#and then continue my halstarion run

[vole-mon-amour]

Some people be like: I haven't played Baldur's Game 3, but it's clearly not genius enough to be the game of the year.

Darling... go play the game for 300 hours, replay it, like, 4 times without getting tired of it, and then we can talk. I doubt that many games have this amount/quality of replayability.

Game of the year for real.

[bloodiedrogue]

IT'S BEDTIME, BEAR

SUMMARY: Astarion and you wake Halsin up for a cuddle.

PAIRING: Astarion & Halsin & Gender Netural Reader

WORD COUNT: 820

WARNINGS: Nothing but tooth-rotting fluff.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry I haven't been updating much. Life is hard, but at least Halstarion exists?

MASTERLIST

-

Peaceful moments like this are rare. That much you’ve learned. With the constant threat of danger always looming in the shadows, experiencing any sort of calm is in itself a miracle. Something you’ve since learned to sit back and cherish as the world around you continues to spin. 

Hearing the fire crackle against your ears, you can’t help but smile, finding yourself in one of those very moments. Focusing on the way the flame’s heat flickers across your face, warming up your skin, you can’t help but wonder if the others feel it too. The calmness of the night pouring through your veins, replacing fervid blood with nothing but stillness. 

You imagine they do based on the hush that befalls the crowd. How nobody dares speak as you idly sip your wine, looking to your left to see that Halsin is already half asleep, heavily breathing through his mouth.

Glancing over at Astarion, you see him distractedly picking at his nail beds, prompting you to nudge his arm, causing the elf to narrow his eyes in annoyance before he realizes what he’s looking at. 

“I swear that bear can fall asleep anywhere,” he whispers. 

Snorting in response, you see his expression quickly soften. How his eyes settle back to their previous position, erasing the few lines of age he’s managed to gain through his years of living. 

“We should probably get him to bed.”

For once, Astarion doesn’t argue. Instead, all he does is stand before offering you a hand, tightening his grip as you follow suit, downing the rest of your wine on the way up. 

“So darling, my tent or yours?”

Rolling your eyes, you just pat him on the chest. “As if we’re going to get him into a tent.” 

Knowing you’re right, Astarion merely sighs and follows you toward the druid’s frame, positioning himself behind the man so that together you can gently coax him back to life in the form of gentle hands. 

At first, he barely registers either of you. As your hand dips to grab his own and run your thumb along his, he slightly twitches but not much else, prompting Astarion to roll his eyes and drag his fingers through the roots of his hair. 

“C’mon you big brute. Can’t have you catching fire in the middle of the night,” he grumbles, gently scratching the man’s scalp, feeling him once again shift and groan. 

“Leave me be,” he quietly says, but neither of you relent. Instead, you just increase your ministrations, rubbing careful hands over his heated skin, smirking at one another. 

“C’mon love, it’s time for bed,” you whisper then, raising his hand to leave a trail of kisses on his knuckles, causing his eyes to peek open.

“I am in bed.”

“Not the right one,” Astarion scoffs, prompting Halsin to merely crane his neck, a soft smile pulling across his cheeks. 

“Nature is my bed.” 

All you do is snort once you see Astarion roll his eyes and pull away, once again moving to stand. “Yes, well, nature isn’t my bed,” he argues, motioning to himself before eventually pointing at you. "Or their bed, so get up.”

Once again, Halsin grumbles, tossing his head back to look at Astarion’s irritated stance before releasing a sigh and giving in.

“You know, instead of acting out of malice you could just say you want to lay with me,” he says, groaning as he stands —watching as Astarion’s face quickly becomes flustered beyond repair, prompting both of you to laugh as you wander over to the tents. 

On the way, you can’t help but watch them interact. Noticing the undeniable pull they have towards one another, fills you with a strange sense of pride. A feeling of satisfaction knowing that, despite everything that’s happened, you’ve still managed to find one another. And, more importantly, how the three of you have become each other’s home, providing what safe space you might need. Granting you love and support. Fuelling your need to finish what you started so that you may continue experiencing the peace you feel each night you lay together. 

Just the thought of it all makes you grin as Halsin pulls the two of you into either of his sides, placing soft kisses on your faces.

Humming at the impact, you wrap your arms around his middle to grab Astarion’s arm in response, pulling the vampire’s attention away just long enough to let Halsin move forward. 

At which point Astarion rolls grumbles under his breath, prompting you to laugh and pull him in as the two of you watch your partner begin to change shape. 

“Can’t we sleep inside for once?” Astarion complains, but neither you nor Halsin responds. Instead, you just kiss his cheek and drag him towards the bear that now rests in front of you, pulling him down towards the soft bed of fur you’ll inevitably fall asleep against.  

-

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TAGLIST NOW CLOSED!

[brewstersbru]

More halstarion cuz ive been playing my lil origin run; also happy halloween folks !

Pain. Sharp, dragging, unbearable agony against his back. Astarion huffs a small noise of pitiful discontent before clenching his mouth shut. Quiet. Can’t let him hear you. His fangs tear a little into his gums, but there isn’t enough blood in him for any to really trickle out of the wounds. 

A voice- disembodied, but cold and lilting as ever- sounds from behind. “My dear, how prettily you bleed. Even lovelier now, with the poetry I am bestowing upon you. Truly, a gift. And what do we say to gifts, Astarion?” 

Astarion moans miserably into the ground- or is it a steel surgical table? He can’t remember, he can’t focus. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. There’s a feeling of hands in his hair, grasping, tearing- the flash of a derisive, fanged grin- “What do we say, Astarion?”

His name sounds like rot coming from his lips, similar to the way one would utter the word “disgusting” or “vile”. Astarion hiccups with the force of his suffering- it’s simply too much, never before has Cazador been so persistent, never before has he carved so deep, for so long. Astarion’s weak, starving body cannot maintain itself against his tides of cruelty.

There is quiet as Cazador waits for his answer, he knows Astarion will do his very best to give it. Years and years of this torment had to have culminated into something- into an exceedingly loyal dog, he’d hoped. It’s why he tries not to command anything; not only because it takes the fun out of things, but also because it encourages a kind of devotion to the task that a simple order could never elicit. Pain can be such a useful tool, and he’s spent years honing his skill with it. 

Astarion gasps, chokes on a putrid mix of saliva and droplets of rat blood as they clog in his throat. “T-Thank you.” He coughs. Cazador hums and pushes his head back down. He runs a sharp nail down the middle of the warm, wet mess on Astarion’s back. It stings like a million tiny needles.

“Thank you, what?”

He digs the nail into one of the runes he’d just finished carving, ever so slightly, and Astarion writhes in agony. His breath comes choppy and ragged, and tears track endlessly down his nose. A moment, two, as Astarion brings a heaving breath in and steels himself against the revulsion he is about to feel.

“Thank you, Master.” The hum this elicits is decidedly pleased and Astarion hates himself all the more for earning it. If only he was stronger, if only he were able to hold out just a bit longer. If only he’d been able to make himself wait; Cazador would have grown tired, would have ordered him, eventually. 

Now, he is little more than a lapdog, bereft of even his pride, and the pain will only continue. How he despises the man he’s become, the man Cazador has moulded him into. 

The agony in his back resumes, even sharper and more unbearable than before. Astarion muffles a scream behind clenched teeth and wrenches his eyes open to reveal a circling of trees. A cool gust of air swipes across his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, slightly. 

Astarion takes a moment to orient himself. He’d been trancing, curled into himself and facing away from the fire- Gods know why, he could use all the heat he can get with the way his undead body refuses to hold onto it on its own; some lingering self-flagellation, perhaps. 

He’s no longer bound to Cazador- for the time being at least- he’s fine. The ‘dream’ or whatever that had been was only a memory. Nothing more. He’s fine. 

Sitting up, he swats at the tear tracks on his cheeks and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Halsin, who had been whittling, it seems, judging by the knife in one hand and the partially carved wooden-something in the other. Astarion ducks and covers his face with a slender hand.  

“What in the hells are you doing, you oaf!?”

“… Whittling?” Halsin’s voice cracks a bit as he stumbles over the word. Astarion tries not to notice how endearing that is. He huffs.

“I gathered. Could you just- turn around? Please?” 

Halsin tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and stares at him with furrowed brows, mouth set in a firm line. He speaks carefully, but directly, unable to tiptoe around a subject when they’re both aware of the gravity of it.

“Are you alright, my friend? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I noticed-“

“Not now.” Astarion’s voice comes out rough, grating, and he cannot bring himself to look Halsin in the eye as he speaks. 

“… Alright” There’s a shuffling as- assumedly- Halsin picks himself up and heads back to his tent. Astarion only allows himself a breath of relief when the other man’s footsteps retreat outside of his range of hearing. 

On one hand, Astarion is astoundingly, exceedingly grateful to have his wishes honored. On the other, it is so, very quiet, and he can still feel the ghosts of fingers petting, clawing and grasping at his skin. He feels dirty, a vile little thing ought to be left in the dirt. 

His back aches- phantom pains, he knows- and even years after their conception his scars throb. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s been able to focus on it, the first time no other, greater pain can distract him from the dull shock of remembrance. Maybe he’d never healed correctly, maybe it’s his mind playing its usual tricks. 

Suddenly unable to stand the scratch of cloth against the raised skin on his back, Astarion wrestles his shirt off of himself. Sharp nails dragging uncaringly against the skin as if trying to sate an itch. He wants the ‘poetry’ off of himself, he wants to be clean.

His scratching becomes more fervent, less careful as his thoughts spiral. A sob works its way up, only to die in his throat, he chokes a little on it. Off. Off. Off. He needs it off. He wishes he could claw the taint away. His skin crawls under his fingernails, even as they scratch past skin. Blood flows, sluggish, down the bony curve of his spine. It is not an unfamiliar feeling. 

A sharp gasp sounds, quiet, but cutting in the previous silence that had pervaded the space around the campfire. Astarion does not dare look up from the ground. Great. Another interruption to him losing his fucking mind. 

Thankfully- which, who could guess he’d ever think the word in relation to the druid- it’s just Halsin again. Arms now laden with jars and cloth, rather than the sharp woodworking tools he’d left the fire with. The jars are labeled, but his scrawl is too small for Astarion to parse the words. 

“Astarion, my friend, please cease this needless self-mutilation!” He rushes to Astarion’s side, carefully placing the jars on the side of his bedroll and gently, loosely grasping at Astarion’s wrists- assumedly to encourage the vampire to pry his claws from his skin. He doesn’t push, simply holds him there.

The warmth is welcome, grounding in the swirl of pain and cold and despair that had previously been clouding Astarion’s mind. He lets out an unnecessary, but comforting breath and allows his hands to be pried away. 

“Good. That’s good, my friend, thank you.” 

Astarion grouses a discontented sound, to which Halsin huffs a small chuckle. 

“Alright- you’re alright. You were looking rather pale- moreso than usual at least- and I had hoped some of my oils or salves could soothe any injuries you’d overlooked, or old aches.” He pauses for a moment and rifles through the pile of goods he’d brought over, “As elves, our ‘nightmares’ are more memories, than anything. I’m more than familiar with a long-forgotten wound making itself known after a particularly jarring remembrance. I am sorry yours were so visceral.”

He’s babbling, Astarion notices, low voice rather quick compared to its usual steady thrum, but he can appreciate the effort in attempting to keep him grounded. His body doesn’t want to move, though, and he simply slumps into himself, gaze steadily forward, hollow, almost in its vacancy. 

“Here let me-“ A warmth hovers over the mess of Astarion’s back. Well, this is rather familiar. But it pauses,hesitates. Still, Astarion can feel himself tensing. A short, ragged sound punches out of him, unwitting. Halsin hums. 

“Apologies, my friend, it seems my manners have escaped me in my nerves. May I touch you? I wish only to soothe the hurt, I have a balm that should do the trick well and once I’ve applied it, my hands will not touch your skin again should you wish it.”

Astarion takes a moment, another unnecessary breath, then nods. It’s curt, almost imperceptible really, but Halsin had been paying very close attention to his body’s reactions. He thanks him- what for, Astarion cannot even begin to fathom. 

It’s quiet as Halsin’s deft fingers tenderly pass a wet towelette down his spine to clean the blood from it. It soothes, cool and stinging against new cuts and Astarion can only hope that at least he’d left new scars. Something to disrupt the carving of pure malice that had lain there, undisturbed, for so long. 

“Thank you.” It takes a while, and his voice is fairly destroyed by what he can only assume had been long minutes of screaming and sobbing in his sleep, coupled with the panic attack after waking. Halsin’s fingers continue their deft work. 

“Please. No need. If I may I- I hate to see you struggle so. Is there anything that caused it? Anything we can avoid?” His sincerity is sweet, but useless. Astarion shakes his head.

“Comes and goes, really. Used to be able to ignore it with other things. Can’t focus on memories when the present is fucked too, right?” Astarion chuckles, but Halsin does not join in. 

It’s quiet for a bit, Halsin’s hands feel almost hesitant against his skin, “I am not a man easily drawn to violence but- well- your old master deserves nothing but the slowest, most painful death possible. I know it means little but I am sorry. You did not deserve his torment. No one could deserve that.”

“I was no angel in life, druid. For a long time, it seemed like a penance.” The words are almost hissed, but the sincerity in them is unmistakable.

“Even penance ends, eventually, Astarion. Forgiveness usually follows. Two hundred years is more than enough time. Especially when you had not even truly lived before being thrust into undeath- I mean thirty-nine? You still bear your child name.” Halsin sounds almost pained, although his hands remain steady, now pressing fingerfuls of balm to each cut, and even the undamaged rune-scars too. Something in Astarion howls, surges forward into an incessant rage at the tenderness.  

“And perhaps I was a truly devilish child, druid! Perhaps I deserved it!” Halsin sighs. 

“No one deserves that, Astarion. You have to know that.”

“If I allow myself to believe that, then I have to accept victimhood. I have to accept that loss of control. I have to accept that it’s not that I deserved it, it’s that no one cared enough to try to save me. Tell me, druid, which would you rather believe.” With a final, gentle pass of his thumb Halsin retreats. Shamefully, Astarion misses the warmth of his touch. The druid rounds his bedroll, settling criss-crossed in front of him and busying himself with organizing his bottles into a neat pile.

“Well, first, I’d like it if you used my name and not my title. It feels rather impersonal talking to you when you won’t even call me ‘Halsin’. Second, I truly don’t know, but I have always favored the truth over anything else.”

Astarion hisses, “I will call you what I like, not what you tell me to call you.” Halsin simply nods, and something inside him deflates. Backs down from its haunches. 

“Oh, alright, you big baby. Halsin. Maybe the truth is that I was- however implausibly- the kind of person to deserve my penance.”

Halsin seems to light up at the sound of his name from Astarion’s lips. Astarion tries to find it dorky and uncool and not hopelessly endearing. Then, “I find that incredibly hard to believe. Had you even chosen an adult name? Had anything in mind?”

Astarion falls quiet at this. “I had an idea, a few, maybe. I remember being excited about them, I thought I was so clever with the word choice… But I cannot remember them. Cazador only called me by this name, when he deigned to adress me, and I did not exactly have the time or energy to care about choosing another.”

Something within Halsin cracks at the admission. To have that rite stolen from him was abhorrent. Heartbreaking. 

“Truly you remember nothing?”

Astarion shrugs, “Hard to find that kind of thing important when there are other, more pressing matters. It’s not like the names would fit me anymore, either, two hundred years have taken their toll, after all.” He smiles, a crooked, self-depreciating thing and gestures to himself, the scars on his back. “Thank you, by the way. I wouldn’t have treated them on my own.” The thanks doesn’t even need to be forced from his lips. Halsin smiles at the ease with which it is offered. 

“No need. And I know.”

It’s quiet for a while longer. The two of them take the time to simply look at each other. Astarion wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Halsin is seeing as he gazes at him with such open fondness and admiration. Surely it cannot be him. Godssakes he hasn’t even seen himself in two hundred years, who knows what kind of effect it’s had on his wrinkles. He tries not to dwell. 

“I’m going to read.” Astarion says, when he can no longer stand the thought of just how many lines have been carved in his face, without the help of Cazador’s many painful instruments. Halsin simply nods, but continues searching his face. Astarion is unsure what he’s looking for, but is fairly certain, whatever it is, has long since left him. Nowadays he’s mostly bared teeth and vengeance more than anything.  

“Please, go right ahead. If you would not protest, I would very much like to join you. I’ll whittle, stay quiet so you can focus. Would that be alright?” He tilts his head to the side, and, with the way he’s fiddling with a jar, seems so incredibly bear-like in the moment that Astarion has to clamp down on a giggle.

“… Alright. But you had better keep that promise to stay quiet.” Halsin grins, a warm, blinding thing. 

“As a mouse. And we druids are rather good at mimicking animals, you know.”

A laugh punches itself from Astarion’s throat as he heads back to his tent and settles on some pillows, his most recent thick tome open in his lap. 

It’s not long before Halsin is quietly announcing his presence, shuffling around to settle a few feet away, legs tucked up under him as he situates himself against the nearest surface- a stolen chest from one of the many towers they’d rummaged through. 

It’s easy to forget he’s there- or, no, it’s easy to simply exist in a space with him. Astarion doesn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything to him- after all, he’s basically seen him at his worst- and the silence is warm. Interrupted, every so often, by the methodical scrape of metal against wood, or the crisp flipping of a page. 

Before he can stop himself, Astarion’s fallen into another trance. This time blissfully devoid of any visions or memories. 

He wakes to an empty tent, but his book is neatly bookmarked and stowed beside his bedroll. He, himself had been carefully tucked under a pelt of some sort- a piece he knew was not from his own tent- and next to the book lay a small, intricately carved wooden star. On the back, a careful engraving:

little star, how you shine

It feels like a declaration. 

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

Between Want and Need

also known as I Bet You'll Fit in My Pack

So another Halstarion fluff piece! I must be feeling the softness lately, haha. This one kind of rambled a bit -- I blame the fact I can't seem to write a thing with Astarion in it where the party banter doesn't devolve into like 89% 'give Astarion shit' times lmao -- I quite like the general vibe and the sweetness. No betas, hope everyone's IC lol! Pls do enjoy ~

Fluff / Astarion/Halsin / 6k words (give or take) // AO3 Link

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Astarion owed Halsin something and he wasn't happy about it at all.

He owed him, because that morning when he'd come back from an early hunt with Wyll, Shadowheart, and their defacto party leader Tav, Astarion had been covered in blood and walking slowly, painfully, a red-spattered gash at the waist -- and Halsin had hurried right to the vampire's side without a moment of hesitation. His hands were already starting to glimmer with druidic healing magic before Astarion even said a word.

And he hated it. Because now he owed him for that. After all, he hadn't needed Halsin to heal him, and yet there he was, kneeling at Astarion's feet and whispering magical words over his wound while his skin glimmered in oranges and greens.

Astarion let him. He decided it was easier to let Halsin continue rather than push him away.

But he didn't need this at all. Frankly, it was presumptuous, and he wondered why he didn’t let the druid know right then and there.

Well. Seemed silly to complain now, he supposed. But next time. Definitely next time.

Astarion wouldn't have even been wandering around the godsforsaken woods, if Tav hadn't insisted the spawn get his turn at the camp's fun new group activity.

The party was trying to load up on meat while they were past the Shadow cursed lands, but still far enough outside Baldur's Gate good game remained plentiful. Looting eighteen bottles of wine and twenty half-eaten apples for dinner was all well and good when hunting was scarce, but everyone -- well, everyone that didn't just need to cajole a bite of Halsin’s neck to have their supper -- was craving something substantial.

They had done a few days worth of hunting, everyone getting a turn to enjoy themselves with something besides killing cultists and goblins, but this was going to be the last of it. And boy, was Astarion glad for that.

Hunting for himself was fun. Hunting, real hunting, the kind that required more than just drinking an animal dry and discarding its carcass for the carrion birds, was so very indescribably boring.

His boredom might have been why he wasn't really paying as close attention to things as he should, frankly. Another reason to blame Tav for his troubles.

They'd run into a small raiding party, Tav had explained, as Astarion grimaced in pain under Halsin’s care. They sat besides him on one of the logs surrounding the camp's fire while Halsin knelt at Astarion's feet and concentrated on the slash in his side.

Kobolds, so the fight was over quickly. But a lucky little bugger he thought was dead had poked Astarion good when the vampire turned away to loot a body. The dagger was fit for kobold hands so the slash hadn't been deep. There had just been a nasty little poison on the blade, so it stung and burned and -- well, hurt quite a lot, actually.

But Astarion was fine, of course. He didn’t need this fussing at all.

"Blasted creature didn't have the courtesy to stay dead when stabbed," he sniffed. "So no fault of mine, if you ask me--ow!" He hissed softly in pain and Halsin winced.

"Apologies, Astarion. I think this may have been wyvern poison instead of the more standard fare," Halsin frowned, just as Shadowheart entered the camp, trailing behind while she helped Wyll carry back one of the bucks they'd managed to fell. Halsin's words made her pause and she frowned as well, as she dropped her half of the deer with the other game meat and walked towards the druid and his patient.

"Oh, wonderful," the vampire muttered dryly. "Surely poison isn't a cause for alarm for a walking corpse?

"You are more than that," Halsin scolded in that gentle way that made Astarion both roll his eyes and feel warm all over. "But yes, it should be fine. However it would be better if healing had been started at the moment the poison met flesh."

The druid's eyes flicked towards Shadowheart for the briefest moment before turning back to Astarion's wounds, but she absolutely caught the glance and her eyes narrowed. Halsin didn't notice. "It's had a bit to work its way in and this is a nasty sort that eats at the tissue; luckily its slow enough to often catch in time before lasting damage is done."

"That explains the burning," Astarion mused, more curious than worried as he peered down at the throbbing wound barely visible under Halsin's large hands, as the druid channeled Silvanus' blessing into his skin. "No real worries, I've had worse--"

"Oh Astarion...pardon me for interrupting, but can we speak?"

Astarion's words were abruptly halted by Shadowheart, her question blurted with a tone that sounded almost...offended? He looked up at the cleric and blinked to see her glaring at him, hands on her hips.

"I couldn’t help but overhear, you see. You were hurt by a poisoned blade?” Her lips turned downward, eyes narrowing more. “Why then, didn't you say anything?"

"Darling, it's like I said. I've had worse." He waved her off. "I can't run to you for every little bump and scrape, can I? It'd be a waste of my time and yours."

"That's what I'm here for, you stubborn twit," Shadowheart huffed and crossed her arms. "And having a dirty wound laced with wyvern poison is hardly a scrape. It's obvious you're in more pain than you let on, but you said nothing to me -- and I did check with you, if you recall." Her lips pressed tightly. "As I do everyone after a battle. But instead you said nothing until you waltzed back into camp." She paused and then continued roughly, a flicker of genuine upset escaping her careful expression. "And on top of it, you've made Halsin think I'm a poor cleric!"

"Oh, Shadowheart, I did not mean--" Halsin's exclaimed immediately, looking up at the half-elf with surprise and regret. He certainly hadn't intended his glance to convey that. It was involuntary, more curiosity as to why she seemed to have ignored an injury, than condemnation. It wasn't like her to leave a wounded comrade without aid if possible, after all. "You're incredibly skilled! I deeply apologize if I offended you."

"Huh! It's her accusation that's more offensive," Astarion frowned, feeling oddly defensive -- though, not for himself, but for the druid. "Our big bear would never be so rude. I wonder if he’s capable of a judgmental thought at all," he added drolly and Halsin had to chuckle.

"Oh, you'd be surprised..."

It was Shadowheart's turn to be chagrined and after a moment of faltering, she sighed and shook her head, her armored shoulders slumping.

"Oh, I'm sorry, myself. I know you wouldn't think something like that Halsin. At least nothing of real concern you’d keep to yourself.” Arms crossing, she rubbed at the back of her neck, lips pursed in an unnoticed pout.

“I suppose I'm just annoyed at our oh-so-brave rogue here, because this isn't the first time he's refrained from telling me about an injury until he returned to camp and had you fix it up." She paused and then tilted her chin up a little, trying to convey her next words coolly, and not tinged with the small amount of hurt she felt.

"If you think I'm incompetent Astarion, I wish you'd just say so. It would certainly save me some spell slots when you inevitably walk over a trap you yourself just located."

Astarion looked at her silently for a beat, glancing back at Halsin, but the druid was concentrating on his wound. Those wise hazel eyes did lift a little and meet his, Halsin's eyebrows raising. A sort of silent "Well...?" And then he smiled, gentle and caring, and went back to what he'd been doing. Encouragement to say what he knew was the right thing, but no pressure to do so.

The vampire groaned, his head dropping back as his brow pinched in irritation. "I....don't think you're incompetent, Shadowheart. You're a fantastic healer. I've never meant for my actions to feel like a personal slight, and...I'm..."

He paused, feeling something burning the side of his face and he glanced over to see Tav watching him with a very encouraging smile. Practically nodding along to every word, in fact.

For fuck's sake.

"Hhhhhh...I'm sorry," he muttered at Shadowheart's general direction, ignoring the low chuckle that came from the druid before him. He could just imagine the satisfied smile on that careworn face and he forced his own to pinch in annoyance.

"...Hm. Apology accepted," Shadowheart replied nonchalantly and then moved to sit on the log next to Astarion, watching Halsin do his work. She shifted as if attempting to get comfortable, the movement making her knee bump into Astarion's, briefly.

He recognized the gesture for what it was. They were both the same kind of stubborn, after all. He moved too, pretending to stretch, and bumped his elbow against her arm. He saw her little smile out of his periphery, and matched it with one of his own. They were all right.

"Still though," she did continue, her voice warmer with the slightest hint of reproach. "If you're hurt, you ought to tell me. Sometimes it's a simple scrape and sometimes it's wyvern poison, you know? I'm still terribly curious why you hesitate."

"Mm, no real reason. Perhaps I subconsciously fear Selune's wrath, she is so picky when it comes to who is worthy of her moonlight," he joked.

Of course, forgetting the camp currently held the daughter of said deity literally a tent away.

"What is that you say of my Mother Goddess?" Dame Aylin's voice rang out and Astarion nearly jumped.

"O-oh, nothing! Nothing at all--!" Astarion quickly blurted with a breezy, if slightly-frightened, smile. "Idle chatter, completely meaningless. I assure you."

He didn't see the smile that played over the assimar's lips as she affected a gruff look at the vampire. Halsin blinked and then laughed softly, lifting himself up to sit on Astarion's other side and place a large warm hand on his knee; a gesture of comfort and perhaps a small one of protection, as well. Of course the vampire had nothing to fear from Aylin, she was teasing. But still, it was comforting to have Halsin's huge body between her and himself.

"Let us not grow too heated," Halsin said cheerfully. "I do believe allowances are commonly made when one's true heart is seen. The Oak Father himself deems Astarion worthy of succor. I am quite sure Selune does as well."

"Hmmm…" Dame Aylin pretended to think for a few moments, watching Astarion fidget and then smiled brightly. "Aye, it is true. Our Lady of Silver knows a shadowed heart from a blackened one after all. Such hearts are alike to Her moonflower; though it may bloom only in darkness, its petals shall always seek the light."

Halsin couldn’t keep from smiling as he gently uncapped a bottled salve plucked from within his pouch, applying it gently to Astarion’s wound – a benefit not necessarily needed for Astarion’s natural healing, but one that would ease the pain more quickly. It wasn’t like his patient was complaining this time, either, so he took advantage of the rare agreeable mood.

“And a particularly lovely blossom to see in their unique bloom, if you’re able,” he agreed quietly.

Astarion blushed lightly, though he wasn’t quite sure why; he hid it with an expression dripping with annoyance, hand lifting to brush through his hair airly. “Have you quite finished, druid?” he muttered. “I’m not as delicate as some night flower.”

Isobel pursed her lips, looking thoughtfully at the spawn as he sat before Halsin, arguing the extra cautious treatment even as he happily remained for it. She slowly grinned then, leaning up to whisper something in her lover's ear as Astarion, his face gone as red as his formerly favorite wine at everyone’s eyes on him, exhaled a deep and long-suffering sigh.

"Can we please move the conversation past my heart, or my succor or me as the general topic, please?"

"But this topic is so much more interesting than talking about the deer we have to butcher," Tav interjected, plopping down on one of the other logs around the campfire, facing Astarion with a huge grin on their face. Astarion squinted at them, looking for all the world like a disgruntled feline.

Oh dear gods, are they all going to come over and sit around him now??

"Ah, apologies for bringing it up, Halsin," Tav added with a slight wince. The druid chuckled and shook his head.

"That is nature's cycle, my friend. It doesn't disturb me to talk about it. I joined you on one of your hunting nights, did I not? And I'm a fair hand at properly dressing a buck as well, so let me know if you need help."

"We'll need all hands, to be honest," Tav sighed, stretching. Astarion breathed an internal sigh of relief, glad the conversation had moved away from himself and his injury as the subject. "We've two large buck, a doe, three rabbits, a small boar and I think Wyll got a couple of quail on the way back."

"That's...quite a haul of meat," Halsin said hesitantly, a soft frown knitting his brows. "We'll be somewhere we can purchase supplies soon, as is. Did you really need so many...?"

Tav was quiet for a minute, then ran a hand through their hair, looking away. "I just...I started thinking about the refugees I saw when we went into Rivington a few days ago. A few of the tieflings from the grove were already there...the kids," they added quietly, and paused. "Everyone crowded into these makeshift tents and I didn't see a lot of, ah. You know. Food. So I thought, well, we were hunting anyway, and there's enough of us to carry extra..."

The concerned look on Halsin's face melted away into a huge smile, grateful and gracious. "Tav! That's a wonderful idea. I'll definitely help. If we all work on it together we can start to salt the venison tonight."

Well now the conversation had returned to the dull and boring. Astarion sighed and made to stretch, but winced with a sharp intake of breath, a hand hovering over the wound Halsin was quietly tending. "Ah -- th-that hurts more than I expected..."

He wasn't very happy about that, he had plans for later. Mostly slipping into Halsin’s tent and seducing another drink from that lovely throat. It was growing to be a bit indulgent, he couldn’t deny. He didn’t necessarily need it, but…well. He wanted it. That was good enough, wasn’t it?

“Apologies, it will sting with movement for some time. Really, in truth – you should always alert Shadowheart when you’re injured. Sometimes these things are time sensitive.” He met Astarion’s glimmering ruby gaze with those pretty, so very honest eyes of his own. “Will you please attempt to do so more often, Astarion? If not for your own sake, then perhaps to allay your healer’s worry…”

Before a very flustered Astarion could speak, Shadowheart leapt to her feet and pointed at the two of them, smiling triumphantly. “I knew it! I knew that’s what this was about! I was right! Wyll, you owe me ten gold.”

“Blast! I was so certain you were exaggerating,” Wyll sighed from the other side of camp. “I mean – he’s a rogue, not a front liner, hardly soaks damage enough to justify such a thing.”

“What are you on about, you confusing woman?” Astarion snapped, cheeks red. Then blinked as Shadowheart loomed over him with her teasing smile, fingertip poking his forehead.

“He’s your pack healer! I knew it. You’ve run back to him for every bump and scrape for weeks now. Isobel, myself, Jaheira – we may as well be invisible~”

Halsin couldn’t see the look on Astarion’s face, turned towards Shadowheart as he was, but apparently it was enough to make the half-elf burst into delighted giggles, practically dancing away from Astarion as if those blades were seconds from lunging towards her. Which might not be so far from the truth.

She turned, looking over her shoulder at Astarion almost coquettishly, a hand lightly perched upon her chest. “Well! I know when I’m not wanted~” she said with the flair of a dreadful penny romance. “He’s all yours, Archdruid. You’ll have to come with us more often, obviously. The poor thing does tend to get caught by a surprising number of missed traps.”

“....You know, I think I miss cold Sharran princess Shadowheart,” Astarion sniffed, his lips in a thin line. “She didn’t give me quite so much sass.”

Halsin had to chuckle at that. “Mmh, I don’t know Astarion, I seem to recall just as much sass, just of a different nature. I quite enjoy the new outlook.” He finished the last pass at smoothing the salve into the wound and began to bandage it now, taking much longer with the application than needed to save Astarion the sting. Not unusual of course, Halsin was ever mindful of how much extra pain his healing ministrations could add; but he did tend to take extra care with a certain spawn, which had not gone unnoticed by – well, most of the camp, really.

In fact this whole production may have been led by ulterior motives, if the grin on Tav’s face as they watched the group was anything to go by. Astarion was too preoccupied by the insinuation of the other cleric to really notice, luckily.

”Pack healer…” he snorted, crossing his legs though he didn’t lean away from Halsin’s hands this time. “Ridiculous notion.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isobel mused as she sat on one of the logs surrounding the campfire, Dame Aylin close behind her shoulder, as always. “Perhaps not in those exact words, but…well, in truth, while I heal all in need happily, Aylin is…she’s…” The cleric trailed off, unable to think of a way to describe it, but luckily the demigod had a much more succinct way with words.

“I am Isobel’s shield and blade. And she is my home and hearth.” Aylin looked down at Isobel then, one armored hand lowering to touch a pale cheek. “My place of rest and succor. While I would never deny any cleric’s help if the cause was great, in the end…it is my darling Isobel’s healing touch that I seek before any other. The only I need.”

Astarion shifted uncomfortably and Halsin expected he must be growing tired of the druid’s slow, careful touch by now -- so he finished applying the last bandage and stopped. He didn’t see Astarion’s brief, tiny frown as Halsin began repacking his supplies.

“Aylin,” the Selunite blushed a little, tucking a lock of moon-silver hair behind her ear. “I am no better than another, you know.”

“You outshine them all,” the aasimar said simply and smiled. “Mine own biases at work, I admit, but still. When it is you – the one that shares my heart, well–” She glanced over, that intense expression (that always honestly intimated Astarion just a little) actually softened as she put thoughts to words. Her ethereal gaze met the spawn’s eyes.

“I am blade and shield, aye -- strong as steel and iron. But sometimes I must bend or I will break, and beneath my love’s hands – I can. Her hearth is safe, and I may lie and be vulnerable for a time.” Her glowing gaze turned back to Isobel, smile wide and the cleric’s face was flushed warm. “And if it is a slight amusement, to acknowledge the match? Dame Aylin, with her cleric kept handy in her pack.” She laughed, that boisterous guffaw. “A fitting thing! My Isobel is so sweet and small.”

Halsin didn’t speak during Dame Aylin’s speech, but the tips of his ears were pink as he rose, looking like he’d been thinking of a great many things. But instead of sharing, he just started gathering up his kit bag on a shoulder, task finished. And really, that was all it was. A task asked of any other healer, nothing more or less.

Never mind that the only reason Halsin got to Astarion’s wound as quickly as he did was because the wood elf always scanned the edges of camp with searching eyes the moment the group's approaching noise signaled their return. And that seeking gaze had never landed on Tav or Wyll or Gale or Karlach or any of the others and stayed.

It only ever lingered on one pale elf.

Tav rubbed their chin slightly, thinking, a small smile spreading on their lips, the one that always preceded some trickery or another.

“You two are adorable,” they said cheerily to the Selunite duo, and clapped their hands together. “But sadly ‘tease Astarion hours’ are over! We’ve all got work to do.”

“Oh, is it over already? A shame, I was just beginning to really enjoy myself,” Astarion hissed, the annoyed poofed tail and flat ears practically visible as he too rose with Halsin. Not purposefully! Just idle timing.

“You can’t expect me to join you with all that…blood and guts business, do you?" he continued. "I’m injured!” He groaned exaggeratedly and hobbled a few feet towards his tent. “I'll just go lie down…”

“Oh, pshh...you’re fine! You can skin a rabbit like that, surely. Isn’t that right, Halsin?” Tav asked with an innocent smile.

The druid raised his head, blinking – his mind obviously preoccupied with some other thought. “Hm? Oh, yes, he should – be –” His words paused as he caught Astarion’s eye, the vampire’s ruby gaze wide and his head shaking imperceptibly. Well. Mostly. Tav certainly caught it, and they saw Halsin did too.

“--Oh– Ah– I mean, rather – he probably should refrain from dealing with any viscera…”

Astarion’s eyes widened and his cheeks puffed a little.

“O-or, perhaps not – no touching any of the raw flesh, or, or skinning.” Halsin amended and tilted his head, thinking. “He could help by plucking the birds, I sup–”

A very slight noise like a whistling tea kettle sounded from Astarion’s throat and if Tav didn’t know better they'd think the vampire was hopping in place. Very small angry hops.

Gods but they did love riling Astarion up sometimes. Heroes needed their fun, too.

“He can’t do any butchering!” Halsin finished with an exasperated, if slightly amused, huff. “Just rest and recuperation, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, well, darn I guess we’ll just have to do without!” Tav sighed, hands in the air. They ignored the glare from a few of the companions around, who did not find the amusement worth having to take over Astarion’s share of work. “Best keep him with you too, Halsin, just in case the infection spreads or some such.”

“...Pardon?” Astarion exclaimed then, mid-stride to his own tent. He blinked as Tav gave him a look and made little ‘shooing’ motions at him.

“If you’re too bad off to help, Astarion, you’re too bad off to lounge in your tent reading some awful bodice ripper. Go. Halsin’s tent. Now. Unless you do want to pluck some birds after all…?”

Astarion blinked and turned to look at Halsin, but the druid had already ducked into his tent. Astarion suddenly felt chastised for reasons he didn’t know, and even stranger, finding the druid’s sudden absence…vexing.

“No thank you,” the spawn sniffed without much of anything behind it, then turned. Tav grinned as they watched Astarion hurry to Halsin’s tent and slip inside.

“Well, he certainly became energetic for such an obviously injured, pain-stricken creature,” they said dryly and then sighed, turning to the others and joining them as the least fun part of their hunting weekend began.

“Sooo...can I have one of those pack healers?” they said with a grin, leaning over Shadowheart’s shoulder as she settled in with a knife and a rabbit carcass. “I am the leader, you know~”

“Tch!” Shadowheart flicked Tav’s nose. “I think not. You’re a bard. Heal thyself, support.”

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Astarion didn’t know what to say once he entered Halsin’s tent, the space small and slightly crowded enough the two had to ease over and around the other to settle onto the padded flooring. Mercifully, that occupied his time for a bit -- too busy to talk while the spawn found some sort of arrangement of his limbs that wouldn’t leave a knee pressing into the large druid somewhere uncomfortable, or Astarion’s foot in a plant pot.

“I apologize for the clutter,” Halsin said at length, attempting to rearrange his stack of books and myriad strings of dried herbs and clay jars of live plantings. “I didn’t exactly…mean for you to join me, really. The wound is likely to be uncomfortable if you lay on that side or twist too much, but there's no cause for a watchful eye, truly. You…” he paused. “You don’t need to be here. You may leave any time you wish, I won’t hold you to Tav’s suggestion.”

Astarion felt the weight behind that pause and turned slightly to look at Halsin with a frown – though that quickly gave away to a wince, as he twisted too far to do so. “Gh! Ah…th-that’s what you meant,” he chuckled low to himself even as his side throbbed.

Halsin immediately looked apologetic and his brow furrowed. “Oh, I didn't think--I'm sorry, that was my fault, Astarion. There’s barely any room here to maneuver…please, allow me.” He stretched out a hand and that familiar glow filled Astarion’s side and warmed him clear through to his fingers and toes. Exhaling a deep sigh, he melted back a little against Halsin’s bedroll and pillows.

“That’s -- mmh, better. Much better. Thank you,” he said sincerely, a fresh burst of warmth glimmering through him at the soft smile on the druid’s lips.

“Ah, since I’m here – I might as well stay,” he said airly, with a carefully casual tone. “I’ll have to just stop maneuvering, as you say, and stay right where I am. It’s not so bad,” he said then and after a beat, smiled up at the druid. “A lovely view at the very least.”

Halsin’s lips twitched a little into a brief smile, and Astarion swore he saw the tips of those lengthy wood elf ears turn pink again. But the smile faded as quickly as it'd come.

“...Astarion. I hope I haven’t...made you feel like you must come to me for healing, if you're injured. You need to be attended by whomever is available, as soon as possible. Waiting for me because I -- I made it seem like that was your only option, or that it’s what I demand -- that was not--" Halsin faltered a little, his scar wrinkling over worried brows. "It's--my intentions have always been–”

“I never needed your healing, druid,” Astarion interrupted, voice tight. He wasn't angry or annoyed, he just -- he just needed Halsin to stop talking like that. Like he’d...forced Astarion to do something. Like he'd overstepped a boundary. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach at the thought that his stubbornness might've convinced Halsin any of the things he'd done for Astarion had been wrong.

He winced at the look of contrition on Halsin’s face that followed the vampire's outburst. The druid seemed to almost shrink in on himself, become smaller with guilt. He couldn't meet Astarion's eyes.

Astarion's chest felt tight as a vise, to see the elf like that and know he was the cause. His brow furrowed. “No, no -- I’m sorry Halsin, I didn’t -- I said that the wrong way. I--”

“It’s just–”

They both stopped, looking at each other and then chuckled wryly, one to the other. “You first,” Astarion said softly.

“The healing…and the…” Halsin gestured to his throat, where the twin pinpricks Astarion had left there a few nights ago were still visible. “The meals. I never wanted to, mm -- not force – perhaps expect?” He thought and then hummed. “Yes…made it seem like I expected you to get such needed things from me, and, well, only me. That was never my intention.”

How could he add that he felt remorseful, and so guilty, because he understood how easily it was for Astarion to just do as he was told. Suggested or commanded, made no difference in the end, if they were said with enough authority...or by someone Astarion trusted. Not that Halsin thought he had authority over the spawn like that, but -- he was a healer, was he not? And not to mention, he was the only one who had offered his blood freely. Was that not obligation, instead of choice? Astarion already struggled with feeling like anything he was given by another was a debt owed.

Astarion should choose himself, what he wanted – who he wanted, for whatever his need may be. Always.

“As you said. You have never needed my healing. But I always was the first at your side, almost pushing it onto you.” He paused and sighed. “Too eager perhaps to feel needed. A feeling I seem to still crave even now. Forgive me.”

“Druid," Astarion muttered, his words strangely thick. "Why…are you…the way you are?” Astarion groaned to himself, an arm resting over his eyes. He’d moved to hide his face as Halsin spoke, the aching feeling in his stomach now fully matched in his chest. He couldn’t look the other elf in the eye.

“I’m not sure–”

“Godsdamnit, so -- so kind!” Astarion snapped. “So good and sweet a-and--” He stopped and exhaled a slow, long breath and then rolled over a little. It was so much easier to address Halsin’s flowers and tiny tree clippings than the druid himself. “You’re right," he continued, softly. "I never needed your healing. And I was actually quite angry this morning at receiving it, since it meant I owed you yet again...”

“Astarion. You’ve never owed me, not once–”

“Yes, I know druid. Hush and let me speak.” The larger elf fell silent and Astarion remained on his side looking away so he didn’t have to see the look of sad anticipation he knew was on on Halsin’s face. Perhaps even a quiet, empty acceptance; he no doubt expected Astarion to tell him to never touch him again, or speak to him, or maybe even something crueler.

The spawn’s chest tightened again.

“That was me being -- oh, let’s just admit it -- angry at myself for telling myself yet more useless lies. Even now, after all this time and learning that, gods forfend I can actually trust you -- I still don't understand why you ask for nothing in return. A part of me holds back, waiting for the moment you’re going to..."

Astarion paused, the closed his eyes tightly. "To want something I can’t give you, in repayment. Because I know I'd do it anyway." His voice softened, briefly. "I'd do anything you asked.”

Halsin's eyebrows raised at that, but he didn't pursue it. He meant to let Astarion speak until he had no more words to give. Rare enough that he was this forthcoming, in the first place.

The vampire sighed deeply. “So if I never once needed what you gave -- freely and out of your own ridiculous, frustrating goodness, might I add! -- well then. I owed you nothing, and never would. No obligation.”

He curled up a little. “The truth was never that, of course. So much worse that I tried to hide it with a flimsy easily-disproven lie like that. No, it could be said I never needed your healing, or your blood or…your…hhh…” Astarion exhaled hard, forcing the words out so they’d stop sticking in his throat. “Touch. Company….voice...” He mumbled. “Scent…”

Finally Astarion couldn’t take it any longer. Even though the pain made him wince and half-cry out as he pushed himself up and twisted towards Halsin, he just gritted through it, especially since it was nothing like what he’d felt before. Even so, he had to take a minute to shoo Halsin away, the druid's instinct to help stop that pain.

Astarion huffed. He may truly be getting soft with these blasted friends that kept soothing all the hurts.

He met Halsin’s face, heart squeezing at the slumped shoulders and achingly sad eyes of someone awaiting an inevitable rejection. Favoring action over words, Astarion reached out and took those roughened, worn hands, ones he’d experienced firsthand as the most gentle that had ever touched him, at least in memory. The spawn could tell that the gesture surprised Halsin and he took advantage to squeeze them with his own slender fingers and surprise him even more.

“I don’t need you to heal–” Astarion paused.

“Mmh no. Let me say what I mean,” he amended, quickly, before he lost his nerve. “I don’t need you Halsin…” The sharp glittering rubies of his eyes met the gentle spring of Halsin's own, wide and sincere.

“I want you. I…I want you. Your care, and concern, and your blood and, hells, your company and, and your voice…your healing touch…” His eyes flicked downward and he grinned, showing fangs.

“Your hands. Gods, do I love what you do with your hands,” he laughed softly, not even bothering to turn it into some seductive innuendo. Just pure honesty. What those hands do, though.

Astarion suddenly let go of Halsin and gripped his folded legs tightly, staring at them, his moment of brazen honesty almost too much to continue to bear. His teeth gritted a bit.

“If anyone has been taking advantage of anyone else, then I’ve taken advantage of your kindness and care. Shadowheart was right -- I’ve been keeping silent every time I got hurt, because all I wanted was...was to come back here and…” He paused, Dame Aylin’s words flickering through his head.

He smiled ruefully. “Receive your succor.” A pause and then he continued, more softly. “Lie and be vulnerable, for a time. But only with you.”

“But--” he could hear a thickness in Halsin’s words and he looked up quickly, brow furrowing, afraid his words had gone too far. But the expression on Halsin’s face was not of pain.

And Astarion’s chest hurt again, but this time he found he didn’t mind.

“But why me? When there are so many others at hand…?” Even now, it seemed the druid couldn’t quite believe it. And Astarion smiled then, real and raw and lopsided, no performance or careful construction. He didn't even keep his eyes from crinkling at the corners.

“‘Because,” he said softly, reaching forward to take Halsin's hands in his again, pressing close enough he could feel that welcome warmth surrounding him. “Simple, darling.” He laughed and then leaned closer.

“It’s what I choose." He pressed a palm to Halsin's chest, felt the strong thump of his heart. "You're what I choose~”

Halsin was quiet for a beat, and then a slow ragged breath left him. His arms wound around Astarion immediately, emotion taking over any carefulness; but the vampire didn’t even mind the pain, would gladly welcome any amount if it meant these arms stayed like this for as long as they could.

Of course, he knew the big softy wouldn’t dare cause a second of hurt, so when he winced and said ‘ouch’, Halsin apologized profusely. That got him a pinch; he chuckled, apologized for apologizing with a cheeky grin and carefully shifted to gather Astarion up in his lap, no hint of pain in the new position.

Well if this was what it took to get Halsin to cuddle, he’d have let a Kobold stab him weeks ago.

“So,” Halsin began with a bemused smile playing over his lips, his forehead against Astarion’s as they curled up together. “Does this mean I'm to be kept in your pack?”

“Pfft! Certainly not,” Astarion snorted. “You’re way too big.” He grinned a little as Halsin laughed, and then looked up to meet his gaze.

“But if you’d like to perhaps, stay at my side, instead? I think that would work just fine.”

“Hmm…” Halsin mused, and then smiled gently and pressed his lips to Astarion’s forehead. “Yes. I do believe I can do just that. For as long as you need m–” he paused and then his smile warmed. “For as long as you want me there.”

“Well,” Astarion said, his answering grin soft and indulgent. “Best prepare, healer. That’s going to be a very long time, indeed.”