Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Astarion/Tav (Female/NB)
Characters: Astarion Ancunin, Female/NB Tav, (Gale is Important to the story but not the romance)
Additional Tags: Modern AU with Some Twists, Slow Burn, they were roommates, Vampires, Explicit Sexual Content
Summary: Sometimes you have to sell your blood to a vampire to keep your head above water.
Fuller Summary: Rowan Vignaud (basically of A Non-Hero’s Guide fame but different for the narrative) signs up to be a live-in blood donor for a vampire in order to keep living in the city post-economic crash. That vampire, of course, happens to be Astarion. Both slowly come out of their shells (and respective emotional slumps) to learn how to live with one another.
Wake up early. Eat breakfast. Take a shower. Sit down to work.
Stop around noon to have lunch and rest the wrists. Then back to work.
Stop at 4 and sit in the garden for 30 minutes before going inside to start dinner. Eat dinner, wait 10 minutes.
Test blood. Light turns green. Blood gets drawn, bag gets labeled, another vampire meal provided.
It took Rowan a month to realize there was a screen in the sitting room, hidden by a retracting wall. Flicking through channels and services on such a fancy setup felt… wrong. So the sitting room was reserved for reading books and, when the weather eventually turned cold, enjoying a nice cup of tea.
Her host seemed to wait until she wasn't looking before slipping out. It got to the point that Rowan felt like she was somehow trapping him with her presence.
So, in order to be a good guest, she would hole up in her rooms as soon as the sun set. For a while, she only knew he left because her phone would buzz, notifying her that the front door was unlocked. Then she would feel comfortable wandering the house once more until she crawled into bed at 10.
By the time she woke up for the next day, her host was home and already hidden away on the top floor. The cycle would repeat once more.
Maybe he was just… really professional? Or he didn’t want to know where his food came from.
Rowan was lounging in the sitting room, reading a book, when she spotted through the windows someone coming up the stairs. Before he could even ring the doorbell, she was opening the door.
He was handsome, with long wavy brown hair streaked with gray pulled back in a loose bun to keep it off his neck in the summer’s-end heat. A neatly trimmed beard highlighted his half-cocked easy smile that followed a brief moment of surprise. He was dressed nicely but comfortably for the weather.
“Why, hello there!” His voice was pleasing and confident, but not too confident. He placed a finger to his lips, mimicking being in thought, before pointing at her, tilting his head, and cocking his smile even more. “You must be the new guest I’ve heard so much about. Miss Rowan Vignaud?”
The intercom next to the door crackled, indicating that the speaker had been engaged, but no voice came out before it disconnected.
“I didn’t know I was being talked about,” Rowan answered after acknowledging the intercom with a quick glance.
“Ah! Where are my manners?” the man said in playful self-chastisement. He did a little bow. “I am Gale. An old friend of Astarion’s. I’ve been away this summer and have come to pay my respects, so to speak.”
Rowan stepped aside to let him in and stop letting the cool air out. Gale gave the foyer a quick appraising look as she shut the door behind them. He’d seen it before, of course, but only with one occupant.
“As in, Professor Gale Dekarios?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her because she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Was she supposed to greet her host’s visitors with such familiarity? Was she entertaining him until the lord of the castle decided to grace them with his presence?
“Oh! You know of me?” He looked genuinely surprised, despite being quite famous. Maybe donors tended to be from a class of people who wouldn’t know who Gale Dekarios was.
“I watched some of your lectures back in my school days. You didn’t have the beard or hair then.”
“Yes, much to the chagrin of some of my esteemed colleagues,” he said after chuckling, a deep resonant sound that had no business being so inviting. “What did you study?”
“Cryptomancy.”
“Impressive! I never had a mind for algorithms. And as dexterous as my fingers may be, I am afraid to admit that I am not very adroit with a keyboard. Now, a piano-” Gale gave her a sly little look as he waved a finger in the air.
As he spoke, Rowan was ever-so-slowly inching her way towards the first-floor powder room.
A slightly hurt expression crossed his face. “Have I done something to offend you, Miss Vignaud?”
“No!” she answered hastily, eyes going wide with momentary panic. More calmly she continued, “No, not at all, it’s just that- Well. He won’t come down if I’m here.”
Gale hummed. His eyes wandered down to the book in her hand and his face lit up with a cheeky smile. “Ah! I see you enjoy the classics! Back when magic was ‘fantasy’ and not reality.”
It took Rowan a moment to figure out what he was talking about. She'd almost forgotten what she was doing before his interruption. “Oh, yeah. It's a nice little escape from what I do all day.”
“You know, back in the day, Astarion and I were in a book club together. I remember-”
All of a sudden, a black figure materialized between them in the hallway.
Rowan startled. Her heart jumped into her throat as she took a quick step back, raising her book in defense.
Robed in black, hood up, and some sort of black veil covering his face, Rowan still didn't know what Astarion looked like.
Gale wasn't surprised. In fact, he was a little peeved. “Astarion, must you be so dramatic? Look what you've done to the poor woman.”
Astarion didn't look back, instead selecting a black parasol from the umbrella stand. In a commanding voice, he said to his friend, “Come. We’ll be late.”
“I must apologize on behalf of my colleague. Age doesn't always make the wine sweeter, so they say.” Gale gave her a little bow before following after Astarion at a frustratingly languid pace.
Eventually, Rowan managed to close the front door and, despite the heat, went to make herself a nice cup of tea.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Astarion wasn't expecting Gale to visit. If he was, he would have slipped out at the first opportunity and met the blasted wizard somewhere else.
He also wasn't expecting Rowan to be so close to the door. But no, she had to be right there and Gale just had to start a conversation with her. Him and his big mouth…
Astarion’s mind raced with the possibilities of what the two could talk about while he got dressed to go out into the sun. He stood at the top of the stairs, listening to their conversation, frozen by something he would not admit to.
His ears twitched as she put words to their months-long dance. It made him sound foolish. He was however-many-centuries old, he couldn’t be playing the fool at his age.
Of course, Gale had to be annoying and drag out their conversation, forcing Astarion’s position. He could tell by the tone in his voice that Gale knew what he was doing.
The pounding of Rowan’s heart excited him. The rush of her blood so close to the surface…
It also made him a little sad. It wasn’t his intention to frighten her with the little vampiric trick; he just wanted to separate the two as quickly as possible before Gale could reveal more embarrassing tidbits from their shared past.
Gale wasted no time, needling him as soon as their feet touched the pavement.
“That was just plain rude,” Gale remarked with a haughty huff. “You nearly scared her to death.”
“It's your own fault. You just had to keep talking.”
“The great vampire, Astarion Ancunín, afraid of a little human?”
“I'm not afraid of her.”
“Hmm, yes, how else do you explain- How did she put it?” Gale faked having to rifle through his memory. “Ah! Right. ‘He won't come down if I'm here.’”
“That's not true.”
“So you've mixed in some spying.” He gave Astarion a suspicious side-glance. “You're not watching her sleep, are you?”
“No!” Astarion refuted indignantly, baring his fangs under his veil reflexively. “I'm not a monster in some story. She has her privacy.”
“I don't really understand the subterfuge.”
“I suppose I never considered what it would be like to have someone staying with me long-term. I figured she'd… go out more. She doesn't really go out much at all. Except to sit in the garden or take a walk around the park.”
“Is that concern I hear?” Astarion hissed. “If it's such a problem, don't you have some property you could put her in?”
“How do you think I'm paying her?”
They stopped talking as they came upon their destination, a seemingly normal bar. But instead of going in and joining the lively bustle, they ducked into the adjacent alley. There they took some stairs down and wound their way through the dark “sun gap” hallway.
Such places used to be secret and taboo. Once upon a time, creatures like Astarion were akin to certain subcultures of humans, needing to lead a life away from prying eyes.
Unlike the dank underground dungeons of history, now that everyone lived in more-or-less harmony, the night-creature bar was actually quite bright and vibrant. For some, this was the only place they could experience the full spectrum of color, illuminated by sunlight-mimicking bulbs that would not burn. It had its dark recesses, sure, and every now and then one could hear the distinctive poofs of a shade’s form as it went from cloaking darkness to brilliant light.
Here, Astarion could close his parasol and remove the clothes he so quickly threw on to cover himself, revealing the outfit he’d been lounging around in before Gale decided to show up unannounced. By his standards, it was plain, but most people didn’t walk around in a doublet and layered sleeves.
It was too much to hope that Gale would let this all go and talk about his trip. They got so far as having their drinks delivered by a humorless duergar before Gale laid back into him.
“Does she even know what to call you?” he asked with a mix of amusement and genuine concern.
“She knows my name, it was on the forms,” Astarion answered indignantly, taking a swig of his steaming drink before it had time to cool.
It tasted like hard labor and despair. It was too much to ask for a place like this to source high-quality blood, but he wasn’t going to be rude and sit here with nothing.
“Yes, but, how would she refer to you? Mister Ancunín? Master?” Gale teased, wiggling a finger in Astarion’s direction. Astarion humphed in annoyance before burying his feelings on the matter in his drink. “What if she needs you? Surely she has your number.”
Astarion’s looked away at a point somewhere far behind Gale’s left shoulder.
Gale let out a little sound that indicated his mood shifted from ‘amused’ to ‘serious.’
“Astarion.”
“What?” he snapped in irritation. “So what if she doesn’t have my number?”
“What if she was, I don’t know, bleeding out on your kitchen floor? Does she have to drag herself to your front door and ring her own bloody door bell? Or crawl up the stairs and bang on your door, hoping you’re not locked up in your coffin?”
Astarion rolled his eyes and scoffed. “What an imagination you have, Gale, but wouldn’t she just call the hospital? What does she need me for?”
“Fine, maybe that one was a little contrived, I admit. But… Nights are getting long. Are you telling me that the thought of your little ‘investment’ taking those lonely walks around the park doesn’t bother you, knowing she can’t call for you?”
A muscle in Astarion’s cheek twitched. Gale smirked, knowing he won.
“I hate you,” Astarion ground out between his teeth.
“Show me your phone. I want to make sure you do it,” Gale demanded cheekily, beckoning with one hand.
Astarion unlocked the device and fought back the urge to put all of his strength into crushing the wizard’s hand. Fully aware of this fact and not the least bit put off by it, Gale started going through his friend’s phone with keen interest.
“You know, a lot of these people are dead.”
“To you, maybe,” Astarion shot back haughtily, crossing his arms and leaning his chair back on the rear two legs. Actually, he knew they were dead, he just couldn’t be bothered.
Gale’s face became laser-focused as his fingers started tapping away. Astarion made a half-hearted attempt to get the phone back.
“What are you doing, writing an epic poem?”
“I was considering writing it in your voice, but that seemed strange. Now I am apologizing on your behalf for your lapse in judgment, giving her my number with a humble invitation to attend one of my lectures, and-”
Before Astarion could argue, Gale turned around in his seat, held out the phone, and gave the camera a thumbs-up. The picture captured a grinning Gale and a shrieking Astarion.
Turning back around in his seat and ignoring Astarion’s withering glare, he continued, “now I am inviting her to join us.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? You can treat her to a nice dinner, I can be a nice buffer for the awkwardness.”
“Gale, you’re a source of awkwardness.”
Gale’s face lit up as his own phone buzzed. It fell when he read the message.
“She’s not coming, is she?” Astarion clicked his tongue and with a little wiggle of his head, said, “Too bad.”
“Perhaps she’s shy.”
“Perhaps she thinks you’re a creep.”
“If anyone is a creep, it’s the person watching her without her knowledge.”
Astarion narrowed his eyes.
Then he sighed in defeat.
“Tell me about what you’ve been doing for the past six months.”
“Ah! Now that is a most fascinating tale-”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the light of the moon, Astarion walked home. When the sun finally fell behind the horizon, Gale dragged him to a much nicer venue where they both proceeded to have way too much wine.
At some point, when he was alone, Astarion opened his phone and flicked past all the messages he would have to filter through later to one in particular.
Miss Vignaud! This is Gale Dekarios. Well, actually, this number belongs to your host and my esteemed colleague, Astarion. I apologize for his behavior earlier and this egregious oversight in being your host. I am hoping to set him right, but I assure you, he is not really as scary and mysterious as he lets on.
I would be honored if you would attend one of my lectures at Blackstaff this coming semester and, in the more immediate future, come join us for dinner!
Attached was the selfie Gale took as well as the wizard’s number.
There was no reply.
He looked up at his home to see a light on in the front room.
Astarion wasn’t going to suffer the indignity of sneaking into his own home.
A few steps from the front door, he resolved to at least say good night to her. That was an amicable thing to do.
Damn Gale for making him confront the fact that he’d made this more awkward than it needed to be.
He found Rowan asleep on the settee, the book she’d been reading lying on her chest.
Astarion debated just grabbing a bag of blood from the kitchen and going upstairs.
Instead, he carefully removed the book and saved her spot.
Then, he lifted her up into his arms, his supernatural strength making her weight no more than a child’s.
Her head lolled onto his shoulder as he took her up to her bed.
Ch 3
Despite Gale’s attempts to break the proverbial ice, host and donor continued to not communicate.
For Rowan, she didn’t consider the ice broken, because Gale was the one who spoke to her.
For Astarion, he wasn’t going to say anything until she spoke first.
They both chose to ignore the fact that Astarion had picked up Rowan’s sleeping body and placed it in her bed.
Gale wasn’t persistent, per se, but Rowan felt it wise to take him up on his offer at least once. How could she be imposing if he offered?
Besides, right now, it was the only real connection she had other than the people dead-set on annoying her to death at work, or the people she had to check in with at the Black Cross, or the harpy running the corner shop. She was meaning to check out the myconid-run noodle stand that opened in the park.
Would they have really good mushrooms? Or was that rude to ask? Or did she not want to know where they came from…
Her host literally drank her blood, it was probably time to be a little less squeamish about cannibalism. Or near-cannibalism.
It was… intimidating, being back in an academic setting. Especially one as prestigious as Blackstaff.
Rowan sat in the back and watched politely, taking no notes. Those attending came in various forms, representing several species and ages.
But at the end, after he answered some questions, it was her that he landed on.
“So?” Gale asked a little cockily, spreading his arms to either side before placing them on his hips, “What are your thoughts?”
“I think it was hard enough for me to get into cryptomancy,” Rowan answered with a soft laugh.
“I'm sure you could manage your way around some evocations if you put your mind to it. You have that sort of energy about you.” Rowan did not take Gale for an empty flatterer.
“I'll take your word for it. I appreciate you letting me sit in, it was a nice change of pace.”
“Let me take you out for lunch before you head back. You know, there is a lovely dim sum place around the corner that my mother insists we visit when she's in town.”
Rowan opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes drifted to look past him, at some people giving them strange looks behind Gale’s back. Their attitude, of course, changed, as he turned to regard them.
“Can I ask you a really blunt question?” she said as the lookie-loos moved on.
“Oh, feel free. The best way to learn is to-”
“You’re not hitting on me, right?”
“Oh!” Gale chuckled. “This misunderstanding is usually the other way around. How funny.”
“So that’s a no?”
“I assure you, this is purely platonic. My interest lies in making sure my friend’s house stays harmonious in nature. That includes making sure you’re happy in your position.”
Rowan nodded.
“Okay. Sure. Dim sum.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Maybe Astarion felt a little less trapped.
Maybe they still didn't talk, or meet each other’s eyes, but at least he could walk out his front door with dignity while she wasn't hidden away.
Maybe Gale told him that she was neither afraid nor expecting something from him.
Everyone looked at him with either fear or hunger.
Maybe Gale told him that she didn't want to take up space, or be a burden. Maybe Gale figured out, through his own cleverness and a little bit of magic, that she was lonely and bad at keeping friends.
Maybe Gale was saving his own hide. Astarion got a little fangy when he heard about dim sum.
Rowan forgot to eat dinner. ‘Guess I’ll finally try that noodle cart,’ she thinks to herself. A treat, for dealing with bullshit all day.
But if she left now, Astarion would leave before she got back, and she’d feel better putting the next bag of vampire chow in the fridge first.
Machine light turns green. Bag gets filled, labeled, and stored.
Rowan stepped away, thinking about noodles.
Astarion stared at himself in the magic mirror, thinking nothing and everything.
Why not a quiet night in?
He never really knew how to do that. Just… be alone.
Before, when he was only a spawn, he had to go out. He had no choice. It was his master’s will.
Then the world learned that monsters were real and, after a period of violent upheaval, they decided that they could live in harmony if they just followed some rules.
The one that interested Astarion the most back then: all current spawns were to be made true vampires by their masters.
Astarion’s master, well, he didn’t take kindly to it.
So he killed all his spawn.
All save for Astarion.
“For you, my most wretched and ungrateful of children, I curse you with an eternal life of ineptitude and despair.”
Then, he went out for… survival, really. It took forever for his master’s wealth to become his to do with what he will. And he had to learn how to leverage it.
So he was a… prop, so to speak. The sophisticated, domesticated vampire lord Astarion. A thing to project people’s gothic desires upon.
Back then, Gale Dekarios became his friend. Reminded him that he could be more. As a wizard, he understood the difficulties of a long life.
Even if he lost his sense of purpose from time to time, at least he wasn’t getting on his back-
Eyeliner in hand, poised to start the fierce facade for the night’s activities, Astarion sat like a statue, completely unmoving. His ears strained to hear the slightest thing in the silence that surrounded him.
His hand reached for his phone, but stopped.
‘No,’ he thought to himself, putting the eyeliner brush back in its bottle, ‘if I ask what’s wrong and nothing is wrong-’
Astarion glided past her rooms and stood at the top of the stairs for the briefest of moments, hand resting on the banister.
One noise and he’s in the kitchen, staring down at Rowan, who is lying on the tile, grunting softly in discomfort.
He can smell her blood, but weakly.
A piece of cotton, slightly stained red. Just a trickle from the crook of her left arm.
“Did you hit your head?”
Gods, his first words to her.
“No,” she answered, face contorting as she tried to think while the world spins around her.
Astarion helped her sit up, gently cradling her head until it could rest against the cabinets.
Her skin was pale and cold.
Somewhere around here was a health monitor. Where did they put it…?
“What happened?” he asked a little more coldly than he intended.
“I forgot to eat dinner first.”
Astarion’s temper flared.
“What a foolish thing to do. Do you know what could have happened? You could have hit your head. What if I hadn’t heard?”
“Stop yelling at me, Edwin,” Rowan complained, fighting his fussing. Astarion stared at her hand on his arm, attempting to push away the health monitor he finally found.
Rowan also stared, for the first time appearing clear-headed.
“I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that,” she tried to explain, letting him go, looking ashamed and a little afraid.
As he strapped the health monitor around her arm, he asked quietly, “Who’s Edwin?”
Rowan winced as the monitor inflated, pinching her arm as it took her blood pressure. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she answered, “No one.”
Astarion watched the health monitor spit out information.
“You just need to eat,” he told her, muttered really, removing the monitor.
Rowan rubbed the discomfort out of her arm. “Don't worry about me.”
“You passed out in my kitchen.”
“Fainted.”
“Up. Come on,” Astarion insisted, placing a hand under one of her armpits. Rowan stood and leaned against the counter for a moment.
Astarion opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents.
“Do you even know how to cook?”
Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“No.”
“I’ll just go to the noodle place.”
Rowan gathered up her phone and wallet, switched out her slippers for shoes, and then considered taking a jacket. It was getting cold at night…
Her hand on the doorknob, she turned her head, only to find Astarion practically looming over her.
“Are we okay…?” she asked uncertainly.
“Go on, before I have to pick you off the street next,” he told her petulantly, flicking his fingers at her to just go already.
Astarion followed along slightly behind her, like some sort of broody shadow, as they crossed the park.
On the other side, glowing softly orange and blue from the large mushrooms sprouting from its roof, like some beacon of hope, was the noodle cart.
Rowan ducked under the curtain, offered a polite greeting, and sat down. After ordering, she was surprised to have Astarion sit beside her.
“Who’s Edwin?”
Rowan took a deep breath. “This is the first time we've talked and you want to talk about this?”
“Do you have something else you'd rather talk about?”
Rowan thanked the myconid for the bowl of noodles placed before her and attempted several times to start eating the piping-hot ingredients before realizing she couldn't eat her way out of this.
“I was married. He died. Aneurysm. Almost two years ago.”
Astarion said nothing. He was probably supposed to say that he was sorry, but that didn’t occur to him.
“You look nice, by the way,” Rowan remarked a few moments later before taking her first bite.
The comment caught him off-guard. He hadn’t even put on his ‘face’, his cosmetic armor, and was wearing nothing more than the first coat he found that wouldn’t bunch up the poet sleeves of his shirt. This level of plainness was reserved for friends and the safety of home.
In the relative quiet and reassuring glow of the noodle cart, Rowan ate her dinner while Astarion waited, tapping little patterns out on his arm with his fingertips.
“Thank you,” Rowan told him as they walked back through the park, passing from sodium-orange lights into darkness and back again. “For checking on me. And coming.”
Astarion did not answer.
Back home, Rowan made a cup of tea and settled into the front room, fireplace flickering, music softly playing from the speaker she finally felt confident setting up there.
Astarion had gone up to his rooms, considered himself in the mirror once more, and looked at his phone. So many messages, so many invitations, so many people clamoring for his attention.
Realizing he brought up his coat, he went back downstairs.
“Going out?” Rowan asked from her perch. So comfortable, under her blanket, a little red from the fire.
After a moment of contemplation, Astarion answered, “No.”
If Rowan was surprised to see him, wine glass in hand, pick out a book and sit down in the overstuffed armchair, she didn’t let on.
Ch 4
So, maybe they still didn’t really talk.
But, there was now a message chain in Rowan’s phone that went:
>🍑?
I'm sorry?<
>DINNER?
Did I eat dinner?<
>🟢
Yes. Why?<
>🩸
Okay, thanks for asking?<
Next day:
>🍌?
🟢<
And the next:
>🍆?
🟢<
You need to ask Gale what that means<
>?
🍆🧙♂️?<
A few minutes later:
>I’M SORRY
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Rowan came in from one of her increasingly more common trips around the blocks and caught Astarion messing with the new floral arrangement in the hallway.
It wasn’t really “catching” if the person was purposefully standing around.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the thing in her hand.
“A plant?” she answered. Its leaves bobbed as she gave it a little shake.
Astarion clicked his tongue. “Of course it's a plant, you nit, I mean why do you have it?”
“A dryad gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,” Rowan answered a little too defensively, trying to use her body language to indicate that she wanted to move past him.
Astarion looked down at her with one eyebrow raised. Then he scoffed and stopped taking up the whole hallway. He followed as she went into the kitchen and watched as she made space for the plant in the little window above the sink.
‘A pretty plant for a pretty lady,’ the dryad said, offering the cup of dirt to Rowan, who had stopped to admire the display. ‘Take good care of either, and they flower.’
Clearly flustered. Rowan took the plant and managed to thank the dryad
‘What gorgeous plant would she have offered him?’ Rowan thought as she tried to get it to sit just right so the leaves didn't press against the window.
Astarion clicked his tongue again and sashayed his head back and forth as he said, “Aww. I don't think just one flower could capture my beauty. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
Rowan rounded on him so quickly that he was actually taken aback. Her eyes narrowed in anger. He could hear her heart speed up.
“Stay out of my head,” she told him firmly.
Astarion laughed nervously under his breath. “Don't be like that, all of my guests like that little parlor trick.”
“I don't like it!” Rowan raised her voice, snapping like a cornered dog.
“You do not speak to me in that tone!” Astarion yelled back, fangs out.
The cabinets and the things in them rattled as Rowan backed away.
Astarion lowered his eyes.
When he looked back up, she was gone, the back door left open.
He was supposed to go out. He was all ready to go out, war paint on, immaculate outfit all zipped and buttoned up, complimentary jewelry glittering in the lights.
There were necks out there begging for his fangs. Ears desperate for his words.
Yet he was glued to the hallway of his home, waiting.
Every time his phone buzzed, he checked it immediately. So many disappointments. So many people he didn't care about in the least.
And then one cut through the noise.
>Do you think I should send Rowan her own invitation to the party? Should I give her a +1? Do you want a +1 or should I assume you're coming together? Maybe I should send her an invitation anyway, to make her feel specifically wanted. She might feel like I’m inviting her as your donor and not as a friend if I don't send her an invitation. What do you think?
Gale. Overthinking, well-meaning Gale.
I fucked up<
>How so?
I don’t know where she went<
>What did you do?
Astarion looked at his phone and then at the front door.
>Astarion, did you hurt her?
What a stupid question.
Given his answer, maybe not so stupid.
Cazador came out<
>Just stay there. Do you understand?
🟢<
Rowan made it through the garden and to the park before the adrenaline dumped out of her body. In a more or less controlled manner, she collapsed onto a bench and started to sob.
She tried to understand what happened.
That morning she woke up, not feeling all that great about herself. It wasn't a common occurrence, and the solution was usually just a nice meal and some sleep.
In her mind, they were getting along. Maybe they didn't talk about their day or hang out aside from the rare moment of being in the same room. Astarion didn't demand to know where she was going or what she was doing. His only controlling feature was asking her each day if she ate dinner before her blood draws.
She wasn't afraid of him because she had no cause to be. She got everything she needed even before they spoke with one another. Maybe he was so much more beautiful, intimidatingly beautiful, and surrounded himself with handsome and gorgeous people, and he seemed like he could do whatever he wanted, but she didn't feel beneath him.
But she did that day. Just feel like mud in the treads of a boot.
And then that dryad gave her that plant.
Her home used to be filled with plants. Her husband loved watching her care for them. It brought her joy.
Then he died and all the joy bled out of her.
It took a while to give herself permission to be happy. Receiving that plant felt like a sign, like it was time to find that joy again.
Did Astarion feel dismissed? Intruded upon? If she'd been able to school her emotions, would he have just gone on with his day?
It had been a long time since someone called her pretty. It was such a superficial thing but it had her torn up in knots.
Rowan gasped, surprised by her phone buzzing.
She thought about declining Gale’s call.
“Hello?” she answered shakily.
“Are you okay?” Gale’s voice answered, firm but reassuring. He had that kind of voice. She’d started listening to his readings of his books before bed. She had no idea what he was talking about, but it was calming.
“Yeah.” Rowan sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. A disgusting thing to do, but she didn’t have many options. “I feel stupid.”
“I assure you, you are not. Take a deep breath-” Rowan did as he said, loud enough that he could hear over the phone, “-and tell me what happened.”
Rowan laid it out for him. The oppressive weight that settled over her that day. All the feelings that the gifted plant brought up. How she didn’t understand the way Astarion reacted to it. How she pushed for one boundary instead of capitulating and got yelled at for it.
“It sounds like this brought up a lot of feelings,” Gale said thoughtfully once she was finished.
Rowan made a pathetic noise, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. “Yeah.”
“If you want, I can find you a hotel-”
“No,” she interrupted, wiping away her tears, resolve bolstering her voice. “I mean, thank you, obviously, but that’s not what I want to do right now.”
“If it’s any consolation, I can almost guarantee he is sincerely apologetic.”
When Rowan returned home, she found Astarion waiting for her.
On his knees, forehead pressed to the floor, hands flat before him; Astarion, in all of his resplendent beauty, expensive dress, and careful preening, was prostrate before her. She’d maybe seen something like it before in an old movie, where a samurai begged for his superior’s forgiveness.
“Please don’t leave,” he begged, voice muffled by his position. “I apologize for my behavior.”
Rowan didn’t want to be a doormat. Part of her worried that she was weak, that she was letting this go because he was beautiful and fulfilled her needs.
“Please get up,” she said, kneeling before him. When he didn’t budge, she took hold of his shoulders and shook them. “It’s okay, I forgive you.”
Slowly, Astarion picked up his head. Rowan wasn’t one for fashion or accessorizing, she assumed that his makeup was supposed to be intimidating and mysterious, but all it did was highlight how big and wet his eyes were.
“It’s okay,” she repeated quietly, more to herself than him. Her chest hurt. “It’s okay.”
“Do you want to go to Gale’s Halloween party?” Astarion asked, begging with his eyes.
“It’s September,” Rowan said in shock.
“He’s a planner.”
“Of course he is.” Rowan laughed nervously. “Don’t you want to go with someone else?”
“No. I always go alone.”
After a moment of consideration, Rowan nodded and smiled. “Sure. I’ll go.”
With both of his bejeweled hands, Astarion took hold of her left hand and reverently, as if worshiping it, he pressed the back of her hand to his cold forehead.
Despite Rowan’s apprehensions, Astarion was the one to back off first.
He didn’t know what he was doing. Things like love were distant memories. It took him long enough to call Gale a friend.
Countless faces, most of whose names were lost to time. They knew the construct that shared his name, the mask he put on in order to get what he needed. He used to feel suffocated by it, even if it fed his pride and vanity.
‘Innumerable,’ Rowan’s voice corrected in his head.
She’d talked once about there being a ‘Work Rowan,’ a personality set aside just for dealing with her colleagues. Going out one night soon after, Astarion considered the idea of ‘Work Astarion.’
It felt strangely freeing to be so conscious of the difference. He thought it would bring too much attention to it, digging up old feelings.
When he convinced Rowan to go out with him again, somewhere a little calmer, for people looking to unwind instead of stay up until morning, he was able to leave ‘Work Astarion’ at home. They had a much more pleasant time.
But now, in the bright light of a new year, ushered in by a kiss, Astarion didn’t know what he was feeling.
He had an inkling of an idea about what it could be. Afterall, he wasn’t stupid; he’d been playing off of the concepts of lust and love for centuries.
But he’d never really felt that way himself.
After that kiss, he was desperate for any other explanation.
An explanation for wanting to make her smile. To feel her warmth pressed against him. That sharp prickly feeling that made his jaw clench when someone else was too familiar with her. How his stomach threatened to turn itself inside out just for the chance to kiss her again.
The burning rage that flared when he thought of her getting hurt.
That, Astarion feared the most. Because what if, in his uncertainty, he hurt her?
Rowan noticed his withdrawal, but she handled it well. Astarion could be odd. It was just a kiss, on a day when it was tradition to do so.
Instead of tying herself up into knots over how Astarion felt, she focused on herself.
In the end, she decided that she would only know how she truly felt about trying again when, well, she had someone to try again with. All the thinking was well and good, but time would tell.
With the holidays over, Rowan took the chance to wean herself off her mood stabilizer. It did its job, getting her through the hardest parts of grief.
Thankfully, when her boat rocked just a bit while her body got used to the change, Astarion was there.
He still wasn’t very good at being comforting. Wasn’t he supposed to help her talk about her feelings, instead of just sitting nearby and occasionally going ‘there, there’ while patting her arm?
Rowan didn’t mind. She was just happy to have him near for once. Through sleepless nights and restful days, she was able to shift her schedule to overlap more with his.
As nice as it was to fall asleep with someone else in the bed again, she wanted to spend real time with him. That was hard when she was ready to fall asleep in the middle of him awkwardly making pointedly non-flirtatious conversation.
During a lovely dinner, which Astarion tried to make less romantic by wearing his plainest clothes that still fit the venue, he hypnotized her with the minute details of the Terran-Torilian Treatise on Non-human Rights.
After a while, Rowan assumed Astarion had moved her into the same box as Gale, who he had referred to as “my best friend, if I was twelve. They really ought to make a better word.”
Well, they did use the word “best,” afterall.
Around the same time, Astarion came to the conclusion that Rowan would be a safe subject for the experiment that was “love.” Despite all of his flaws and missteps, she still accepted his invitations, even if it was just to take a walk around the park.
By the time Valentine’s Day came around, Rowan had returned to drawing blood for him for a few weeks.
Astarion once made a joke about sucking on the other end of the tubing like a straw.
It went about as awkwardly as it sounded. Rowan made a small shocked sound akin to a laugh. Astarion swiftly grabbed the bag of blood and fled the kitchen, thankful that he didn’t have enough blood to turn red.
Rowan really wasn’t expecting anything to happen on a day like Valentine’s Day. When she had someone to celebrate with, it was just an excuse to have a nicer-than-normal meal and some candy.
But by mid-day, a small bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates arrived. The flowers were colorful, but nothing showy, and the chocolates were from a nice local shop.
She didn’t need his signature to know that they were sent by Gale. They came with a long note full of belabored and exact wording, but also a little sweet. The note attached made it clear that it was a friendly gesture and, should she not appreciate it, he would never do so again. All he wanted to do was add a little cheer to her day.
Later, near evening, another bouquet came. Rowan didn’t count them, but there had to be two dozen roses perfectly arranged in a crystal vase. All it had was their address and the note, probably written by the florist, “From your secret admirer.”
Rowan put the note back carefully in its holder and placed the vase on the kitchen counter next to the blood-draw machine before going up to her room to lie in bed and read.
A few hours passed before Astarion glided down the stairs in one of his finer outfits. It was so beautiful and perfectly made that Rowan called it his “regalia.” He liked the term so much that he even had a delicate sort of crown made to fit amongst his gorgeous curls.
With a self-satisfied smile on his lips, he descended the stairs and presented himself at Rowan’s door, leaning casually-but-deliberately against the door jam.
It took every ounce of his will to not let his face fall with the disappointment that gripped his undead heart.
“Turning in already?” he asked with a strained smile, his ring-laden hand slipping from the doorframe.
“Nowhere to go,” Rowan answered idly, not looking up from her book. It was like any other night.
Astarion stepped into her sanctum, his heels thudding on the carpet. Sitting on her chest of drawers was the small arrangement, its cute bulbous nature mocking him. Lying beside her on the bed was the box of candy, its lid half-canted.
Rowan finally looked up. The sight of him made her smile, big and bright. “Big date?”
Closing Gale’s note after briefly reading it, Astarion gazed at her reflection in the mirror. There, he could show his disappointment where she could not see.
But she seemed… excited for him?
“Is this all that came?” he asked, turning Gale’s favor as if the other side was better.
“Some roses came for you. They look really nice,” Rowan answered offhandedly, trying to find her place again in her reading. “I left them in the kitchen. I didn’t want to bother you.”
Without any further discussion, Astarion left her room and tried to keep from hurling himself down the stairs to get there faster.
Sure enough, there they were, like a big red wound sitting in the heart of his home.
He returned to her room and, as he placed the heavy vase on the chest along with the others, dwarfing Gale’s token of friendship, Rowan regarded him with confusion.
“These are for you,” Astarion explained, making sure they looked perfect.
“But how could you know- Oh.” Rowan’s heart sank into her stomach. Putting down her book and slipping out of her bed, she approached him with the expression of someone who was about to throw themselves at his feet if that’s what it took to show how sorry she was. “I’m so sorry-”
“I wanted to be mysterious,” he interrupted before she could break his heart, acting like a servant who has upset their master. “I didn’t consider the possibility that you would think they were for me.”
“They’re just so beautiful-”
“Don’t you deserve beautiful things?” Rowan couldn’t argue, but she didn’t want to say ‘yes.’ “Today is… special, for people like us. Vampires and their donors. It’s a day when we can reward you for all that you do for us.”
She didn’t know if that put her at ease or disappointed her, but her answer was the same either way.
“I’ll get changed,” she answered, emotions coming to her in waves. She was excited, and a little terrified, but most of all, she felt ashamed that she obviously hurt him. “That is… if you still want to go with me.”
“I would like nothing more,” Astarion purred, happy with her answer.
They stood staring at each other for a moment.
“Oh! Right. You’d probably like some privacy.” He chuckled awkwardly to himself as he walked out of her bedroom.
Astarion had dressed himself beautifully and Rowan knew that there was nothing in her closet that could even come close to comparing. But by now, she could be confident that he didn’t care.
Still, she had to put in a little more effort than usual, right?
When she came down the stairs, Astarion had to remind himself that he didn’t actually have to breathe.
Stopping her on the last stair, he took in the sight of her. As he fixed her donor pin on her jacket lapel, he said with no small amount of admiration, “You look positively dashing. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding a tuxedo from me this whole time.”
The suit itself was old, yes, but she’d chosen to throw on the blood-red vest that he’d picked out for her and replaced the cheap-looking shiny shoes with some subtle black boots he’d helped her find as well.
Hair carefully combed into place with some pomade, her lips painted with a shade he’d insisted she keep after he approved of its contrast with her complexion, Rowan felt like she deserved his praise.
“I try,” she answered with her eyes downcast shyly. “But it’s a far cry from you.”
“My dear, you are a feast for mine eyes. It’s only fair that I be a feast for yours.”
Astarion offered her a smile and his hand.
Swallowing her apprehensions, Rowan took it.
The venue deserved more words than “nice and fancy” but Rowan couldn’t think of any better ones. She could tell it was a place with a long waiting list, with some world-renowned chef responsible for its menu.
It always made her feel a little bad, that he took her to all of these nice places when all she could think about was that burger and milkshake.
All of these carefully curated dishes on immaculate plates and she was fantasizing about something messy and greasy.
Maybe a pickle from some grandma’s garden, sitting in an unlabeled jar behind the counter.
Hot sauces that made her nose run and her mouth tingle.
Perhaps the most perfectly fried piece of fish, served in yesterday’s newspaper, whose whole purpose seemed to be holding greasy street food and lining birdcages.
The food, and blood, seemed to be coming quickly. Usually dinner involved conversation, but Rowan had barely any time to think of something in between courses.
Meanwhile, Astarion was uncharacteristically silent. Trying not to watch too intently as she ate, he busied himself with his blood.
Both felt that there was something missing, that this was supposed to put butterflies in their stomachs.
It seemed ridiculous to just go home, so they decided to wander the city. With all of the night creatures, most places stayed open all day and it felt alive well into the night.
First, they passed an old bookshop. The kind of shop that seemed to be shoved into the spare room between its neighbors.
The narrow building became even narrower inside, forcing whatever curious soul that came in to shimmy between the unorganized stacks of books while they perused. The lighting was warm and the air filled with the perfume of old paper and leather.
“Would you mind if I took a quick look?” Rowan asked him, touching his arm as he kept walking while she slowed down to stare.
Astarion looked at the shop and then at her face. So full of wonder, glowing in the soft light from the windows, it made him smile.
“Today is about you,” he reminded her.
Excitedly, Rowan ran up the stairs in her tux and big black coat. Watching her go, and following much more majestically, gave him a thrill that rivaled that of a good meal.
Like a bloodhound, he found her in the stacks by scent. Her nose was deep in an obviously Faerûnian book. He didn’t even know she could read the Thorassian alphabet.
“Do you know this one?” she asked, turning the cover to him.
Okay. Apparently she didn’t know the Thorassian alphabet.
“Yes,” he answered simply as he tried not to laugh.
“Is it good?”
“It’s erotica, my dear.” Astarion’s lips curled into a smirk. He expected her to blush and quickly return it to its pile.
Rowan stared at him blankly, patiently waiting.
“Yes, it’s good,” he said with a huff, taking the book and putting it down, “and you can borrow my copy.”
Somehow, out of all the clutter, Rowan managed to find a Terran book and they were on their way again.
At the corner, there was a cafe. Warm light and the sound of conversation spilled out into the street.
“Would you mind if I got something?” Rowan asked with big pleading eyes that she didn’t need to employ.
Still, Astarion laughed. The kind of laugh that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and the lines in his face deepen.
“Darling, I’m surprised you can fit anymore in you.”
“They give you 8 courses but they don’t tell you that they’re each one bite,” she complained in a good-humored way. He was impressed that his comment didn’t trigger some insecurity. She was impressed as well.
“I can’t let you go hungry, now, can I?”
A few minutes later, Rowan came back with a drink. Before they started walking away, she tried to take a sip, only to hiss in pain. Her silly sounds and awkward huffing made it obvious that she burned her mouth and was trying not to rudely spit the offending liquid back out.
“You should have waited,” Astarion chided, although lovingly. It was as sad as it was entertaining to watch her work through her predicament.
“But if we keep walking, I won't be able to drink it.”
“What, you can't drink and walk at the same time?”
“And you can?”
“I suppose it wouldbe quite awkward to lift you over my head, sink my teeth into your neck, and keep walking without getting blood everywhere or running into traffic.” Astarion chuckled at the image. “Come, we can sit down and spare your shirt its messy fate.”
Since they were sitting, Rowan went back for something to eat.
“So, what’s it like?” she asked casually before taking a bite of the brownie she chose to go with her hot chocolate.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Being bitten.”
“Curious, are you?”
“Looks like it hurts.”
“At first. Then you go a little numb. Then… a light-headed bliss.” Astarion waited a moment to gauge her reaction. “Afraid of a little pain?”
“It’d have to be worth it.”
“Many people must think it is. They keep coming back.”
“What’s it like to drink straight from the source?”
“Mmm. It varies, from person-to-person.” At this, Rowan snorted. “I imagine it’s a bit like your drink. Hot, a little thick, and satisfying. It clings to your mouth, coats your throat, and warms your stomach.”
Rowan’s face turned red as she looked away, busying herself with picking at her food. Astarion propped his chin on his hand and smirked at her.
“You only have to ask.”
Rowan wanted to play dumb and say, ‘ask for what?’
Instead, she finished her brownie and drained her drink.
“I think I’m ready to go back home,” she told him as she put down her empty cup.
Astarion couldn’t decide if he’d hit a nerve or she was just tired. If he could skim over her thoughts, he’d find her struggling to decide on what she would do once they got back.
“Of course,” he answered calmly, trying to come across as neutral as possible.
They didn’t speak on the way home. Astarion told himself that they were only speaking in hypotheticals, that it was just curiosity. There was nothing to get his hopes up about.
That was, until he was carefully shedding the layers of his outfit.
He’d sat at the magic vanity for some time, staring past his rare reflection at nothing. Gale would probably call that a metaphor.
His delicate fingers were about to pluck the crown from his curls when Rowan appeared behind him.
Standing in the open doorway in her white button-down shirt, whose front hid her underwear. In the mirror, it was safe for him to trace his eyes along the bare expanse of her thighs, framed between shirt hem and the garters holding up her black socks.
The first few buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing her neck.
“I don’t know how to ask,” Rowan said eventually after awkwardly lingering at his door.
Astarion turned in his seat to look her properly in the eye.
“You don’t have to. I don’t expect it of you.”
“I know.”
Astarion rose to his feet and in a few steps, he could feel the warmth of her breath.
“I would be more than happy to oblige you, but only if it is something you want,” he reassured her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.
“Can I… lay down?” Rowan asked uncertainly, eyes furtively flicking to his bed.
“If it would make you more comfortable.”
Astarion watched as she slowly approached his bed, staring at it as if it was a relic or somehow intimately important. Before she lived there, it was something he hardly thought about. No one but him had ever laid there.
Now, Rowan crawled onto it, reaching out to adjust the pillows, one knee digging into the mattress.
Astarion looked elsewhere, for once feeling like some lecherous old bastard leering at a half-clothed form.
When she was settled, he stiffly found his place looming over her.
“I don’t remember the last time I did this,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle which Rowan returned.
At first, he’d tried to straddle her, somehow the least intimate way to align their bodies. But her hips and thighs were too wide for either of them to get comfortable that way.
“Do you mind if I…?” Astarion started, trailing off like some awkward first-time lover. From the way he shifted his weight to put one of his legs between hers, Rowan understood.
“N-no, go ahead…” Blushing, she parted her legs to let his knees lie between them.
Trying to find good leverage, Astarion bent his right leg and hooked it under her left, allowing him to more comfortably support his weight as it loomed over her.
She could feel the heat radiate off of him. Had he drank so much, to be warm for her? If she held her breath, the only sound in the room save for the rustling of fabric, she could just barely hear his heart beat steadily against his breastbone.
Astarion could hear her heart hammer in her own chest.
“Am I scaring you?” he asked with regret, pulling away.
“I’m scared, but not of you,” Rowan answered hastily, her voice strained by the tension in her chest. Lifting her hands from the bed where they had been lying stiffly at her sides, she asked, “May I touch you?”
Hips and stomachs nearly pressed together, their legs loosely entangled, his arms caging her beneath him, it seemed a silly question to ask.
“You may.”
Even through the layers of his clothes, her touch felt electric as she slowly wrapped her arms around his sides and placed her hands on his back, passively pulling him back in.
Astarion buried his face in the crook of her neck, forehead pressed into the pillow her head lied upon.
There, all he could smell was her. Her soaps mixed with the primal song of her blood, calling out to him.
Something he did not normally do for his ‘meals,’ Astarion found the perfect spot on her neck and placed his lips around it. Not so wide that his fangs scratched her, but enough that his saliva coated the sensitive skin he intended to bite.
Rowan’s breath hitched. It wasn’t a love bite so much as a gentle amount of suction.
One of her hands pressed into the small of his back while the other rested on his shoulderblade.
The skin under his mouth started to tingle and grow numb.
Astarion opened his mouth and the air chilled the wetness on her skin.
“If you ever tell me to stop,” he whispered, his lips brushing her neck, “I will, without hesitation.”
Rowan barely registered the graze of his fangs before they ever-so-carefully pierced her flesh.
Astarion sank even deeper into her as her hands clutched at him in shock.
But soon, the pain was gone, and those hands went back to holding him gently.
Astarion wanted to drink forever, stuck to her neck like an overgrown leech. Such was his curse, that satisfaction meant destroying the thing he loved.
That satisfaction wouldn’t last, either. Even if he drained every drop, he would have to hunt again eventually.
Her smell, her music. He wanted to be buried in it like a pharaoh in his tomb. Wanted to subsume her, to meld into one-
“S-stop,” Rowan pleaded weakly, her loving hands now pushing him away by the chest.
It was at that moment Astarion realized he was pressing his body into hers.
He sat up like he’d been run through with electricity.
“I-”
“It’s okay.” She didn’t appear afraid, but neither her words nor her demeanor eased the tension in his body.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Astarion insisted sadly. An icy feeling crept through his insides, replacing the pleasant warmth of all the blood he’d partaken in that night.
Rowan wanted to reassure him, but her thoughts became occupied by the throbbing in her neck. Placing a hand to it, she felt the rivulet of blood trickling down her skin. It surged and ebbed in time with her heartbeat.
Astarion pressed a finger over the wounds he left while he dug through his pocket for the stiptik pen he carried for such occasions.
He wanted to lick the blood away, straight off her sweat-salted skin, but after what he’d done, that was a little too far.
“I’m just tired, I think,” Rowan eventually said, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes.
“You don’t need to spare my feelings, my dear.”
The sadness that he couldn’t keep from his voice made her heart hurt.
“I’m not ready yet.” Her words shocked him. “But I want to be. And I’d like to try with someone I trust.”
They sat for some time in silence, unable to look at the other, feeling seen but unafraid.
Astarion worried at his lip as a multitude of emotions and thoughts played out on his face. Meanwhile, Rowan’s remained blank as she stared at nothing.
“I haven’t-... done that… in a very long time…” he started to say, stilting around the lump forming in his throat. Rowan turned her eyes to him without turning her face as well. When she saw that he was looking off into the corner of the room, she faced him properly.
“I… would lure victims for my master. It was my sole purpose, as a spawn… That, and being his little plaything. I found it was easiest to lure them in with my best asset.”
Rowan opened her mouth to argue. It felt rude to interrupt, and she didn’t want to debate him on something so personal.
“And when he was gone… I didn’t know anything else. It took a long time to learn that I could get what I needed in other ways. That part of my life…”
Astarion had never put words to that pain. It was difficult, acknowledging the monster he’d managed to cast out without letting it back in. Sometimes, its claws found their way through the crack in the door, trying to sink back into him.
Rowan opened her hand, an invitation to be held, to be an anchor.
As he slipped his hand into hers, welcomed by a gentle and reassuring squeeze, he chuckled under his breath at his foolishness. “That is to say… I didn’t think myself capable of this… need, after all this time. I didn’t expect to need you so badly that it just felt… right. Natural.”
It had felt natural to her, as well, aside from the sudden panic and guilt. But sitting there with him, their hands clasped together, felt right. She wanted to embrace him, to smother him with kisses.
Instead, she lifted his hand to her lips and pressed a firm, reverent kiss to his knuckles.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed. “My dear, that is not the proper way. Have I taught you nothing?”
Astarion turned her hand over so he could return the gesture, but he put his thumb between her knuckles and his lips, kissing that instead.
Ruby eyes looked up at her through his lashes. “However, I enjoyed your version much more.”
Eyes flicking to his perfect lips, Rowan’s voice dipped low as she told him, “I would rather kiss something softer.”
Much like New Years, their lips met in an awkward but powerful kiss. This time, they lingered.
Navigating the particulars of noses pressed into cheeks. Finding whose bottom lip was more naturally captured and gently tugged by the other. Discovering the right amount of pressure when meeting with closed lips.
What to do with their hands. It felt like they were everywhere: on cheeks, necks, shoulders, arms, waists, chests, backs.
Without thinking, they leaned into one another.
Rowan brushed her thumb over one of his ears as her fingers slipped into the curls behind it and a desperate sound slipped from Astarion’s lips.
Swallowing that moan, suddenly aware of her body’s reaction to him, Rowan retreated.
“I’m sorry,” she pleaded, embarrassed and ashamed, bringing her thighs together tightly as she shifted away.
It didn’t help that his heightened sense of smell could undoubtedly pick up what she was hiding. Her scent washed over him, carried on the waves of heat emanating from her whole body.
Astarion needed to mix that scent with his own, roll around in it like a beast marking its territory.
A need so powerful it made his insides hurt. The only way to satisfy it was to pin her to the bed and make her cry his name as he showed her just how much he needed her.
But that was something he wasn’t going to do. Maybe he would have done it a long time ago, when his feelings were new and confusing and came from pain.
If he could be honest, it scared him, knowing that deep down, he was a sick, twisted animal.
“It’s late. You should rest.”
“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated, on the verge of tears. She didn’t like disappointing him.
He was disappointed, sure, but not upset.
“This is what trust is for, isn’t it? Knowing that each other’s comfort is worth more than our disappointment?” Astarion smiled at her as she slowly regained the courage to look at him.
“You're sweet.”
“I know, my dear, but don't let anyone hear that. I have a reputation to uphold.” With the tip of his finger, he tapped her nose. “Besides, I know how you feel about dessert.”
Rowan scrunched up her nose playfully at his touch. “I think I was dessert this time…”
“Well, next time, you’ll just have to gobble me up.” The words sounded better in his head. “Ah. I apologize, that came out a little more suggestive than I intended…”
Rowan leaned in and gave him a kiss, more reserved than the previous ones, but it was certainly more than friendly.
Whenever something annoyed Rowan at work, instead of facing it with scorn and bile, she shrugged it off. She would think, 'I'm going away, with a beautiful vampire, to a place I've never been, for two weeks, and you can't stop me,' and that thought pleased her.
A smile would unknowingly spread across her face, amused by her own private joke. Everything tasted better now, her steps were lighter. She hadn't felt a freedom like that since she left home.
Astarion could taste it in her blood and that gave him his own strange pleasure.
Even with a long flight ahead of her, she was excited to get started. That excitement was sometimes replaced by nerves. Would they get along? Traveling was very different from living in the same house. Would anything bad happen? She didn't even really know what he had planned for them.
At the very least, she was glad he warned her about his "normal elf" face. It helped her not be so shocked when he met her in the foyer.
She was still a little shocked.
The layers of products she couldn't even name were so perfectly blended over his pale skin that he looked even more lifelike than some of the elves she'd actually met. He'd even done a masterful job of recreating his trademark mole, freckles and small blemishes so as to not look too perfect.
But what surprised her most were his eyes. Once brilliant garnet, now soft dark brown.
"So?" Astarion asked her uncertainly, turning his face this way and that to give her a full picture. "How do I look?"
"Gorgeous as ever," Rowan answered with a small amount of awe. "Were your eyes brown before?"
"I have no clue, honestly. But I've found these are the most fitting."
Her reaction made him uneasy. Did she prefer this look? Was she imagining spending time with a version of him that hadn't existed for over a thousand years?
Eventually, he plucked up the courage to ask, "Do you… like it?"
Rowan realized she'd been staring. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes darted away.
"It'll take some getting used to. I was worried I wouldn't recognize you." Suddenly, her bags became very interesting. "We should get going, yeah?"
When Astarion said "grand romantic gesture," she was preparing herself for the shock of First Class, which she'd only experienced once on a domestic flight, nothing super fancy.
Not a private jet.
"Isn't this a bit much?" Rowan asked, eyes wide, as they handed over their luggage.
"When you have needs like mine, it's just easier," Astarion answered with a shrug before ascending the stairs.
Like the diva he was, he chose a seat and practically threw himself into it with a sigh. As she sat across from him, he shut the window shade and proceeded to take off all the extra pieces of his outfit that protected him from the sun.
The expression on her face was too much.
"Darling, are you really so distressed having a plane all to yourself?" It came out as a purr, even though her demeanor was agitating him. This was supposed to be exhilarating, special.
Instead she was, well, afraid. Even over the sound of the jet engines coming to life, Astarion could hear the pounding of her heart. Rowan was even rubbing her sternum through her clothing, as if that might help. Without a window to look out of, she nervously glanced around at the interior with a hunted look.
"I don't mean to seem ungrateful," she said apologetically as the great metal bird started to move. Her hand wrapped around one of her armrests in a claw-like grip. Knuckles turning white, face going pale, she added, "I really appreciate it, I just wasn't expecting it."
Astarion couldn't quite figure out what was happening. From all her stories, she'd never let on she had this sort of reaction to flying. If he'd known, he might have asked Gale to just push them through a portal. When he planned this, he was hoping it would be much more romantic. Drinking champagne, watching her eat whatever special human treat was brought aboard, bubbly conversation.
"You're not going to vomit on me, are you?"
Eyes screwed shut, Rowan shook her head vigorously.
"Good. I probably couldn't find this outfit again." With more understanding, he said, "Also, that would be quite unpleasant for you."
As the plane finally rose into the air and it began to shake, Rowan's hands darted out and snatched one of his off his crossed knees.
His first instinct was to pull away, the clamminess of her hands disgusting. But then he placed his other hand overtop and convinced her to hold them in a much more comfortable fashion.
"Oh, it's okay, my dear," Astarion soothed, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. "Nothing will happen to you. I promise."
When the plane leveled off, Rowan let out a breath she didn't know how long she'd been holding.
"I'm sorry." Her color started to return and Astarion allowed himself to relax at last. She tried to take back her hands, but he didn't let her just yet. "I don't know why I'm taking this so bad."
"I'll just assume you're sick with excitement," he purred, a thrill going through him when she squeezed his hands. Only the presence of their attendant made him let go. "Perhaps it's time for a drink?"
The attendant placed a glass of something dark red and steaming on the small side table for Astarion and something else for Rowan. After thanking the… She didn't actually know what it was, because she could barely remember that something had waited on them as soon as it left. Swirling the drink, she inspected it. As the ice shifted, the dark red-orange color spread.
"Thank you," she said earnestly, a smile on her lips. Then she held out her glass to him. "To an undoubtedly beautiful getaway."
One of his more unrestrained smiles lit up Astarion's face as he tapped their glasses together in agreement. It turned into a smirk as he watched her take her first sip. "Do you like it? I chose it for you."
"It is absolutely delicious and, given the chance, would put me on my ass." Rowan took another sip before setting it down, wishing to savor it. "A little on the nose, though, yeah? A blood orange bellini?"
Astarion laughed, his fangs showing just briefly. "When I saw it on the list, I couldn't resist."
After a brief pause where she waited for him to finish his blood while it was still warm, she asked, "So, do I get to know what we're doing? Or do I only have what you told me to pack to go off of?"
"I like having you at my mercy. Keep you on your toes."
"I just have to trust you?" Rowan shook her head and, raising her drink to her lips, added, "I'm gonna need more of these."
"Gods, I forget how much of a little bitch you can be." His eyes would've glittered if they weren't hidden by the brown contacts. But even under layers of foundation and powders, the corners of his eyes still crinkled and his laugh lines made themselves known.
"Are you going to throw me out over the Canadian wilderness?" she asked cheekily.
"Mmm… maybe dangle you out the door for a bit…"
The rest of their time in the air flew by without much excitement, mostly because Rowan quickly fell asleep after not accounting for elevation when it came to her drinks.
Still, Astarion considered it a victory to have her cuddled up against his side, her head resting on his chest. With one arm wrapped around her, making sure she stayed upright, he passed the time reading a book, which he barely managed to internalize, and double-checking all his plans.
"MmMmh…" Rowan mumbled as she was woken up by their descent. Through barely-open eyes, she looked around. "Where am I?"
"The other side of the world," Astarion answered as he stowed his book away.
"Oh yeah?" Her sentience started to return as the pins-and-needles began assaulting her once-numb arm.
"My poor creature, what am I ever to do with you?"
"I dunno, what were you planning on doing with me?"
"Well, for starters, I thought I'd watch you eat a lovely late dinner and then we'd take a walk through a rather nice shopping district on our way to tonight's accommodations," he explained in a smooth low voice, watching with keen interest as she stretched and rubbed at her limbs.
"I can't figure out if changing my sleep schedule was a good idea or not," Rowan grumbled, mostly to herself, as they made their way out of the airport. Their luggage was already being taken to their hotel, which she was grateful for, because she really didn't want to be dragging all of it right now. "I feel upside down."
"I'll have to remember that you, alcohol, and airplanes don't mix."
It was late enough in the normal-people-day that Astarion only needed gloves and one of his fashionable hats to keep from smoking in the sun. He'd planned it that way so he wouldn't stand out too much. Well, not stand out more than he normally stood out, as an ethereal beauty typically does without much effort.
There were not many places more accepting of Torilians, especially the non-human and immortal ones, than their home of New Babylon. People similar to him were everywhere, whether their native population was aware of it or not. Astarion chose a place that felt like a comfortable intersection of "won't chase me out with pitchforks" and "Rowan would have a good time."
Between her own previous plans to visit and a quick list of notes cobbled together by people Astarion knew, Rowan managed to not embarrass him. Although, he still wished he was able to convince her to be a little more adventurous with her clothing.
Not that he necessarily disliked her clean and professional look. Honestly, he thought about employing the style more often. It would certainly cut down on his morning routine and it was easier to replace. But when he stood next to her, it felt like she was trying to hide behind him. Competing with a vampire was a near-impossible feat, but even still, Rowan seemed to prefer that no one notice her at all.
Astarion did. All her little mannerisms. The grays in her hair. How she got louder when she was excited. The way she subtly scanned her surroundings as if being hunted.
It happened less now, with him around. That realization excited him. It meant she was comfortable. Safe. Because of him. How… quaint. Romantic, even.
"This might be the best fish I've ever had," Rowan told him after taking a moment to savor her latest piece of sushi.
"I'll have to take your word for it," he responded with a soft little smile. The place setting in front of him was empty. Astarion had asked that they give both portions to his companion, in a subtle suggestion that he simply couldn't eat it and it was no insult to their skills or the quality of their meal.
Just barely, he could see her bat-shaped pin on the inside of her jacket. He'd told her to leave it at home, it was a bit too obvious. It saddened to see her hiding it, like a dirty secret, but also proud that she'd disobeyed him.
"That was really special," she said quite earnestly as they made their way outside. By now, the sun was down and Astarion was free to discard his hat, although he left on the gloves. With a smile that came easily to her, she looked up at him. "Thank you."
"Oh, my dear, I will never tire of hearing those words come from your lips." With an absolutely unnecessary flourish, he offered his arm to her. "Shall we see what this city has to offer?"
This time, Rowan didn't have an excuse for why her face turned red as she shyly slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. That was answer enough for him.
While it wasn't used to running 24-hours like New Babylon, there was still plenty for them to do in the night.
If only she'd stop getting distracted by vegetables.
"Why don't we find you a new outfit?" Astarion suggested hopefully, trying to persuade her out of the open market. It wasn't like she was going to cook or take it home.
"Oh, I can watch you try on things," Rowan said dismissively, pulling herself away from the spices she was admiring. "I have plenty of clothes."
"You really don't." Keeping his withering sigh under his breath so she couldn't hear, Astarion led them away to the more 'planned' part of their shopping adventure.
He was smart enough to choose places that were more traditional with a bit of experimentation, just for him, because he'd learn there was no way in Hell he was going to get her into anything flashy.
Yet still, she resisted.
"What about this?" Astarion asked sweetly, holding up a yukata, decorated with delicate cherry blossoms.
"It's pretty, you should try it on. It seems a bit short, though," Rowan answered after clearly giving it some thought. She even added helpfully, "It'd go well with that one hair piece you have. The cherry blossom branch made of glass? With the sparkly little gems."
Astarion was honestly impressed that she remembered such a thing, she'd probably only seen it in passing.
"I meant for you." He sighed dramatically as he carefully put the article of clothing back where he found it. "I thought you would like it. Comfortable, soft fabric. Not form-fitted."
Rowan had the distinct feeling that this was going to turn into a fight. It could be explained away as the after-effects of their flight or the stress of trying to make a perfect trip.
Neither of them really wanted to fight; this wasn't the place. With the perfectly professional shop attendant hovering near them, it also wasn't the place for a heart-to-heart.
"Maybe something not so pink," she suggested gently, picking another outfit off its peg and holding it towards him like an olive branch. "Maybe we could try to match?"
Astarion's ears wiggled in interest. He was ready to pout the rest of the night.
Holding what she chose up under her chin, he clicked his tongue. "This color washes you right out, my love. And this pattern would make you look thin."
"I thought looking thin was a good thing?" Rowan asked in genuine confusion, watching as he looked for something else.
"A good thing is showing off your best features," he explained nonchalantly, distracted by options. "Yours come out. It's a disservice to hide them."
Rowan looked away, her face slowly turning red. The shop attendant politely looked away as well.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of Astarion's fussings that Rowan took with the calm of a show-cat. Eventually, much to her relief, they made it back to their hotel for the night.
Biting back a comment about why he had to pick somewhere so fancy, and swallowing some of the dinner brought to their room, she said, "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?" Astarion purred happily, occupying himself with making sure the puncture marks he left in her wrist would be invisible by 'morning.'
"For frustrating you, because I'm not like you. I don't- What's it called?" Rowan moved around a bit of food as she thought. "Possess the will to have nice things."
"I'm not sure I follow."
"You want things to be nice, because they're better, not just to show off-"
A sharp sound of amusement escaped his nose. "I do show off a little."
"Right, but, I just mean… Even if no one was looking, you'd want nice things, right?"
"Of course. I deserve them."
"I keep making you mad, because I keep refusing nice things. Because I just want to survive and nice things should be for people that want them."
When Astarion didn't have anything to say, Rowan picked at her dinner and occasionally looked towards the closet where their new things hung. In the end, she'd liked something blue, with a heron.
He'd gone for the cherry blossoms, but in a large size.
"I will promise to not push it if you admit to deserving one nice thing."
Something about his tone made it seem imperative that she agree. That, for whatever reason, it was difficult for him to bring up.
But she couldn't just agree to something without knowing the terms.
"And what's that?"
Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, he said, "Me, obviously."
For a second time, Rowan had to look away out of embarrassment.
"You can be really annoying, you know that?" she asked in a mumble.
Astarion batted his eyelashes. "I'm not hearing a no."
Even when she glared, his grin only grew more devilish.
"Fine."
"'Fine' what?"
"I… deserve… one nice thing."
Astarion was grinning like an idiot, sharp teeth on full display, but inside he was heaving the biggest sigh of relief. "That was really hard for you, wasn't it?"
"Well you're certainly much nicer than some clothes."
Every morning, Rowan poked her finger into the dirt of her new plant. The days were getting shorter, so she didn’t expect to see much in the way of growth, but she still carefully inspected it every evening while doing her blood draw.
This brought her happiness.
Every night, while Rowan was tucked away in her bed, Astarion very gingerly touched one of the leaves of Rowan’s plant. He didn’t know what this accomplished other than sating some strange curiosity he had about it.
This brought him something a little close to happiness.
Eventually, she replaced the plain cup it was given to her in with a ceramic pot in the shape of a cat. Next to it she placed a small seasonal gourd that she picked up at the faerie market across the street.
Astarion scoffed when he saw it. It didn’t fit at all with the rest of the decor.
“Oh, how charming,” Gale remarked during one of his visits, picking up the plant and giving it a look-over.
“Of course you like it.”
“Come now, Astarion. It’s a good sign.” Astarion lifted an eyebrow. Gale chuckled as he put the plant down. “It means she’s comfortable here. Even after your little conflict.”
“I apologized,” Astarion said a little petulantly.
“Yes, well, you only get so many of those.”
After Gale left, Astarion regarded the kitchen windowsill once more.
Okay. Maybe it was a little cute. He could live with it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Astarion rarely got up so early that it overlapped with Rowan’s work. Most of the time, he was entering consciousness around the time she was making dinner, lazed around in his coffin for another hour or so, and then was ready to go out when she was winding down after dinner.
That day, he got up a little earlier and only lazed about for 30 minutes before rolling out of “bed.”
“AAAAAAAGH FUUUUUUUUUCK!”
Astarion actually lifted out of his seat. The vanity he was sitting at rattled, proving this fact.
If he'd been in his coffin, he probably wouldn't have heard.
Astarion came down and poked his head cautiously around the doorframe of Rowan’s office. She sat at her desk, one hand over her eyes, the other holding her phone to her ear. Shaking her head, she sat up and saw him.
Yeah. He knew that look. Idiots, who didn’t know they were idiots, and in fact thought they knew better, were telling her idiotic things. She even moved the phone away from her ear, the tinny voice from the other end going unheard, the universal sign of “I am done with this person.”
Knowing that she was fine, he left her to her work.
Later, while he was doing his nails, his phone buzzed.
>I’m sorry for disturbing you. Normally you can’t hear me.
🐑🌳?<
>I’m fine, just being asked to do the impossible, same old
Nails drying, Astarion thought. Hard.
Acts of kindness did not come easily to him, but Gale recently gave him a lecture (affectionate) about how actions had meaning. This included a long list of suggestions for things he could do or say that might positively impact their relationship. Also warnings of things that might upset their delicate balance.
He needed Rowan to feel wanted. Not physically, Gale corrected sternly when Astarion made a comment that she wasn’t his type. She belonged in his space and he needed to show her that. She should be able to ask for help. She should be able to tell him when she was uncomfortable.
Otherwise, she would feel alienated from the world around her, or even herself, and feel beholden to set aside her self for his wishes.
Astarion could understand that. That had been his life for centuries.
In some ways, that was still his life.
Carefully tapping out a message with the tip of his fingers, he gave up his usual cryptic style of communicating for something more clear. Much like Gale, she could understand him, but they were much more forthcoming when he spoke their language.
Would you like to come out with me this evening? To let off steam, I mean.<
He watched in trepidation as the screen indicated she was typing. And then wasn’t. And then was typing again.
>It’s kind of you to offer, but that’s not really my thing. Thanks for asking! I have things I want to do around the house today. Have fun!
In her office, Rowan had her face in her hands, her ears burning red.
She, too, had been thinking about a lecture (affectionate) that Gale had given her.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Like most “creatures of the night,” Astarion didn’t like going out in the daytime. This was easier to avoid as the days got shorter, but the sun would rise eventually.
There was a subtle pain nestled behind his left eye as he walked home. Did he have too much to drink? Was he just tired from being out past sunrise? Who knows.
Thankfully, he could look as horrible as he felt under the safety of the hood and veil that protected him from the sun.
When he got home, he found a door open, spilling light into the hall. This door had gone unnoticed for perhaps the entire time he’d lived there.
It led to a basement. Snaking up the stairs came the sound of music and a rhythmic whirring and scraping.
Was this how it all ended? His home invaded by some crazed killer, some self-proclaimed vampire hunter with delusions of grandeur? Down there, ceremoniously butchering his donor?
“Oh, hey,” Rowan said breathlessly with a smile. Sweat glistened as it ran down the side of her face and down her chest.
Astarion had never seen so much of her skin.
The point being, she was fine.
He watched, a little bit in shock, as she stopped her exercising to give him her full attention. She even pressed the button on top of her little speaker to pause the high-octane music she’d been listening to.
“You just get back?” she asked, wiping off her sweat with a towel. Even over the ever-present smell of a basement, he could smell it. The notes of her unique biology that he could taste in her blood. Her.
“Yes,” Astarion answered simply, teasing off the fingertips of his gloves so they would come off more easily. “I didn’t realize you came down here.”
Rowan’s mild happiness retreated. “Oh, is that a problem? I’m sor-”
Astarion held up a still-gloved hand, cutting off her apology. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re free to do- Whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I was looking for some things and found this,” ‘this’ being a row-machine, “which I thought I got rid of. Figured I’d get back in the saddle.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said with a subtle smile, waving his gloves about in a flamboyant gesture as he turned to leave.
“Good night,” Rowan responded with a little laugh.
Tiredness was overcoming him, but Astarion decided to grab a bag of blood anyway. It was frankly awful, but he’d sip it straight out of the bag cold as he trudged up to his room.
On the kitchen island were some more ceramic pots, empty. They looked used, but freshly washed and drying. Perhaps those were the things she was looking for. He gave them a cursory inspection before breaking the seal on his “midnight snack” and heading for bed.
As he passed her rooms, something caught his eye.
She had started decorating. Just little things, like leaving trinkets around or propping up pictures.
Astarion wanted to snoop so badly. But, he knew that if she caught him in her space without permission, they would be back to square one, which he was already lucky not to be at after his master’s voice came out of his mouth.
So, he moved on.
When he got up later, he passed by again, stopping only because she was inside. Looking up from a box of her things, she gave him a small smile and a soft “hey.”
She was listening to music, the kind of stuff that was supposed to be “subversive,” music he’d hear in clubs for humans who pretended they were creatures of the night. It was odd to hear it out of context, to see someone just… enjoying it, bobbing along with its beat, happily singing a line under their breath.
It somehow annoyed him to know she liked that sort of thing and also… she was different.
Rowan noticed him lingering at the threshold, so clearly wishing to step forward. “You can come in, if you want.”
He wanted, so he did.
The furniture in the room was very “traditional,” mostly because it came with the place when he bought it forever ago when that was “modern.” Her things clearly didn't match, but they were… mostly tasteful. She was clearly considering them and their place.
Figurines, interesting rocks or shells, a specimen of a beetle. Photos, predominantly landscapes, reprints of art, some clearly handmade pieces.
She apparently really liked owls. There was a small cluster of frogs.
But what caught his attention most were the gnomes.
Not modeled after real gnomes, of course. They were an old folklore type of gnome, with big round noses and bushy beards or braids, their round stout bodies accentuated by tall pointy hats.
They came in many forms. They had themes. He could see boxes of them, but the ones that were out were fall and Halloween themed. A lot of oranges and yellows and browns. One was holding a little bat.
“Something wrong?” Rowan asked, watching with keen interest as he picked one of the little dolls up. It was green and had a nice heft to it, which Astarion tested by gently tossing it up and down in one hand.
“You have very curious tastes.”
Perhaps he didn’t use quite the right tone, because she looked a little hurt by this statement. Astarion did mean something by it. But it wasn’t supposed to upset her.
She snatched the creature from him and carefully fixed the little tangles he’d made in the beard or the particular way she wanted the hat’s point to be crooked. Then, as if placing a holy relic in its dedicated spot, she put it back where he found it.
“It looks nice in here,” he partially lied, putting a light laugh on top of his words. “Like someone actually lives here, for once.”
Her back turned to him, she sniffled. “Thanks.”
Oh. Tears. Astarion wasn’t prepared for tears.
“Well, I should go,” he said rather quickly, obviously trying to leave before this got worse. Already halfway into the hall, he called unconvincingly over his shoulder, “Good night!”
Well, that didn’t go well.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The plant had re-awakened a lot of things in Rowan that, at first, made her feel foolish.
After talking to Gale and thinking about the situation further, she felt less foolish.
It occurred to her that she only felt foolish because she’d been conditioned to hide herself. It even took her a while to stop hiding things she liked to do from her husband and capitulating to his non-existent desires when it came to things like decorating the space around her.
When he died, it was like all the progress had reset. Her space became boring and sparse. Looking at the things that once made her happy made her ashamed and sad and she put them away.
Then she moved and felt that everything must stay the way Astarion left it. But then she got tired of looking at bare walls and empty shelves.
It started with her idea to look through her boxes for an old Halloween costume to use for Gale’s party. She hadn’t actually confirmed if it was a costume party and, in fact, would later question this assumption, seeing as she couldn’t imagine Astarion inviting her to a costume party.
Nonetheless, she went through her things, neatly packed away in Astarion’s forgotten basement. She found her row machine and resolved to start working out again, to get out some of the frustrations of work. With her costume, she found some of her decorations and spent some time just digging through the wreckage of her old life.
Some things stayed down there, things that she wasn’t ready to look at again, but she figured, why not put some stuff out? It’s not like Astarion cared about what she did in her rooms.
Like the plant, this made her happy.
Rowan didn’t really like the way Astarion was looking at her things, but per Gale’s advice, she reminded herself that his face didn’t always reflect his thoughts.
Then he picked something up and it was like he knew it was the one thing that would upset her.
The first thing that reminded her of her late husband that she felt comfortable taking out.
He couldn’t have known that, Rowan told herself. And it was okay to be a little upset.
After taking a moment to do some deep breaths, she went back to sorting through her things.
Astarion would, quite literally, hang out with Rowan from morning until she was done with lunch. Dignity went out the window; clinging to her shoulders, lounging in her hood, or riding on her head, he did it all.
She even cleaned out a drawer in her desk and lined it with a fuzzy blanket so, when she needed him to be elsewhere, he could be plopped into a cozy mini-coffin until she was ready to take him back.
Being her little friend made her happy and he needed her to be happy.
But Astarion could see that even his most endearing squeaks were losing ground against whatever dark cloud was rolling in.
The day after their night at the club, Astarion came down for his breakfast to find Rowan… different.
“Have we graduated to staring now…?” she asked uncertainly, stirring her dinner.
Maybe a little more distressed than he was aware he was, Astarion answered her question with his own. “What happened to your hair?”
“I cut it.”
“Why?” Suddenly, Astarion became concerned. “Are you alright?”
“I like having short hair, I've just been… lazy,” Rowan answered flippantly, wishing this line of questioning to end.
“This has nothing to do with last night?”
“I mean, it gave me a kick in the pants.”
Astarion approached, trying to study her from different angles. Then he reached out a hand and asked, “May I?”
Rowan side-eyed him before saying, “Sure.”
Very lightly, Astarion touched the short hair at the back of her neck. It felt interesting, both sharp and soft at the same time. With just a little more pressure, he would be touching her scalp. His fingers traveled up to the longer parts around her crown and he brushed back some strands before leaving her alone.
“I don't hate it.”
“Oh, good,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m sure it’ll grow on me.”
“Yeah, it’ll grow on me too.”
“Hah!” Astarion barked, amused. “Good to see you didn't accidentally cut off your sense of humor as well.”
Astarion wanted to spend all day with her, but he couldn’t. Being in his bat form, taking little bat-naps, only provided so much rest. He needed to spend at least some time in his coffin to be in fighting shape. Besides, she insisted he let her be alone behind closed doors for a few hours.
One day, he managed to convince her to go out again. Somewhere nice enough to have good blood on hand but not so nice that Rowan felt out of her element. He enjoyed dressing her up again, something nice but simple.
When they met in the hallway, Astarion burst out laughing.
Of course, that was possibly the worst thing he could’ve done. Rowan turned to flee, but he caught her by the arm.
“Oh, darling, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just-”
Rowan was wearing what he told her to: her black suit with the red shirt. But her shirt was buttoned to her throat and she’d even put on a black tie, secured with a red rose clip.
On the other hand, Astarion was also wearing his black suit over a black shirt, but his shirt was open almost to the navel.
“Here, let’s split the difference, shall we?” he suggested as he reached for her tie. She took a step back.
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Nothing. I suppose I should have expected it. You don’t strike me as the tits-out kind of gal.” From a pocket, Astarion produced an antique pocket watch. Slipping it into her vest pocket and fixing the fob, he said, “There. It’s not a pair of earrings, but it brightens the place up.”
Rowan looked at herself in the mirror that hung in the hallway while Astarion buttoned up his shirt. The opening was still deep, down to his sternum, but it was a little more modest. Sidling up behind her shoulder, he smiled at her reflection before picking at her hair.
“You know, your hair wants to curl. It’s adorable,” he cooed, fascinated by how her hair wanted to lay despite the little bit of pomade she’d combed through it. While fixing her donor pin, which did give him a sense of pride to see her wearing, he noticed her expression in the mirror. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Rowan answered with a nod. Trying to sound more chipper, she added, “Let’s go! Don’t want to be late.”
Astarion was unconvinced, his own face becoming more concerned. He turned her towards him with a gentle touch on her shoulder. “We can cancel if-”
“I want to go,” she reassured him, laying a hand on his. “I promise. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Her touch made his thoughts fuzzy. Pressed between her palm and shoulder, his hand was enveloped in comforting warmth.
“If you ever want to leave, just tell me, and we’ll go,” he finally managed to say before reluctantly pulling back his hand.
The night was cold and Astarion found himself regretting that she opted to be driven instead of walking. But he knew that it was a little far to go in the cold for someone who needed to stay warm. It just would have been nice to walk side-by-side, instead of sitting in silence with an empty seat between them.
They were seated somewhere nice and secluded, with a view of the beautiful garden that was unfortunately closed at this time of year. Astarion had been here many times and seen many iterations of the garden throughout the seasons. While they waited for their drinks, he caught Rowan admiring it.
“I’ll have to bring you back. It looks lovely in the snow. And the tree is gorgeous in the spring when it blooms,” he told her with a slight smile, trying not to sound too forward.
“It’s nice that you can still enjoy beautiful things,” Rowan said almost dreamily, as if walking the garden in her mind. Astarion tilted his head. “Since you can’t go in the sun, see things the way we do.”
“If I had one thing I could see without fear of turning to cinders, what would you have me see?” he asked curiously. He watched as Rowan closed her eyes, picking through memories that she deemed worthy of this special honor.
“Mmm… A total solar eclipse? Or… the mountains, when the leaves change,” she answered shyly as their drinks arrived. After she placed her dinner order, she asked, “Did I make a good suggestion?”
“A total solar eclipse does sound perfectly anti-vampire,” Astarion relented with a smirk before sipping his drink. Best to drink it while still warm. She sipped hers as well and coughed. Both concerned and amused, he asked, “You didn't order that to impress me, did you?”
“No, I'm just not used to straight liquor anymore.” She chuckled. “I’ll get something I can drink more easily next time.”
Astarion’s face must have betrayed him, because it was her turn to lift an eyebrow. “You look like you got a frog in your mouth.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Rowan pursed her lips in response. Astarion was briefly annoyed, it wasn't a flattering expression, but she looked so happy doing it and that made him laugh. “I merely had some things on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“How Gale was browbeating me for not knowing more about you.”
Rowan’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Was he asking about me?”
Astarion scoffed, but in good nature. “Calm down.”
“You're right, he's way out of my league,” Rowan said dismissively, chuckling before taking a sip of her drink. Astarion opened his mouth, but her first course arrived.
“Don’t say things like that,” he insisted firmly once the waiter was out of ear-shot.
In the middle of her first bite, Rowan could only give him a questioning look.
“He would be lucky to have someone like you,” Astarion explained, although this time a little less convincingly.
In the direction of her food, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
“Just because-”
“I said ‘okay,’ master, let’s not argue,” Rowan interrupted before putting more salad in her mouth.
Astarion sat in stunned silence, the word ‘master’ bouncing around in his head.
Her voice eventually cut through. “What did Gale think you should know about me?”
“Nothing important. Family stuff.”
“Yeah. Not important.”
“I’m sorry, that wasn't-”
“My parents are dead, I have two brothers that stopped talking to me after my husband died, and my in-laws stopped after they got 90% of his ashes,” Rowan rattled off, even when the waiter came for her plate, pausing only to give him a new drink order.
“We grew up in a place that only vaguely tolerates Torilians. My only friends were his friends, even though everyone said I was ‘kind’ and ‘interesting' and ‘personable.’
“We moved to New Babylon because I wanted to work on integrated magical systems and he studied interplanar physics.”
“A match made in heaven,” Astarion said with a vague smile he wasn't aware he was putting on. Then, uncertainly, he asked, “That's the phrase, right?”
“Yeah, for all the good it does us.”
“What about the other 10%?” He let her test her new drink. “Of his ashes, I mean.”
“Oh. Half went into a probe they launched at the… anomaly thing. The other half is in a lockbox in your basement.”
“How incredibly morbid,” Astarion said with a slowly widening smirk. Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially, “Between you and me, I have my master’s ashes as well.”
Rowan leaned in too. “Do you shake him around and pretend he’s in a blender?”
Astarion laughed. He would’ve outright cackled, but this wasn’t that kind of place. It was his turn to have a sparkle in his eyes. “You're a wicked little thing, aren't you? I'm disappointed I didn't learn that sooner.”
“That's pretty much all there is to know about me. Not very interesting.”
Astarion fought the urge to say ‘just the opposite.’
As Rowan ate, which made it difficult to converse, Astarion talked. Almost incessantly. Rowan didn’t seem to mind, giving him no indication that she was tuning him out or wishing to be anywhere but in this quiet little corner with him.
He told her things he’d never bothered to tell anyone else. How he met and befriended Gale after being released from Cazador’s clutches. The hand he played in interplanar law, using his old magistrate skills for good. His favorite places around the city or on his travels.
“Do you ever feel like going back?” Rowan asked as she waited for her dessert.
“I do miss Faerûn… But I would have the same problem Cazador did. Honestly, this place is a lot more hospitable for my kind.” A sadness crossed over Rowan’s face as she tucked into her dessert. “You know, if you ever want to go, I’m sure Gale can take you on one of his little excursions.”
That wasn’t what Rowan was sad about.
It was talking over dinner with no fears of coming off as ‘weird’ or ‘off-putting.’ The timbre of his voice, how it changed as he spoke. The way she was able to pick out words they said differently, even the way they picked up their glasses.
The food was good and the atmosphere comforting. His eyes never strayed far, except maybe when they were talking about something in the room, but she never felt observed. They would finish and it would be late and she’d be tired, but she wouldn’t want to go home.
Rowan was having fun, feeling wanted and understood, so why did she want to fall to her knees and cry?
“Maybe I’ll try traveling in this plane first before letting myself be whisked away,” she answered him with a wry chuckle before taking the last bite of her dessert.
Astarion tucked that little suggestion away in his head for later.
As he, ever the gentleman, helped her into her coat, Rowan asked meekly, “Could we walk?”
“Are you sure?”
“Just for a bit?”
“If that is your desire.”
Despite the fact that this part of the city was mostly Torilians, the streets were still decorated with lights, ribbons, and garlands. Perhaps both peoples understood the need for a little cheer during the long, cold nights of winter.
As they walked in silence, it started to snow. Not enough to worry about getting home early, but just enough to merit a little wonder.
They stopped at the big roundabout in the center of the neighborhood where an old fir tree stood. It was dressed up for the season with a multitude of decorations, including gleaming bobbles, big velvety bows, and glittery tinsel.
Rowan held out her arm, hoping to catch some snowflakes on her black coat, but it was too warm. As soon as she brought them closer to inspect, they melted away.
Astarion held out his hand, showing her the flakes that collected on his leather gloves. With no heat of his own, the leather stayed cold, and the flakes lingered longer than if they’d fallen to the ground.
Cradling his hand in hers, Rowan marveled at the delicate patterns of the snowflakes and watched as new ones fell.
For the first time in a very long time, Astarion took the opportunity to stare at them as well.
“I know you don't celebrate Christmas…” Rowan started shyly, still holding his hand, “but I was wondering if… you wouldn't mind if I invited Gale over? And I’d want you there too, of course.”
Astarion stared at his hand as he processed this request. “I didn't realize you were-”
“I’m not. This is more just… cultural.” She laughed at herself. He could tell now when she did that, act as if she was being stupid before he could say it himself. Not that he was going to say it. “Just an excuse to… eat and stress each other out with gifts and making sure everything is perfect and fun.”
“Sounds awful.”
Rowan lowered her face to hide her disappointment, but tried to sound like she agreed. “Yeah…”
A playful smirk lighting up his face, Astarion answered, “Oh, why not?”
“It’s okay if-”
“Darling,” Astarion said sweetly, but pointedly, his hand squeezing hers, demanding she look up into his ruby eyes, “I want you to have whatever will make you happy.”
Once more, Rowan turned her face down and sniffled.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned that he said something wrong.
“Yeah, I’m just… getting cold.”
“Of course. Silly me and my cold blood.” Not thinking at all, he rubbed her arm, perhaps to create some heat or just to comfort her before he pulled out his phone to call their car.
Fully aware of what she was doing and thoroughly embarrassed by it, Rowan stepped forward into him, so that her face was hidden from the cold and he couldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Maybe he didn’t generate heat, but still, Astarion wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the slight breeze that was creating swirls of snowflakes in the streets.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The unfortunate truth was that Rowan could see what was happening, but could do nothing about it.
It was as if someone else was flipping the switches in her head, making her feel one way or the other, no matter how many times she flipped them back or tried to glue them in place.
No amount of exercise, meditation, controlled breathing, or tea could tamper the building pressure of deep, unquenchable sadness in her chest.
Grief. There was no other word for it. As much as she liked to think, it never went away. Sure, most days were easier now. Sometimes, she could go most of a day without thinking about it.
This damn time of year. Like it was happening all over again. Reminders everywhere of what she’d lost, of what she missed.
There was one beacon of hope.
Her new friends.
When she was rational, she knew they were friends. Her irrational self didn’t always trust it, looking for reasons to disprove that belief.
Rowan fought with herself, but the irrational part won from time to time.
It was winning more often.
Sometimes, she would stop what she was doing and just… sit. Stare. The bat clinging to her would eventually peep in confusion, snapping her back into reality. Once, she was angry at nothing and handled him too roughly. His screeches broke her heart and she peppered him with kisses and sweet words of apology. She even let him bite her finger and lap up the blood until he felt sufficiently placated.
The final straw was when she started crying at her desk.
Oh, how Astarion cried too, trying to understand what had upset her. Was it him? Did he do something? Or was it what he didn’t do?
He was just deciding to change back into a form that could actually communicate with her when Rowan clasped him firmly in her hands and put him in the hall before closing the door with a slam behind her.
Assuming that he had been the thing to upset her, Astarion let her be. Sulking, he went up to his room earlier than he’d gotten used to with this new routine, and crawled into his coffin.
The next day there were no snuggles, apologies, or explanations. Hanging from the bannister as he always did, Astarion fell asleep in his bat form. Waking up past sunset, it was clear that Rowan had never picked him up. It was possible that she never left her rooms, but Astarion comforted himself with the idea that maybe she snuck past him.
But it happened again the next day. His messages went unanswered. If it weren’t for read receipts, he would’ve picked the lock on her door, propriety and privacy be damned.
Still as a statue, he stood at her bedroom door, one hand pressed against the cold wood. Straining his already acute hearing, he listened for anything that could tell him what was going on inside. A few times he could hear her ragged, deliberate breaths. Sometimes, he could hear something like a cry of pain.
It hadn’t escaped Astarion’s attention that most of the blood in the cooler was a mix of sentient donations and animal blood from the Black Cross. A quick check showed that Rowan was paying for the extra herself instead of billing it to his account. Blasted woman…
Astarion was fine with it. It was perfectly okay for her to take a break, to value her health or engage in activities that affected her blood temporarily.
He just wanted to know why. He wanted to hear her say “I’m okay” and believe her.
When he found her on the kitchen floor, sobbing, Astarion knew that time wouldn’t come soon.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan managed to garble out, her throat raw, her sinuses full of snot, the muscles in her stomach spasming. She repeated it a few more times.
The light on the blood-draw machine was red. Trailing from it was a long ribbon of paper, evidence of several attempts to get a favorable result.
“It’s okay, it’s not that important,” Astarion told her gently, crouching down to her level. Wiping away her tears with his thumbs, his hands feeling like ice against her hot cheeks, he pleaded, “Darling, tell me what’s wrong.”
“It hurts,” Rowan drawled out, her eyes shut tight.
Her scent wasn’t the normal mix of lingering human sweetness, neutral laundry detergent, and soaps. It was too much sweat, stale and fresh at the same time, clinging to her clothes. Her hair was oily and disheveled, stuck in haphazard cowlicks. There was just the slightest hint of iron from where the machine tested her blood.
“What does?”
“Eh-eh-everything,” she sobbed, trying to hang her head in shame. Cradling her face between his hands, Astarion didn’t let her. “I’m i-i-either numb or f-f-f-f-feel everything and I’m s-s-so tired and I c-c-can’t stop.”
Shushing her softly, Astarion pressed a kiss to her forehead. Despite the fact that both her and her clothes desperately needed a wash, he scooped her up into his arms.
Normally, this would be like something out of a dark romance novel. The beautiful mysterious vampire taking his mortal lover to bed, to be ravished and subsequently eaten.
Instead, Astarion laid her down in her messy bed in what was probably a comfortable position. Bidding her to stay put and rest, he went back down to the kitchen.
Gale always made tea when he wasn’t feeling good, so Astarion started with that. He’d watched the wizard make it often enough that it was an easy task.
The other part of this selfless act was a little harder for him.
“Why are you calling me?” Gale’s voice came from the phone speaker. It was more concerned than its words would imply. Astarion almost never opted to call instead of sending a message unless it was important.
“What do humans eat to feel better?” Astarion asked plainly, going through the kitchen cabinets.
“That would depend on why they need to feel better.”
Astarion explained the situation in a rather cold fashion, as if this whole thing was an inconvenience. Having known the man for centuries, Gale knew the truth.
Astarion was scared.
“Well, a good start is a warm soup,” Gale answered, biting back the urge to ask Astarion if he was alright. It would just start an argument. Helpfully, with the use of the camera, he pointed out something in the cupboard. “There is an easy one to make.”
Plucking the lightweight foodstuff off the shelf, Astarion was unconvinced, but Gale wouldn’t steer him wrong. It looked like what she enjoyed getting from the noodle stand across the park. Maybe when he had more time, he would get her that instead.
Gale guided him through the process of making the soup and offered some advice while they waited.
“This time of year can be hard for people who have lost someone close. Also around the time the person died,” he offered helpfully. “I wouldn’t take it personally. That is a lot of pain to carry around.”
Astarion promised to keep him updated before he ended the call.
Taking the tea and soup up to her room, Astarion found Rowan curled up in her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest.
“Here. This’ll make you feel a little better.” She didn’t need it, but he still helped her sit up and put the soup in her hands. “Please eat.”
While she ate and sipped her tea, Astarion flitted around her rooms. Possessed by some spirit that demanded everything be right, he picked up clothes and straightened up messes. She’d apparently started taking her decorations down and, while he didn’t know why she would do such a thing, he put them back up.
After stuffing all of her laundry into the chute, at the bottom of which the collected items would be properly cleaned by the magic in the basement, Astarion came back to her bedside.
Staring at her half-drunk tea, her finished soup already carried off by a magic hand trying to tidy what Astarion missed, Rowan said meekly, “I’m sorry.”
This whole thing did annoy him. This type of behavior was far out of his norm. He just wanted to be adored and pampered and his hunger quelled. He wanted the delicious bliss of her blood coursing through him.
But while she was in this state, that wasn’t possible.
Sure, he could beg her to let him sink his fangs into her, bypass the strict rules of her contract. Astarion often fantasized about how much better it would taste straight from the source, enhanced by the flavor of her neck like the salt on the rim of a drink.
“Don’t be,” he told her, trying to straighten-out her hair with his fingers. “After you’re done, why don’t you take a nice shower, hm?”
Rowan showered as Astarion stripped the bed so it could be remade with fresh sheets. If it wasn’t so cold, he’d open the windows and let in some fresh air.
Waiting, Astarion laid down on the bed, arms draped over his abdomen in gentle repose.
Looking much like a corpse.
Which, technically, he was.
His mind must have drifted so far that he didn’t notice Rowan standing over him, her face marked by distress, until he opened his eyes.
“Good gods, woman!” he shouted, startled. That didn’t last long when he realized she was weeping. Much more softly, he soothed, “Oh, my sweet, there’s no need for that. Come here.”
Astarion got to his feet and wrapped her up in an embrace. Pressing her warm face to his shoulder, he stroked her still-damp hair. Ever so slightly, they swayed in place.
“Thank you,” Rowan told him in her watery voice.
Astarion held onto her tighter, because she needed it.
Because maybe it wasn’t enough to cling onto her in a form so far removed from his own. It was him, but not him.
This form, with its cold skin and tired eyes, that only recently felt like it belonged to him, needed it too.
Eventually, after a little more food and warm tea, Rowan fell into a peaceful sleep. Not wanting to leave her alone, Astarion stayed in.
It wasn’t that he feared something would happen, but that he didn’t want her to wake up in the middle of the night only to find herself alone.
Lighting the fire in her room and turning down the lights, Astarion sat up in her bed with one of her cozy blankets over his legs and a book in his lap.
Technically, the blanket did nothing. If anything, it was hindering the warming potential of the fire. But it brought him some small amount of comfort to feel its weight and occasionally inspect the soft yarn, feeling the knots and twists between his fingertips.
If asked, he wouldn’t know if it was knitted or crocheted, and he’d refuse to answer on the basis that he was bound to get it wrong.
He’d seen her working on other things and assumed this was handmade as well. Occasionally his mind would wander, considering how long it took, or who taught her how. Sometimes it took up all of her focus and other times she did it without looking.
Astarion updated Gale on what had happened before it got too late, just in case their mutual friend was sitting up waiting. Someone like Gale could foresee a hundred scenarios in which something would go wrong and Astarion would be out of his depth.
Before he knew it, the sun was rising, and Rowan’s alarm sounded. Having silenced it, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes with a grumble and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm.
“You been here the whole time?” she asked, not an accusation.
“I can take a break too, you know,” Astarion answered smugly as he closed his book.
A few moments of silence passed with neither saying anything or moving.
Then Rowan rolled over. Towards him. And nestled her head against his thigh like a pet wanting only to be in contact with its owner.
Astarion lifted his arm and somehow, she knew to scooch forward to rest her head on his lap. Very softly, he combed his finger through her once-more disheveled hair.
“Everything will be fine,” she told him in a calm, relaxed voice.
He chuckled. “I think I'm supposed to say that.”
“Yeah, well… maybe you need to hear it more than me.”
And she was right. Because things were changing and Astarion was freaking out.
“Just ten more minutes,” Rowan mumbled, making herself more comfortable.
When Rowan agreed that she deserved one nice thing, she didn't yet realize how utterly frustrating it was to drag a still-sleeping vampire out of bed early so they could catch their train.
After months of rearranging her sleep schedule to be more vampire-friendly, it was nice seeing the sun fairly high in the sky for once. Even if it meant she was practically controlling him like a marionette as he barely maintained consciousness.
"Oh, good," Astarion muttered as he woke up. Between his sunglasses and her staring out the window of their private compartment, Rowan hadn't noticed. Her chin remained propped in her hand, elbow on the window sill.
He watched for a bit as she sat there. Her eyes moved, so clearly she was taking in the scenery. But she seemed off, more sad than bored. Face-down, her phone sat on the little table that separated them. Even Gale took photos while on a trip.
"I-"
Rowan nearly leapt out of her skin. Flinching, she banged her elbow on the window sill. With her eyes closed, she rubbed at the injury and took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
"I was going to apologize," Astarion said warily, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I suppose I should make that a double."
Relaxing, Rowan opened her eyes. "It's fine, I startle easily."
"I'm well aware. I don't employ a heavy step for my own benefit." Looking around, he took in the sight of their surroundings. "I thought I could muster the willpower to make it through the high sunlight hours. Thank you for not leaving me behind."
Any ounce of annoyance that had been building in her regarding the day so far bled out of her. Hearing thanks from him was oddly special. Barring moments of sarcasm, it was always so sincere.
Then she remembered that she had to dress him that 'morning.' Thoroughly embarrassed, she went back to what she was doing before, although not so intently. Against her hand, she mumbled, "You're welcome."
For a few minutes, he watched the passing scenery as well. It wasn't that late in the day, according to the clock, but it was already getting dark.
"I feel like I should recognize this place, but I don't," he said mostly to himself. "A lot has changed."
"Have you been here a lot?"
"Mmm… In a sense. A long time ago." Astarion chuckled softly. "A very long time ago. My master brought us here."
She couldn't really say something like 'wow that's interesting' or 'did you like it?' because of course he didn't. With most people, that would've been a great and simple way to show someone interest. Rowan always struggled with that, knowing when to talk about herself and when to let someone do the talking. It was so much easier to be silent.
Thankfully, Astarion was used to Gale Dekarios and appreciated direct approaches.
"If you want to tell me about that, I would listen," she told him after a moment of consideration.
"I don't know that there's much to tell. We came here because he could fit in a little better. He looked more like them, I suppose… Or he could pass himself off as some… close relation. In Europe, he stuck out. Sticking out wasn't what you wanted, back then."
"I… always assumed it was hard to stay in one place." Rowan felt momentarily embarrassed. Why was talking to him suddenly hard again? "Considering you… didn't age."
"And so weaving the story of the reclusive, eccentric aristocrat became necessity more than egotistical fancy."
More time passed where conversation lapsed into silence. He gave it a few minutes, to see if anything would come up naturally, before taking out his phone. It wouldn't do to make Rowan drag him around every morning until his affliction allowed him to be properly awake. So he took this time to rearrange plans to better accommodate this fact.
Putting away his phone, he looked back outside. Rowan had shifted, the angle unkind to her neck.
"Was there anything I missed?"
"Hard to tell, it wasn't very bright when we started."
There was a bit of disappointment in her voice. That was understandable. Living in the dark after spending a lifetime in the light had its disadvantages.
"I saw some cherry blossoms, but not a lot."
Trying to be reassuring, he said a little hopefully, "We'll surely see more."
"If you planned it that way." Astarion tried to find something to say, to not fall silent again, but Rowan made to stand. "I'm going to find something to eat."
"Right. Of course." She wouldn't have left him alone while asleep. Not that it was likely that a monster hunter was hot on their trail. It was just good manners.
Traveling with Gale was easy. The man could fill any silence, they'd known each other for centuries, and there wasn't the underlying need to build enough rapport to turn whatever relationship they had into a… relationship.
Maybe, with time, it would change without all of this pointed nudging.
But humans, especially Terrans, did not have time.
He was fucking this up. He'd pissed her off on their first day. She was disappointed that his schedule meant she missed out on one of the biggest purposes of travel: seeing someplace new.
Oh gods, he was fucking this up. This was never going to work. How could he fool himself into-
"You okay?"
Her voice broke him out of his inner-death spiral. He looked at her like she'd grown a second head.
"You need a snack or something?" she asked, setting down the food she managed to find.
His brows came together in confusion. "I can't eat human food, dear."
"You know what I mean." Taking his reply as a 'no', she sat down and started unpacking her meal. "You look hangry. Or. Hung-vous."
It was true. He suddenly realized that his legs were restless, trying to expend extra energy. Or run away. One of his nails was getting ready to break. He turned his attention to the window.
"Focus on yourself," he muttered petulantly. He couldn't even be spared the dignity of staring at himself in the glass. Instead, in her reflection, he saw her face flinch slightly at his words.
Then look down at her food.
First she was hurt, her expression tightening in that telltale way as she tried to stop herself from crying.
Then, a brief moment of calm as she brought a piece of food to her mouth. It wasn't substantial, some sort of cracker-like treat, but the crunch was satisfactory.
Finally, anger.
In her head, Rowan tried out a few responses. Modulated their tone, played with the phrasing. Her first instinct was to ask what she did, to apologize and placate. Instead, what came out of her mouth was, "You have until I'm done eating to think carefully about what you're going to say next."
Was there some set of magic words that would make her forgive him? After all this time, he knew better than to finesse her into loving him. She could practically smell it, when his charms went from natural to practiced. It put her on edge, made her doubt him. It was like she was a dog trained to detect lies.
He owed her the truth and the truth happened to be his best option.
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." He hoped it sounded as sincere as it was intended. So many apologies were empty, said because they were expected. Astarion closed his eyes and rubbed a finger on his forehead, undoubtedly smudging what was left of yesterday's makeup. Rowan had absolutely no skill with the stuff.
"I'm… ruining this. I don't deserve this." Rowan didn't interrupt him, but she stopped crunching on her snack like an animal gnawing on small bones. "I'm a fool. Maybe Gale can come. Then at least you'll have someone who can eat with you and walk around in the sunlight-"
"Is that what this is about?" Rowan interjected before Astarion could continue his self-pity-party. "I made one comment about the light and you think I'm miserable?"
"Well-"
"I mean, yeah, it would be great to come back during normal-human hours but that's not why I'm here. I'm here to spend time with you. And I can't do that during the day." Through the crunches of her next snack she said flippantly, "Besides there's like. 6 hours of daylight anyway, so."
Astarion chuckled. "Don't exaggerate."
"Look. Maybe we should agree to not assume how the other is feeling and we just be honest about whether or not we're having a good time."
Faking deep consideration, he responded, "I don't know… Doesn't that sound a little too mature for us?"
"You're right, we should just be mad at each other this whole time, have a horrible vacation, and then try to pretend like nothing happened when we get back." She crunched on her food for effect.
"Sounds like a plan."
After finishing her snack, she said, "I know how it feels, to be uncomfortable with something good happening to you. I felt that way, too, until about… 5 minutes ago."
Astarion laughed, holding a hand to his forehead for a moment before dragging it across the smooth skin, just to feel something. "Yes, I can imagine that this is looking a lot less like 'too good to be true.'"
Rowan shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied little smirk. "Just a smidge."
After finding his make-up bag in their luggage and taking out what he needed to redo his disguise, he asked, "Is there anything you're looking forward to doing when we get there?"
"I guess I'll have to look, seeing as someone didn't tell me where we're going. Had to find out from a damn train ticket…" Rowan said it with almost exaggerated humor so he wouldn't think she was offended.
And so, for the rest of their ride north, Rowan read aloud from her phone what might be interesting to do at their destination while Astarion removed and replaced his mortal face.
It was a little difficult, given how his lips wanted to curl upward, making creases in his cheeks that resisted the perfected strokes of a brush.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Rowan was impressed that the both of them managed not to even quibble after the first train ride. No biting remarks about food or scenery. They even compromised on taking pictures.
Rowan hated having her picture taken while Astarion was a bit more self-obsessed. So, he promised to take only one picture per location and he had to make it count. Gardens, seasides, temples, he only had one chance for a good photo, sometimes having to hand it over to other tourists so they could be seen together.
Her only other stipulation was that he couldn't take pictures of her eating. Which would have filled his phone in record speed as she tried everything she could get her hands on.
In their third hotel, Rowan was enchanted by having their own private onsen.
"I always wanted to try one of these," she told him with excitement as she moved her hand through the ever-cycling hot water.
"They had them at the last place, you know," he pointed out, admiring the last bit of sunset that could be seen from the room.
"Those were shared."
"Ah, you're shy." He smirked to himself, watching her put the lid back on the bath.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a prude, I get it."
"Then you probably wouldn't want to share this one?"
Her redness delighted him. It came out when she drank. It came out when her food was a bit spicy. Even when they came in from the cold. But this time she was red because she was undoubtedly thinking about getting into a hot bath with him, nothing separating them but water.
"No. What? Shut up," she said defensively, clearly embarrassed by his question, which was its intent. Practically running away, she added insistently, "Let's go do something while we still can."
Rowan got used to basically having dinner for breakfast and breakfast for dinner, with the occasional midnight snack for lunch. When she could, she grabbed a bunch of things to hoard in their bags for the long hours in the middle of the night when everyone but them and the most determined businesspeople were awake.
They got a lot of reading done, that was for sure. And naps.
The days were a little shorter than back home, so Astarion was able to accompany her almost everywhere. But he was able to set aside his pride and make her stay out for a little longer while he was forced to go back and sleep once the sun got too high.
They were both grateful that their trip was so long. It took a few days to get over the awkwardness of sharing a room and going everywhere together for hours on end.
After a late "dinner" in which Astarion was accidentally served a saucer of sake that she had to sneakily down for him, Rowan managed to gather some courage.
Astarion was setting out his outfit for the rest of the day, blissfully unaware that Rowan was standing in the door between the bathroom and the main room, covered by only a towel.
Then she cleared her throat and it was his turn to be startled. And stunned.
Red-faced and awkward, she asked, "Would you… like to join me? In the… thing?"
"Oh!" Wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, he tried to process what she really said. "Oh. Yes. Are you sure? That you would like to?"
"I can be both embarrassed and want something, right?" she retorted, unable to look in his direction for long.
Astarion stood and started the process of tugging off the clothes he'd put on for the first part of their day. Rowan somehow turned redder and scampered towards the room the onsen was in, calling behind her, "You have to shower first!"
Astarion got undressed a little more slowly, but not too slowly.
For a brief moment, after he'd rinsed off, he considered the case for his colored contacts lying on the counter. He looked at himself in the mirror. His white curls, heavy with water, drooped. The careful living complexion he put on that "morning" was washed away. But he'd forgotten that his eyes were still brown.
They'd agreed to be honest, to not presume the other's feelings and twist themselves into knots about it. But it still nagged him, whether she preferred his eyes be dark and unassuming, instead of sharp, unnatural predator eyes.
Carefully, he took them out, looked at himself once more, and strode confidently to the bath.
"Oh, fuck," Rowan said in genuine surprise as he walked behind her and around the side to step into the large hinoki tub. Judging by the way she suddenly shielded her eyes and turned her head away, the surprise wasn't so much about him appearing, but him forgoing a towel.
"I don't have to-"
"Ohmygodgetingetin," she pleaded, sinking down up to her chin as she continued to look away. So, he did as she asked. Hot water cascaded over the sides as his body took up space.
"This is nice…" he mused to himself pleasantly. Trying to get comfortable, his legs brushed against hers just as she was gaining the nerve to look at him again. She flinched away. "Are you quite alright?"
"Can you be nice for like five seconds?" she asked indignantly, making an excuse of reaching for a nearby drink to not have to look at him for a second.
He laughed. It was obvious that she'd needed some liquid courage to get this far and it was… funny, seeing her flustered. "No, I can't, you know that."
He could tell that, despite her embarrassment, she was catching glances of him when she thought he didn't notice. It must have been so hard, looking at such a beautiful creature and feeling inadequate, trying to hide and open up at the same time.
But gods, how he wanted to feel that brief glide of skin-on-skin again.
So, he closed his eyes and relaxed. At the very least, he could enjoy a nice hot bath.
Eventually, he felt a tentative touch. Just her knee finding his thigh under the water.
Cracking an eyelid, he saw her looking at the water where his reflection should be, her face somewhere between pouting and deep concentration.
Probably better than she realized, he could sense the slight tapping of her fingers as she moved her hand along the bottom of the tub, much like a spider. It ran into his foot and retreated, only to crawl towards his body, tapping its feet in search of something.
Then her fingers found his and the tips settled in the spaces in between.
They felt each other, two reclusive octopuses studying the other with their many arms.
Odd, how such a chaste action felt so electrifying. How the temperature of their hands, now nearly the same, made him feel closer.
Slowly, but with purpose, he started exploring new parts. Running his thumb over her palm, smoothing his fingers over the back of her hand. Hesitating, leaving an opening, he allowed her to do the same to him. When her fingers brushed across the inside of his wrist, he wanted to let his head fall back and let out a soft moan of satisfaction.
How many hands had held in all his years? Of his own volition or because he had to?
How could he let it be known that he wanted more without making her feel hunted?
If only he knew that she was having similar thoughts, that she wanted more without making him feel like that was all he was worth. That she wasn't just looking for a distraction or some thrill.
Suddenly, her hand retreated and she started to stand up.
"I gotta get out," she said rather hurriedly. Despite her previous timidness, she didn't reach for a towel to cover herself. As water cascaded off her body and out of the bath, she explained, "I'm getting light-headed."
"Maybe getting drunk and sitting in a boiling cauldron wasn't such a good idea?" he suggested with a smug purr.
"I'm not drunk," she argued, picking up her towel and drying off. "I am going to take a nap, though."
"Well, you know me, I'll be as silent as the dead." Rowan snorted so hard, he could feel her eye roll, even if he couldn't see it. He also wondered how aware she was of him staring at her backside.
Astarion took a little more time soaking in the warmth of the bath. It was supposed to be good for the skin, but he was technically dead, so it would have to perform some miracles. But being warm was nice in and of itself. Without a few pints of fresh blood, he would be cold not long after getting out. For now, he replayed the sensation of feeling their same-temperature hands play with one another.
While waiting for her to rest, to pass the few hours where there wasn't really anything for them to do outside of their room, he took his time reapplying his mortal face. Occasionally he would stop and watch her sleep, sprawled out on the floor near the heater. Eventually, she woke up, and when she opened her eyes and saw him, she smiled.
"Perfect, as always," she said, admiring him.
"Only the best for you, my dear." As she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, he retrieved some cold water for her. "Feeling better?"
"I told you, I wasn't drunk." After taking a few mouthfuls of water, she said, "Next place we go, needs to be 24-hour."
"There are plenty of nighttime scenes out there, they're just not your scene," he pointed out cheekily. A little more sheepishly he added, "Already thinking of a next time?"
"Maybe."
Astarion smiled. "Well, get ready. Let's see what trouble we can get up to."
The party was approaching and Rowan couldn't possibly show up empty-handed. She also couldn't trust that Astarion would have that bit covered.
So, out came the stand mixer. And the decorating supplies. And an order for way too much flour and sugar and eggs.
The night before, she was putting the final touches on some cookies when Astarion came into the kitchen. Focused, she barely registered his presence. He spared her work a passing glance before finding the right bag of blood and throwing it in the warmer.
Leaning with his hip against the counter, he pretended to clean his nails while secretly watching.
"You know, Gale will have all that covered," Astarion informed her just before the warmer beeped. The blood now at normal body temperature, he punctured the seal and tipped its contents into a wine glass. Sipping his breakfast, he put the rest of the blood back in the warmer to come back for later.
"I want to be a good guest," Rowan answered, straightening up from her icing endeavors. Arching her back, she stretched out her aches and pains.
Astarion's eyes lingered, his ears twitched from the little grunts and sighs she made.
"That's what bottles of wine are for," he said condescendingly before taking a big gulp of blood.
Rowan didn't turn around to look at him, instead busying her hands and eyes with her project. Trying to not let her tone betray the tightness in her chest, she asked, "Why are you being mean to me?"
Astarion paused. He could hear her heart rate steadily increase. At first, he'd dismissed it as an effect of his proximity.
"Am I?"
"I dunno, I just feel like you're putting down what I'm doing."
"Well, it's a bit... silly, isn't it?" He quickly chugged his 'wine' before it got cold again. "He doesn't need you to make more food. And bats filled with red jam? Really? How pedestrian."
Rowan's heart raced so hard that he could hear it pound in his ears.
Astarion squeezed the rest of the warm blood into his glass and said, "I was just trying to help."
Rowan didn't answer. Leaving the empty blood bag on the counter, he turned on his heel dramatically and left the kitchen.
Rowan stared at her work, questions running through her mind. Did she do something wrong or was he just being tetchy? Was she stupid for bothering to do this?
In an attempt to distract from her thoughts, she dealt with the discards of his meal. She hated when he couldn't be bothered to put the bags in the sterilizer, leaving her to do it.
Actually, she was only upset about it now because she was upset with him. Most of the time, it didn't bother her at all.
He even thanked her once, when he was standing at the back door, looking out into the garden as he sipped. Rowan came in to refill her water bottle before bed and just automatically cleaned up his mess. Looking lost in thought, she didn't say anything so as to not disturb him.
Without looking at her, he'd said in that lovely voice, "Thank you." A very simple phrase, but it meant a lot.
In the morning, there was a loaf of rye bread waiting for her in the kitchen. The good kind, from the really nice bakery that she'd be grateful to get day-olds from. It was even still a little warm...
Helping out, baking, it made her happy, she told herself. If Gale didn't like it, she'd find something to do with it all. This was between him and her and Astarion didn't get to ruin it.
Just to reassure herself, she snapped a picture of what she was working on.
>Those bats and pumpkins are adorable! Is that a Beholder cake? Marvelous! You know your classics.
Thank you for the kind words, I thought I would bring them to the party, but now I'm not sure.<
>I would be delighted to have you share them with my guests and me.
>Why are you unsure? It is a wonderful gesture. I appreciate you taking the time and effort to make something for me.
Rowan debated answering truthfully or just waving it away with general insecurities.
🦇<
>Ah, yes, he can be quite the drama queen, no?
>It was probably the bats.
As it turned out, Astarion always had a little trouble with transformations. It was most likely that he took personal offense to the simple design of a cookie.
Drama queen, indeed. But still, she couldn't help feeling a little bad, even if she had no clue and maybe he should have explained instead of raining on her parade.
Bolstered by Gale's kind words, Rowan continued her work with the full intention of bringing it to the party, no matter what Astarion had to say about it.
She would apologize for the tiff. Not for her feelings or defending herself, but for just getting into it with him.
Even in the kitchen, she could hear the top floor rattle.
Rowan stopped, stock-still, and trained her human ears to pick up any other sounds.
Was he... breaking things? Was he in trouble? Was it some utterly innocent noise that had nothing at all to do with their argument?
It happened again and this time she decided to investigate.
She knocked on his door firmly. "Are you okay? I heard loud noises."
"I'm fine!" he answered aggressively, although a bit strained.
Rowan stood at the door, because she didn't rightly believe him. After sighing and telling herself that it couldn't be helped, she started going back downstairs.
Then it happened again. A loud thump that vibrated the floor, as if something heavy had fallen.
Damn his privacy, she couldn't ignore this.
She threw open the door to find him sprawled out on the floor.
Bewildered, she wondered aloud, "What the fuck is going on in here?"
"None of your business," he grumbled into the rug before rolling over onto his back.
"Are you trying to turn into a bat?" she asked uncertainly, glancing around for clues to the contrary.
"No!" After a moment of silence he closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes."
"Can I help?"
"Do you have intimate knowledge of vampiric powers?" he asked sarcastically.
"No, but I have the power of motivation. Which would you prefer, praise or degradation?"
Astarion stared at the ceiling, unblinking.
"Surprise me."
"Knowing you can't do the most basic vampire power makes me sick. I'm embarrassed to be your juice box," she spat out rather convincingly, brows furrowed, face darkened by disgust. "What a waste of good blood."
Okay, harsh, but Astarion tried to channel that sting into-
With a poof, he turned into a bat. Briefly. Before he hit the ground, he turned back into his normal form.
"You just wanted to insult me, didn't you?" he muttered in annoyance as he got back up.
"Actually, that was pretty difficult. Most of my degradation material involves some variation of ‘whore,' which doesn't apply here."
"Is your praise repertoire also of a sexual nature?"
A subtle smile on her lips, Rowan shrugged. "Mostly. Do you want me to try some non-whore material?"
Exasperated, he answered, "Why not?"
Sweetly, earnestly, she told him, "You're doing a great job. I know you'll get it. I'm proud of you."
Once more, Astarion concentrated. Then poof - bat.
It flapped its wings and fell to the ground, but this time as a bat. He blinked up at her, her form looming over him in wonder.
Then she broke into a grin and emitted a soft squeal.
"You did it! Look at you!" Forgetting propriety, she scooped him up. "Awww, you're so cute! And so f- OW!"
Astarion, with all his batty might, chomped down on her hand. He managed to get in a few good licks as she shook her hand, trying to get him to detach.
Then, clearly panicked, she whipped her arm like a pitcher lobbing a baseball. He had no choice but to let go and, thanks to the force she put into him, he was able to get enough lift to flap around a bit before returning to normal.
"That was uncalled for!" Astarion complained, holding his head, hoping the world would stop spinning and his brain would stop hurting soon.
"You bit me!" she shrieked, confused and distressed as she clutched her injured hand. "Do I have to get a rabies shot?"
Glaring at her, Astarion spat, "What? You think I have rabies?"
"Bats have rabies!"
"Did I spontaneously generate rabies when I turned into a bat? I was there when they disproved that theory!"
Rowan shook her head, clearly realizing how ridiculous she sounded. But, she was still angry with him. "Okay, fine, but you bit me!"
"I'm sorry, darling, it was instinct." He took her hand and inspected the little wound his bat fangs had left. The perfume of her blood was tantalizing. Thankfully hidden by his lips, his fangs extended reflexively at the thought of making even bigger unctures.
But he refrained from licking the trickle that was running down her arm and sucking at the wound like some crazed blood-thirsty monster. Instead, he produced his stiptik pen and rubbed it into her wounds.
"There. All better," he told her smugly.
His skin was cold against hers.
Once more, he could hear her heart race. His smirk shifted a little bit into smile territory.
That glimmer in his eyes, the chill of his hands-
Rowan pulled her hand away. She didn't have to use a lot of force, but there was a bit of resistance as his fingers dragged along her skin.
Honestly, but with a bit of guard, she said, "I'm glad it finally worked out for you."
With that, she went to clean her hands, bandage the wound, and get back to her work.
After a while, when she was starting to pack it in for the night, a white bat flitted into the kitchen. It took all her strength not to freak out.
Then it turned back into Astarion.
"I'm sorry that I said mean-spirited things to you earlier. They were unfair."
He appeared... chagrined. Had Gale said something to him?
Either way, he sounded sincere.
Rowan nodded and tried to look a little happier than her normal resting face portrayed. "I understand. It's okay now."
"It's nicer around here, when you're happy."
Unvoiced, he added in his head, ‘I actually want to get out of bed in the morning.'
Rowan's stomach fluttered and her cheeks turned a subtle pink. Unable to meet his eyes, she made a sound of acknowledgement and finished putting everything away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Halloween.
It used to be a holiday where people would dress up in costumes and go door-to-door for candy. Often these costumes were based on popular depictions of ancient mythical creatures or beings, but also figures from popular culture.
Before that, it was a celebration for the dead by a major religion. They say that before that, it was a harvest festival. There were many holidays that had similar histories.
Halloween had remained more-or-less the same, except now there were real monsters. There were pretty much two opinions on the matter: it was either offensive to them, or it was an excuse to have fun.
Astarion found it more annoying than offensive . Just stupid little humans doing stupid human things.
It did prove to be a great day for hunting and, eventually, Gale got him to loosen up.
"Are you supposed to be Gale?" Astarion asked in confusion once he laid eyes on Rowan in her costume, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.
"No," Rowan answered defensively. "Don't judge me, you're just dressed like a vampire."
"I never said I was going in costume, only that Gale encouraged it." Astarion huffed as he picked some lint off his coat. "These are my clothes."
"Yeah, those are vampire clothes," she insisted, gesturing towards his outfit. "I mean. You look like Lestat de Lioncourt getting off the boat."
Not understanding what she was talking about, he took offense. "Look, I'm sorry that I struck the wrong tone. I just don't understand what you're supposed to be. That's no reason to be rude."
"I'm not being rude, Lestat was a hot character."
Astarion tucked that little compliment away in the back of his mind for later. He bobbed his head from side-to-side, a gesture that Rowan had started to notice. She wouldn't tell him, because it would be embarrassing for them both, but she found it adorable. It was a little sassy, a little bitchy, and a little silly. Just like him.
As he did so, he purred, "Darling, I didn't know that you-"
"He was also a huge bitch," Rowan interrupted, already turning away to gather everything she made for the party.
Astarion's long ears drooped for a moment as his expression soured. "Tell me how you really feel."
Rowan didn't hear him and assumed he'd taken the statement in stride. By the time she came back from the kitchen, his face had returned to normal.
Her face lit up under her false beard with a nervous smile. "Ready to go?"
Astarion didn't drive and Rowan sold her car, so a car awaited them. Much to her surprise, Astarion was a perfect gentleman and helped her secure her things in the trunk. Then he even rushed ahead of her to, in a very dramatic fashion, open her door for her.
"Madam," he said sweetly with his typical playful smile. He offered her his hand, to help her get into the car, but Rowan hiked up her costume's robe and hopped in without assistance. Not losing a single drop of decorum, Astarion closed the door carefully.
To Rowan, he was being facetious.
To Astarion, he was on auto-pilot. Five minutes ago, they were in his home, his domain, and he could do and say what he wanted, within reason. In this car, to this party, he was her escort, her date.
They passed the beginning of the trip in silence.
Rowan was worrying about her food, costume, and meeting new people. She never felt too good in crowds and, judging from Astarion's previous remarks, Gale's party promised to be quite popular.
Astarion looked out the window at nothing. If he was alone, he would have stared straight ahead, or at his nails, or just closed his eyes. He learned that people found that unnerving.
If it was anyone else, he would find some topic of conversation. He was good at finding nothing to talk about. It was rare that someone talked to Astarion in a way that made him actually want to engage in a back-and-forth.
It was hard to talk to Rowan about nothing. All of his charms seemed to fail.
But that was the thing: they didn't need to succeed. He was paying her. As long as the price was right and he didn't run her off by being "an unsavory weirdo" as Gale put it, their peaceful coexistence would continue on.
"How do you keep all your things when you turn into a bat?" Rowan asked thoughtfully out of nowhere.
"Magic."
"But it's not like you could pick me up, turn into a bat, and fly us off to wherever we want to go."
"No."
"But you can take what's in your pockets."
"Yes."
"But you also couldn't take all the cookies and such."
"No."
"But what's the difference?"
Astarion closed his eyes. "I don't know. Ask Gale, I'm sure he knows and can tell you all about it."
Some silence passed where Astarion wasn't rightly spacing out, but he continued to look out the window. In its reflection, he could see Rowan worrying at some part of her costume. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something and then closed.
Rowan wanted to apologize for talking too much. Or to ask if he liked being around her. She was already getting nervous about all of these people and the hullabaloo of a party.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that, despite Gale's words of praise, what she made would be considered tacky compared to the undoubtedly high-end spread he would put out.
"Gods, can you calm down?" Astarion growled, screwing his eyes shut and rubbing circles in his temple. "Your heartbeat is like a hammer on my skull."
Very deliberately, Rowan tried her breathing exercises.
They didn't really make her feel any better.
When her heartbeat at least settled into one rhythm, Astarion felt bad for barking at her. Untrained humans could hardly be expected to have such control over their bodies.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before they arrived.
Once again, he opened the door for her and helped her get the gifts from the trunk. He even offered her his arm to walk on before realizing it made no sense.
Instead, he walked slightly behind her so that when they came to the stairs, he could place a supportive hand on her back.
Rowan felt quite weird about all this. It would've been nice, if Astarion didn't give her the impression of a pendulum swinging between "resentment" and "fondness" with the midpoint being "tolerating."
Especially tonight, she didn't understand how he was feeling.
All those concerns washed away when the door opened, revealing a beaming Gale.
He was dressed like a... cat?
"Welcome! Fashionably late, as always," he said with a bright smile and only a little snark.
Rowan mouthed the word ‘sorry.'
"Gale, you've known me long enough to figure out that I will never be on time," Astarion shot back with a tight smile. Leaving his date in the capable hands of their host, he melted into the party.
"He's being a bit of a bear, hm?" Gale asked her with a little laugh that betrayed a tiny bit of nervousness.
"Where can I put this down?" Rowan demanded a little rudely, hefting the stack of pastry and cake boxes.
"Oh! Of course. My, what a poor host I have been." With that, Gale summoned a pair of mage hands that took the boxes from her and whisked them away. "Don't worry, they will deal with it."
Rowan fixed her costume where the car ride and pastry boxes had mussed it.
Gale stared at her with a very critical eye.
Over some roughspun shirt and pants, she wore a red robe, appliquéd with yellow stars and moons and edged with a broad yellow stripe. On her face she wore an unimpressive false beard.
On her head was a red conical hat with a wide floppy brim that she occasionally had to flip up to keep it out of her face. The cone was also somewhat limp and a bit crumpled. On it was the word "wizzard" and above it was a crude yellow star.
A grin broke out on Gale's face and he pointed at her with a snap of his finger. "Rincewind."
Rowan let out the breath she'd been holding with a relieved chuckle. Gale leaned his right shoulder back as his grin grew, his personal sign of self-amusement. She'd never seen anyone else do it and always wondered where he picked it up.
"I didn't think you'd get it," she admitted, feeling better about her choice to wear this costume. She would've felt even sillier in the other one she had.
"Well, after I saw what you like to read and I got to know you, I thought I should give your literature a try. If someone such as yourself liked it, I figured I might enjoy it as well."
Rowan blushed and tried to sink into her hat and false beard like a turtle hiding in its shell. "Oh, that's- That's flattering! I assume. If you liked it?"
"It's marvelous! You know, it made me realize that I've been quite unfair to Terran culture. I never paid it much attention before. I apologize sincerely."
Terran culture.
From an outside perspective, Gale and Rowan were the same. They could produce offspring (yuck) that would look like them both and be able to reproduce when they reached sexual maturity.
But Rowan was a ‘Terran' while Gale was a ‘Torilian.'
About a millennia ago, life on both worlds changed. Through some magical or astrological phenomenon, the ‘realms' of Terra and Toril converged. During special times, one could see the other planet in the sky, as if projected there.
Most Torilians, monsters and sentients alike, quickly understood that living in secret was the key to survival. Those who could not reason would sometimes run into Terrans and face death by fire and pitchfork. Many of those early stories were dismissed as folklore, misunderstandings of the impoverished or unstable.
But those with great intelligence, like vampires and wizards, figured out how to coexist with Terrans in a way that benefited them while hiding their true nature. Some of them managed to become quite rich and powerful, respected. Some of them remained so even after revealing themselves to the world roughly 200 years ago.
No one knew exactly what caused the convergence. Great amounts of magic allowed Torilians to break through the thin barrier that kept their two planets from affecting each other. Terra had to come to terms with a lot: magic, monsters, gods. Gods that weren't theirs, but were similar. Gods that answered.
The important thing was that humans on both Terra and Toril were the same, except for one thing: Torilians could use magic, while Terrans could not.
This, of course, led to some problems with... superiority.
To say that Rowan's opinion of Gale dropped a peg was an understatement. But, could she blame him? He was an arch-mage of prominent renown, powerful and sage-like in his knowledge.
She didn't know exactly how old he was, but her 35 years of life were probably a blink of an eye to him. The only older people she personally knew were Astarion and the myconid that ran her favorite noodle stand.
Gale could incinerate her. Turn her into a human puppet with a twinkle of his fingers and some fancy words that were suspiciously similar to Latin. Maybe he'd turn her to stone and admire her like some reverse Pygmalion.
Was she just a... pet? Astarion's dog? With Gale as her dog-uncle?
"Rowan-" Gale started, voice tinged with distress. Even with her false beard, she hadn't been able to hide how much his comment had soured her mood.
"Can I get a drink?" she interrupted before he could go down some rambling apology that she would have to accept because he was just so earnest and also could electrocute her on a whim.
He'd probably get away with it, too.
"Of course. I'll introduce you to some people I think you'd like."
Thus began a parade of names and faces Rowan wouldn't remember. There were many Torilians of various species and a few Terrans, mostly Gale's colleagues. In the back of her mind, she wondered what they thought about their host thinking their cultures were beneath him?
Like most parties in Rowan's life, she went to be a good friend and be "social." Like most parties in her life, Rowan felt isolated and anxious, her ears trained for suspicious noises, her eyes searching for strange movements. She couldn't connect with anyone, no matter how pleasant they were or how many drinks she had.
It was the first drink she had since her husband died. It hit harder than she'd prepared herself for. That didn't stop her from soon having another.
Needing some space, Rowan started to wander through the tower. Gale assured her that magic would keep her from getting into anything she shouldn't and to text him if she got lost.
Every now and then, she stopped to look at art or stare out the windows. There were little alcoves with bench seats where she could rest her feet or give herself a moment to keep the world from spinning.
Rowan passed one such alcove with her head in the clouds. It was only once she was past the point of no return did it register that there were two people, seemingly men, engaging in some vigorous making-out in the alcove.
It wasn't the sounds they were making, a mixture of grunting and moaning, that caught her attention.
It was a hand. The way it cradled the small of the man's back. The black nails, pointed like claws. The glittering gold rings with their rubies and diamonds.
Rowan's eyes flicked up to see Astarion staring back at her. His scarlet eyes glowed red. Even in the low light, she could see the blood on his lips.
Offering a too-quick and too-quiet apology, she skedaddled away.
Rowan found her way back to the party proper and had the animated skeleton bartender fix her another drink.
Not long after, she recognized the back of the man Astarion had been feeding on. He seemed fine, all smiles and laughter as he spoke to some people he presumably knew.
When they made plans, Astarion and Rowan agreed that they would leave when he was ready. Unfortunately for Rowan, she was getting tired. But she waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
A voice in her head told her that if she texted him, asking when they could go, he would either never look at it or bite her head off.
So she texted Gale instead, asking if there was some place she could lie down to wait for Astarion to be ready.
"Halloween is a veritable vampire feast," Gale said to her as he guided her through his tower. "He's probably caught up in someone's neck."
"I figured," she said a little too belligerently.
"I am deeply sorry for what I said earlier," Gale started, only for her to cut him off.
"I'm not really in the mood for interdimensional geopolitics."
"Of course," he responded, properly chastised.
Not long after, he undid the magical lock on a door and ushered her into a guest suite. There was a big comfortable-looking bed that she had to resist the urge to immediately fall into.
"I will let Astarion know where you are when he's ready to leave. The lock will open from the inside, but will lock behind you. If you need anything, just message me. Make yourself at home," he explained with a smile before returning to his party.
Rowan removed her hat, robe, and boots before crawling onto the bed. The duvet would leave an impression on her face, but that was fine.
After a few breaths and incoherent thoughts, she was out like a light.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gale's parties were the perfect compromise of the clubs he frequented and the upper-class parties he was invited to.
The guests were... respectable. No one was vying for his influence, which was frankly a useless endeavor. He and Gale shared the same grubby accountant and lawyer that dealt with all of that.
Their "influence" was really their reassurance that they wouldn't start tearing through Terra like feral beasts or subjugate them like the gods they were.
It was funny, watching the Terrans come to terms with the fact that godly beings would answer the prayers of Torilians, but their gods were silent and unseen. He'd prayed to every god in the pantheon to save him from Cazador and none had answered.
But that was a long time ago. His status was more ceremonial now.
That's all to say that he enjoyed Gale's parties because it was Torilian in nature. It was held by one, about 90% of its guests were Torilian, and, in a good way, it reminded him of the parties his master would hold.
Also, there were plenty of necks for him to sink his fangs into.
Astarion was gnawing on his seventh "victim" when Rowan walked by.
His undead heart, back to pumping, fell into his stomach when their eyes met. There was the briefest flash of fear in hers. He wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth couldn't move and he'd only end up getting blood all over himself and this fine wine-soaked gentleman.
As quickly as she appeared, she fled, like a scared little mouse.
So Astarion found an eighth neck. And then a ninth. Eventually he was on his fifteenth. Each time, he hoped she would walk by again so he could deliver the reassurances that he had been rehearsing in his head.
But he didn't see her for the rest of the night.
People were leaving and Gale was standing at the door to send them all off. The sky was starting to change with the very first signs of the sunrise. Astarion hadn't intended on staying out so late; it was embarrassing having to cover up and rush to the safety of the car.
So, Astarion was the last to leave.
"Did Rowan leave without me?" he asked Gale as the wizard closed his front door. He tried to sound uninterested, but Gale could hear the slight stress of disappointment.
"She wouldn't do that," Gale reassured him with a tired smile. He bid his friend to follow him. "I let her rest in Mother's room."
Tara, Gale's loyal tressym companion, had been hiding in the room. She reported back that the poor woman was fast-asleep in her uncomfortable-looking clothes and spread out on the duvet without even a pillow to hold up her head.
With some encouragement from the tressym, Rowan got up and changed into some old clothes of Gale's.
When they opened the door, they found her tucked into the bed, dead to the world, Tara curled up in a ball on her stomach.
Astarion thought about carrying her out to the car. Then he'd probably have to carry her into the house and tuck her into her own bed.
"You can stay, if you'd like," Gale offered softly, as if he could read Astarion's thoughts.
"That might be best."
"If you need something to sleep in-"
"No. As if I'd sleep in your clothes," Astarion growled, only for Gale to chuckle in return.
With a flick of his hand, Gale fixed the curtains so that they wouldn't let in any light. Then he scooped up an annoyed Tara and left the two alone.
Astarion stripped down to his shirt and trousers and laid down on top of the duvet. It seemed like the most appropriate way to sleep in the same bed with someone he wasn't romantically entangled with.
If it was Gale, he would've slept on the floor.
He watched Rowan sleep for a bit. With Tara's weight gone, she shifted onto her side, facing him. She made weird noises, as if trying to speak or letting out little moans.
Then she woke up. With his sensitive hearing, he could hear the subtle change of her heartbeat and breathing just moments before her eyes opened.
Rowan awoke all at once. Of all the people he'd watched sleep, he'd never seen someone wake up as if they came back to life. Sucking in a deep breath, her eyes opened wide.
She stared back at him briefly. Her alertness faded back into semi-consciousness. Drinking all night made her sleep restless. Her head sank back into the pillow.
"Am I your pet?" Rowan asked sadly, not looking directly at him.
The question shocked him. Astarion sat up.
"W-what?" Rowan didn't answer. Maybe she wasn't really awake and was just spouting nonsense.
"Do you like me? As a person? Or do you just tolerate me?"
Once more, Astarion's heart sank. It was a feeling he wasn't used to and he hoped it would stop.
"Is this about what you saw in the hallway?"
"No."
Protectively, he asked, "Did someone say something to you?"
In fact, they had, but even in her sleep-addled mind, she was more afraid of hearing something close to what Gale said come out of Astarion's mouth.
Or would he have it out with his friend in some glorious display of vampiric rage and wizard might? Would he accuse Gale of poisoning his prized cow?
Rowan couldn't handle either possibility.
"No."
Silence passed while Astarion tried to think. His mind was actually buzzing, energized by all the blood in his system, but it was also befuddled by all the alcohol and other substances that came along for the ride in that blood.
"Is that what you think of me? That I just tolerate you? That I'm keeping you around for my amusement?" he asked sadly.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," Rowan answered with a tone that screamed at him that she was afraid.
She tried to roll away to face the other direction, but he took hold of her shoulder.
"You're not my pet. I don't just tolerate you."
"Okay," Rowan said softly.
"Are you afraid of me?" Astarion asked with equal softness.
A look of shame washed over Rowan's face. "Sometimes. But anyone could decide to hurt me. Even Gale."
Astarion's face became serious.
"I would never let anyone hurt you. I will never hurt you."
"I know."
Astarion let her shoulder go and Rowan rolled over to fall back asleep.
With the sun rising in the sky, Astarion was overcome with his own tiredness. Stiff as a board, legs pressed together with his toes to the ceiling, and arms draped over his stomach, he settled in to rest until she was ready to get up.
At about 10, Rowan woke up for good.
It was her turn to stare at Astarion as he "slept." Except for the slight flush he'd gained from his night of feeding, he appeared dead.
Against her better judgment, bolstered by the vague hangover that made it easy to be swayed by her emotions, Rowan touched his curls and started to cry.
Little did she know, Astarion was conscious and aware of her. He'd decided to play dead, to see what she would do. It was the first time in a long time someone was with him while he slept.
The feel of her fingers disturbing his hair was nice. She was gentle and caring about it.
The crying, though, was unexpected.
"Stop it," he heard her hiss at herself, removing her fingers from his hair. "He's not dead. This isn't happening again."
Astarion supposed he looked very much like a corpse in repose, done up for the strange Terran death customs he'd been invited to on occasion.
Upon further consideration, he probably reminded her of corpses she'd seen on similar occasions. Empty shells that once held people she loved.
Astarion waited until she was in the bathroom changing to get up. Quickly, he threw his clothes back on, not bothering with all the buttons and details. He had no one to impress.
Rowan came out wearing another set of Gale's clothes. They looked comfortable on her.
"I'm gonna eat something and then we can go," she told him in a still-tired voice. He would have to tell her later that she didn't need to do a blood-draw that evening.
"Do you remember our conversation?" Astarion asked suddenly before she could leave. She was only a few steps from the door.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, I-" Rowan started, clearly embarrassed and ashamed. He didn't allow her to finish whatever apology she felt she needed to offer.
"I do like you. As a person, that is. I'm sorry that I've given you an impression that I don't."
"I like you too," she said with a smile. Even Astarion could tell it was sad, but if he asked, she'd just say she was tired.
Gale approached her as she ate at his kitchen table.
"Rowan, I..." Gale started sincerely with his hands held in front of him, one thumb massaging nervous circles into the palm of the other hand. He started to lower himself onto his knees, but Rowan bid him stop. He did anyway, the cracking of his knees proof of how serious he was being.
"I have been dismissive. I was already an accomplished arch-mage and Mystra's chosen when our realms converged. It seemed so natural to see you all as... inferior.
"I thought that it was enough that I never acted against you in anger. But I realize now that I... I treated you all like dogs. You were things that needed guiding hands, and while I had the power to destroy you, it was wrong to exert that power and I needed to treat you with kindness and understanding."
"It's okay, Gale-"
"No, it is not okay. It is far from okay."
"Gale, I don't want to have this conversation," Rowan told him firmly.
Then sweetly, she touched his cheek.
"Yes, your comment hurt my feelings and I questioned my relationship with every Torilian I've ever known and I felt small and insignificant.
"But... I'm glad I inspired you to try the things that have brought me joy. I like being your friend and I want to stay your friend. I don't feel like you treat me like I'm inferior. We're just different.
"Besides, you need my help getting off the floor, so who has all the power now?"
The corners of Gale's eyes crinkled as he chuckled. "That is a very fair point."
Ready to go, Rowan found Astarion grumbling as he watched the sun corner him in the foyer.
"Why don't you turn into a bat?" Rowan asked, understanding his predicament.
"Being a bat doesn't save me from the sun. And even if it did, a bat in full sun?"
"Well, you'd be smaller, so I could hide you in something," she explained further. Opening her coat, she added, "See? Plenty of space."
Astarion huffed. "Fine. It'll have to do."
With a poof, he turned into a white bat and alighted on Rowan's outstretched hand. She brought him close to her face, as if she was going to kiss his little smooshed face, and whispered, "You bite me again, and we'll have problems. Fair?"
Incapable of speech, the bat squeaked. Smiling, she placed him on her breast, which served as a nice shelf that he didn't have to cling to with as much ferocity as other places. Then she covered him with her coat and zipped it up to her chin so no light would find its way in.
Safely in the car with its tinted windows, Astarion refused to shift back.
Rowan would've been annoyed if it didn't remind her of a pet she used to have.
She scritched his head between his little ears. A smile started to bloom on her lips. He looked up at her with his beady little eyes. Laughing, she used her other hand to cover his view of her chin and neck.
"Nooo!" Rowan complained playfully. "I must look awful at that angle!"
In response, he hunkered down even further on her chest, as if he was a cat getting ready to take a nap there.
