Work Text:
The sounds of camp came rushing back to meet her. Low voices, the crackle of dying embers, the familiar rhythm of something safe.
“How is he?”
“Well hello to you, too,” Karlach said cheerfully. “How did it go?”
Riven barely paused long enough to drop her gear at the camp chest. “Fine,” she said dismissively. “We killed the hag. The girl’s safe.” Her gaze snapped back to Karlach. “How is he?”
“Oh, whining and fussing endlessly, so that’s an improvement.”
Riven stilled, looking up at her. “He’s awake?”
Karlach nodded. “Yeah. Woke up about an hour ago. I gave him a couple of healing potions. He’s still in rough shape, but he’ll pull through.”
The breath Riven hadn’t realized she was holding finally left her in a rush. She stepped forward and threw her arms around Karlach, hugging her tightly.
Karlach laughed, stumbling back a step with the force of it. “Easy there, soldier. Don’t knock us over.”
“Thank you for taking care of him,” Riven murmured, not caring that the heat of Karlach’s engine was beginning to press uncomfortably against her skin.
“Alright, don’t you start blubbering on me now,” Karlach said warmly.
But Riven felt the way Karlach stayed with her, solid and steady, and she held on a moment longer, until the heat edged toward that line of becoming unbearable.
Finally, she stepped back.
Karlach gestured toward Astarion’s tent. “Go on, then,” she said. “He’s been asking for you. Relentlessly.”
Something in Riven’s chest tightened at that.
“You’re the best, Karlach.”
“Damn right I am.”
As she made her way across the camp, her wolf Corre ran to meet her. She’d left him to stay with Astarion, and it was obvious the wolf would have preferred going with her.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, reaching down to ruffle the fur at the back of his neck. “Miss me?”
A low grunt was his only response. Quothe, her raven familiar, flew over her shoulder, catching Corre’s attention. The two scampered off, startling Shadowheart as they rushed by her tent. But Riven only had eyes for one tent, in particular.
She forced herself to walk, to resist the urge to break into a run, as she made her way there. Her hands trembled as she pulled back the flap and stepped inside.
Astarion was there, lying on his back. He was bare-chested, save for the tight bindings that had been wrapped around his ribcage to support and stabilize his multiple broken ribs. His face looked better, but was still mottled with deep bruises. An angry-looking gash cut through the side of his jaw, down his neck. The stab wound on his chest looked much better, a product of the healing potions, no doubt, but seeing it only reminded her of how badly he’d been wounded.
How close she’d come to losing him.
“Astarion.”
His lips turned upward in a sleepy smile as she moved to kneel at his side. “My darling.”
She smiled down at him, reaching up to brush a stray curl off his forehead. He sighed, reaching up to take her hand and press her palm to his face.
“You scared me.”
He took a slow, deep breath, testing the limits of his broken ribs. “It will take more than that to tear me from you.”
Riven sighed, blinking back tears of relief. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, now that you’re here. It was so very cold when I first woke up.”
She gave him a droll look through her unshed tears. “I left Corre here to keep you warm.”
“Ugh.” He groaned. “That explains why I woke with dog hair in my mouth.”
“A great hardship,” she agreed. “I can’t imagine the strength it took to endure it.”
“All the more reason to fuss endlessly over me now.”
She laughed. “Oh? And what would you have of me?”
His eyes slid to hers, holding her gaze as he brought her wrist to his lips, kissing the skin there with a tenderness that made her blood begin singing.
She smiled at him. “Go ahead, my love.”
He let out a soft moan against her wrist, but kept his fangs hidden away, turning instead to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer, until he was practically lying in her lap, cradled against her chest, his head resting in the crook of her arm.
“You are too good to me, Riven,” he whispered.
She held him close, running her fingers gently through his hair. “I always will be.”
Gently, she traced her hand down his face, to his jaw, tilting his chin up with the tip of a finger so that she could meet his lips in a soft, delicate kiss.
His lips were, as always, impossibly soft. Impossibly gentle. And the way his body seemed to melt into her as she kissed him only made her want to hold him closer.
After a moment, she broke the kiss and straightened, offering her wrist once again. “Drink, my heart. You need your strength.”
But he surprised her by shaking his head, instead pressing even closer to her.
She furrowed her brow. “Astarion?”
“I don’t need it, my love.”
“The hell you don’t.” She looked down at him, at the ugly bruises still lingering down his abdomen. They undoubtedly caused him intense pain. “You need blood to heal the rest of the way.”
“I will still heal without it. It will just take longer.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. He’d never turned her down before. Again, her fingers moved back to his chin, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. “What is it?” she asked.
He looked up at her for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop,” he admitted, his voice a quiet, fragile thing. “I don’t want to take the chance.”
“Astarion, I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me.”
He laughed darkly, nuzzling even closer to her. “My darling, I very much could. The hunger is difficult to resist on my best day. I won’t take that chance with you now.”
Riven sighed. He was almost ghostly pale, his face looked gaunt, his eyes dull. “You need blood.”
But he waved her off. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go hunting when I regain a little more of my strength.”
She chewed her lip, looking down at him as he lay in her lap, tucked tightly into the crook of her arm. At first glance, he looked so peaceful. So relaxed. He closed his eyes, sighing softly as he rested against her.
But she knew him better than that. She could see the tension lingering in the corners of his mouth, the tight set of his jaw. The way his brow would occasionally crinkle in pain.
Still, if the hunger was enough that he outright refused her, she couldn’t discount the risk.
“What if I called Halsin?” she asked.
A smile teased at the corners of his lips. “My dear, I heal quickly, but not that quickly.”
“No, you dummy,” she scoffed, grinning. “What if he could be here to help you stop? He’s as strong as you are. He could keep you from going too far.”
His eyes fluttered open to meet hers. “I wouldn’t want to risk hurting him, either.”
She arched a brow, glancing pointedly down at his many dark bruises. “Do you think you could?”
“Oh sure, just decimate my pride.”
“You could heal,” she urged. “At least enough that you won’t be in constant pain. And if you can’t stop, he can help you.”
He hesitated, his eyes falling from hers, worrying his bottom lip nervously. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice small.
“Of course. Let me up, I’ll go ask him.”
Riven hesitated only long enough to press a soft kiss to his temple.
“Stay here,” she murmured, her fingers lingering in his hair for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be right back.”
Astarion made a quiet, noncommittal sound against her shoulder, his grip tightening slightly at her waist before easing. He didn’t look up. Whether from exhaustion or something else, she couldn’t quite tell.
She smoothed her hand down his arm once, then gently extricated herself, rising to her feet with care so as not to jostle him more than necessary.
The night air felt cooler than it had any right to as she stepped out of the tent.
The camp had settled into a low, steady quiet. Embers glowed faintly at the center, the fire long since burned down to a soft, breathing heat. Most of the others had already turned in, their tents dark, their presence felt only in the occasional shift of canvas or distant rustle of movement.
Halsin hadn’t gone far. He rarely did.
She spotted him at the edge of the camp, seated on a broad, fallen log, his posture relaxed but attentive in that way of his, like part of him was always listening to the forest, even when he appeared at rest.
For a moment, she simply watched him.
There was something grounding about Halsin. Solid. Steady. Like an old tree that had weathered storms far worse than anything she could throw at him.
She needed that steadiness tonight. She needed that quiet, reassuring strength.
Riven crossed the camp, her steps quiet against the packed earth. He looked up before she spoke, as if he’d felt her approach long before he heard it.
“My heart,” he greeted softly, his voice low so as not to carry. His gaze swept over her quickly, assessing, then settled on her face. “How fares our pale friend?”
She exhaled slowly, stopping a few steps in front of him. “Alive. Stubborn. In pain.”
Halsin’s mouth curved faintly. “That does sound like him.”
Riven huffed a quiet breath, some of the tension in her shoulders easing at the familiarity of it. Then she stepped closer, closing the distance until she stood between his knees, her hand coming to rest lightly against his shoulder.
“I need your help.”
That got his full attention.
Halsin straightened slightly, one large hand settling at her hip in an easy, grounding touch. “You have it,” he said without hesitation. “Tell me what you need.”
She studied his face for a moment, weighing her words. There was no point in dressing it up. Halsin appreciated honesty too much for that.
“He needs to feed,” she said plainly. “He’s too weak to hunt, and he won’t take from me.”
Halsin’s brow furrowed. “He refuses?”
“He’s afraid,” she said. “He doesn’t trust himself to stop.”
Understanding flickered across Halsin’s features, followed by something softer. Sympathy, perhaps. Or recognition.
“That is a difficult fear to carry,” he said quietly.
Riven nodded. “He’s in pain. He’s exhausted. And he’s trying to choose restraint when it costs him.” Her jaw tightened slightly. “I won’t let him suffer for that.”
Halsin’s hand shifted at her hip, his thumb brushing a slow, reassuring arc against her side. “What would you have me do?”
She took a breath.
“I want to offer again,” she said. “But I want you there. Close enough to stop him if he can’t stop himself.”
Halsin went very still, considering her words carefully.
His gaze searched hers, careful, deliberate. “You trust me with that?”
“I do,” she said, without hesitation. “And so does he. I think you’re the only one he can trust with that.”
Something in his expression softened further at that. The weight of it landed. Trust, given so freely, always seemed to mean something deeper to him.
“And you trust him?” Halsin asked gently. “Even knowing the risk?”
Riven’s lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “I trust that he’s afraid of hurting me,” she said. “And that matters more than the hunger.”
A quiet understanding passed between them.
Halsin exhaled slowly, then nodded once, the decision settling into place with the same grounded certainty that seemed to guide everything he did.
“Then I will stand with you,” he said. “I will not interfere unless I must.”
“Good,” she murmured, relief threading through her voice.
He rose to his full height, the movement unhurried but purposeful. Even knowing him as well as she did, the sheer scale of him could still be startling at times. Strength, held in reserve. Controlled. Offered, never imposed.
Exactly what she needed.
His hand slid from her hip to her arm as he stepped past her, then paused, glancing down at her with quiet intent.
“You are certain this is what you want?” he asked. “For both of you?”
Riven met his gaze steadily. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then a small, approving incline of his head. “Very well.”
Together, they turned back toward Astarion’s tent, the low glow of embers casting long shadows ahead of them. Riven’s pulse had begun to quicken again, anticipation and worry tangling together in her chest.
This was a risk. She knew that. But some things were worth trusting.
And Astarion, her Astarion, was worth that risk.
Astarion looked up as they entered the tent together.
Halsin cast an appraising eye down Astarion’s bare chest, across the many dark bruises marring his skin.
“You’ve looked better,” he said simply.
Astarion scoffed. “I’m still prettier than you.”
“Boys, play nice,” Riven chided, moving further into the tent.
She sat beside Astarion, gathering him once again into her arms. He winced with the movement, his body tense as the pain from his injuries flared. But then, nestled close to her, he gave a soft sigh of contentment.
Once more, she offered her wrist, pressing it gently to his lips.
And still, he hesitated. His eyes found hers once more, and she could see his worry, his fear. She gave him a gentle smile.
“It’s safe,” she assured him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She bent down to kiss his forehead. “You’ll be alright, love,” she whispered. “We’ve got you.”
He glanced up to Halsin as the druid knelt beside them. “You’ll stop me?” he asked. “If I can’t?”
Halsin nodded reassuringly. “You have nothing to fear.”
Astarion sighed. Slowly, with trembling hands, he took Riven’s wrist and held it against his lips. He was so gentle, so hesitant, so unsure.
He closed his eyes, parting his lips to bite her. There was the familiar sharp flash of pain as his fangs pierced her skin, but that pain was always short-lived. And then, it was just the three of them, waiting in silence as Astarion fed.
Riven closed her eyes, lowering her head to press another kiss to his curls, holding him tight against her.
“That’s it, my love,” she murmured. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
At first, it was easy.
His grip on her wrist was light, almost reverent, and the tension slowly bled from his shoulders as he drank. Riven felt him relax against her by degrees, the tight set of his jaw loosening, the crinkle of pain at his brow smoothing away. She held him close and kept her breathing slow and steady, an anchor for him to follow.
Halsin settled beside them, close but unhurried. Watchful.
The moments stretched out, quiet and warm.
Then, gradually, something changed.
She felt it before she could name it. A subtle shift in the quality of his stillness. His hands, which had been so careful, so light, tightened almost imperceptibly around her arm. Not painful. Not yet. But different.
She glanced at Halsin. He’d felt it too. His eyes had sharpened, though he hadn’t moved.
She let another moment pass. Giving him time. Giving him the chance. He needed her to believe in him when he couldn’t quite believe in himself, and she was determined to give him that.
His breathing, unnecessary but habitual, had gone quiet. Too quiet. And his grip tightened again, slow and incremental, like a tide coming in. He held her wrist even more closely to him, his fangs pressing deeper into her.
“Astarion,” she said softly.
No response. The tendons in his hands stood out against his skin. He was fighting against the hunger, and he was losing. The danger was real, now. This could go too far.
But she loved him. She trusted him. And she knew Halsin was there, to help if Astarion couldn’t pull himself away in time to prevent hurting her.
That was her fear, more so than fear for her life. She knew Halsin could stop Astarion before she was hurt. She knew there was little danger of any harm coming to her. It was more fear of what that would do to Astarion, if he came close to hurting her.
“My love.” A little firmer. “That’s enough.”
A sound escaped him, muffled, pained, caught somewhere between a moan and a protest. His whole body had gone rigid, locked in some internal struggle she could only witness from the outside. She could feel his pulse against her arm -- no, that was wrong, he had no pulse. What she felt was the trembling tension in his hands, fine and constant, like a bowstring pulled past its limit.
Riven looked to Halsin. “Help him,” she said. “Gently.”
Halsin moved then. Unhurried, deliberate. He reached across and settled one large hand against the side of Astarion’s throat, not gripping, not restraining. Just there. Thumb on one side, fingers on the other, a firm and quiet presence.
“Astarion.” His voice was low and even, the tone he might use to speak to something wild and frightened. “It’s time to let go now.”
A heartbeat stretched between them. Then two.
Astarion’s fingers dug into her arm, hard enough that she had to concentrate to keep her breathing steady, to keep her body still and unthreatening. She didn’t pull away, despite the pain his grip was causing. She didn’t flinch.
“You can do this,” she told him quietly. “I’m right here. You can stop.”
The trembling worsened. A strangled sound tore out of him, muffled against her skin.
“Astarion,” Halsin said again, letting a hard edge into his voice as he tightened his grip on Astarion’s neck. “Let her go.”
There was another heartbeat of hesitation. Then, with a strangled, pained cry, Astarion shoved her arm away, pushing off of her to lie on his stomach between them, his body trembling, his shoulders heaving with ragged breaths he didn’t have to take.
He didn’t look at her.
His hands were curled into the ground beneath him, fingers digging into the dirt as though he needed something solid to hold onto, something that wasn’t her. His whole body had gone taut again, not with hunger this time, but with something sharper.
Shame.
“Astarion—”
“Don’t.”
The word came out rough, scraped raw from his throat. He swallowed hard, shaking his head, curls falling into his face as he turned it further away from her.
“I felt it,” he said, quieter now. “I didn’t want to stop.”
Riven’s chest tightened, but she didn’t hesitate. She reached for him anyway, her hand settling gently against his shoulder, careful of his injuries, her touch steady and sure.
“But you did,” she said.
His breath hitched. For a moment, he said nothing. The tension in him held, rigid and brittle, like something that might splinter if pushed the wrong way.
Then, slowly, he exhaled. Something loosening. Something giving way.
“It’s alright,” Riven told him quickly, reaching to run her fingers through his hair as Halsin took her other arm in his hands, healing the bite wound and the bruises blossoming along her arm. Once he was finished, he released her and put a reassuring hand on Astarion’s back.
“You’re alright,” Riven told him again. “You stopped.”
Astarion hesitated before looking at her, like he wasn’t entirely certain he was allowed to. His eyes flicked to her arm first, searching for damage that wasn’t there, then finally to her face.
“You’re alright?” he asked, quieter than before.
“I’m fine,” she said gently. “Truly.”
He studied her for another heartbeat, as if bracing for something. Fear, anger, regret. When none of it came, some of that tightness in his expression eased.
Only then did he let himself sag, the last of that rigid control slipping as exhaustion took its place.
She smiled. “How do you feel?”
He groaned and let his head fall again to rest on his arm. “Better, I think. Tired.” He took a deep, trembling breath, then turned to look up at Halsin. “Thank you.”
Halsin smiled. “You stopped on your own. I did nothing.”
“No, you helped. I’m grateful.” He took another steadying breath, trying to calm the last of the hunger that had threatened to consume him. It seemed to take a great effort to steady himself. “And exhausted.”
“Sleep,” Riven told him, still running her fingers through his hair. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
She started to rise, but his hand caught hers before she could move away.
“Stay with me,” he murmured.
There was something in his voice, quieter than usual, worn thin in a way that tugged at her chest. Riven softened at once, settling back down beside him. “Of course, my love.”
He shifted slightly, then paused, his gaze flicking back to the druid.
“You too, Halsin.”
Halsin’s smile came easily, though his eyes held a deeper understanding as he inclined his head. “As you wish.”
They moved around him without hurry, the quiet of the camp wrapping close as they settled.
Riven stretched out along one side, guiding Astarion gently with her, mindful of every bruise and bound rib as he turned into her. He folded in close, instinctively seeking her warmth, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as though drawn there by habit as much as need. Her arm curved around him, fingers slipping back into his hair, slow and steady, a rhythm meant to soothe.
For a moment, he held himself just slightly apart, a lingering tension coiled beneath his skin that hadn’t yet unwound.
Then, bit by bit, he let himself sink.
Halsin shifted in behind him, the movement measured and deliberate. The space between them closed with quiet certainty, his chest warm and solid against Astarion’s back, one arm settling loosely at his side. There was no pressure to hold him in place, only presence, steady and grounding.
Astarion stilled between them.
Riven felt the change the instant it settled into him, the awareness of that second point of contact, the weight of it, the choice of it. His breath caught faintly before easing, a slow exhale leaving him as something inside began to loosen.
Carefully, he leaned back.
The movement carried intention, a quiet acceptance rather than a collapse, and Riven’s hand never faltered in its gentle path through his hair.
“You’re alright,” she murmured, her voice low and warm.
He took a moment before answering, his breath brushing soft against her shoulder. “…I know.”
Halsin’s hand shifted slightly at his side, a slow, reassuring weight. “Rest,” he said quietly. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
A faint huff of breath escaped Astarion, the ghost of his usual dry humor flickering through it, though exhaustion dulled the edge. “A rare sentiment,” he murmured.
“Take advantage of it,” Halsin replied.
The silence that followed settled deeper, more complete. Astarion’s hand found Riven’s where it rested against his chest, his fingers threading loosely through hers. His grip remained light, almost tentative, as though testing whether she would stay.
She answered by tightening her hold, bringing his hand closer and pressing a soft kiss to his temple, the fingers of her other hand still threaded through his hair, comforting him.
The last of that tension finally gave way beneath her touch, easing out of him in a slow, quiet release as he sank fully into the warmth surrounding him. His weight settled, his body growing heavy with exhaustion as the strain of the night caught up with him.
“…Thank you,” he said after a while, his voice low and rough.
Riven smiled against his hair. “Always, my love.”
There was a small pause before he added, softer still, “Both of you.”
Halsin’s hand curved more securely at his side, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding path. “You are not alone in this,” he said.
Astarion didn’t answer right away, but his fingers tightened slightly around Riven’s hand, holding on as sleep finally began to claim him.
Riven lifted her gaze as Astarion’s breathing finally began to even out, the last of that lingering tension easing from him as sleep claimed him in slow, quiet waves.
Across him, Halsin was already watching her.
There was something steady in his expression, something warm and knowing, as though he understood exactly what this moment had cost, and exactly what it meant. He reached across Astarion’s body, careful of his injuries, his hand coming to rest against Riven’s cheek, broad and warm, grounding in a way that settled something deep in her chest.
Riven leaned into the touch without thinking, her hand rising to cover his, holding him there for a moment before turning her face to press a soft kiss into his palm.
Between them, Astarion shifted faintly, a soft, half-formed murmur slipping past his lips as he drifted deeper into sleep, his body finally yielding to rest now that the worst of it had passed.
Riven’s attention returned to him at once.
She watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his features had softened, the strain and sharpness of earlier smoothed away into something almost peaceful. One hand remained threaded loosely with his, her thumb brushing slow, absent circles against his skin, while the other stayed buried in his curls, anchoring him there between them.
Safe. Held. Here.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him, at the quiet reality of this, of all of it. Of trust given and returned. Of fear faced and endured. Of the way he had chosen, even at the edge of losing himself.
Her Astarion.
Precious in a way that had nothing to do with fragility, and everything to do with the light he still carried, stubborn and unyielding, even after everything that had tried to extinguish it.
Riven let out a slow, steady breath, her gaze softening as she settled more fully around him, mindful and protective without even realizing it.
Between them, he slept on, warm and steady in their arms, held fast in a quiet kind of reverence that neither of them needed to speak aloud.
And this time, there was no fear in it.
Only the quiet certainty that he was exactly where he belonged.