There is an elven man he sees around taverns sometimes. His eyes are hollow, his cheeks sunken in. He looks tired and far skinnier than any man should be. He is always flirting with someone new every time he sees him, but something in his strangely colored eyes tells him his heart isn't in it. Wyll can't help but wonder what his story is. If there isn't anything he could do to help.
It isn't the first time he's seen people like that. Some of them accept his help gratefully. Others push him away, insisting they're doing fine on their own. He isn't sure which way the elf would react if he tried to intervene, and he doesn't want to risk pushing him away if he does need help. He decides he'll simply keep an eye on the man whenever he sees him and intervene if it seems necessary. He'll keep his distance otherwise.
Or at least, that's his plan. The elf seems to have other ideas, however. Wyll finds himself in a tavern one evening, just wanting to relax with a drink or two, when the man catches his eye and strides over to him, all coy smiles and fluttering eyelashes. "Well, hello there, darling," he greets as he sits across from Wyll, voice laced with flirtatiousness. "Are you here all by yourself?"
Wyll raises an eyebrow at the man. "Not anymore, it seems," he says, bemused, as he takes a drink of his wine. It isn't a secret to him that the man is a sex worker. Does he think Wyll is a potential customer?
The elf only smiles at him. "So can I assume you have no plans for the night, then?" he asks, leaning closer to Wyll as he bats his eyes.
Wyll feels his face heat. The man is beautiful, there is no denying that, but he has always been the traditional type, more interested in romance than sex. And while the elf is certainly charming, it isn't as though Wyll has missed how clearly he doesn't want to be doing this in the past. He would never take advantage of someone like that.
"I don't," he says carefully. "But I wouldn't mind some company if you'd like to stay for a chat."
"Just a chat, darling? Come, now, there's plenty more we can do than that," he purrs, leaning in more.
Wyll only raises his eyebrow once more. "I don't even know your name," he points out.
"Astarion," he replies. "And now you know, so…?"
Wyll simply shakes his head. "It's nice to meet you, Astarion. I'm Wyll." He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out how to word his rejection politely, before continuing. "And I'm flattered, truly, but I'm afraid I'm more of the traditional type. I'm simply not interested in you like that."
Astarion scoffs before catching himself, moving back into his flirty persona. It has never been more obvious than it is now that it was all a performance, and he didn't truly want to play his part. Wyll wonders what the man is like beneath it all. He thinks he might want to find out. "Oh, come on, you can't tell me you're not at least a little curious."
Wyll just smiles sadly at him. "The answer's still no, Astarion. But if you ever just want some friendly company, you can always come find me."
Astarion looks at him for a moment, a war waging behind his eyes, before he scoffs once more and stands up, heading to another patron to flirt with.
Wyll sighs, returning to his drink. He can only hope Astarion will take him up on his offer. He is clearly the type who wouldn't accept Wyll's help easily. But if Wyll could befriend him, perhaps it would still be possible to help him.
Astarion does seek him out again the next time he sees him. He starts by flirting with him again, which Wyll quickly shuts down. His rejection is once again met with disdain, but Astarion doesn't immediately leave to find a customer like last time. He stays for a bit of conversation this time. And Wyll gets to see a bit more of who the man really is.
He is still charming when he is not pretending, though it's in a much more roguish way. He is sarcastic and funny, and though they are clearly quite different people, Wyll thinks he could see himself becoming friends with this man.
Eventually, Astarion pushes himself up to his feet. "Well, this has been fun darling, but I do actually have things to do." He turns to leave, but Wyll calls out to him before he does, garnering a raised eyebrow and a confused look.
He pauses a moment, unsure exactly how to word this without pushing Astarion away. "Listen, I know we barely know each other, but if you ever need anything…" he trails off.
This gets him another long look from Astarion before he rolls his eyes, looking irritated. "And what makes you so sure I need anything?" He leaves before Wyll has the chance to respond.
Well. That could've gone better.
He still comes back to talk with Wyll whenever he sees him despite him clearly thinking Wyll had overstepped. Wyll does not bring up his offer of help again, though he can see in Astarion's eyes that he has not forgotten it. He always has the same distant look when he walks off with his next customer, and when he leaves, he glances at Wyll when he thinks he's not looking. Wyll aches to help him, but it's something that must be done on Astarion's terms. There is nothing he can do if Astarion won't let him.
Their conversations grow longer each time they meet. Astarion never does stop flirting with him, though now it seems more like it's because he likes to see Wyll fluster than anything else. And as they spend more time together, Wyll grows more and more certain that something is wrong with the man. Well, other than the fact that he's a sex worker that clearly does not want to be one. But Wyll can't quite put his finger on what. He has an inkling, of course, but he's certain he must be wrong.
He finds himself asking about his strange eye color anyway. "A bit of drow blood," Astarion explains easily, but Wyll does not miss the tenseness in his body, the slight nervous shift of his eyes. He accepts the answer, but internally, his thoughts are racing. He thinks of how the man always wears clothing with collars high enough to hide his neck, how he never quite opens his mouth as much as a person normally would when he talks or smiles.
Astarion is a vampire. It should have been obvious to a monster hunter like Wyll, but he hadn't wanted to accept it. He'd never faced one in his years of monster hunting, but he'd read up on them plenty. And Astarion isn't like how everything he's read has always said. He isn't mindless or violent, driven by nothing but hunger. If anything, he just seems… sad, no matter how much he tries to hide it behind flirtatious charm. The realization does not stop Wyll from wanting to help the man. If anything, it strengthens his resolve.
Most likely, he's a spawn, not a true vampire. He doubts Astarion would be so unhealthily thin otherwise; a true vampire would surely feed enough to not look so emaciated. But a spawn would have a master they could not disobey, one who could easily prevent them from eating at all if they were so inclined.
The knowledge leaves Wyll wondering what exactly Astarion is doing as a sex worker in the first place. It's not exactly out of the question that his sire is forcing him into it. In fact, it's probably the most likely explanation. But that begs the question of why his sire would do such a thing. What could they possibly have to gain?
Wyll is almost afraid to know the answer.
The answer, of course, is obvious, once his mind stops reeling from his realization about Astarion. Sex is an easy way to lure someone back to wherever Astarion lives, and from there, his master could feed. An easy source of blood without his sire having to put in any effort themself. The haunted look in Astarion's eyes whenever he gets someone to leave with him makes a painful amount of sense knowing that.
He cannot sit by and wait for Astarion to be ready for his help any longer. He'd always known Astarion needed help, but now the entire city did, too. He has no choice. He has to get Astarion to talk, somehow, no matter how reluctant he may be.
"Can we talk outside?" he asks Astarion the next time he sees him. He seems more distracted than usual. He looks like he wants to refuse, but stops, chews his lip as he considers Wyll's words for a moment, before nodding, following him outside.
"What's this about?" Astarion asks, clearly trying to seem casual and utterly failing at it. He can't quite hide his nervousness.
Wyll tries to think of a good way to phrase what he wants to say, but there's no way around it. He must be direct. He sighs. "Look, I know you're a vampire spawn."
Astarion starts, eyes widening, before he laughs nervously. "A vampire spawn? Darling, just how much have you had to drink tonight?"
Wyll does not take the bait, leveling him with a sober look. "Astarion, I've known for a while now. And I want to help."
Astarion scoffs, the act given up completely now. "Help? And what exactly do you think you can do against a vampire lord?"
"I'm a monster hunter," he explains, which immediately causes Astarion to stiffen. "I have no interest in hunting you," he hurries to clarify. "You haven't done anything wrong."
That earns him an incredulous look. "I've led countless people to their deaths. Surely you've realized that? I'm not exactly innocent."
"Under orders from your sire, though, yes? Which you can't refuse?"
Astarion fumbles. "I—well— yes, but what does that matter? They're still dead, and it's still partially my fault." He looks Wyll in the eye, frowning. "Besides, what makes you so sure I wouldn't have killed them myself if I was free to? That I wouldn't jump at the opportunity to drink someone dry?"
Wyll returns his look, unimpressed. "I've been getting to know you for a while now, well enough that I'd like to think of you as a friend. I'm certain by now you wouldn't do that." He pauses a moment, considering. "Or, well, at least not to someone who didn't deserve it."
Astarion's shoulders drop, resistance leaving him. "You really think you can take on a vampire lord?" he asks, voice small.
"I'll certainly try. I just need you to tell me where to go."
"I can't," Astarion says. Wyll frowns, but Astarion rushes to continue before he can speak. "I mean, I literally can't."
Ah. That makes sense. His master certainly wouldn't want him telling others about him. "But there's nothing stopping you from leading me there, right?"
Astarion brightens at that. "Now that, I can do. Looks like I've finally gotten you to come home with me, hmm?" Wyll just shakes his head, too used to his flirty teasing to fluster at it anymore.
"Give me some time to prepare first. I'll let you know when I'm ready," he says, already planning everything he'll need if he wants to succeed.
And Astarion smiles at him. Genuine, for once, with no attempt to hide his fangs as he normally does. It's a good look on him, Wyll decides. He'd like to see it more often.
He is quick with his preparations, wanting to waste no time. He is ready by the next evening, rapier on hand and numerous scrolls of various radiant spells in his pack. He finds himself grateful for his father's status as a duke, which allowed him the funds to gather so many scrolls on such short notice.
He is going to face the vampire lord alone. He'd certainly like to enlist the Flaming Fist's help, which wouldn't exactly be difficult given his father's position, but it's too risky. They were just as likely to kill Astarion as they were the actual threat, seeing him only as a vampire and not a victim who needs help. He wouldn't put his friend's life in danger like that. He'd simply have to do this alone.
"Master has something big planned," he tells Wyll, which explains why he's been so distracted. He is unable to elaborate, though, unable to find any loopholes in the compulsion forcing his silence. "It's soon. Really soon." His words make Wyll glad he decided to act so quickly. Astarion cannot give him a specific time, which makes it all the more prudent to act as soon as possible.
He cannot hide his shock when Astarion leads him to Cazador Szarr's palace. He has of course seen the man before, just as he has every other noble in Baldur's Gate, but he has never really interacted with him. He can't say he expected the man to be a vampire. He can't help but wonder how no one has noticed a vampire among their own nobility.
They barely make it into the palace when Astarion freezes, eyes widening in terror. "Oh, gods. He's doing it now?" His voice is almost a whisper.
He starts walking again with purpose, not bothering to check if Wyll is following behind him. He looks terrified. Wyll quickly realizes he's being compelled. He follows him, mentally preparing himself. Whatever his master was planning, he'd have to act fast to stop him, seeing as he was already putting his plans into motion.
They find themselves underground, beneath the palace. It seems just as new to Astarion as it is to Wyll. He hears voices somewhere further on. Astarion walks toward them, still under his master's compulsion. And when they find the source, Wyll wants to retch.
People, thousands of them, trapped behind bars. Some of them are just children. And they are all vampire spawn. Based on the wide-eyed look of shock on Astarion's face, their presence was news to him, too. How the hells did Cazador turn so many people with no one noticing? What exactly is he planning to do with all of them?
They continue walking, soon finding themselves face to face with Cazador. Six spawn are around him in a circle, each on their own platforms, levitating above them. Astarion continues walking, making his way to the one empty platform. Wyll grabs his arm, trying to keep him from going, but his vampiric strength easily breaks free from his grasp.
Cazador raises an eyebrow at him. There is something dangerous in the expression. "And who exactly might you be?" he asks. Wyll doesn't have the chance to respond before the realization hits. "Ah, Duke Ravengard's son. The monster hunter," he sneers. "Do you really think you can stop me, boy?" Wyll doesn't speak, unsheathing his rapier as an answer.
The room erupts into chaos. There are ghouls, bats, skeletons, and werewolves alike, all of which are determined to stop Wyll. But he is quick and experienced, his years of monster hunting aiding him well in the assault.
He fights through the horde of monsters, gaze continually falling toward Astarion as he does so. He is now levitating above a platform of his own, just like the other six spawn. Wyll wants to grab him, tear him down from there, but he knows he can't. Cazador's compulsions will ensure he returns for as long as he lives. Wyll will have to take him down quickly. He isn't entirely sure what this strange ritual is doing, or how long he has before it completes, but he knows it isn't good, that he must stop it at any cost.
The horde of monsters is no longer a horde, Wyll having managed to cut most of them down. He drives his rapier through the final ghoul's chest before turning to the last monster standing - Cazador himself.
Spell after spell is cast at Wyll. He narrowly dodges the wave of lightning called down, grabbing a scroll from his pack as he does. The monster lifts his staff, prepared to cast another spell, but Wyll beats him to it. He quickly reads the scroll's incantation, casting Sunbeam at the vampire lord.
Wyll is not a cruel man. He has never enjoyed taking the lives of the monsters he slays; it is simply a necessity. But he can't help but delight at Cazador's screams when the spell hits him. He can do this. Astarion's freedom is in reach.
He reaches for another scroll before pain overwhelms him and he drops it. Cazador, still reeling from the spell, cast one of his own before Wyll could react. He'd thought he had more time, that the vampire would need more time to recover from the attack. He was wrong.
He screams. He feels as though he's rotting from the inside out. Whatever spell he'd cast is far worse than the lightning would have been. He desperately grasps for the dropped scroll. If he could just manage to cast Sunbeam one more time, he could still win this.
He doesn't have the chance. The vampire lord is in front of him all of a sudden. He looks disdainfully at Wyll's reaching hand before lifting his foot. Wyll screams once more, louder this time, as he both hears and feels the bones in his fingers snap. Distantly, he hears someone screaming his name, but his mind is too addled with pain to recognize who it is.
Cazador sneers down at him. "You're as foolish as Astarion is." Then he's on top of Wyll. Wyll desperately grabs for his rapier with his good hand, but he can't get a good grip on it with his mind so fuzzy. Cazador easily takes it from his hand, throwing it just out of reach. Wyll's eyes widen in fear as his last hope of salvation is taken from him - so close, yet impossible to reach.
There is a sudden, sharp pain in his neck. Cazador is biting him, he realizes. He is drinking from Wyll, no doubt going to take every last drop of his blood. And there is nothing he can do against his supernatural strength, certainly not as weak from pain as he is.
He hears his name being called, over and over again. The voice sounds frantic and devastated and Wyll hates it. His eyes flick to the source. Astarion. He is all Wyll's dying mind can think of. He has failed his friend.
He wonders if the word "friend" is even accurate as he feels himself grow colder. He takes in the man, desperate and crying and still beautiful despite it. Regret fills his veins in lieu of the missing blood.
He thinks he would have liked to spend his life with Astarion. That he would've wanted to take the time to court him properly once Wyll had once his freedom. His mind feels even fuzzier than before. It feels like he's floating. Astarion is the only thing keeping him from drifting away completely. What could their lives have been, he wonders, had he not failed? He takes in Astarion's face for a final time as he realizes he loves the man.
His vision begins to blur, darkening at the edges. He does not look away from Astarion, the one source of light keeping the darkness from fully encroaching on his vision. But even that is not enough as the last of his blood is drained from his body. He tries to speak, to say something, anything, to Astarion, but his voice is gone. He watches helplessly as the darkness spreads across his vision even further, slowly but surely overtaking his light.
He knows nothing, not even regret, as the darkness finally hides Astarion from him and his heart slows to a stop.