Chapter Text
He doesn’t consider going into trance, not with his companions as listless as they’ve been. This close to the city, Halsin feels a greater need to stay alert and watch over his companions while they get much-needed rest. The wilderness is one thing. He knows what lurks in the wild. And the shadow-cursed lands had been a weight that he’d grown all too accustomed to carrying. But here in Baldur’s Gate, he finds himself on high alert, unsure what may try to harm them here. And besides, Astarion has not descended from his tower yet, and Halsin will not leave him unguarded.
Baldur’s Gate looms more dauntingly over Astarion the closer they’ve traveled, Astarion’s grown disquieted and ornery as he’s withdrawn further into its haunted shadow. And Halsin knows that his fears of this city are valid, genuine. Paranoia does not make Astarion fear Cazador’s reach, but rather knowledge. Only Astarion has seen firsthand the cruelty his captor is capable of unleashing. If the look of cold dread that crosses his face when his name is mentioned is any indication, the horrors Astarion has survived are unthinkable.
Each step toward Baldur’s Gate seemed to get heavier and heavier for Astarion who, until the last few days of their journey, had been so vocal about his desire to return to civilization. Halsin hated the feeling of dragging him back into the lion’s den. For too long, Astarion has been Cazador’s prey. Long enough to know when he’s about to willingly walk into one of his traps. The cage that Astarion feels closing around him makes him lash out, desperate and scared. Any trust that Halsin has built with Astarion in their journey seems more fragile with every step they take toward his home.
But Astarion is this worried about Cazador coming after him, so Halsin will remain vigilant. Astarion may want to pull away, lash out with sharpened claws, hissing his way into a corner, but Halsin won’t be pushed away. He won’t stop protecting Astarion in every way that he can.
So, he doesn’t sleep. He goes to his tent and pulls out some ingredients he’d foraged that day, preparing them for use in salves, potions, and balms. As a healer, he’s taken it upon himself to ensure the group stays well-stocked with whatever they may need to get through the many battles they’ve fought. There is a limit to his magic, but not to nature’s bounty, and he’s fortunate enough to have knowledge of how to share those gifts to help others. And so, he works carefully on restocking with what he’s found.
The task still holds his attention when Astarion comes to him and, though Halsin is more than a little surprised when he shows up, he smiles warmly at him as if he was expecting him all along.
“I’ll make tea,” Halsin says, taking the kettle and leaving to fill and put it on the fire outside his tent.
Astarion wrinkles his nose as Halsin enters the tent again. He’s arranged himself carefully on one of the furs covering the packed earth beneath them. “I’d much sooner take a nice goblet of red wine if you had a good vintage,” he says. “But I suppose at this hour, tea will suffice. Have you any of that honey left? I wouldn’t say no to drop to sweeten up those bitter teas you love so much.”
“It so happens, I’ve been saving a bit just for you,” Halsin says, smiling, and Astarion rolls his eyes.
“Flatterer,” he murmurs.
A silence falls over them as Halsin busies himself with collecting everything else he’ll need to prepare them tea. He spoke truly when he said he’d put aside some of the honey for Astarion. He knows the vampire will only take one of Halsin healing elixirs if there’s something sweet to cut the taste, so he’s kept a steady supply of sweeteners hidden away. If Astarion is none the wiser, Halsin doesn’t think that’s anyone’s concern.
From his pack, he pulls out two mugs, a goblet, honey, tea leaves, and a bottle of red wine. “I am afraid that the year has been long since lost, but I think you’ll find it to your taste,” he says as he fills the goblet and passes it to Astarion.
Smirking, Astarion brings it to his lips. “Well,” he says over the rim. “Full of little tricks, aren’t you, druid?”
Halsin chuckles, though he knows there’s a knife jab intended in there somewhere. “I am indeed,” he says. “Though most of them are much less entertaining than this one.”
“Where is your goblet? Planning to drink right from the bottle, darling?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’ve spent a lot of time on four legs, but I did hope you’d be more civilized than that.”
“I’d never think to stoop so low within the shadows of proper society, Astarion, you mistake me,” he jokes.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to make me drink alone, darling,” Astarion complains. “I mean really, where lies the fun in that?”
“Anywhere else I may have been persuaded, though I’ve little love for drink myself. But my wits are most useful to us at their sharpest, and we find ourselves in the sort of place where I think it’d be best to keep them that way, little star,” Halsin explains.
“Oh, I disagree,” Astarion drawls, leaning toward Halsin. “If you keep your wits about you, I worry you’ll never make your move. Have a little wine to loosen you up, it’ll do wonders for this sanctimonious puritan routine you’re trying to pull with me. Don’t tell me you expect me to believe you make love to the trees and the flowers, Halsin. I know you’ve got other tastes.”
“Astarion…” Halsin murmurs, low and careful.
“Oh, but I do love the way my name sounds on your lips, darling,” Astarion says, putting his goblet aside and moving closer to Halsin. “I wonder how it will sound when you’re moaning it.”
Halsin feels heat flame his face immediately, a true feat of accomplishment on Astarion’s behalf. Halsin is 350 years old, he does not blush like some virgin easily. But they’re honeyed words, Halsin knows that to be sure. Astarion is reading from a script that was taught to him over the many years that Cazador had his mind, body, and spirit. This is not what he wants, this act is not who he is. Halsin sees fear in Astarion’s eyes, though whether it’s fear of success or failure in bedding Halsin, he can’t be sure.
“Astarion, little star,” he starts carefully. This will require a delicate hand if he is not to hurt Astarion, or to send him running away. “I do not try to hide my affection for you, nor do I wish to. I am not a young man, and I’m no stranger to the heart’s longings, but you have awakened my heart in ways I thought no longer possible. Not with the weight of everything that has gone so wrong so heavy on my heart.”
“You should write these things down, darling, you’d make a killing with your poems,” Astarion says, but he doesn’t sound so assured. Instead, he sounds soft and vulnerable, and Halsin can almost convince himself that there’s hope laced in there too. That Astarion at least wants to place his trust in Halsin.
“My affection for you runs as deep and strong as a river,” Halsin assures him. “But I will not take you to my bed to indulge in your body.”
Astarion pulls back as if burnt. “I don’t understand you, druid,” he hisses. “Your reputation for sowing wild oats vastly proceeds you, and you claim to have some desires for me, and yet, you turn down an opportunity to do with me what you wish. You have no idea what you’re saying no to, Halsin. The things I’ve been trained to do would blow your mind.”
“I do not want the things that you were trained to do,” Halsin states plainly. “I want you, Astarion. The things you truly want, the gifts you share freely. I do not wish for you to do the things for me that you did for him.”
“Oh, because those things are so disgusting? Because I’m filth after all the others who’ve had their chances to lay hands on my body?” Astarion accuses. “Well, I’m so sorry you had to find out what kind of person I am, just when you were making your big love confession too. And to think, I almost wanted to go along with the whole thing, play along, and let everyone think me to be some naive fool falling for your act.”
“Little star, my adoration for you is genuine,” Halsin says, patient and steady. Storms exist in nature for a reason, and he can weather the worst of them. “I harbor no judgments for what you were made to do to survive. Had you done those things out of pleasure, true desire, I would still think nothing of it. But that wasn’t what you wanted, those people were not granted permission to bring you pleasure. Not truly. And I won’t do that to you, I won’t hurt you, Astarion. Never.”
“Ha, as if you could,” Astarion snaps, a snarl twisting his handsome features. “I’m not some pathetic, breakable, little thing, Halsin. This fragile little flower you’re so determined to nurture and coddle! Do you think I would have made it this long if I weren’t capable of surviving the nine hells? And what, precisely, do you know of what I was made to do?”
“Only what you’ve told me, and what I can see,” Halsin says. He will let Astarion rage, let his winds howl, but Halsin will not let himself get carried away by them.
“Oh, do tell me what it is you see, Halsin,” Astarion drawls, poison dripping from his words. “What does the famed archdruid of the Emerald Grove see when looks at the weak little vampire spawn? Does he see someone he can save? Another thing to heal? I’m sure that’s what really gets you off, right? You love fixing things, after all.”
“I see you’re afraid,” Halsin says, ignoring the rest of Astarion’s attempts to bait him into anger. “I see it the closer and closer we draw to Baldur’s Gate. I see that you’re offering me something you yourself do not wish to do, I can see it in the way your eyes fade when you’re offering me your body. And I can see that you think I require this, that in order to stay, in order to be protected, you must do this. I see you, Astarion, all of you.”
“I don’t—” Astarion stops, his body coiled tense as if he means to spring up and flee the tent.
“The water is probably heated,” Halsin says, standing, taking an out to the conversation that Astarion clearly doesn’t want to be having. “Let me prepare you something warm that will help settle your mind. I know it can’t be easy being this close to Baldur’s Gate.”
“What could you possibly know about it?” Astarion grumbles as Halsin makes his way to the tent’s opening.
With a grimace, he turns back to Astarion. “Unfortunately, a great deal more than you may suspect. Especially of someone like myself,” Halsin says, waving his hands down his substantial size. Something like shame and guilt flickers across Astarion’s face, and his nose twitches as he shifts on the fur beneath him. “But you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you. I shouldn’t suggest I do.” And then he ducks out the tent’s flap before Astarion can respond.
When he returns with the kettle, Astarion seems less hostile, though he hardly looks comfortable, and Halsin wishes he knew what to say to put him at ease. When he’s prepared it the way he knows Astarion likes, he passes him a steaming mug of tea to him and settles down across from him with his own cup. “Astarion, tell me truly why you came?”
“What if I said I don’t actually know,” Astarion says, frowning down at his tea. “I didn’t want—” He huffs out a sigh, rolling his eyes seemingly at himself. “You’re probably right about me being as scared as some pathetic child, I suppose. I didn’t want to be alone, that is why I came.”
“I never called you pathetic, or a child, Astarion,” Halsin corrects him softly. “Because I do not think those things of you. The things you fear are valid. I do not think it pathetic to be afraid of a man who has done you so much harm.”
“Don’t,” he hisses sharply, and Halsin puts up his hands apologetically. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean—I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. Not right now. Not with—” He stops, eyes full of pleading for a moment before he carefully schools it away.
“I apologize, little star,” Halsin says. “My intention is not to upset you.”
“Oh, no, of course not, darling. Not you,” Astarion says, scrambling to put back on the mask that has slipped out of place. “What is your intention, Halsin?”
“To be here for you,” Halsin says, plainly. “To care for you in whatever ways you desire. To protect you, if you’d let me. To be close to you, if you so chose. Other than that, I have no intentions.”
Astarion stares at him with narrowed eyes for a long moment before he seems to sag a bit, tension running out of him, and though he wouldn’t admit it, Halsin knows that some part of Astarion believes him. “Well, far be it from me stop you if that’s how you want to waste your time,” Astarion says, and he hides the small smile that plays at his lips behind a long sip of tea.
“Will you rest tonight?” Halsin asks after a moment of silence falls between them.
Astarion shrugs. “I suppose I should,” he says, sighing, his eyes casting around the tent.
Halsin admits, he puts a bit more effort into his camp space than most bother with, but he likes the added touches. Thick clovers add a layer of padded softness beneath the furs he’s sprawled across the floor. The lantern above him is a lovely trick of his own design, a sweetened syrup in the center acting as would-be fuel, drawing fireflies in for a tasty drink. They blink and glow, dozens at a time, coming and going as they please. Especially now, in the shadow of Baldur’s Gate, he clings to the little things that help him feel connected to nature still.
“I know that I need to keep my strength up if I am to… finish the job,” Astarion says, attempting to smile but grimacing instead. “And that means getting some rest at least, but…” He shakes his head. “Clearing my head isn’t as easy as it should be, considering all the practice I’ve had.”
Halsin hums his agreement, nodding with understanding. “I found that to be the case as we approached the Underdark, and then again as we neared the shadow curse,” he notes. “Some places are… heavier than others, even after all these years.”
Astarion gives him a contemplative look, one that is not without suspicion still, and Halsin sits quietly, comfortable with his scrutiny. “Yes, well,” Astarion says finally, rearranging himself and taking another sip of tea. His goblet of wine is forgotten on the log that Halsin uses as a small table. “It’s hardly any secret that I have a complicated relationship with Baldur’s Gate,” Astarion says. “Perhaps I am just jittery being this close.” Eyeing Halsin carefully, he chews on his lips before adding, “What did you do? In the Underdark and the shadowlands, I mean, when you couldn’t rest?”
Halsin stretches, sipping his own steaming mug. “Well, I do enjoy whittling,” he says, smiling at Astarion. “Though I doubt you’d be interested in carving little ducklings with me.”
“Hardly, darling,” Astarion says. “These hands are not meant for splinters.”
“Just so,” Halsin agrees, laughing. “I meditated a bit as well, though that only helped so much.”
“So, what did work?” Astarion asks, and Halsin smiles sadly at him.
“Leaving,” he says. “Lifting the shadow curse did quite a bit to lighten that heaviness for me.”
“Was it… was it like that for you the whole time? Even at Last Light?” Astarion asks, curious but also seemingly alarmed.
“Well, not every evening, no,” Halsin admits. “There were moments I was able to relax, whether sleep or a trance. But I felt the weight of that place every day that we spent there. And I… remembered things when we were there. It has been many years since I traveled the Underdark and I had forgotten how it leaves me feeling.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Astarion notes. “I—sorry, you’re not obligated to tell me your secrets.”
“But I would tell you,” Halsin says. “Perhaps not tonight, but if you’d like, I’ll tell you all of my secrets.”
For the first time, when Astarion looks at him with something warm and sweet in his eyes, Halsin can feel, deep in his bones, that he actually means it. “Gods help me, I think I’d actually like that a lot,” he murmurs.
And Halsin, almost giddy to have Astarion looking at him that way, throws his head back and laughs as he basks in the warmth.
