Ishta: Blood Huntress of Baldur's Gate

by IshtaDawnstar

What happens when a famed Vampire Slayer finds out one of her team is a Vampire Spawn? Emotional angst and shenanigans, that's what. Follow the journey of Ishta, the once dreaded Blood Huntress of the East, as she discovers how one person can change every conviction she ever had about the nature of good and evil.

19. Under the Stars

The camp, which had been alive with laughter and music earlier, now lay still by the time Ishta returned from the clearing. The sounds of revelry had dwindled to drunken snores and the crackling of dying fires as the victors rested.

Ishta rubbed her jaw absentmindedly, wincing at the tenderness. Her jaw still ached, a reminder of the brutal process of pulling her fangs out. Though a healing potion had dulled most of the excruciating nerve pain, a persistent throbbing lingered, pulsing in time to her heartbeat.

Moving through the camp with careful, deliberate steps, she made her way past the sprawled bodies of Tieflings, slumped against each other in sleep. She took in their peaceful expressions, their slow, steady breathing, and for a moment, she envied their obliviousness. Her own mind was a whirl of thoughts, too restless to allow her any peace. A few of them stirred slightly as she passed, muttering in their sleep, but none woke.

As Ishta reached the center the camp, her eyes were drawn to the riverbank. There, she spotted Wyll sitting on a log, staring out at the water, his silhouette outlined by the faint silver light of the moon. His shoulders were hunched, his posture rigid, as if the weight of the world rested upon them. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the river. Ishta hesitated, feeling the pull of her own exhaustion, but decided to head down to him anyway. Wyll had been through a lot, and he needed a friend more than she needed sleep.

"You still out here sulking?" she called out softly as she approached, her tone light but carrying an undertone of concern. "I noticed you didn't join the party all night."

Wyll jerked slightly, startled out of his reverie, and stood up quickly, as if caught in a moment of vulnerability he hadn't wanted anyone to see. He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Agh, Hells!" he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice I was gone... but The Blade doesn't sulk. I was just reflecting on what has happened, and not wanting to be 'Mister Serious' at a celebration."

Ishta crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow with a playful skepticism. "Sounds like some pretty words for sulking to me..."

Wyll put a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I can say it even more nicely," he declared, striking a formal pose and hooking his thumbs into his shirt. "I'm, ahem, soberly pondering my state of affairs and not wishing to drag a single happy soul into a state of melancholy."

Ishta couldn't help but snicker. "I haven't heard language so flowery since Astarion tried to convince me he was a magistrate."

Wyll chuckled, a real laugh this time, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a fraction. But then his expression softened, his gaze drifting back to the river. "In truth, I don't feel in a festive mood, and didn't want to cast a grey cloud over the night. I love the people from the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays."

Ishta tilted her head, studying him. "What makes you think that?"

Wyll's face tightened, his fingers brushing over the ridges of the new horns. "I'm a devil," he murmured, almost to himself. "You don't want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons, you see. And the guests won't take kindly to scars quite so monstrous."

Ishta's eyes softened. She could sense the weight of his words, the self-doubt lingering in his tone. "You don't unsettle me, you know that," she said quietly, stepping closer.

Wyll turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "If only half the world had half the heart you do," he replied softly, but his eyes still held that deep pain she recognized all too well.

Ishta felt a pang of sympathy, but she knew she couldn't offer him empty platitudes. She'd become the very thing she had once despised, and she couldn't pretend nothing had changed. She sighed and tried a different approach. "Do you see Tieflings as devils?" she asked, her voice calm but probing.

Wyll blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "Of course not!" he replied, almost offended.

"Why not?" Ishta pressed. "They have sharp horns and spikes on their bodies too. In my eyes - and probably even theirs - you've simply become just another kind of Tiefling."

Wyll stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to form words but couldn't quite grasp them. "I... I hadn't thought of it like that," he admitted slowly, his brow furrowing as he processed her logic. "I suppose I'm now in a unique position to truly empathize with how they are often treated."

Ishta offered a small, encouraging smile. "Still feel like sulking?"

Wyll gave a rueful chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably might for a little while," he admitted, his voice tinged with self-awareness. "After all, it's only human to mourn things that are lost..."

He straightened up a little, as if finding some strength in his own words, and looked more determined. "But after tonight, I promise to stop feeling sorry for myself. I won't pretend I won't still flinch when I see myself in a mirror, but I will try to no longer see this as a curse."

Ishta's smile grew. "Maybe you can ask Karlach for advice on how to keep those new horns in good condition?" she suggested, a playful glint in her eyes. "They are pretty impressive, you know."

Wyll chuckled again, a genuine warmth returning to his voice. "You know, I just might. And thank you, Ishta, you've given me a lot to think about, and I'm... glad you chose to brave the dark cloud hanging over me."

Ishta winked, her grin wide. "Stormy weather doesn't bother me," she quipped as she turned to leave, feeling a small sense of relief as she headed back to the campfire. The night was still, the air cool against her skin, and for a moment, the ache in her jaw seemed to fade.

She walked over to the fire to make herself a soothing drink, the soft crackling of the embers a comforting sound in the quiet night. Her hands worked with automatic precision as she gathered herbs, boiled water, and prepared the tea, but her mind was far away, lost in reflection of the night's events.

Astarion's reaction to her story had been... complex. Fear had been there, yes, but something else too - a glimmer of understanding, or perhaps a recognition of the darkness they both carried. That fleeting connection had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had shared her most guarded secret with him, and now she was left grappling with the uncertainty of how he would perceive her going forward.

He had spoken of True Vampires in the past with such disdain, describing them as manipulative, paranoid beasts who craved power and viewed all others as threats. Now that he knew what she was - or something close to it - would he start to see her that way too? The thought of Astarion looking at her with the same loathing he reserved for Cazador made her chest tighten, the idea unbearable in a way she couldn't fully articulate. She didn't want that. Not from him.

Ishta cradled the warm cup of herbal tea in her hands, the heat seeping into her palms, but it did little to ease the cold knot of anxiety in her chest. She was exhausted, every part of her aching for rest, but sleep felt distant, like a dream she could not quite reach.

A soft rustle of leaves pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Astarion emerging from the shadows at the edge of the camp. He moved with the same fluid grace she had come to expect from him, but tonight there was something different in his stride - a weariness that mirrored her own.

Their eyes met across the flickering fire, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply held each other's gaze, a silent exchange that conveyed more than words ever could. Both of them were still reeling from the events of the night, both still coming to terms with the weight of what had been shared.

Ishta offered him a tired smile, a small gesture of understanding, and Astarion responded with a nod before turning away toward his tent. She watched him go, noticing the slight slump in his usually proud shoulders, the way his steps seemed to falter as he reached the edge of the firelight. She wondered if he, too, would struggle to find rest tonight, his mind likely as restless as her own.

But just as Astarion was about to disappear into his tent, another figure emerged - Lae'zel, moving with her usual predatory confidence. Her eyes locked onto Astarion with an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through Ishta. Lae'zel was not one for subtlety, and whatever she wanted from Astarion, it was clear she would not accept refusal.

"Astarion," Lae'zel's voice was a sharp command, brooking no argument. "I desire to partake in carnal pleasure this night. You will satisfy me. Follow."

Astarion stopped mid-step, his back still turned to Ishta, but she could see the way his entire body immediately tensed. An instinctive flicker of alarm rose in her gut as she watched him turn slowly to face Lae'zel, a charming smile sliding into place on his face.

"Of course, darling," he replied, his voice smooth as silk, though Ishta could detect the strain beneath it. "I would be delighted to... indulge you."

As Astarion moved to follow Lae'zel, there was a stiffness to his gait that made Ishta's unease deepen, a nagging discomfort gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. But she tried to push it aside. After all, they were both free to make their own choices, and it wasn't her place to interfere.

Or so she thought, until Astarion glanced back over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, Ishta saw something that made her blood run cold - a flash of raw, unguarded panic before he quickly turned away and continued after Lae'zel.

The sight jolted Ishta into action, cutting through her exhaustion like a knife. Any thoughts of staying out of it evaporated in an instant. She couldn't ignore what she had just seen.

She set her cup down with a decisive clink and rose to her feet, her body moving before her mind had fully caught up as she strode swiftly after the pair.

"Lae'zel," she called out, her voice firm and commanding as both Astarion and Lae'zel turned to look at her. "Wait a moment."

Lae'zel's expression darkened, clearly displeased by the interruption. "What do you want?"

Ishta met her ire with determination. "Find someone else to spend the night with, Lae'zel. Astarion stays here."

Lae'zel's gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Who are you to interfere? Astarion seems willing enough to serve me."

The way those words were phrased made Ishta's stomach churn with revulsion. Lae'zel may not have meant them to sound so... demeaning, but the effect they had on Astarion was all too clear. His eyes closed for a split second and his fists clenched as an almost imperceptible shiver travelled through his body.

Ishta met the Gith's piercing stare without flinching. She knew she had to be careful, that openly questioning Astarion's comfort could make him appear weak, something he would likely resent. So, she opted for a different approach, one that would extract him from this situation without humiliating him in the process - hopefully.

"He stays. I have already claimed him for the night," Ishta said, her voice calm but with a hint of authority that she hoped Lae'zel would respect.

Astarion's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face, while Lae'zel's frown deepened. "Claimed?" she echoed, her tone incredulous. "You presume to challenge me?"

"It is you who presumes, Lae'zel, to take what is mine."

Lae'zel's gaze darted between Ishta and Astarion, assessing the situation. Ishta held her breath, hoping that the Gith would recognize the subtle challenge in her words and back down. The last thing she wanted was to end up in a catfight over Astarion of all people - there was only so much dignity she was willing to sacrifice tonight.

After a tense silence, Lae'zel let out a huff of irritation, her posture relaxing slightly as she turned away. "In the future, it would be wise to make such claims known sooner, to avoid misunderstandings," she said curtly before stalking off into the night. "I shall seek satisfaction elsewhere."

As Lae'zel disappeared into the shadows, Ishta let go of her breath, a wave of relief washing over her. But when she turned to face Astarion, the relief quickly gave way to something more complicated.

He had remained silent throughout the exchange, but the moment she had 'claimed' him, something had shifted in his eyes - a flash of sadness quickly masked by his practiced charm. Now, as she looked at him, he offered her a smile, but it was hollow, a mere echo of his usual charisma.

"So," he said, his voice smooth and light, "you've decided to take me up on the offer of a night of passion after all."

The way he was forcing a playful tone, told Ishta he was trying to convince both of them that he was eager for whatever she might demand. She needed to dispel whatever assumptions he was making, and quickly.

Without a word, Ishta moved to the campfire, grabbing a pair of silver goblets and two bottles of wine. She held them up for him to see, a silent invitation, before turning and walking away from the camp.

Astarion hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then he followed her, his steps light and silent as he moved through the night. She led him through the woods until they reached a cliff top overlooking a waterfall. The sound of the rushing water filled the air, a steady, calming rhythm.

Ishta stopped at the edge of a wide rock shelf, the moonlight casting everything in shades of silver and shadow. She set one of the bottles down on the stone and turned to face Astarion, her expression calm and neutral as she held out the other to him.

Astarion, ever the actor, slid back into his role, a coy smile tugging at his lips as he approached her. As he reached out to take the bottle, his fingers brushed lightly against her hand, his touch calculated and practiced. "A cliff top under the stars, wine, and only the two of us - how perfectly intimate. You've certainly set the mood."

Ishta stepped back slightly, just enough to create a small, deliberate distance between them. She lowered herself to sit on the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling over the side, and gestured for him to join her. "Astarion," she said, her voice soft but insistent, "sit down. Let's have a drink and talk."

Astarion blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. He glanced down at the bottle in his hand, then back at her. "Talk?" he repeated, his tone laced with suspicion.

Ishta nodded, pouring wine into her cup and taking a sip from it before meeting his gaze. "Yes. That's all. Just... a nice, calm conversation between two people who've both had a very long day."

Slowly, Astarion lowered himself to the ground, sitting at the edge of the cliff, his eyes still flicking back to her as if waiting for the catch, for the moment when her intentions would reveal themselves to be something darker.

Ishta smiled softly as she placed down her goblet of wine and picked up the empty one, handing it to Astarion. "You can stop looking at me like I'm going to bite... the fangs are gone now."

He gave her a weak smile in response, then his eyes widened in alarm and his grip tightened around the goblet as Ishta pulled out her dagger. Noting his reaction, Ishta gave an irritated sigh. "Yes, I lured you up here in order to murder you to protect my dreadful secret," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Astarion's reply was cautious, his voice low. "Honestly? At this point, I'm not sure what to expect from you."

"Well that hurts," Ishta remarked dryly, then with a quick, precise motion, she drew the blade across her wrist and held her hand above Astarion's goblet, letting her blood trickle down into it. "But I can't say I blame you."

When she nodded toward the bottle in his other hand, he began to pour, watching as the two liquids swirled together, deepening to a rich, vibrant red.

While Ishta quickly wrapped up her wrist, Astarion took a sip and his face suddenly lit up. He glanced at her with a startled expression and his voice was filled with a sense of wonder and disbelief. "I can actually taste the wine..."

Ishta looked at him, equally surprised, then down at her wrist, still tingling from the cut. "Really? I guess that's a new trick I didn't know I had." She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Though I'm not sure how useful it is."

"Well, I appreciate it," Astarion replied with a hint of a grin, taking another deep drink from his goblet. He let out a satisfied sigh, savoring the taste as if it were a rare luxury.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, side by side, enveloped in the soothing atmosphere of the rushing waterfall and the distant sounds of the night. The cool breeze brushed against their skin, carrying with it the earthy scent of the forest, mingling with the faint aroma of their wine.

Gradually, Astarion's rigid posture began to soften, the uncertainty that had clouded his eyes slowly dissolving as he took another sip from his goblet. His gaze lingered on the moonlit landscape, the silver light casting an ethereal glow over the trees and water, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed almost forgotten. Ishta could sense the change in him, and it brought a small, quiet smile to her lips.

Eventually, Astarion broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual, almost tentative, as if he feared shattering the fragile peace that had settled over them.

"This isn't what I expected," he admitted, the words tumbling out as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back a stray lock that had fallen into his eyes.

Ishta turned her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips as she took a slow sip of her wine, savoring the taste.

"Good," she replied, her tone light but with a hint of something deeper. "I hate to be predictable." She shifted slightly on the ground, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping one arm around them as she rested her chin on her knee, her gaze never leaving him.

Astarion's eyes flicked toward her, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer. "You know what I mean," he muttered, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his goblet.

"I know," Ishta said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I claimed you in front of Lae'zel because I didn't want to see you forced into something you clearly didn't want." She paused, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "But I have no intention of making good on that claim. Tonight or any other night for that matter."

At her words, Astarion stiffened, his eyes narrowing as defensiveness flared up in him. He shifted away from her slightly, his fingers tightening around his goblet as if it could shield him from the implications of her statement. "I'm not some pathetic whelp that can't take care of himself," he snapped, his voice rising slightly with a scornful edge. "I don't need you to 'save' me from what might have turned out to be a good time, thank you very much."

Ishta's smile faded as she felt a spark of frustration flare within her. She straightened up and dangled her legs over the ledge again, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Fine," she retorted, her voice firm. "Then go back and have fun with Lae'zel." She gestured dismissively with her hand, as if the idea didn't bother her in the slightest. "I won't stop you."

"Maybe I will," Astarion shot back, his tone defensive, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he met her gaze.

"Then why aren't you leaving?" Ishta's voice was calm, almost cold, as she met his eyes with unwavering determination. Her grip tightened around her goblet, her knuckles whitening as she held back the urge to push him further, to demand an answer she wasn't sure he was ready to give.

---

A pang of indecision clawed at Astarion's gut as he glared at Ishta, her challenge-filled eyes unsettling him in a way that should not have been possible.

When she had boldly 'claimed' him in front of Lae'zel, a deep dread had settled in his stomach, twisting like a cold knot. He had followed her, each step weighed down by the expectation of the curtain finally lifting and revealing the crueler nature he believed inherent of all True Vampires.

Yet, incredibly, nothing had changed. Here she was, once again trying to help him, her 'bleeding heart' just the same as it had ever been.

"Can I finish my damn wine first?" Astarion snapped, more out of habit than true irritation. The words came out sharper than intended, a defensive reflex that made him internally wince.

Ishta sighed wearily and rubbed her face with her hand as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that clung to her. Letting out a heavy breath, she lay back on the ground with a groan, her eyes gazing up at the starry night sky above them.

"Please, Astarion," she murmured, her voice carrying a tired plea. "Can we, for once, not do this? No games, no fighting, no flirtations. No ulterior motives or expectations. For one night... can we just talk?"

Her words struck something deep within him, something that made him pause. He stared down at her, lying there so open, so unguarded, and for a brief moment, he felt disoriented, unsure of what to do with this unexpected offer.

The familiar script of seduction he had planned to follow now felt wrong in the face of her quiet sincerity. The realization unsettled him, like sand shifting under his feet, leaving him unsure of his own footing in the very situation he had tried so hard to orchestrate since the moment they met. But the thought of going through with it felt hollow and filled him with disgust, as did the thought of returning to camp and being the target of Lae'zel's desires.

Astarion took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, savoring the taste in an attempt to ground himself. "That sounds boring," he muttered, but even to his own ears, the words lacked conviction.

"Maybe," Ishta admitted with a small smile, still gazing at the stars above. "But right now, I'm tired, depressed, and about to attempt to get drunk." She turned her head slightly to look at him, her expression open and and sincere. "If you have any lingering questions about me and my past, this is your best chance to discover all my secrets."

Astarion hesitated, his gaze shifting between her eyes and the goblet in his hand as instinct warred with the temptation to cast the script aside completely - if only for one night.

With a deep exhale, Astarion released the last of the tension that had been coiled tightly within him. He raised the goblet to his lips, tilting it back and draining the remaining bloodwine in one fluid motion.

"That does sound appealing," he conceded, his voice softening and losing its usual edge as he allowed something more genuine to take its place.

Ishta's laughter rang softly across the cliffside, carried by the gentle wind that tugged at the loose strands of her copper hair. Astarion caught himself watching her, noticing the way the moonlight painted silver highlights across her skin.

"Hmm... I had a feeling that would catch your attention somehow," she teased, a mischievous light dancing in her golden eyes. "Although, I'm not sure I have anything more dramatic to reveal than what you've already learned about me tonight."

Astarion found himself relaxing even further, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the stars scattered like dust across the dark canvas of the sky. He let out a slow breath and, following her example, lay back fully on the cool stone beside her, his gaze drifting over the vast expanse above. "Alright, let's start with the basics," he said after a moment, searching for some form of inspiration amidst the constellations.

"Are you an actual Vampire or not? I mean, I could clearly see the fangs, and you were definitely drinking blood from that deer back there." He glanced sideways at her, a teasing glint in his eye. "But your eyes are still golden, and your skin looks remarkably - and may I say irritatingly - healthy."

Ishta chuckled softly, her shoulders shaking slightly with amusement. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"I was thinking maybe you are a Dhampir," he continued, "but how you look and what you've described doesn't fit either."

She sighed, the humor in her expression fading. "It's... complicated," she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Astarion rolled his eyes, his brows furrowing in frustration. "That's not an answer," he complained irritably.

Ishta chuckled, though there was a tiredness to it. "It's the only answer I have, I'm afraid. I've spent 126 years trying to work out what exactly I am. There doesn't seem to be a pattern or specific trigger to my transformations. It's like my body can't decide what it wants to be. I can be perfectly normal for days, weeks, even months at a time, and then boom!" She snapped her fingers, a faint edge of bitterness in her voice. "Out come the fangs and the overwhelming blood hunger. Sometimes it happens when I'm in battle or injured - it's what gave me an edge over Minthara."

Astarion nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. "Well... that answers a few questions about what happened out there."

Ishta's eyes flickered with something like relief. "I had hoped the parasite would suppress that part of me, but it seems that was just wishful thinking on my part. I managed to keep my hunger in check for the rest of the day, but it was becoming more insistent during the party."

Astarion's smirk returned, a spark of mischief flaring in his crimson eyes. "You know, this does add a rather interesting new layer to our conversation on speculating how the others might taste."

Ishta sighed deeply, though the corners of her lips twitched in a faint smile. "I'm well aware of the irony."

He tilted his body to lean in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So... which one do you really dream of sampling?"

Ishta groaned, draping her arm over her eyes in exasperation. "Gods, Astarion, why do you do this?"

Astarion sniggered, his grin widening. "You did say all your secrets, as I recall."

She sat up abruptly, snatching her goblet and taking a long drink before settling back down. "I've used my fangs in combat a few times, so I know how most of the more common races taste," she said, a hint of resignation in her tone.

Astarion caught the embarrassed flicker in her eyes and couldn't help but grin, sensing he was close to an amusing truth. "It's the Gith, isn't it..."

Ishta scowled, her expression darkening. "You can wipe that smirk off your face."

"Oh no," Astarion replied, the grin spreading wider. "The smirk stays. This really is too delicious... I can't wait to tell Lae'zel you were wanting to taste her as much as she wanted to 'taste' you."

Her eyes flashed with a warning. "Do that, and I guarantee the next mud pit we find, I'm chucking you in it."

The lightness in her tone didn't completely mask the edge, and Astarion, sensing he had pushed enough for now, decided to change the subject, but not before a final, triumphant smirk curled his lips. He had pried open another little piece of her armor, and that was satisfaction enough.

As the night wore on, their conversation flowed like the river below, winding through moments of humor, shared stories, and a growing sense of connection. Astarion found himself unexpectedly drawn into the rhythm of their exchange, each word weaving a fragile thread between them. Ishta spoke more of her family, painting pictures of her home in Aglarond with words that felt like brushstrokes, filling in the details of her past.

In return, Astarion offered glimpses into his own history, bits and pieces he rarely let anyone see. He laughed over Ishta's disbelief that he had genuinely served as a magistrate before being turned, savoring her reaction and the fact that he had managed to surprise her. It was unsettling, but strangely freeing, to let his guard down in this way.

Yet, through it all, one question gnawed at him, tugging insistently at the corners of his mind. It was a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to, but curiosity had always been his downfall.

He took a breath, the night air filling his lungs, cold and bracing. "If I hadn't followed you tonight," he ventured carefully, "would you truly have taken your own life?"

Ishta's reaction was immediate. Her jaw tightened, the playful light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, distant expression. She sat up abruptly, the movement sharp and sudden, sending a shiver through Astarion. He mirrored her, alarm prickling at the edge of his consciousness as he feared he had pushed her too far.

But she didn't lash out. Instead, she grabbed the bottle of wine beside her, lifting it to her lips. The glass caught the moonlight, casting small, shifting patterns on the ground. Ishta took a long drink, her gaze fixed on the horizon, her expression distant. The waterfall below roared softly, a constant whisper in the background, but her eyes seemed to look far beyond, into some distant place only she could see.

When she spoke, her voice was low, weary, the words almost drowned out by the water. "No," she admitted, the single syllable weighted like a stone cast into a still pond. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, and Astarion felt a pang in his chest at the sadness in her eyes. "That whole thing with the stake... it's just a personal ritual I go through each time I transform."

A knot of concern tightened in Astarion's stomach, overpowering the curiosity that had driven his question. "Why?" he asked softly, his voice careful and cautious.

Ishta's gaze dropped to the bottle in her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of its neck in slow, deliberate circles. "To remind myself of a promise I made," she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear. "The day I look into a mirror and don't see my reflection looking back at me... that's the day I know this curse has consumed me completely. That there's no coming back from it." Her voice grew even softer, a painful whisper. "When that day comes, I swore I'd find the courage to finally drive a stake through my heart."

Astarion's heart clenched at her words, a deep, unsettling understanding stirring within him. He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. "Do you truly hate what you are that much?" he asked quietly, his tone filled with a gentleness that surprised even him.

Ishta's eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place, her expression hardening momentarily before softening again. "Don't you?" she countered, her voice soft but direct.

Astarion hesitated, the memories flickering across his mind like dark, unwelcome phantoms. His gaze shifted away, moving over the edge of the cliff to the misty waters below. "Yes, there was a time when I did... when I was under his control," he admitted, his voice carrying the echos of past torments. "But now? I'm not so sure. There are perks that come with the curse, especially now that I am free and this tadpole protects me."

Ishta nodded, her expression thoughtful. "If you've found a way to make peace with what you are, then I'm happy for you," she said, her voice sincere but tinged with an unmistakable ache. "But I'm not there yet... and I'm not sure I ever will be."

He watched her closely, the moonlight painting her face in a soft, ethereal glow. She looked fragile in that moment, despite the strength he knew she possessed. "So you can accept me for what I am," he said incredulously, his brows knitting in confusion, "but you won't show yourself the same mercy?"

Ishta's shoulders hunched slightly as she pulled her knees tighter to her chest, her face partially hidden by her hair. "I... I guess not," she murmured, her voice flat, distant. "I'm well aware of how much of a hypocrite that makes me. Funny, isn't it? How we tend to judge ourselves more harshly than others do."

Astarion felt an unexpected surge of empathy for her, something unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he liked feeling this way, this mix of concern and frustration that churned within him. Wanting to lighten the dark mood, he fell back on his usual defense: humor.

"Speak for yourself," he said playfully. "I tend to be rather judgmental toward everyone while considering myself to be absolutely flawless."

Ishta's lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. "Oh, what a luxury it must be to have such an inflated ego," she teased, turning her head to look at him. "Do you have any more questions for me?"

Astarion sensed her eagerness to move past this particular subject and decided to follow her lead. He shrugged, adopting a nonchalant air. "I'm sure I'll think of more over the next few days, but for now, I think my curiosity is satisfied." He paused, then added with a hopeful gleam, "Speaking of satisfaction... do you happen to have any more blood to spare for another cup of wine?"

He watched as her smile faltered slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features. Her gaze dropped to the ground, her teeth worrying her lower lip as if she were debating something. After a moment, she slowly lifted her hair, deliberately exposing the smooth bronze skin of her neck.

Astarion's eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. His usual smirk reappeared as he leaned in slightly closer, his voice laced with teasing curiosity. "Oh? Is this my reward for good behavior?"

Ishta's expression remained tired but amused as she rolled her eyes. "Hardly," she replied dryly. "I'm simply too exhausted to care tonight. And besides, you're always begging for my neck, so why not?"

He chuckled, though he found himself oddly thoughtful. "I suppose I am," he admitted, tilting his head as he considered her. "But you know, I've never actually stopped to think about why the neck is so... appealing. It's not like the wrist is any less accessible, but after two centuries, you'd think I'd know..."

Ishta's gaze softened, and there was a knowing quality to her voice that made him sit up and pay closer attention. "There are a lot of things Vampires are conditioned to accept about their nature without question," she said slowly. "It's one of the many facets of the original curse. However, as I was created differently, those rules don't apply to me."

Astarion's curiosity sharpened, and all thoughts of feeding vanished. "What are you talking about?"

Ishta raised a hand, signaling him to wait. "I'll tell you about all that another time. Suffice to say, a lot of what you think you know about your condition is wrong."

Her words settled into his thoughts like a stone in a calm pool, rippling through his consciousness. So much of what he knew about himself had been shaped by Cazador and the life he'd been forced to lead. He wondered what else he had been conditioned to accept without question.

As Astarion leaned closer to Ishta's neck, a part of him hesitated, his instincts at war with the unfamiliar stirrings of concern. He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance, any flash of fear. But she met his gaze steadily, her expression a mask of resolve.

"Are you sure you're alright with this?" His teasing tone softened, the edge replaced with genuine care, a rarity for him.

Ishta met his gaze steadily, her expression unreadable. "I'm fine," she stated firmly but with weariness in her tone. "Just make it quick."

Astarion's fingers moved slowly to her shoulder, his touch gentle, feeling the tautness in her muscles, the tension wound tightly beneath her skin. He could feel her heartbeat, steady but fast, a rhythm that seemed to pulse against his own fingertips. With deliberate care, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing her skin, his fangs just grazing her neck. She trembled slightly at the contact, a shiver running through her, and he felt her breath hitch. He paused, acutely aware of how much she was conceding to him.

"I'll be careful," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath before he bit down gently, his fangs sinking into her flesh with tender precision.

As Astarion drank, he felt her heartbeat quicken against his lips, the rapid thrum of it vibrating through him, and he realized he could hear the intensity of her breathing, feel the soft tremors that rippled through her body.

For a brief, confusing moment, he wondered if he was hurting her, if the tremors were signs of fear or pain. But as he drank deeper, a flicker of doubt wormed its way into his mind. Was there something more to her response? Something... primal, perhaps? The idea both intrigued and unsettled him.

Abruptly, Astarion withdrew, licking the wound to seal it, his tongue tracing the marks he had left. His touch lingered on her neck for a heartbeat longer, as if seeking answers in the way her body reacted to his, before he finally pulled back, studying her with curiosity and caution.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant. He watched her closely, noting the faint flush that colored her cheeks, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. The intimacy of the moment hung between them, thick and tangible, a wordless connection that neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge.

Ishta nodded, closing her eyes as if to block out the world, her hand instinctively drifting up to touch the spot where his fangs had pierced her. Her fingers brushed against her skin, lingering there, as if trying to make sense of what she was feeling. Her gaze turned distant, lost somewhere he couldn't follow, and without a word, she settled back down onto the ground, rolling onto her side.

Astarion remained seated, propped up on his hands, his gaze shifting from her to the twinkling stars overhead. The tranquility of the night washed over him, yet his thoughts were far from peaceful.

Throughout their conversation, he had felt an unexpected sense of calm, a feeling he wasn't used to - something that was both unsettling and soothing. Ishta had opened herself to him in a way that made him question his own guarded nature, made him lower defenses he had kept up for centuries. But now, with the memory of their exchange fading into the quiet of the night, the old fears began to creep back in, whispering doubts that refused to be silenced.

Despite the trust Ishta had shown him, despite the vulnerability she had allowed, Astarion couldn't entirely shake the deep-rooted dread that came with knowing what she truly was. The primal fear he harbored towards other Vampires, towards those who might see him as nothing more than a tool, a pawn, was not easily dispelled.

He glanced over at Ishta again and saw that she had finally given in to her exhaustion, noticing the way her breathing had slowed, becoming soft and rhythmic as she drifted into sleep. The fierce warrior who had fought beside him was now so calm, so at peace, and it was strangely comforting to know that she trusted him enough to sleep by his side.

Astarion turned his head, his gaze lingering on Ishta's face, softened by sleep. In the pale moonlight, her features seemed almost delicate, the hard edges of her usual intensity softened.

And then, without warning, Ishta snored.

It wasn't a dainty sound. The sound was unexpected, loud and throaty, cutting through the quiet of the night like a drunken dwarf belting out a tavern song. Astarion blinked, momentarily stunned, before the sheer ridiculousness of it hit him. This formidable warrior, this Vampire who had faced down monsters and men alike, was lying next to him, snoring like a drunken sailor.

A sharp, involuntary laugh bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill out. He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, his body shaking with the effort to keep silent. His shoulders trembled as he fought to stifle the laughter, but the more he thought about it, the funnier it became. He fell back beside her, quaking with silent mirth, the tension that had gripped him earlier dissolving in a wave of hysteria.

For a few moments, Astarion simply lay there, his body shaking with laughter that he dared not let out. The absurdity of it all - the famed and feared Blood Huntress reduced to such an undignified state - was too much. And in that moment, he realized that he had never needed to worry. Vampire or not, she was still just Ishta.

A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he slowly rolled onto his side, careful not to disturb her. He propped himself up on one elbow and let his eyes wander over her sleeping form. Her hair, usually tied back and controlled, had come loose and now fanned around her head like a halo of fiery copper.

For a moment, Astarion allowed himself to feel the fondness he'd been pushing away. She was infuriating, yes, stubborn and maddeningly self-righteous at times. But she was also fiercely loyal, brave to the point of recklessness, and more than a bit mischievous. Qualities he couldn't help but admire, despite his better judgment.

As he continued to watch, a stray lock of hair drifted over her face, falling across her cheek and partially obscuring her expression. Without thinking, he reached out with his hand, hovering just above her face, fingers twitching with hesitation. Was this crossing a line?

With a resigned sigh, he brushed the stray strand behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her skin for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the warmth and softness beneath his touch, tracing a delicate line along her cheekbone with the tip of his thumb.

What in the hells am I supposed to do with you?

A rush of emotion swept through him - something warm, something tender - and for a moment, he let himself feel it. But then reality snapped back like a cold wind, and Astarion pulled his hand away and sat up, fingers curling into a tight fist.

He could almost hear Cazador's voice in his head, mocking him for his weakness, for letting his guard down. This was dangerous territory, and he knew it. He couldn't afford to become too attached, couldn't let himself forget that she was still just a means to an end - a shield against Cazador, a tool for his own survival.

He gripped his knees and took a slow, measured breath, willing the unfamiliar warmth to leave his chest, pushing it down, burying it under layers of practiced indifference.

Closing his eyes, Astarion let out a weary sigh, as he tried to quiet the thoughts swirling in his mind, the conflicting emotions that tugged at him from every direction. The stillness of the night should have been calming, but instead, it only seemed to amplify the chaos within him.

And yet, despite everything - the confusion, the fear, the doubts - there was something strangely comforting in her presence. What harm could one night really do?

Astarion allowed himself to lie back down beside her, the cool stone beneath him a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering in his chest. Her snoring, surprisingly, became a sort of lullaby, a familiar, soothing noise in the vast, uncertain darkness. And slowly, almost against his will, he felt his own eyes begin to close, his body surrendering to the weariness that tugged at his bones.

For the first time in a long while, Astarion drifted off to sleep with a sense of peace settling over him. The fears and uncertainties still lingered, hovering at the edge of his consciousness, but for now, they could wait. For now, in this small, fragile moment, he allowed himself to rest beside her.