the lament of the wolf (and the vampire spawn) | baldur's gate 3
an excerpt from a commission for @denim-lich !! my #1 client lolol thank you sm for always entrusting me with them <3
Astarion x Barry (OC)
-- drabble
Barry should be home by now, Astarion supposes. But they’re not, and that’s what worries him. He constantly glances outside the tent to meet nothing but quiet, save for the soft cawing of a crow or two. It’s unsettling, to have it not come back by now. He paces a bit around the room, already steadying his blade lest he must go out.
And that’s when he hears it.
A loud, pained howl, sending shockwaves down his spine. His blood runs cold, but his resolve thickens.
The vampire spawn does not hesitate. The howl comes again, breaking in the middle into an echoed whimper, as if something has strangled it. It’s Barry -- he’d know that voice anywhere, even through the raw agony that tears through its cries.
He grabs a vial of healing draught, wrapping himself around a cloak, and storms out into the night. The moonlight spills in flushes of deep red through the forest. Eventually, that’s when he smells it – a repugnant yet floral stench amongst the sap of the trees. Wolfsbane.
Astarion runs faster. His senses are sharp, perhaps from centuries of predation. It traces the metallic twang of blood, the bitter smell of silver. He feels the heat of glowing flames from torches. He hears the murmurs of men. When he’s close enough, he crouches, low and stealthy.
Their outfits, raggedy makeshift armor, cloaks with blades cleft above their shoulders, scream monster hunter. There are three of them, Astarion estimates, circling around a netted trap, covered in glowing sigils to suppress violence or any counter spells. Underneath the trap is Barry, still in their wolf form, thrashing helplessly inside of it.
Astarion grits his teeth. The sight tears something deep inside of him, and he practically claws on the ground to suppress himself from attacking now, turning all of them in an instant. But he won’t. They don’t deserve the satisfaction.
“It’s a big one, ey?” One of the three remarks. “Should be twice the price if we bring it back alive. You know they make good use out of these things, the wealthy lot. Indentured servants.”
From the mere suggestion of that, Barry whines, trying once more to bite itself out of the trap, but winces when the tendrils of wolfsbane gear closer to their senses. Astarion watches this unfold, and his anger only boils stronger, more savage.
“Careful there, will you?” Another one of them says, drawing the one with the wolfsbane back. “Don’t overdo it. The wolfsbane will hold, but it’s still dangerous. Look at the teeth. The claws.” He shines a light over Barry, revealing the glint in their fangs.
There’s a brief pause, then: “Get the muzzle.”
But from then on, not one of them gets the chance to do anything else. Astarion flashes through the three of them, and slits one of their throats from behind – clean, efficient, quiet. They drop to the ground before they can even scream, only gurgling blood. Another draws back, harnessing his blade, but neither him or the last monster hunter can react in time.
Astarion is fast, his speed challenging that of lightning. Though what follows next isn’t thunder – it’s blood seeping from flesh, the flash of a blade against glowing torches, and final, helpless cries that fade out in seconds.
Once they all meet their bitter end, Astarion licks his lips, suppressing the urge to feed as he wipes the blood off his dagger with one of their coats. After, he runs to Barry’s side, kneeling close to them.
“Darling,” Astarion soothes, tearing off the netting with his blade. “It’s alright. It’s me.”
Barry snarls in defeat. Astarion’s hands work fast – although silver hurts him, too, he lets the blisters prick his skin until Barry is freed. They release a choked gasp, as if finally being able to breathe after being submerged in water. Astarion clips off his coat, draping the fabric over Barry as the moonlight begins to fade, gentle light spilling across this expanse of forest.
Barry continues to wheeze, but after a moment, they transform back underneath the cloak. Astarion can catch fragments of Barry’s voice, broken and sobbing. “Star,” it coughs, voice barely there.
Astarion reaches for them, cradling them in his arms. He brushes back damp hair from Barry’s forehead, sweat infused with blood. “Yes, love. I’m here. You’re safe now.”
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