Work Text:
The Shadow-cursed Lands have definitely lost their charm by now, if they had it at any point. Astarion doubts it, since it's just a wet, dark – forgive the redundancy – hole in the world, that they happen to have to cross to find the damn cure to their little illithid problem.
Astarion has been managing to eat properly – after literal hundreds of years – these last few days, feeding on animals and enemies whenever he could, without being found out. He's done a great job, really.
The thing is that in the Underdark there's not a soul out there to eat from, to drain, to bleed out. And yes, he's been keeping a few vials of blood just for this kind of situations, but Astarion fears they won't last long enough. And he can't go back to hunger. He'll bite one of his friends before it comes to that.
Friends. Astarion can't remember if he's ever had any friends before. It's a strange notion for him to hold about someone, surely.
Yes, he says he'll bite one of his friends before he goes back to the rotting hole that hunger brings to the pit of his stomach, but, in reality, Astarion isn't totally sure he's capable of doing it. Not because of some high morale problem, but because he's scared shitless of the consequences such an action might bring for him.
Yes, in theory, these people watch his back and care about him and all that, but when it comes to extreme situations, you can never know how someone will react.
Lae'zel could easily stab a stake in his heart in the blink of an eye and Astarion doubts she would feel any pity for him after the deed.
As pragmatic as Wyll sells himself to be, he's a monster hunter and he has been a monster hunter for years, so he will definitely react accordingly – as a monster hunter does – to a vampire trying to suck his blood.
Karlach, naturally, is off the table.
Gale, too– something tells Astarion that shiny orb in his chest must make his blood awful, if not poisonous.
Lastly, Shadowheart is a mistery to Astarion, just like she must be a mistery to herself, with the lack of memories and all. Astarion has no idea of how she would react, which makes her a good option... if he were to take action.
Astarion only hopes his vials of blood will last enough for him to get through these stupid Shadow-cursed Lands.
Surprising to no one, his reserve of blood doesn't last long enough, and it's been three days since Astarion has last eaten. And it's starting to show. He isn't quick enough, his hands shake when he tries to open up locks so it makes such an easy task twice as hard, and the gaping hole in his stomach has grown noticeable, to him that is.
Astarion can't help but hate the fact that he's grown so... comfortable. That he got to know any better than what he was left with all those years before. Hells, he had spent literal years without eating because Cazador just didn't happen to fancy the idea of him eating. But now it's only been a few couple of days and Astarion feels like he's dying.
Tonight he's going to feed, Astarion decides with a sigh. It's Shadowheart's turn to keep watch so he'll do his best to get her to give up some of her blood willingly.
Except Shadowheart isn't sitting alone in front of the fire because Wyll's there too. Change of plans, then.
Shadowheart moves to pour herself another glass of the wine Wyll brought, while the man's telling her yet another one of his heroic tales. She tries to keep up with the story, but the wine's making it a difficult task.
Just then, both hers and Wyll's attention is caught by the sudden movement in Astarion's tent. Soon after, the pale elf exits his tent and starts walking towards them, but he seems dizzy, as if he'd been drinking along with them. "Astarion?" Shadowheart finds herself calling for him, while frowning at him. Something's wrong.
"Astarion!"
Wyll must've noticed something before she does, because he stands up abruptly just in time to catch Astarion when the elf suddenly collapses forward. As soon as Wyll has him in his arms, he gently lowers Astarion to the ground until Wyll has his head over his lap, after having turned him around so he's laying on his back.
"What's wrong with him? It can't be the shadow curse, can it?" Shadowheart considers the plausible options, looking around them. The torches are well placed so that none of them will be caught by the curse, so she rules it out.
"Any hidden injury?" She then says, inspecting Astarion's torso and limbs– his white dress shirt was spotless. His legs, which could've been hiding an injury given the dark pants covering them, look unscathed too.
"It doesn't look like it," Wyll agrees, with a tight frown on his face. "Astarion? Come on," he taps the pale elf's cheek, and doesn't get any response, at first.
Out of the blue, Astarion stirs, before he slowly flutters his eyelashes at them. "Blood... I need blood..." he whispers, looking first at Wyll and then at her, with the face of a kicked puppy.
"Of course! He's a bloody vampire!" Wyll says with a scoff, as he opens the collar of his shirt. His statement really is surprise to no one, considering the twin bite scars in Astarion's neck, his crimson red eyes and his fangs, if his sickly pale complexion wasn't enough.
Astarion on the other hand, Shadowheart notices, is now frowning like he's bracing for impact, while he keeps his eyes closed. Perhaps he fears Wyll's comment isn't as harmless as it seems (and as it is, judging by the man's movements).
"Do you prefer my wrist or my neck?" Wyll then offers Astarion, and the pale elf abruptly opens his eyes wide, staring at Wyll like he's gone mad. Shadowheart moves back, grabs her glass of wine and watches the interaction, curious as to see where it takes them.
"What?" Astarion gasps, sounding buffled.
Seems someone forgot to keep up the act like he's dying, Shadowheart thinks to herself but keeps quiet, hiding a smile behind her glass.
"My wrist or my neck?" Wyll repeats, urgently, clearly still concerned for Astarion.
"Uhm..." Astarion ponders for a second. "Your neck... it hurts less..." he says, but keeps his frown well put, as if he's still expecting this to go sideways.
"Have it your way," Wyll shrugs his shoulders, but there's a smile on his lips. He looks relieved to see Astarion isn't actively dying – Shadowheart still doubts it was ever a possibility, even when the vampire supposedly fainted.
"You can lay down, to be more comfortable," Astarion says, now sitting up, and Shadowheart can't recall even one time she's seen him so damned shy. He's always showed himself confident and sure of himself, almost annoyingly so.
"You look like you're feeling way better already, at the prospect of feeding," Shadowheart comments when she can't bite her tongue any longer, smirking at Astarion, whose head snaps in her direction.
"It's like I've just found a healing potion while I'm bleeding out, darling, imagine my relief," Astarion says with a scoff, shaking his head but still moving so he can lean over Wyll, who is now fully laid on the ground; the perfect feast.
"Oh, believe me, I understand your relief," Shadowheart argues with a pointed look, leaving her glass forgotten on the groynd, "I just can't understand why you wouldn't ask us to feed from us earlier in our long journey."
"Guys, we should just leave it here–" Wyll quips, making a move to sit up but being stopped by his shoulders by Astarion himself, even though he's turned his head away from him to glare at her again.
"Well, excuse me, Shadowheart dear, but not everyone reacts as well as you two to someone being a vampire," Astarion's ears flattened as his eyes narrowed at her.
Apparently, she isn't the only one that's not biting her tongue anymore, Shadowheart thinks and her smile only grows. This is the Astarion she knows.
"You know it was obvious from the very beginning, right?" Shadowheart says, with a full smirk now.
"You–"
"Astarion."
Before Astarion can speak up whatever piece of mind he wanted to give her, Wyll cuts him off, putting a hand on the vampire's shoulder. "I believe you're currently feeling... cranky because of your hunger. Please, have my blood so we can all call it a night, okay?"
The smile Wyll has on his lips looks earnest enough to make Shadowheart roll her eyes. "Yes, Astarion, be a good little vampire and eat your food," she tells him then, grabbing her glass and the wine before standing up.
"You, wretch," Astarion shows his fangs at her, but eventually sits back down, bringing Wyll down with him. "Okay, fine, come on Wyllyam, let's have a taste of your blood and get this over with."
Once that's settled, Shadowheart deems it the perfect moment to leave and take the night off; in theory, it was her turn to take guard, but why would she let this excellent opportunity go to waste? Besides, it's either leaving or watching the gruesome show at this point. Better leave Astarion to feed in peace, or else she could become another snack for the moody vampire.
To say Wyll's left lightheaded after all the blood Astarion has drunk from him tonight would be an understatement. However, Wyll deems it a worthy sacrifice when he catches the sight of Astarion's content smile.
"Thanks for that, darling," Astarion says, with his face merely inches away from Wyll's, as he presses a handkerchief against the twin puncture wounds on his neck. Astarion doesn't seem to care about the extremely close distance between them.
"Not everyone would've offered their blood like that," Astarion adds, once he's done patching Wyll up and has taken a seat in front of him, putting some actual distance between the both of them. "It was a gift, and I won't forget about it."
"I just did the right thing to do, Astarion," Wyll weakly argues with a chuckle, even though he feels breathless right after he opens his mouth, and almost regrets it. "We don't need to make a big deal about it. In fact, if we need to make this a thing... I'll gladly spare some blood for you every now and then." By the end of his little speech, Wyll's ready to pass out right here and now.
Once again, however, his blood donation proves to have been both the right call and a good deed by itself when Astarion's ears perk up at his offer. "That would be wonderful, thank you, Wyll," Astarion tells him, and Wyll doubts he's ever seen him smile so... brightly.
The next minute, Astarion brings his hands together, "well, I'll leave you to it," then, he moves to stand up, "too bad Shadowheart left so early. I guess she thought this ordeal would take us longer."
"I've got another bottle of wine," Wyll finds himself saying, and has to stop his own hand from going to grasp Astarion's wrist, "we could share it... if you want." It really is a blessing that he's lost all that blood, Wyll thinks, because, otherwise, he would be blushing right now.
For a second, Astarion looks genuinely surprised at his proposal. His expression soon grows almost... fond, Wyll would like to believe. "I would love to, but you need to rest, sweetheart," Astarion smiles at him, "we wouldn't want our fearless hero to faint mid-battle, hm? Maybe tomorrow night?" He then offers, tilting his head slightly to the side like a sly cat.
"Tomorrow night it is," Wyll can't help but grin, feeling like a kid with a new toy.
For the first time in literal years, Wyll has a good night's rest, without any nightmare coming to haunt his dreams.