure blood could melt through layers of steel, the same magic-infused blood coursing through Feara’s veins that granted her the ability to cast such fiery spells at will. It explained her temper. It explained her arrogance. And now, apparently, it explained why her blood smelled like molten gold. Oh, then imagine how it must taste, if the scent alone was enough to make his head spin! He thought he could hear the others talk, but it was all background noise as everything around him blurred away but the slow trickle of blood from Feara’s flesh.
He watched, unblinking, as the nearly black blood welled at her fingertip and dripped to the ground, sinking into the dirt. What a waste.
Astarion swallowed hard. He had to get it together. No one here knew the monster he truly was, after all. He should step back, get away, clear his head. But his feet didn’t move. His body was acting on its own, drawn closer by that otherworldly aroma… Stop it, stop it- nonono- Astarion’s thoughts spiraled, his body lurching forward, mouth opening to bite down on Feara’s hand-
“Hurry up and cast a healing spell already!!” Feara hissed, abruptly twisting around. Her hand jerked out of reach- and Astarion fell face first into the bush.
“Oh, calm down, Feara. It’s just a little pinprick, it’ll close up in just a few minutes, I’m sure.” Shadowheart sighed, while Wyll tried to stifle a laugh. Feara’s outburst made it seem like the bush had nearly mauled her.
Thankfully for Astarion, her little fit kept everyone’s attention off the embarrassing sight of him disentangling himself from the leaves. He quickly stood, brushed the leaves off of his clothes, and composed himself, hoping no one had noticed that.
After Shadowheart applied a small bandage to at least get Feara to quit whining, they resumed their trek. After Feara reduced the offending foliage to crumbling bits of ash, of course. Astarion trailed behind the group, a little less talkative now.
He couldn’t get the memory of how her blood smelled out of his mind. He was getting hungry… he’d have to find some woodland creature to eat soon, drain it dry, take his mind off of the dragonborn’s inky gore.
But you’re never satisfied with mere boar blood, are you? Not when a sorcerer’s lifeline is ripe for the taking here. Astarion’s mind raced. You need the nourishment. Imagine how much stronger it’d make you- just a drop of the stuff might be enough to sustain you! Cazador isn’t here- the rules don’t apply. Astarion dragged a hand down his face to try and steady himself, but his gaze was fixated on the back of Feara’s head where the back of her horns curled to a point and protruded like a maul.
Yes. Just a drop. Everyone knew Feara was a heavy sleeper- her snoring was only drowned out by the crackle of the firepit she’d lay by every night for warmth. Yes. That was when he’d do it. She wouldn’t notice, she’d sleep right through it. She’s always so proud of herself for supporting our little team. About time she fed me, too.
The others were loudly chatting amongst themselves about the food they’d eat that night, and for once, Astarion didn’t mind. He’d get his dinner as well, and it would be sweeter than any honey.