Hi everyone,
I had a hard time writing this chapter, which is an important and much-anticipated scene for our favourite vampire. My difficulties stem from the fact that I've simply... never written this kind of content. Even in my own reading, I've had very little to do with vampires, apart from a few books. So I hope this chapter won't disappoint you.
I wish you all a good reading.
Shadowheart and Nymuë joined their comrades, empty-handed. As it turned out, the search of the forge was no more fruitful: when they arrived, Lae'zel and Astarion's bags hadn't grown much. However, the former was triumphantly displaying a well-made blade, while the latter could hardly hide his hilarity. They had stolen it from a goblin in the midst of an activity with an ogress. The new-comers shuddered with disgust as they listened to the scurrilous details.
It was decided to set up camp inside an old mill, as the goblins' lair wasn't far away, and tomorrow was going to be a difficult day. While they set up their tent, the priestess was curious: "Do you have any loved ones waiting for you at home?"
"Waiting for me, you mean, behind the door?" Lae'zel retorted. "What for?"
"For the pleasure of your company would be a lie. I take it that no githyanki will come to save you?"
"My kins wouldn't waste time on such trivial matters. I am one of many, and won't be a burden to my queen. Besides, I've had countless lovers, and wouldn't tolerate them to disrespect me."
"Let's just say nobody bothered to look for you," Shadowheart scoffed. "But I agree on one point: one-night stands are less monotonous."
"You too, 'your countless lovers' populate the city?" Nymuë teased.
"I cultivate diversity. What about you, Astarion? A sweet heart, perhaps?"
"Sweet? I prefer them savorous."
"I really don't want to know what you mean by that..."
Nymuë's laughter soon died down, as she realised it was her turn to reply: "Oh! Uh... No. No one. Just a few acquaintances, a tutor also at Baldur's Gate, but nothing serious."
"If you need suggestions..." the rogue whispered.
"… I'll ask the goblin and the ogress!"
A series of sniggers greeted this repartee. Despite the apprehensions about the following day, the joyful atmosphere remained throughout the evening. Astarion volunteered for the first watch, and Nymuë settled outside to enjoy the stars. This night, she wanted to abandon meditation in favour of a more restful sleep. She sincerely believed that their plan was solid enougn, but the deception wouldn't hold if their search dragged on. They might as well be prepared.
Not surprisingly, images of Elyon visited her as soon as her eyelids closed. She became agitated, oscillating between feverish dreams and nightmares. Her companions were long asleep when she woke up again; perhaps it was her instinct telling her that something was wrong.
Or maybe she just get lucky.
Two red irises shone above her. Astarion was crouched beside her bunk, his lips close to her neck... displaying unsually long canines. When he saw her awake, he stood up quickly: "... Shit," he whispered.
Nymuë grabbed her weapon. She cast a furious glance at the high elf, who raised his hands in surrender: "No, no! It's not what it looks like, I swear! I… I wasn't going to hurt you! I just needed... well... blood."
There, in the dim firelight, she saw him for what he really was: a vampire. A slave to his sanguine hunger. Tightening her chains to the point of pain, the dark elf forced herself to remain calm while she calculating her chances to escape.
"Who's acting now?" she squeaked. "The boar, the hunter... How much longer did you hope to deceive us?"
"It's not what you think," he defended himself. "I'm not some monster! I feed on animals. Boars, deers, kobolds... whatever I can get."
She remembered his drawn features, his sickly complexion, the dark circles under his eyes. Had he been struggling to feed himself, while hiding his true nature from the rest of the group? His scarlet pupils followed her movements, trying to figure out her thoughts. Regularly, they slid towards the weapon at the end of her chains.
Stripped of his customary mockery, Astarion seemed almost... desperate. "I'm just too slow right now," he continued. "Too weak... If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer... Fight better... Please."
It made no sense. Nymuë had seen him moving about in the sunlight. If the rogue really was a creature of the night... Shouldn't he have evaporated? And even if she decided to believe that fable... What to do with him?
He had not attacked them so far, but he hadn't been honest either. It was hunger that had made him take reckless risks tonight. No, the truth was that Astarion needed the members of this group to survive, just like they needed him.
Slowly, she put down her weapon. The high elf's shoulders seemed to feel lighter.
"Please?" Nymuë repeated. "You just tried to bite me! Why didn't you tell me anything?"
"At best, I was sure you'd say no... More likely, you'd run a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me… And you can trust me."
Her mind was screaming at her to get him out of the camp. To wake up Shadowheart and Lae'zel in a minute. By the gods, she's spray him with garlic if she had to. But he needed help. Her help.
"This is suicide," she thought. "I might as well slit my own throat. Who's to say he'll be able to control his impulses? And even if he shows good faith, what if his tadpole gets the better of him? He is too dangerous, too unpredictable. It's all decided."
She opened her mouth: "I know. I believe you."
Astarion's eyes widened. He had calculated the odds in favour of his imminent death. Her interlocutor seemed just as surprised.
"Thank you," he murmured. "Do you think you can trust me just... a little further? I only need a taste, I swear."
"I don't particularly want to turn," she said.
"No risk. I'm hardly a vampire's spawn: my bite won't transform you."
It was the stupidest thing to do. And yet, Nymuë realised that she meant what she said: for a reason that she couldn't really explain, she trusted Astarion. Was it because of their situation? Their survival, forcing them to rely on each other? Or was it an even more selfish desire, to be indispensable to someone, if only for a moment?
"I warn you, no more than is strictly necessary," she agreed.
"I... Of course. Not one drop more. Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"
He invited her to lie down on her makeshift mattress. Nymuë complied, her survival instinct in agony. Everything in her wanted to throw herself on her dagger. As if he sensed her thoughts, Astarion pulled her weapon away, while his arms wrapped around her face.
In other circumstances, this position might have been suggestive. The young woman might have been troubled, had it not been for the fangs ready to sink into her jugular. Astarion's eyes were devouring the back of her neck, staring at the vein that, she knew, was pulsating just below her ear. Fear made Nymuë's heart beat wildly, and her pulse quickened. The high elf smiled at her with his usual majesty, but she was under no illusions: he himself didn't know if he could control his thirst.
Or if he would want to.
She felt his breath in the hollow of her throat, making her hair twirl. The next moment, his fangs pierced her flesh. She refused to whimper: the pain was sharp, like a point of ice. Her blood throbbed in her veins as the vampire drained her of her strength.
Almost immediately however, the sensation disappeared. Her heartbeat continued to accelerate, but her body no longer felt anything. Her limbs were heavy and her brain dizzy, as if she were about to fall asleep. The dark elf could clearly perceive the intruder's presence inside her, but the world was... evaporated. Colours became blurred, sounds indistinct. Her conscience was crumbling.
She felt herself living. She felt herself dying.
"Now... it's enough," she murmured.
Even to her own ears, her voice echoed too low. Astarion's eyes met hers and for a second, a terrible second, the same thought passed through them. She was too weak to fight. If he wanted to finish her off, bleed her dry, there was nothing she could do about it.
She saw that he liked it. To have someone at his mercy, to be in control. There was no pity in his eyes, only an immense, inexhaustible thirst to which he could finally give himself over.
Her hands clutched his shirt, trying - in vain - to push him away. But the rogue was tighting her shoulders in an embrace that would soon prove fatal. Then Nymuë let go of his clothes, and slid her fingers down to his red pupils. They brushed against his face, forcing him to look at her: "I said stop."
As soon as their eyes met, he rose to his feet with extraordinary alacrity. Unlike his companion, his face betrayed pure wonder: "That... That was amazing."
"Speak for yourself," she gasped.
The slightest movement made her nauseous. She felt... empty. The rogue, on the other hand, was bathed in bliss. He licked the few remaining drops of blood - of her blood! – with an undisguised appetite. Things had almost gone horribly wrong. A few seconds more, and she would have been a bloodless corpse.
"My mind is finally clear," he continued. "I feel strong, I feel... happy."
For his credit, he did indeed look more energetic. His gestures were agile, quick; he could surely stop a projectile in mid-air, if the young woman felt strong enough to test that theory. "Wonderful," she thought. "If I die tonight, I can always console myself with the knowledge that the results are there."
"I can't wait to see you face the goblins," she said with difficulty.
"It shouldn't take long, Our little team has a knack for getting into perilous situations... And now, if you'll excuse me! You were invigorating, but I need something more... filling."
The dark elf collapsed on her bunk as he walked off into the forest. Stronger, more confident: ready to hunt. He stopped at the edge of the camp: "This is a gift, you know... I won't forget it."
Nymuë didn't answer. She had already fallen asleep.
In the morning, she was surprised to find that she had been moved inside her tent. Her gratitude to the nocturnal visitor exttinguished however, when a dull pain reminded her of the night's events.
She felt her throat and noticed two red gashes on her jugular. The bastard hadn't be delicate at all! You'd think a vampire would know how to eat properly, but she was paying the price for her bad decisions. Apart from a slight headache – and the unpleasant sensation of being a piece of meat – she felt surprisingly well. Ready to face goblins, if they didn't ambush them first, of course.
Using a clean cloth, Nymuë wiped her wounds and found that they were no longer bleeding. However, they remained hardly discreet under her short hair. The young woman put on her blue-gray leather armor, laced up her boots, then retrieved from her belongings an old black ribbon left over from her years with The Shining Star. Looking doubtfully at her reflection, she tied her emergency neck-warmer to hide the bite.
That would do the trick, for lack of anything better. She really didn't want to run into another Gandrel… Or to answer the questions of her comrades. The sun had only just risen and was now beginning its long ascent. She was the last to get up. She nodded at Shadowheart and Lae'zel, before heading towards the last member of their team.
Astarion had finished packing and was consulting a book. The sudden strength she had seen in him the day before was still apparent; no more fatigue, or sickly complexion. For today, the roles were reversed. As she approached, Nymuë saw him studying her out of the corner of his eye, moving from the scarf around her neck to her face. He looked perfectly relaxed, but for a moment she saw in him like a flash of relief.
"Good morning," he greeted her. "How do you feel?"
"Oh, like a charm," she almost shot back. "My parasite hasn't killed me yet, a group of cultists are actively searching for us, and we're on the verge of an outnumbered attack. Ah, and of the three individuals my life depends on, one of them turned me into a snack last night."
Instead, she replied: "I'm fine, my head is just a little spinning."
"It will pass. Just be glad I'm not a 'true' vampire. A bite from them, and you might wake up as a spawn, like my goodself. All the vampire's hungers, but few of their powers."
"Would that explain the walks in the sun?"
"Oh, no. I should be cindered with this light. I hadn't seen the sun for two hundred years before we crashed here. Someone, or something, wants me alive... They've changed the rules."
His face suddenly lit up, as if he was finally sharing the excitement that had been his since the start of their journey: "Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without an invitation... They're all perfectly mondane activities now. As for my other quirks, well... we can figure these out in time."
"Do you think... The parasite?" Nymuë asked.
"That's my theory," he confirmed.
"Let's recap. You're a vampire. You can walk in broad daylight... Oh, and a monster hunter is on your tail."
Her companion's expression darkened, a sign that the young woman had just ventured into dangerous territory.
"You see what I mean, Astarion. If I want to be sure I didn't make a mistake last night, I need to know more."
"Why do you insist on exhuming the past?"
"Because you borrowed my neck!"
His gaze was so furious that Nymuë didn't need a parasite to guess his thoughts. He wondered if he had done the right thing in not finishing her off. As if risking the wrath of Lae'zel and Shadowheart would have been a better option!
"I was a slave," he finally spat. "A vampire spawn, kept by the Szarr's family. A puppet unable to disobey."
Nymuë frowned: the name sounded vaguely familiar. But if a vampire had been hanging around Baldur's Gate for ages, Revan or other members of their network should have noticed... shouldn't they?
"Perhaps I still am," Astarion continued. "I was never able to resist their commands. But now, I've been conveniently lost…"
His voice had become lower, dangerous, with no doubt about his determination: "They won't ever control me again," he said.
The dark elf studied him: after the events of the night, compassion was probably the last thing she should feel, but it was hard not to discern an echo of her own story in Astarion. She would never have believed, beneath his pedantic and seductive exterior, that the high elf had suffered such treatment. He was her social opposite: self-assured, magnetic, attracting all eyes, while she did her best to blend in despite her distinctive features. Not the kind of man you'd suspect of being subservient.
"On the other hand, our favourite mask is the one that takes us furthest from the truth."
Still watching him, she nodded. The vampire seemed to calm down briefly.
"As for the monster-hunter," she continued, "is it to be feared that his search will continue?"
"Hopefully, he bumps into some gnolls while stumbling around at night, and that's the last we hear from him," he hissed disdainfully.
"If he comes back, there's little chance he'll suspect you, given your recent abilities. But why go after you in the first place? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything! I was kidnaped, just like you. But it seems Cazador wants me back... We just have to be vigilant, keep our wits about us, and kill any monster hunter on sight."
"No one's going to kill anyone," the dark elf replied coldly. "And speaking of which..."
She slid a piece of her scarf, revealing the marks on her jugular. Astarion looked at the bruises, but Nymuë was outraged to see that, far from being sorry, he seemed on the opposite deeply satisfied: "I've already apologized!" he cried, with an air of false affectation. "What more do you want? Unless you're looking for another nibble..."
From cold, Nymuë's expression became icy: "You didn't apologize at all, you liar!"
Keeping her composure, she elaborated: "I need to know how we're going to feed you in the future. 'Nibbling away' at me, as you say, or our comrades isn't an option."
"No innocents, you have my word," he declared more seriously. "Only villains that we need to kill anyway..."
He looked like a child about to discover a new playground.
"... After all, you know what I am now. And, at your discretion, that means I can fight with all my weapons, teeth including. If I happen to drain the occasional bandit during the fight, what's the harm? They're just as dead."
Nymuë wasn't entirely convinced of the morality of this proposal, but if she had to choose between her jugular and those of future antagonists, her decision was made: "That sounds good to me," she decided. "Glad we agree on that."
"As am I," he nodded. "I'm just pleased that you're being sensible about these… revelations. I was worried people might turned up with torches and pitchforks..."
"There's still time," a voice said behind them.
The dark elf turned around: Shadowheart and Lae'zel had joined them, fists on their hips.
"You weren't particularly discreet last night, you know?" the priestess hissed. "Tents are not very insulating."
"Mind one thing, Astarion," the warrior said. "If Nymuë had not given you her blood, your head would now be detached from your shoulders. Only her decision to help you held back my blade... Until this morning, at least."
"Given our group's nature, I will see no harm," Shadowheart said. "We're all monsters in the making, after all. If this one knows how to behave..."
Astarion didn't reply, but his eyes crinkled at the half-elf's allusion. Nymuë, for her part, cast an incensed glance at her two comrades: they had witnessed the conversation last night, and hadn't moved a finger. It made you wonder if there was anyone reliable in this gang!
"That's enough," she ordered. "I trust him. He won't hurt us."
"You trust a vampire?" Lae'zel spatted.
"I trust Astarion," the dark elf corrected. "Whether you like it or not, we need him."
"I think I find goblins more sympathetic," the priestess muttered.
"There now, we're all friends again!" the vampire concluded.
Nymuë sighed: after all, she was perhaps the most stable member of this company.
END NOTES
That, Nymuë, is denial.
Quite a long chapter, I hope I've achieved my goals with this vampiric scene. I didn't want to do anything sensual here, but rather to emphasise Astarion's predatory and desperate nature.
The next chapter takes us to the goblins!
Thank your for reading and see you next week.