To her surprise and dismay, Astarion pulls his mouth away from her arm after only a few minutes.

"You're done? Are you sure that's enough?" Siobhan frets as he wipes the excess blood from his lips with one perfect pale thumb. She holds her palm to the bite wound to stem the bleeding.

"For now," he says cocking his head to the side, pensive. "Better to take a little every day than gorge myself tonight."

Siobhan blinks at him as he reaches over to her pack and begins pulling out her medical supplies with a discomfiting familiarity, ". . . every day?"

Astarion smirks at her from over his shoulder, "Who knows how long we'll be in this godsforsaken swamp. Until we get out of here, you're the only thing on the menu. Since you've been so generous, I think it's only fair to take enough to regain my strength. That way, we can preserve yours."

Astarion takes her arm and wraps the wound with one of the treated linen strips, tying the ends in a knot just as he had that morning after the first time he had fed. His hands linger, smoothing the edges of the bandage. He watches her, waiting to see if she'll pull away from his touch. She doesn't.

"Yes. How . . . sensible," Siobhan nods finally.

Astarion's smirk graduates into a satisfied smile, pleased that she agrees with the arrangement. "It's been known to happen from time to time."

Siobhan smiles back weakly and looks away. She's finding it increasingly difficult to look at him and to be looked at by him. Astarion hasn't said a word about what he saw, and she can't tell if he will or even wants to.

"Should we head back, then?" Siobhan offers, keeping her gaze fixed on anything but him.

"If you want. . ." Astarion sighs, hands finally leaving her bandaged arm, "the others are still fast asleep. I don't imagine anyone will be up until the next watch, so there's still time."

Siobhan glances up at him with a start. "Still time for what?"

His eyes are dark, lidded, carmine colored, and glinting in the moonlight, "Anything, darling. The night is yours . . . well, it was before I so rudely interrupted you."

Siobhan's breath catches in her throat. Damn . She'd hoped that by offering up her blood, he'd be sufficiently distracted. She had also hoped that Astarion would drink enough to send her to oblivion. That way, she could postpone whatever inquisition he had in store for her until at least the morning. However, with the way Astarion continues to stare at her, burning with curiosity, it's clear that he won't let her have her way.

But she doesn't know what to say. Can't begin to know how to explain what she was doing and why.

"I have a sister, Dalyria," Astarion says, interrupting her panicked thoughts, "not my actual sister, of course. She's a spawn, like myself. When my old master brought her to us, she was . . . struggling with the transition."

Surprise eclipses Siobhan's anxiety, and she finds herself hanging on to every word that comes from him with rapt attention.

"I don't know if she used to harm herself before she turned or if she picked it up as a way to cope with her enslavement." This time, Astarion averts his gaze, his eyes unfocused as he recalls the memory.

"I never understood it," his mouth curls slightly at the corners, and Siobhan can't place the emotion. Disgust? Contempt? Scorn? "Life was painful enough on its own; inflicting more of it on oneself seemed a ridiculous thing to do."

Even as her face reddens with shame, Siobhan has the urge to protest, to defend herself and Dalyria from Astarion's judgment. Before she has the chance to speak, Astarion faces her, his expression carefully blank.

"When I asked her why she did it, she told me that no matter what Cazador did to her or made her do, her body was still hers. For those few precious moments under her knife, she had the power to decide what happened next."

Siobhan's lips press together in a grim line. Astarion has alluded to his life before the crash a handful of times, has hinted at the misery and darkness, but this is the first time he's offered more than a few passing details. It's the first time he's mentioned the vampire who turned him or his 'siblings,' and she can see why on his face. The distant, hollow look in his eyes reminds her painfully of herself, haunted. She can only begin to grasp the depth of the suffering he endured.

"Did her explanation help you understand?" Siobhan asks, wondering if that is the point of Astarion's story. That he's trying to tell her he gets why she and his sister do it.

He blinks, eyes refocusing as he shakes his head, "No. Not at all."

Siobhan frowns, her brows furrowed with confusion, "Why?"

Astarion regards her bitterly; the smile that returns to his lips is twisted with it, "When Cazador discovered the scars, he had Dal chained up. Starved her. We had to listen to her beg for months, watch as she withered. I'll never forget what he said to us, that it was 'a lesson for any of you who are tempted to damage what's mine.' Her little act of controlled suffering only invited more."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Siobhan asks thickly, blinking back the tears that sting at the corners of her eyes.

Astarion rolls his eyes and sighs, "I'm not going to tell you to stop. I'm sure you have your reasons for slicing those delicious thighs into ribbons. All I'm saying is pain is guaranteed; pleasure is not. Better to chase pleasure instead of pain if you have the choice."

At once, it becomes too much to bear. Siobhan all but jumps to her feet, desperate to create distance between herself and Astarion. Her lips quiver as her lungs constrict with anger, frustration, and despair, and her hands are balled into fists at her sides. She wants so desperately to be understood, but she suspects that Astarion, the hedonist that he is, might simply be incapable of it.

"And if I told you that it's more complicated than that? That I can't just – that it's not only –" She can hardly speak with how overwhelmed she feels, close to hyperventilating.

Astarion stands, palms up and outstretched like he's trying to calm a wild animal, "No need to get into a tizzy. You're more than welcome to explain if you like. I'm all pointy ears, darling."

Siobhan's mouth opens and then closes, every attempt to vocalize her thoughts thwarted as the words stick in her throat. Astarion gives her a moment to collect herself, watching as she paces the length of the clearing. She's amazed at his patience, at his openness to hear her out. Astarion never gave her the impression that he would be willing to fill such a role. Yet, there he was, waiting for her to find her courage. Has she misjudged him? Been unfair with her assessment of his character?

"I don't know where to start," She finally admits, "I've never told anyone before . . . only one other person has ever even seen. . ."

Astarion hums, head cocked to the side as he considers her indecision, "We don't have to talk about this tonight, or ever, you know. If you don't want to—"

"No! I do – I –" Siobhan interrupts and then sighs, running her hands over her face tiredly, "Look, I'll just say this for now. I don't do it because I like the pain . . . well, no, that's not exactly true. I do . . . just not the way you think. That's not the reason. I do it because . . . because . . ."

Astarion's left eyebrow lifts slightly, urging her to get on with it. Siobhan licks her lips, mouth suddenly dry as her heart pounds in her chest. Her voice is small and soft as she says, "Part of it is that sometimes I need my outsides to look as ugly as I feel inside."

"And the other parts?" Astarion coaxes.

Siobhan can't bring herself to continue, exhaustion settling into her bones. "Maybe it's best left for another night. We really should get back." The moon is at its apex now, casting long shadows as the light filters through the thick canopy of the giant tupelo and bald cypress trees that surround them.

Astarion only nods, and Siobhan feels the tension in her muscles melt away as she gives him a small, relieved smile. After she collects her things, they walk back, shoulder to shoulder, in companionable silence. When they reach the edge of camp, she stops him, hand closing around one thin white wrist. He pauses to look over his shoulder at her, his expression questioning.

"I wanted to thank you, by the way. For not freaking out, for listening. You didn't have to." Siobhan mutters, careful to not let her voice carry.

Astarion smiles at her, teeth flashing, "Of course, darling." He leans in, as he loves to do, so that his mouth is a breath away from her ear and repeats her words back to her, "What are friends for?"

Siobhan takes the first watch again the next day and waits by the dying fire for Astarion to emerge from his tent so they can sneak away to their spot, away from prying eyes.

They are still camped by the stream; the group has decided that access to fresh water is too valuable a resource to abandon while exploring the bog. Additionally, it was made clear that the most efficient method for tackling the Ethel and Kagha problems would be to have a base camp from which small parties of three or four could leave and then return with their findings. Neither the location for the secret meeting nor the Teahouse could be much farther into the bog as they would have to rely on proximity to the nearest settlements to be functional.

Kagha needed a spot that was out of the way but not so far that it would raise suspicion at the grove, and Ethel needed a steady influx of victims. The presence of the redcaps alone suggests that the Teahouse must be close by. As of yet, Ethel has no reason to be hostile towards the group. She doesn't know that they know she's a hag. The hope is that they'll be able to speak to her, discover her strengths and weaknesses if they can, and figure out a plan of attack once they know more.

Siobhan expected more pushback when she made her intention to kill the hag known to the others, but they had been surprisingly cooperative. Most notably, Astarion's enthusiasm for the plan was decidedly out of character. Siobhan couldn't tell if he was simply in a better mood for having fed last night or if it was the promise of future midnight rendezvous that warmed him to the idea of lingering in the swamp for longer than anticipated.

Or maybe , Siobhan thinks, feeling disappointed with herself at thinking of him so uncharitably, he does care that Ethel is a source of suffering and wants to snuff it out.

Pain is important to Astarion; he just about said so last night. His motivations may not be totally pure, but it isn't a stretch to imagine that he has a vested interest in limiting pain as much as can be helped. Just because that interest had so far been limited to his own pain does not mean that it would continue to be. While their conversation yesterday hadn't been painful, per se, it certainly hadn't been pleasurable. But he had endured it nonetheless, had offered to endure it. It was rather selfless of him, actually. All Siobhan had asked for, really, was his silence. Her blood had paid for that, she knows, and she's fine with that arrangement. In truth, she likely would have let him drink her blood anyway. It wasn't his fault he had to eat. She was the one who brought them to this barren place, and she wasn't about to let him starve.

Astarion, however, gave much more than his silence for nothing in return. On top of that, he had been considerate enough to come up with a plan that would keep him fed without leaving her bloodless and weak like before. For all his bluster, Astarion is much kinder than he makes himself out to be. Siobhan regrets not giving him the benefit of the doubt sooner.

Her reverie is interrupted by the whisper quiet sounds of Astarion's footsteps approaching her from behind. Siobhan tosses the small stick she'd been using to poke the embers into what's left of the firepit and stands. They walk to their spot in silence, her pack slung over one of Astarion's shoulders.

"I can carry my own things, you know."

Astarion tuts, scandalized. "And let the lady haul her belongings around like a beast of burden? I think not!"

Siobhan chuckles, "Does that make you the beast of burden in this scenario?"

Astarion pouts at her and huffs, "No! It makes me a gentleman ."

"Ah, of course," Siobhan tries to smother a fit of giggles at his theatrics, "and what a gentleman you are."

"Wood elves," he sighs, "don't know why I'm wasting my manners on you. Wouldn't know culture and good breeding if it bit you on the nose."

Siobhan rolls her eyes at him as they arrive at the clearing. Astarion drops the pack near the base of a rotten stump. "Well, you can only blame yourself for that. Don't you know we're all feral, polyamorous tree huggers?"

"Polyamorous, eh?" Astarion smirks, "I had wondered at your proclivities. With the way you reject everyone's advances, I'd thought you were as frigid as the cleric."

"I— you— I don't—" Siobhan splutters, not sure which claim to rebut first.

"Oh please," Astarion drawls, planting his hands on his hips, "don't tell me you haven't noticed the way the wizard drools over you like a lovesick puppy or how Karlach stares at you like you hung the moon. Even Shadowheart looks like she might be persuaded to join you for a romp, if just for a bit of fun."

Siobhan knows her face is flushed crimson underneath her scowl but endeavors to maintain her composure, "You've been reading too many of those trashy novels."

Astarion waves his hand in the air impatiently, "What I read in my free time is inconsequential. Are you really denying it? That half the camp wants to have their way with you?"

"I'm not denying anything! There's nothing to deny; it's just utterly ridiculous!"

Siobhan flushes more deeply at Astarion's skepticism, looking at her as if she's a moron. "Okay, maybe Gale—"

"Aha!" Astarion points at her, laughing triumphantly.

"But he's not actually interested in me!" Siobhan protests. "He just thinks he is! There's a difference."

"What are you talking about?" Astarion rolls his eyes.

"Gale was Mystra's lover, a goddess . As if I could ever compare to that. He's lovesick, sure, but not for me. I would just be a consolation prize, a placeholder until he got back into her good graces."

Astarion looks at her dubiously, unconvinced, "A placeholder?"

"Of course. It's an infatuation. He'll come to his senses when he realizes . . ."

"Realizes what?" He frowns.

Siobhan smiles tiredly, "That I'm nothing special. I'm just nice and here."

Astarion hums, pensive, the silence stretching on between them until he grins at her playfully, "So, no polyamory then?"

"Oh, do shut up so we can get on with it," Siobhan blushes madly as Astarion snickers at her discomfort. Thankfully, he does drop the discussion, and they quickly get down to business. He unties the bandage to reveal the half-healed bite mark from last night. The flesh is tender; Siobhan thinks his bite hurts slightly more than it has in the past. But soon, the pain melts away, and in its place is the hazy numbness she's since grown used to.

Once Astarion has finished, the tips of his ears, his cheeks, and his lips pink from her blood, she lets him retie the bandage, and they relax against the trunk of a tree, sitting shoulder to shoulder with their legs stretched out in front of them.

"Tell me something about yourself," Siobhan asks, watching as a small pale frog jumps from stone to stone in the slow-moving stream.

Astarion is silent long enough that she tears her eyes away from the amphibian to look at him. The stony, bilious expression on his face startles her. He's usually in an excellent mood so soon after drinking her blood.

"It doesn't have to be something personal," She amends quickly, "Sorry. I just—"

"Don't fret, darling," he waves her off, "You just caught me off guard. I thought we were going to continue our conversation about you from last night."

He's smiling at her again, but it's cheerless. The temperature of the air around them feels as if it's dropped several degrees.

"Well, exactly," she says quickly, not sure why such a benign question soured his mood, "Last night was all about me . . . so I thought maybe you might want to— or rather, it would be fair to let you—"

"Do you get tired of worrying about how others are feeling or what's fair and not fair all the time?" Astarion asks, expression still guarded and stiff.

"I don't know," she answers honestly, "maybe? I don't really have time to think about it."

Astarion's smile borders on hostile now, fangs poking out over his lips, "Too busy worrying to think about it, I suppose?"

All Siobhan can do is shrug. Astarion sighs and pulls up a tuft of grass from between his legs, which he begins shredding into tiny pieces. Siobhan watches him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with herself and with the conversation. She didn't mean to upset him, and now that she has, she doesn't know how to fix it.

"There's not much to tell," Astarion says finally, "I've already told you about Cazador. Everything before that is so long ago it's ancient history. And everything that came after—well," he tosses the shredded blades of grass to the side and shrugs, "I'd rather not reflect on it."

"You mentioned . . . not seeing the sun for 200 years. Is that how long it's been since you turned?" Siobhan asks cautiously.

Astarion nods, "Cazador found me, bleeding in an alley, at death's door. I was attacked by a gang of vagrants; some Gur took issue with a ruling I'd made. He offered to save me, give me eternal life."

Astarion's bitter laugh feels like a lance to her heart, "If I'd known . . . well, I would have told him to leave me there to die. Eternity, as it turns out, is a very, very long time."

"I'm sorry."

Astarion turns so quickly to face her that he looks like a blur, his brows pinched and his teeth bared in a dark sneer as he leans closer, "Don't be! I was a slave; perhaps I still am. But now I've been conveniently lost . He won't ever control me again."

Siobhan nods slowly, placating. He lets out a harsh breath and leans back into the tree trunk, head back facing the sky. Tentatively, she reaches out to him with her right hand. She doesn't hold his; she just covers his hand with hers so he can pull away if he wants to. Astarion stiffens for a moment at the contact but relaxes.

"Anything else you'd like to know?" Astarion asks mildly.

Siobhan thinks for a moment, then smiles, "Favorite color?"

"Hmm," he chuckles softly, "would it be terribly cliched of me to say red?"

" Yes ," Siobhan huffs.

"Fortunately for you, then, my favorite color is orange— no, yellow. Whatever you call the color the sky gets as the sun rises over the horizon."

Siobhan knows precisely what he means. She can picture it in her mind's eye. It makes sense that that's his favorite color.

"Pretty," Siobhan says softly.

"What about you, little wood elf?"

"What's my favorite color?" She feels rather than sees him nod, their shoulders brushing with the movement.

Siobhan grins and looks at him, "Would it be terribly cliched if I said green?"

He sniffs at her and nods, "Yes, it would."

Astarion turns his head to look at her when she doesn't respond. Her grin widens as she shrugs at him.

"You can't be serious," he groans at her, "my gods, you are boring."

"Hey! It's okay to be boring, you know." Siobhan argues. "In fact, we could do with a bit more boring if you ask me. I've had about enough excitement for a lifetime, what with the illithid worms, crazy cultists, goblin raiders, and hags."

"I don't know, it's not all bad," Astarion says, "After all, I'd still be at Baldur's gate with Cazador if not for everything that's happened."

Siobhan's smile falters, and Astarion sighs, pulling his hand out from under hers, "Sorry, I've gone and ruined the mood again, haven't I?"

"No, it's my fault; I should have realized— of course, you'd be glad for all this."

"I don't want your pity." Astarion scowls.

"You don't have it," Siobhan assures him, "I don't pity you. Actually, I rather agree with you. My life wasn't so great either before all this."

Astarion's face softens with surprise, "Oh?"

Siobhan grimaces, "We don't have to get into it tonight. I'll just say— well, it's not that all that's happened is good necessarily, but it's not worse than before."

They're silent for a moment; the only sounds are the rushing of the stream, the wind through the leaves, and the same pale frog Siobhan was watching earlier.

"I was lying before. There are some parts that are better," Siobhan admits.

"Tell me."

"Meeting all of you, getting to know you. I know it hasn't been very long, but . . . It's been a long time since I've felt this close to anyone." Siobhan whispers.

Silence. Then,

"Hmm, cute."

That is not the response she expected. She looks at him bewildered, and his lips curl into a devilish smirk, eyes glinting with amusement.

"You should have just said you have a crush on me; could have saved us a lot of trouble."

She rips her hand away with irritation, "You are such an idiot!"

"A handsome idiot, I'm sure," he teases, and she glares at him, getting to her feet and pulling her pack over her shoulders. He follows her lead and stands with a sigh, brushing the dirt from his legs.

"Don't be like that, Siobhan. You know I'm only making fun of you. You're too serious."

"And you're insufferable," She sniffs, no longer as annoyed. Astarion seems to be able to tell and shoots her a knowing smile. Despite herself, all pretense melts from her, and she smiles softly back.

Neither of them notices the bearded man who watches them from the shadows as they head back to camp.