Author's Note.
This chapter is a re-upload of my initial 'one shot' that I wrote as an experiment in writing fan-fiction for the first time. For everyone who has already read it, not much has changed except a bit of fine tuning and ret-conning to align it with the timeline of the preceding chapters. A big thank you to all my readers who leave comments, you guys make it all worthwhile xxx.
Silent as a shadow, Astarion crept closer and closer to the sleeping Cleric, his breath catching in his throat with each careful step. His senses were heightened, fixated on the sound of her gentle breathing and the tantalizing scent of her body as he knelt beside her.
The nearby campfire cast flickering shadows across her serene face, and for a moment, he hesitated, guilt rising in him at the sight of her peaceful expression. Every nerve in his body tingled in anticipation as he considered what he was about to attempt. His ears could clearly make out the slow, gentle beat of the half-elf's heart, and in his imagination, it called to him like a sweet, irresistible melody.
Eyes closed, Astarion bared his sharp fangs and leaned in towards her neck, the thrill of defiance coursing through his veins, tinged with uncertainty. He felt rather than saw movement, and his eyes snapped open. To his dismay, he found himself staring into the startled eyes of a now very awake Shadowheart. Leaning back, he murmured an uneasy, "Shit," his heart pounding with sudden fear.
In an instant, she rolled away from him and jumped up, pulling out a dagger from a hidden sheath, her expression hostile and ready for battle. Astarion scrambled to his feet, panic rising in his chest as he tried to explain himself. "No, no. It's not what it looks like, I swe--"
But before he could finish, Shadowheart lunged at him with the dagger aimed at his chest.
"Wait!" he yelped, throwing himself to one side. He heard the sound of tearing fabric as the dagger glanced off his hip, leaving behind a jagged rip in his shirt and a faint bead of red on his skin. Astarion's face paled - no mean feat for a Vampire - as he realized Shadowheart meant business. Survival instincts kicking in, he rolled into a fighter's crouch and turned to face her... only to find himself flying backward a few seconds later as the enraged woman barrelled into him shoulder first.
He fell onto the ground with a thud, momentarily stunned and gasping for air. But before he could react, Shadowheart was on top of him once again with her dagger pointed at his heart.
Catching her wrists and halting the dagger's downward motion, he snarled up at her, fully baring his fangs with anger and hatred. His eyes, usually so calm and calculating, now burned with a wild, desperate fire.
For a moment, Shadowheart faltered at the sight of him in all his savage glory, and that was all the advantage Astarion needed. Using his superior strength, he twisted her wrist and forced her to drop the dagger. Now on the defensive, she tried to break free from his grasp. But with a swift movement, Astarion rolled with her and pinned her to the ground, fueled by adrenaline and rage.
His hands closed around her neck, squeezing tighter with each gasp and struggle from her. The rush of power consumed him, clouding his judgment as he saw fear creep into Shadowheart's face. She clawed at his face in a desperate attempt to break free, but he was too lost in his bloodlust to realize her other hand scrabbling at the dirt beside them.
That proved to be his undoing. A sharp pain just under his ribs cut through the red haze that had fallen over his eyes, and Astarion looked down in shock to see the end of a jagged piece of kindling sticking out from his side. Blood seeped out from around it, staining his crisp white shirt with a chilling contrast of crimson against the dim firelight. Releasing his grip on Shadowheart, he pushed himself up onto his feet and staggered backward, looking at her and then at the wound on his side in disbelief. The pain was sharp and real, snapping him out of his murderous trance.
Suddenly aware of noise and movement around him, Astarion realized the other occupants of the camp were stirring from their slumber at the commotion. Fear gripped him as the danger of his situation became clear; there was no way he would be able to fight his way out of this.
Abandoning his attack on the now coughing Shadowheart, he turned on his heels and bolted into the forest. Each step was a struggle, pain shooting through his side with every movement, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. Not until he was safe among the thick trees and away from the vengeful mob that he knew would soon come after him. The sound of voices shouting behind him only fueled his desperation to escape, to find refuge somewhere far away where he could tend to his wound in peace.
As Ishta emerged from her tent, sword in hand, the scene that greeted her was one of chaos and panic. Her heart leapt into her throat as she took in the sight of Shadowheart collapsed by the campfire, clutching at her throat and coughing violently. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on her face, twisted with pain and fear. Gale stood over her, his expression etched with concern as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
Ishta strode purposefully towards them, her eyes blazing with urgency and worry. She demanded, "What in the hells happened here?"
With raspy and broken words, Shadowheart managed to explain through gasps of agony, "Astarion... vampire... tried to kill me..."
A sense of unease and dread settled in Ishta's stomach as she turned to Gale for clarification. He confirmed grimly, "It seems our resident rogue is actually a Vampire. It appears he attempted to feed on Shadowheart and found her to be somewhat of a dangerous meal, judging by the blood trail."
Following Gale's gaze into the forest, Ishta spotted the splatters of blood he had mentioned. The sound of something - or someone - fleeing in the distance caught her keen ears. A surge of anger and betrayal coursed through her veins. 'That idiot,' she thought bitterly, clenching her fists.
As Lae'zel joined them, even she seemed to display a measure of concern at the sight of an injured Shadowheart. "A Vampire. Chk - I should have seen the signs," she hissed.
Looking around at the shocked and angry faces, Ishta quickly made a decision. "Everyone stay here and secure the camp while I go find Astarion," she commanded in a steady voice. "Gale, see if you can assist Shadowheart in healing her neck."
Gale nodded, but Shadowheart pushed away his outstretched hand as she struggled to stand up. "I'm going with you," she declared fiercely, despite her weakened state.
Ishta shook her head. "No, this is my responsibility. I will handle it."
Determination and rage burned in Shadowheart's eyes as she refused to back down. "He tried to kill me. This is personal now."
Trying to diffuse the situation, Ishta raised a calming hand and spoke softly but firmly. "I don't think that was his intention, Shadowheart," she said, trying to reason with her.
But something in her tone must have betrayed her, because Gale fixed her with an accusing stare. "You already knew what he was, didn't you?" he accused, his voice laced with disbelief.
Avoiding their intense gazes, Ishta sighed heavily, feeling the weight of her secret crushing down on her. It was too early - or possibly too late - to be dealing with this. "Yes, I've known about him for nearly a week now," she admitted guiltily, wincing at the outburst of anger from Shadowheart.
"You knew! And you let a monster like that roam freely among us without telling us?" Shadowheart seethed. "Why would you put the entire camp at risk like that?"
Feeling a pang of regret, Ishta rubbed at her temples wearily and responded, "Because up until now, he hasn't been foolish enough to attack anyone. He's only fed on animals during his time with us, so I judged the risk to be minimal." She glanced up at the stony expressions on her companions' faces and added, "Obviously, I made an error in judgment."
"I'd say that was an understatement," Shadowheart retorted, her voice, as hoarse as it was, still carrying a great deal of anger and hurt.
Choosing to ignore the barb, Ishta turned to make her way into the forest. But Gale stepped forward and lightly tapped her arm. "Are you sure you don't want any assistance? I don't need to remind you how dangerous a wounded animal can be," he warned her.
Shaking her head, Ishta said firmly, "I can take him out just fine on my own, if it comes to that. I'm hoping, though, that I can reason with him and find out what made him attack one of us now, considering he's had plenty of other opportunities."
Gale raised an eyebrow in surprise at her confidence, but wisely chose not to question her any further. Ishta was grateful for this small gesture of trust, knowing that she didn't need any distractions while she hunted down her dangerous target.
However, Lae'zel was less than enthusiastic about Ishta's plan. "Reason with him? Are you simple?" She scoffed incredulously. "He tried to drain one of us like a stuck pig!
Shadowheart bristled at the Gith's insult. "What did you just call me?" she snapped angrily.
Ishta let out a tired sigh, feeling the weight of their bickering weighing down on her. "Stop it. Both of you."
She turned back to Gale, determination etched into every line of her face. "Give me until morning. If I'm not back by sunrise... well, you can break out the torches and pitchforks," she said with a tight smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension gnawing at her.
With those words, she swiftly left behind the lit clearing and disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Her senses were heightened as she sprinted beneath the dense canopy of trees, leaping over fallen logs and deftly avoiding the grasping underbrush. The scent of blood lingered in the air and the distant sounds of breaking branches urged her onward. Her heart raced not just from the physical exertion, but from the fear and uncertainty of what she might find.
As she followed the trail left behind by the fleeing Vampire, her mind whirled with thoughts of betrayal, danger, and the hope that she wouldn't be forced to end Astarion's life before the night was over.
Astarion's mind raced, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he ran blindly through the dense forest. His feet thudded against the soft earth, each step sending sharp jolts of pain up his side. The forest seemed to conspire against him, every step a battle against the tangled undergrowth, with thorny branches clawing at his face and clothing like vengeful spirits seeking retribution and tripping roots that threatened to bring him crashing down.
He could feel the warm trickle of blood running down his side, a stark contrast to the icy fear that gripped his chest. As he stumbled over roots and rocks, he knew that if he didn't find shelter soon, he would be in serious trouble. The wound on his side was not immediately life-threatening, but it would incapacitate him long enough for something else to find and finish him off.
A sudden sharp gasp escaped his lips as the stick embedded in his side tore downwards with a stomach-churning force. It had caught on a tangle of thorn bushes and ripped itself free from his flesh, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. Astarion clutched at the wound as blood spurted out in an unrelenting stream. His vision swam and his strength began to fade as his legs buckled. He fell to his knees, reaching out for anything to steady himself before pitching forward onto the ground below.
For a moment, Astarion lay there in the long grass, panting heavily and shaking with pain. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled his nostrils, grounding him in his desperate reality. He whimpered softly to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, "Damn it all, how did I screw up so badly?"
Suddenly, a faint noise from the forest behind him sent chills down his spine. It was the unmistakable sound of pursuit. Fear clawed at his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. Desperately, he forced himself to try and stand up, but a wave of panic swept over him as his legs refused to cooperate. Cursing, he attempted again to stand, only to cry out in frustration and despair as he collapsed to the ground once more. The sounds behind him were getting closer, each rustle and snap of a twig a harbinger of doom.
Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body, Astarion started to pull himself forward, his nails digging into the dirt as he fought back sobs of fear. His useless legs dragged behind him like lead weights, slowing his progress. He couldn't die like this; he refused to believe that after everything he'd survived, this was how he'd go down. Ahead lay a fallen tree, its rough bark scraping against his skin as he used it to try and stand. But the effort proved too much and he slid back down, trembling with exhaustion.
Breathing heavily, Astarion turned to face whatever fate awaited him, propping his back against the tree and clutching his wounded side. His mind raced with regret, fear, and defiance, a chaotic jumble of emotions. The shadows seemed to close in around him as the moon disappeared behind a cloud, casting the forest into darkness. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, a constant reminder of his vulnerability.
Then, from the darkness, a lone figure emerged: Ishta. Her golden eyes fixed intently on Astarion with a predatory gleam that sent shivers down his spine. She moved with lethal grace, each step deliberate and calculated like a Displacer Beast stalking its prey.
"Stay back!" Astarion snarled, his voice filled with raw desperation. He knew he must look pitiful and weak, but he hoped that she would think twice before taking on a cornered Vampire. Glancing at her hands, his heart froze as he saw the stake tightly gripped in her left hand. The weapon glinted ominously in the faint light, a clear indication of her intentions.
'So,' he thought wretchedly, 'she is the one who will end this dream.'
Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to survive, but his body betrayed him, drained of strength and hope. He could only watch as Ishta approached, his fate hanging in the balance, teetering on the edge of her mercy - or lack thereof.
Ishta stood tall and composed, her gaze unwavering as she looked down at the man lying helpless before her. His breaths were shallow and rapid, his hand trembling in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood from his side. Astarion, usually full of confidence and bravado, now lay broken and defeated on the ground. Fear coated his wide eyes as he gazed up at Ishta, his once sharp features twisted in pain and dread.
Knowing that she had to be cautious in her approach, Ishta took slow and deliberate steps towards him. She noticed his gaze flicker to the object in her hand, his expression turning to one of despair as he guessed her intent. A mix of anger and hopelessness flashed in his eyes as he realized his vulnerability. He attempted to drag himself further away weakly, but his strength failed him, and he gave up with a defeated sigh. Cautiously, Ishta crossed the space between them and crouched down beside him, ready for any sudden movements.
His eyes never left hers, his breathing growing more frantic as she lifted the stick she had been carrying. Each ragged breath seemed to silently beg for mercy, a plea for understanding. Out of the corner of her eye, Ishta saw movement. A rock - his last desperate weapon - was aimed at her head. In one smooth motion, she grabbed his wrist as he swung it at her.
'It would appear there is still some fight left in you after all,' she thought with a small flicker of admiration.
With a practiced twist, she applied pressure to his ligaments forcing him to drop the rock with a thud that echoed the finality of his defeat. As he struggled against her iron grip on his wrist, Ishta saw whatever defiance was left in Astarion evaporate. His shoulders sagged, and lowering his head he closed his eyes. A single word fell from his lips as he softly begged, "Please..."
The word hung in the air, filled with raw emotion and Ishta felt a pang of sympathy for this once brazen Rogue who now seemed so broken.
She lifted the stick in her hand, the same shard of kindling that Shadowheart had used to stab Astarion. Its tip was stained red and its edges were jagged and splintered from being snapped in two. Ishta had found it while tracking down the Vampire and suspected the other half was still buried deep in his side.
With deliberate movements, she placed the stick in Astarion's hand, feeling the tremors coursing through his fingers. Gently, she closed his fingers around it and released her grip on his wrist. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the night sounds hushed as if in reverence to the scene unfolding.
Astarion's eyes snapped open, and he stared at the bloodstained object now clenched in his hand. The jagged shard of kindling felt rough against his fingers, its edges sharp and unforgiving. Confusion furrowed his brow as he looked up into Ishta's impassive eyes, his mind racing to understand what was happening.
Was she expecting him to stake himself with it? His anger flared at the thought, but Ishta's faint smile and shaking head put a stop to his rising fury.
"No, it's not for that," her voice was surprisingly soothing yet firm. "You'll probably want to bite down on it in a moment or two."
Astarion could only stare at her, dumbfounded and struggling to understand her intentions. As she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his chest, he couldn't help but recoil from her touch, his body protesting in pain.
"Slow your breathing," she instructed calmly, her authoritative tone cutting through his panic.
"What?" His voice came out as a croak, barely more than a whisper.
"Right now, your heart is beating fast enough to force blood out through your wound," Ishta explained matter-of-factly. "I need you to bring it back down to a Vampire's normal heart rate before I can begin healing you. So I'm asking you to calm down and slow your breathing."
Comprehension washed over him and he almost sobbed in relief as he finally understood that Ishta wasn't here to kill him, she was here to help. She must have sensed the tension leaving him because her smile became gentler. "You aren't in any danger from me," she reassured him softly.
With her words came a sense of trust and calmness that Astarion hadn't felt in a long time. He relaxed under her touch, allowing himself to believe that he was safe with her, and concentrated on doing as she had instructed.
He knew all too well the dangers of allowing his heart to beat too fast. A Vampire's heart only beat once every couple of minutes, giving rise to the myth that they have no heartbeat at all. That single beat was all that was needed to circulate blood around their bodies, albeit at a highly reduced rate, which aided in preventing blood loss from injuries. The danger lay in becoming emotional enough to make his heart beat at a pace closer to that of a mortal's. That Ishta knew of this was something of a surprise; it wasn't a piece of information that many outside of his 'circles' had insights on. He couldn't help but wonder who was brave enough to take a Vampire's pulse for the first time, and the thought brought a brief moment of amusement amidst the pain.
Once Ishta could tell that his breathing and heart rate had slowed to a safe level, she removed her hand from his chest. Astarion watched with curiosity as she unbuckled a rolled pouch from her belt and placed it beside her on the forest floor with a soft thud. As it unrolled, he saw an assortment of small metal tools, recognizable as surgical instruments. The sight brought back memories of cold, sterile blades cutting into his flesh - memories he quickly pushed aside.
"I need to get a closer look at your injury," Ishta explained as she gestured towards his side. "There may be splinters still lodged inside, which will need to be removed before I can cast Cure Wounds."
Astarion hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved his hand to uncover the punctured flesh. Ishta leaned over and delicately started to roll up his torn shirt, but paused when he flinched. He mentally rebuked himself for the involuntary reaction as she gave him a questioning look. 'Stop it, she's only trying to help you,' he reminded himself sternly.
When he offered no further resistance, Ishta continued to move his shirt out of the way and he held it up for her while she examined the damage. The bleeding had slowed to an almost imperceptible trickle, but looking down, Astarion could see that she was right about there still being splinters of wood lodged inside. Each fragment was a reminder of the violent struggle that had led to this moment. Ishta reached into her pouch and pulled out a pair of small needle-nosed pliers. She exchanged a knowing look with him before nodding towards the stick he still held in his other hand. Wordlessly, he brought it up to his mouth and bit down hard on its centre, the wood pressing uncomfortably against his teeth. Closing his eyes tightly, he braced himself for what was about to come next.
As Ishta worked on his wound, carefully removing the remaining splinters, Astarion focused on keeping his breathing steady and his heart rate under control. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him, not when his life depended on it. Every gesture sent searing waves of agony through his body, and beads of sweat mingled with dirt and blood on his face as he fought to keep himself from thrashing in pain.
"Get ready. This one is really going to hurt," Ishta warned him, her hand gripping his shoulder for support as she shifted her grip on the pliers. Astarion could feel his heart start to pound, threatening to undo all of Ishta's careful work.
With a swift movement, she tugged at his side and the muffled scream that forced its way out of Astarion's chest and past his clenched jaws was loud enough to startle a nearby owl into taking flight. He barely had time to register the sight of Ishta holding up a chunk of gore-covered wood before his vision darkened, and he slumped into merciful unconsciousness. The forest seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as he fell into oblivion, the pain finally subsiding into the depths of his mind.
"Not so tough when it's your own blood, hmm?" Ishta quietly remarked, her voice filled with a mixture of irony and sorrow. The crisp air of the night felt electric as she stood over the unconscious Vampire. His face, usually pallid, now appeared even more drained against the dark backdrop of the forest floor. She was relieved that he had passed out, grateful to be able to focus on removing the remaining splinters without fear of him lashing out. Given what she knew about him, Ishta was surprised at his low pain tolerance. 'You brought this one on yourself, you fool,' she thought bitterly, shaking her head in frustration.
Ishta wasted no time in carefully removing the remaining splinters from Astarion's wound. Her skilled hands moved with precision and care, honed over years of practice. Once the bleeding had stopped, she focused on channeling her restorative energy through her fingertips. With a whispered incantation, "Te Curo!", a pale green light enveloped Astarion's body, casting an ethereal glow in the darkness. The light shone brightest at the site of his stab wound, slowly knitting together the torn flesh under the influence of the healing magic. It would take some time for such a deep and messy wound to fully close, but eventually only a faint scar would remain as a reminder of this night and its trials.
As she waited for the healing process to finish, Ishta's mind wandered, reflecting on how unexpected events had led her to this moment. She gazed at Astarion's face, now peaceful in unconsciousness, and couldn't help but feel empathy towards him. 'What were you thinking?' she wondered silently.
Using the opportunity, Ishta carefully removed the stick wedged between Astarion's teeth. She had to exert a little extra force to pry it off one of his fangs, hoping he wouldn't wake up and see her doing this. She was concerned what his reaction might be in his vulnerable state. Thankfully, Astarion remained unconscious, blissfully unaware of her struggles with his dentistry. With a sigh of relief, she tossed the stick into the brush, watching it disappear into the undergrowth. It felt like a symbolic act, a small victory amidst the chaos.
She packed away her medical kit with practiced efficiency and reattached it to her belt before climbing up and perching on the tree trunk. All that was left to do was wait for Astarion to wake up. She hoped her healing spell would sustain him until his own supernatural abilities could kick in.
The forest around them came alive with the sounds of night creatures, their calls a haunting symphony that seemed to reflect Ishta's own tumultuous thoughts. She hugged herself tightly, trying to ward off both the cool air and the unease that had settled in her stomach. Gazing down at Astarion, her expression softened. "Wake up, you fool," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "Don't force me to kill you now after all this." The words hung in the air, a quiet plea to the night, to the universe, to the man lying below her.
The world exploded into existence as Astarion jolted awake, his senses immediately on high alert. The forest enveloped him with its oppressive darkness, shadows twisting and swirling among the trees like malevolent spirits. A knot of fear gripped his chest as he struggled to recall why he was here, alone in the cold stillness of the night. The earthy scent of damp leaves and moss permeated the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood - his own. He tried to sit up, but a firm pressure on his shoulder pushed him back down.
"Ah! No, you don't," a commanding voice echoed in the silence. "Sit back down and let that wound finish healing. If you make it bleed, so help me, I will knock you out again."
The pain radiating from his side brought back memories of the recent events - his encounter with Shadowheart and his desperate escape through the darkness. Groaning, Astarion leaned back against the tree trunk and looked up at the speaker. Ishta perched above him, her expression stern and unwavering. One knee tucked under her chin while the other leg dangled, her foot resting on his shoulder.
Astarion couldn't help feeling unsettled by how composed she seemed in his presence. Her golden eyes, usually filled with playful charm, now gleamed with determination. It was clear that the truth about his nature was not much of a surprise to Ishta. He was painfully aware that she held all the power in this situation.
"How long have you known?" he asked wearily, his voice strained.
"That you are an idiot? About an hour," Ishta retorted, nonchalantly removing her foot from his shoulder and crossing her legs.
Astarion scowled at her but she paid no attention. "That you are a Vampire... about a week," she shrugged, her tone dismissive.
He couldn't hide his shock at her words and she gave him a wry smile in response. "I happened to be out hunting at night the same time as you. We were both after the same boar... You got there first."
Ishta gracefully slid down from her perch and sat beside him. Astarion couldn't help but admire her boldness, the way she carried herself with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.
She didn't seem to fear him at all, which both intrigued and unnerved him. He also couldn't ignore the small dagger she was twirling around in her hand - a not-so-subtle reminder of her prowess. Ishta noticed his eyes on her blade and grinned."Though at first I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why you were trying to hug it to death."
Despite himself, Astarion chuckled softly, the sound laced with bitterness and pain. The movement caused a wave of agony to pulse through him and he winced. 'Gods... you'd think after enduring 200 years of torture I'd be used to this by now,' he thought ruefully. His body, despite its undead resilience, still had its limits.
Ishta chided him gently, her voice tinged with concern. "Try not to move too much until the spell has had enough time to properly do its job."
He turned slowly, his eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and wariness as they met hers. "Why... why are you helping me?" he asked cautiously.
Ishta paused her playful twirling of the dagger and regarded him thoughtfully. Her eyes took on a distant look, as if she were searching through memories and emotions to find the right words. A part of him feared what she might say, but he needed to know.
"Because I suffer from a terrible condition," she replied solemnly. "I've been told countless times that it will eventually kill me."
Alarm bells rang in Astarion's head. 'Shit...she must believe I am a True Vampire who can grant her immortality,' he thought bitterly. 'Why else would she save my life...'
"It's called a bleeding heart."
Her words startled him for a moment, and then a slow smile of comprehension spread across his face. Turning to look at Ishta, his eyes met hers, and he saw the glimmer of amusement in them. She continued, her tone casual and confiding, "It's a terrible disease, really. I see people in trouble, and I just have this overwhelming urge to help them."
Astarion felt his whole body relax as he finally understood he had never been in any danger from Ishta - she truly didn't care about what he was. "Sounds awful," he grinned at her, the tension melting away from his features.
The moonlight filtered through the leaves above, casting a soft silver glow over them and creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. The gentle rustling of leaves and calls of nocturnal creatures provided a haunting backdrop to their conversation. As they sat there in the peaceful forest, Astarion felt a glimmer of hope ignite within him once again.
Ishta watched as a wave of emotion passed over Astarion's face, finally settling into something resembling trust. Observing the stiffness start to leave his posture as he gave her his full attention, she felt it was now safe to relax herself. Astarion had always responded well to humor and banter, so she decided to keep going with her playful "explanation" to his question.
"It really is," she complained, shaking her head with exaggerated exasperation. "You have no idea how inconvenient it is to have to drop everything and help some poor Wizard out from inside a rock, save a grumpy Githyanki from a Goblin trap, or give up on a decent night's rest to race after some poor sod who's gone and gotten himself stabbed by an irate Cleric."
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Astarion's lips, and Ishta could see the tension draining from his body. He leaned back against the tree, appearing more relaxed and at ease. For a moment, he seemed like his old self as he played along with her rant, nodding understandingly.
"I entirely agree, that does sound like an absolutely debilitating disease," he sympathized with a playful twinkle in his eye.
Feeling encouraged by his lifted spirits, Ishta leaned forward, resting her elbow on one knee and propping up her chin. "By the way, why did you try to take a bite out of Shadowheart?" she asked curiously, tilting her head in his direction.
A hint of tension returned to Astarion's body at the mention of his recent actions. His eyes locked onto hers as he struggled to find the right words. Ishta kept her gaze steady and non-threatening, observing the myriad of emotions crossing Astarion's face - confusion, guilt, fear - before he finally settled on resignation. He sighed and lowered his head, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders.
"It's not what you think. I'm not some monster," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I usually feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can find. I'm just too slow right now, too weak. I thought if I only had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. So I tried to take some from Shadowheart."
A small spark of defiance ignited in Astarion's eyes as he looked up at Ishta, pleading for understanding. "I wasn't going to hurt her, I swear. I just needed blood. But then she woke and attacked me - I had to defend myself, you understand."
Ishta held his gaze for a moment before speaking again, remembering the bruises on Shadowheart's neck. 'Those marks go beyond self-defense,' she thought to herself, but chose not to voice her observation for now. Instead, she focused on a more pressing matter.
"Bullshit, Astarion."
"I beg your pardon?" he blinked at her, taken aback.
"You heard me. I've seen you with that bow of yours. You could hunt half the beasts in this forest without ever breaking a sweat. So what's the real reason you suddenly decided to change up your menu?" Ishta asked bluntly, her tone cutting through the night air like a blade.
His expression shifted from shock to defense, and Ishta worried that she may have pushed too far too soon. She could see him starting to retreat, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route. Realizing the need to tread carefully now to maintain control over the situation, Ishta softened her tone and reassured him.
"Astarion, please listen to me. I am not angry with you," she said gently. "I understand why you felt the need to keep this secret from us all. I just want to know why you risked exposing yourself and potentially turning us against you by choosing Shadowheart instead of the abundant game within these very woods."
Astarion focused on her again, and Ishta could see his jaw grinding under the weight of whatever decision he was trying to make. The sounds of the forest at night grew louder in the tense silence between them, filling the air with rustling leaves, chirping insects, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Shafts of moonlight filtered through the thick canopy above, causing Astarion's eyes to glow like two crimson pools. After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. "I needed to know," he said, his voice laced with frustration.
Ishta waited patiently for him to continue, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed as he shifted around. Whatever he was about to reveal clearly weighed heavily on his mind, but she remained calm and collected, knowing that her patience would be rewarded.
Eventually, Astarion spoke again, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. "I am a Spawn. My... former master, Cazador Szarr, is a Vampire Lord in Baldur's Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people. The power to control them completely. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his Spawn, and he became my tormentor."
Ishta sat up straighter, wondering if she should share what she already knew of his story, but ultimately decided against it. It was clear that he was finally opening up to her and she didn't want to interrupt or jeopardize that trust.
"So you were his slave?" she asked gently.
Astarion shook his head. "A Vampire's Spawn is less than a slave. They're a puppet. We have no choice but to obey our master's commands. They speak, and our bodies react... it's all part of the deal. Sometimes he'd order us to submit to torture. Sometimes he'd have us torture ourselves. Whatever his weathervane mood settled on," he said bitterly.
As he spoke, Astarion's eyes became distant and withdrawn, clearly reliving the horrors of his past. After what she had witnessed when her mind had linked with his all those nights ago, she couldn't blame him for being hesitant to re-live such traumatic experiences. She knew all too well the feeling of trying to bury painful memories deep within.
Leaning forward, Astarion's voice became more animated. "Ever since I was kidnapped by the Mindflayers and implanted with this worm, I have been living in a strange, twisted kind of freedom. Standing in the sun, wading through rivers, wandering into homes without an invitation - they are all perfectly mundane activities now. More importantly though, I no longer feel the pull of Cazador's hold over me..." Astarion trailed off and leaned back wearily. "At least not until tonight," he admitted quietly.
The hair on the back of Ishta's neck stood up. 'Now this could be a problem,' she thought uneasily.
Astarion must have noticed her concern because he quickly continued. "I had a... well, a dream - or perhaps it was a vision of him earlier tonight. I could see him as clearly as I see you now. He was reminding me that I still belonged to him and reciting those damn rules."
"Rules?" Ishta raised an eyebrow in question.
Astarion held up his hand and began counting off on his fingers. "First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Thirdly, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine forever."
As Ishta listened to Astarion recite the first rule, everything fell into place. Knowing what she did of Vampires, the first rule made perfect sense. A Vampire's power was derived from the strength of their victims - not their physical strength, but the level of intellect and life experience that only sentient beings could provide. Animals and other lesser beasts simply could not offer the same levels of power, and if this Cazador was so obsessed with controlling people, it came as no surprise that he would force his Spawn to feed on inferior beings to keep them weak and subservient.
"Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures..." Ishta repeated slowly, giving Astarion a half-smile. "So that's why you did it."
The look of surprise on his face quickly turned to begrudging admiration, confirming her theory. Pushing herself forward and standing up, Ishta walked a few steps away, the soft earth crunching under her feet. Spinning around and placing her hands on her hips, she confronted Astarion.
"So let me get this straight," she began sternly, her voice carrying authority. "You attacked one of my team - while she was sleeping, by the way, you jerk - and risked being thrown out into the wilds alone at best," she gestured to the surrounding forest, "and being staked in the heart at worst, all just so you could give the middle finger to your old master?"
A hint of guilt flashed across Astarion's features before he replied hesitantly, "Well... uh... when you put it like that..."
Ishta watched him come to terms with just how much of a risk he had taken and sighed inwardly. 'If the Illithid parasite doesn't kill him first, his own recklessness will.' She could understand his desire to test the limits of his newfound freedom, but his rash actions had almost ended it prematurely. As resourceful and capable as he was, Astarion clearly still needed the protection and guidance of allies. Ishta just hoped she could convince the others waiting for her in camp that he was still worth protecting. Though, if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure of that fact either.
Then, like a lightning bolt, an idea sparked in her head. A final test to determine just how far Astarion could still be trusted. It was a dangerous plan, one that filled her with trepidation and dredged up unwelcome memories. But Ishta pushed those thoughts aside, determined to see this through.
Stepping forward and crouching directly in front of him, she extended her arm and turned over her wrist, exposing the veins beneath. "Well, that's something I can get behind," she said with a wry smile.
Astarion stared at her in stunned silence for a moment, looking down at the proffered wrist, scarcely daring to believe his luck. Not only had this woman just saved his life, here she was volunteering to let him feed on her. Either she was incredibly fearless or completely insane. While his first day in her company lent credence to the insanity theory, the cunning and intelligence she'd displayed ever since then undermined it. Astarion suspected that even if he'd been at full strength, he still wouldn't be the most dangerous out of the two of them.
The pale moonlight illuminated the delicate veins running beneath her skin, and a surge of hunger coursed through him. He resisted the urge to snatch greedily at her outstretched arm, trying to maintain some semblance of control. A small part of him wondered about how far she would trust him.
"Traditionally, the neck is preferred," he smiled disarmingly, feigning nonchalance as he tried to hide his overwhelming desire.
"Not a chance." Ishta shook her head decisively, but then added with a pause, "Not this time anyway."
'So not that far then. Fair enough,' he conceded inwardly, though her words sent a thrill through him at the possibility of future opportunities like this. But for now, he needed to focus on the present and not jeopardize the fragile truce they currently shared.
'Don't screw this up,' he sternly reminded himself as he reached out and gently pulled her arm closer. Holding Ishta's wrist cupped delicately between his hands, Astarion gave her one last questioning glance before cautiously lowering his head to reveal his sharp fangs.
To her credit, she didn't flinch as he bit down, drawing her hot blood into his mouth. It flowed down his throat like liquid fire, and Astarion's eyes widened in ecstasy at the overwhelming sweetness. He closed his eyes in pleasure, tightening his grip on her wrist as he drank with a ravenous hunger. The power of her blood spread through him, filling him with newfound strength and vitality. Each gulp brought a comforting warmth to his belly and a surge of energy to his limbs.
But amidst the blissful sensation of feeding, rage flared in Astarion's mind at the thought that Cazador had kept him from experiencing such incredible delights for so long. Nothing he had fed on in the past could compare to the rich taste of this she-elf's blood. It was intoxicating. His senses became sharper, the sounds of the forest more vivid, and the scent of the night air more invigorating. But as he continued to drink, it became harder to concentrate, and he realized with alarm that he was dangerously close to losing control. He couldn't risk draining Ishta dry by mistake, though he doubted he would even get the chance. A blade might already be hurtling towards his heart if he didn't rein in his hunger soon.
Reluctantly, Astarion released his grip on Ishta's arm and raised his head, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He was met with her bemused gaze, one eyebrow arched in both surprise and amusement. Her calm demeanor was unnerving, and he couldn't understand why she hadn't stopped him or shown any sign of fear. Was this some kind of test? If so, he just prayed that he had passed it.
"Enjoy yourself?" she asked lightly, though there was a hint of warning in her voice that made him tread carefully.
"I did, thank you. That was...amazing. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy," he confessed, leaning back against a fallen tree and struggling to catch his breath after the exhilaration of feeding on her. His entire body hummed with energy, a far cry from the weakness and desperation he had felt just moments ago.
"Well, I'm glad someone is. That bloody hurt!" Ishta complained, looking down at her still-oozing wrist with a mixture of disgust and fascination. The bite marks were raw and ugly, a stark reminder of the danger she had willingly exposed herself to for his sake.
"I would show some sympathy, darling, if I wasn't currently recovering from being impaled," Astarion said grinning and closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of Ishta's blood still lingering on his tongue. His whole body felt lighter, and the pain from his injury was rapidly fading away as his natural healing ability kicked in, working faster than it ever had in the past. 'So this is the power you kept from us, you old bastard,' he thought angrily, a fresh wave of resentment surging through him.
"Did that answer your burning need to know then?" Ishta's tone held equal measures of sarcasm and curiosity, her eyes studying him intently.
"Mmm...most definitely," he murmured, still savouring taste of her blood.
"Well, once you've finished purring in bliss like a gorged Crag Cat, we need to discuss what happens next," Ishta reminded him, "Especially with regards to the others and exactly what we tell them."
Her words snapped Astarion out of his reverie and brought back to mind the awkward situation his recent actions had placed him in. 'Funny how a warm meal and pleasant company can make you forget the important little details,' he reflected, 'like a pissed-off, stab-happy Cleric waiting in the dark for me.'
"Do you think the others will be happy to see me when we waltz back into camp together?" he asked innocently, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His newfound strength gave him a burst of confidence, but he knew better than to underestimate the wrath of his companions.
Ishta snorted. "I'm sure Shadowheart will be delighted," she grimaced back, rolling her eyes.
"Hmm, somehow I doubt she will be as appreciative of your "bleeding heart" as I am right now. In fact, it's more likely that she will offer to make your condition's description less...metaphorical."
"You're probably not wrong," Ishta sighed and stood up, stretching her lithe body. In the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal, like a panther ready to strike. Her muscles and sinews were honed to perfection underneath her belted tunic and tight leather trousers. A huntress as beautiful as she was deadly...
"So, convince me."
"Huh?" Astarion halted his appraisal of Ishta's form and focused on her face.
"Convince me that you aren't a threat to the rest of the group," Ishta said matter-of-factly, "and then I'll work on convincing them as well. For instance, going forward, how will you feed? If drinking from "thinking creatures" makes you stronger, then fine. But I only have so much blood to spare, so I can't be doing this every night for you."
Astarion was once again impressed with how calm and unruffled Ishta seemed to be at the thought of traveling and working with a Vampire. She was more concerned with the practicalities of the situation than the potential ethical dilemmas it might raise. He had the amusing thought that if a Beholder were to turn up and ask to join their party, she would probably just set about finding a big enough tent to accommodate it.
"No innocents, you have my word," he inclined his head in sincerity, "only villains that we need to kill anyway."
Ishta raised an eyebrow at his words, but he continued. "And now that everyone knows what I am, I can freely fight with all my weapons. Teeth included," he added with a sly smile, baring his fangs to emphasize his point.
"True," Ishta acknowledged.
"And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They're just as dead," he grinned wickedly.
Ishta considered his words, her expression thoughtful. The flickering moonlight illuminated the lines of worry etched on her face as she mulled over the practical side of his argument. But deep down, the moral implications still weighed heavily on her mind. She was a protector by nature, and the idea of her companions being in danger, even from one of their own, was troubling. However, given the constant threats they faced from various sources, the trail of bodies left in their wake was beginning to mount up. As macabre as it was, it seemed a shame for all that blood to go to waste, especially if it could give them an advantage in battle. A Spawn may not be as formidable as a True Vampire, but they were still a force to be reckoned with when at full strength. Astarion had already proven himself a skilled fighter, and Ishta found herself secretly anticipating how much stronger he could become.
"I suppose that's one way to look at it," she finally conceded with a sigh. "But we'll need to be cautious. The others will need convincing, and you'll have to show that you can control your... urges."
Astarion met her gaze confidently. "I can do that," he replied smoothly. "And I will. You have my word."
"Alright, deal," she declared, her voice firm but laced with curiosity.
Astarion's face lit up with pleasure at her acceptance of his suggestion and he leapt to his feet in one fluid motion, almost like a feline pouncing on its prey. His sudden burst of energy startled her, but she maintained her cool and didn't react, though she did feel spitefully satisfied as he flinched and held his side. 'Serves you right,' she thought scornfully.
"Ouch," he winced, "I may have gotten up a bit too soon there. However, your skilful ministrations seem to have done a wonderful job at patching me up."
Glancing down at his now blood-soaked clothing, Astarion's face fell. "This was my best shirt. Now look at it, completely ruined," he lamented, his tone almost petulant.
Ishta rolled her eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and annoyance. As much as his vanity grated on her nerves, she couldn't deny that seeing him return to his dandy persona was a good sign that he was feeling much better. It seemed the combination of her healing spell and the energy from her blood had nearly fully repaired the damage he had suffered - and improved his mood along with it.
"Astarion, you're a Vampire. I'm sure getting blood out of clothing is practically second nature to you," she retorted, smirking at his indignant expression. "And as for the hole in your shirt, I'm sure Gale has a mending spell or we can find a sewing kit somewhere. In the meantime, you can borrow one of my spare shirts. It may not be made of fine, expensive cloth you are no doubt accustomed to, but it's better than nothing."
Astarion looked her up and down, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he winked playfully. "I think I'd rather go naked than be seen wearing your idea of fashion, darling."
Ishta stared at him blankly for a moment before pointing to his side. "I can reopen that stab wound if you want, mate," she remarked darkly.
Chuckling, Astarion raised his hands in mock surrender. "My apologies. Of course, I would be grateful for anything you can provide." He bowed with a flourish, flashing her a charming smile that simultaneously made Ishta want to punch him in the face.
'Gods,' thought Ishta irritably, 'he must be feeling much better if he's already back to flirting with me.'
"Let's just get back to camp. I would like to at least get some rest tonight, and I have a feeling we still have a few more long conversations ahead of us tonight," Ishta grumbled, turning on her heel and beginning to walk back in the direction they had both come from.
Astarion fell into step beside her, his presence a disconcerting shadow. The forest around them was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, the rustling leaves and distant calls creating a symphony that underscored their silent journey. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled patterns on the ground and illuminating their path with a soft, silvery glow.
As they walked, Ishta couldn't resist stealing glances at Astarion. He moved like a big cat stalking its prey, each step calculated and fluid. Despite the recent ordeal, he seemed more alive than she had ever seen him, his eyes gleaming with newfound energy. The dynamics between them had shifted subtly - there was now a delicate balance of trust born out of necessity and shared secrets. She found herself once again questioning her own sanity for sparing his life after discovering his dark secret.
'I blame you,' she mentally whispered to the parasite nestled inside her brain. If it heard her, it did not deign to answer back.