Chapter Text
A visceral tension permeates the camp as Halsin makes his way up the half-crumbling stone steps that will take him up to the tower that acts as a central lookout for their northern perimeter. As crowded as the camp has grown these days, they still barely rise to a hushed murmur that drifts through the night. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion of long travel finally catching up to the group, or maybe the city has drained them of their usual vigor, Halsin isn’t quite sure, but there’s less chatter amongst them, less laughter.
Tav and Karlach have their heads together, speaking in uncharacteristically low tones. Lae'zel appears to be sulking while Shadowheart is deep in prayer, though to whom Halsin can’t be entirely sure these days. Silvanus, he knows, at least, will hear her. Wyll has long since retired to his tent, but Gale is still awake, though the grim expression on his face does seem entirely out of place for the man he has come to know these last months of travel. He suspects some of the camp’s occupants are ruminating over their most recent encounter with strangers traveling the roads to Baldur’s Gate. One of them at least, of that Halsin is sure.
Which is why he finds himself climbing the rungs of the aging wooden ladder inside the tower, up to the top landing to seek out the sharp eyes and even sharper tongue of his little star. Though, Halsin has no right to stake any claim to Astarion’s heart, not in any true sense at least. It does not stop him from harboring desires he never intends to act on, unless Astarion himself wishes for the same. And Halsin knows that what Astarion truly wants is much more complicated than he could possibly know.
As he crests the landing, pulling himself to his feet on the stone, his eyes are drawn immediately to Astarion, his slight frame perched on the window sill, pale skin luminescent in the silvery moonlight, thin arms wrapped around his knees, tight to his chest. He’s tucked himself in amongst the stone, the slight inward curve of his shoulders making him seem even more vulnerable. Seeing his small silhouette against the skyline's infallible infinity awakens something just behind Halsin’s ribs, an aching need to protect this wounded wildcat he’s taken up camp with.
From the first moments he’d seen Astarion, Halsin had been taken by his beauty, lean, delicate figure, perfectly sculpted features, and silvery-white curls haloing his face. And considering the circumstances of their meeting, it’s impressive that anything could have distracted him. After weeks in the goblin camp and a brutal fight for freedom, Halsin was surprised he had even noticed Astarion was real and not a figment of his addled mind’s exhaustion.
But he was real, pale as moonlight, with a sharp jaw and bowed lips almost enough to distract from the dazzling crimson eyes that smoldered behind thick lashes. Halsin had been sure the Oak Father was blessing him after his long trials at the goblin camp, a gift to remind him of what beauty nature is capable of. Because, in truth, there is nothing unnatural about Astarion or his beauty, he is exactly as nature intends him. The little vampire brings a balance to the world just as all other creatures of nature do. Halsin wishes that he could show Astarion the truth of that, to help him follow his own thread where it weaves into Silvanus’ tapestry.
The warm glow of the campfire and lanterns below doesn’t reach this far up, and the cold creeps over Halsin as watches the other man, still as death as he looks out over the city. This is not a triumphant homecoming for the ever-young elf, Halsin is well aware, though he admits that he knows little of the specifics. Astarion has, in rare, fleeting moments, shared small pebbles of truth with Halsin, and each one left the beast inside him howling for vengeance, the fierce need to protect Astarion roaring alive in him. But Halsin keeps that part of himself in check, reigning in the beast because it is not what Astarion asks of him. Not yet, at least, though Halsin does dream of a time when he can offer him that safety, free of the fears and obligations that keep Astarion tethered even now. And the closer they come to Cazador, the tighter those chains hold him.
Halsin wishes to see him freed for good.
“Do you plan to stare all evening, or have you come here with some purpose in mind, darling?”
The melodic lilt of Astarion’s voice does not quite mask the ice that lines it, but Halsin isn’t so easily deterred.
“I was unsure of whether or not I should disturb you,” he says as a way of response, and Astarion turns blood-red eyes to him, a sardonic smile not quite reaching them. Halsin senses the danger that he’s walking into. In his current mood, it won’t take much for Astarion’s claws to come out.
“And yet, here you are,” he says, turning back to gaze at the moon. “Perhaps save yourself the trouble and energy next time, and decide before you climb the ladder.”
“Would you like me to go?” Halsin asks plainly, uninterested in dancing around what Astarion wants at this moment.
Turning back to him, Astarion considers him for a long second before he shrugs with practiced nonchalance. “You’ve already made all that effort, darling. And decorum is all too important now that we’re back in my glorious city. What sort of uncouth disgrace would I be if I sent you away after you climbed all the way up here?”
Halsin chuckles warmly. “Indeed,” he says. “And yet I find myself entirely unconcerned with meeting any of this city’s expectations for behavior, even so. Should you wish to send me away, you need only say.”
“Careful, darling, you don’t want to say that too loudly in these parts,” Astarion murmurs, instead of answering. “I wouldn’t even trust the stones with my secrets this close to the city.”
“Ah, I do not fear the stone in these walls, as I do not fear the night,” Halsin says, approaching Astarion slowly. He’s conscious of the wary tension that pulls Astarion’s spine up straight, a spring coiling for release should he need the leverage. And he knows all too well that smokepowder sits primed just under the surface of Astarion's carefully designed poise, ready to ignite at the easiest provocation. “Though I do not doubt you are correct about this place and its insidious ways. I fear the city lies too far beyond nature’s reach to find the balance between forces of good and evil.”
Astarion throws his head back, silver curls dancing in the moonlight, and barks out a laugh, sharp and mirthless. “How right you are, Halsin,” he says. “Nothing good has ever come from these walls. Not a goddamn thing.” His words are laced with venom, bitter as he spits them out.
“That’s hardly what I said, little one,” Halsin corrects gently. “Though I am sorry if that is how my words make you feel. I fear being this far from nature leaves me feeling a bit unmoored and perhaps a bit morose. I should choose my words more delicately.”
Astarion rolls his eyes at the notion, though Halsin knows he’s said the right thing. “Gods know I am delicate,” Astarion says with a smirk. “Do try to remember that in the future.”
Halsin smiles warmly at him. “I think I’m too old to believe such fallacies, little star,” he says, not unkindly. “You’re stronger than you allow yourself to believe.”
“And who says I am the one who allows myself anything, darling?” Astarion responds, looking away from him, and Halsin has to hold back a sigh. The damage done by Cazador’s cruelty has barely begun to show its true nature, and already Astarion sounds so beaten down by the fight. And Halsin knows that the words of the Gur they met outside the city have been able to take root in Astarion’s heart because of the things he’s been made to believe about himself.
And that is, after all, why Halsin has sought Astarion out, concerned about the way those hateful words have wounded him. “I think you are the only one who gets to say that,” Halsin says carefully, coming to stand beside the window where Astarion perches, resting his shoulder against the wall by Astarion’s feet and facing the half-shadowed elf.
“What a sweet notion,” Astarion says. “A child’s naivety, though, I fear.”
“You’ve been told that is the truth of things, I know,” Halsin says. “But I think you’ll find holes in that shroud as time goes on.” Astarion doesn’t respond, just continues to look out at Baldur’s Gate in the distance. “I also think you’ll find that the judgments of others matter much less than they seem, the longer you are of your own free will. Especially in regards to strangers who know not what they speak of.”
“Oh, Halsin. Are you worried about me?” Astarion quips, immediately catching onto Halsin’s true intentions. “How adorable you are, truly. I am quite alright, though, I assure you. You needn’t waste your time on my behalf.”
Halsin cocks his head at him. “I’d hardly call it a waste of my time, little one, but of course I am concerned,” he says. “I care for you. I think you know that.” He speaks plainly to the elf whenever he’s given the chance.
Astarion’s eyes find him again, an impish glint in them as they sweep over Halsin’s form. “Yes,” he says after a moment, unfurling his arms and legs to stretch them out. Leaning back on his hands, he cocks his head at Halsin and smirks. “You have demonstrated a certain amount of interest, haven’t you, darling? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had more animalistic interests?”
“You misunderstand me, Astarion,” Halsin tells him, firm but not unkind. “I seek you out only to offer you solace should you want it.”
“Solace, eh? Is that what you’re calling it?” Astarion smirks again. “It's a presumptuous offer, druid, though I suppose you have presumed correctly."
Halsin doesn't rise to the bait, smiling softly at Astarion. Though his heart would sing if Astarion’s interest were genuine, there’s no pain for Halsin with those words. Because he sees through to the heart of the matter, beyond the flirtatious nature of Astarion’s front. He sees the caged animal that lives behind Astarion’s eyes, the fear that motivates everything the little elf does.
“Though I do not deny your beauty, I do not seek carnal pleasure from you. I wish to give you nothing more than what you want, little star, not what you feel obligated to give me,” Halsin says, and Astarion’s eyes dart away from him. “If you seek solitude, I'll stand guard at the foot of this tower til the sun brings the new day. If you wish for comfort, for company, I will gladly offer you that instead. But I do wish I could take away the sting of those cruel barbs thrown at you by people who presume much more than I.”
"You’re very kind, Halsin,” Astarion says, eyes sad, pulling his legs back into his chest. "But you're also too foolish for your age. Those Gur speak words too true to be cruel. I fear I am all the things they said I am.”
"They spoke half-truths, Astarion, which is as good as any falsehood,” Halsin tells him. "They know nothing of what you survived, what evils were forced upon you. Only you know that truth.”
"And Cazador,” Astarion says quietly, fear bleeding into his eyes, and Halsin holds back a growl at the man's name.
“For now,” Halsin agrees. A promise. The man won't last long now that they're in the city. Halsin intends to ensure Astarion exacts his revenge. “But it is only your views on the matter that hold any value for me. And for the rest of your companions."
"Pretty words, Halsin, when you speak them I could almost think them to be true,” Astarion says, though the edge of his words is much duller than Astarion probably intends, and they don't slice nearly as deep as they should. The wistfulness he tries to hide in his cutting remarks makes Halsin want to reach out to him, hold him close, and soothe away that pain.
“Perhaps one day you'll know that they are," Halsin says, patient as ever. “Til then I won't begrudge you your skepticism.”
A silence falls between them while Astarion’s gaze travels back across the landscape, to the silhouette of the city cutting across the night sky, buildings and towers reaching toward the stars. "This comfort you offer, what form does it take?”
"What form would you wish it to take?” Halsin responds simply.
Astarion bristles. "How should I know?” he sneers, and Halsin supposes the vampire has a point. Comfort has never been given freely to Astarion, and never in the form of his choosing.
“Would you like to try to figure that out together?” Halsin asks him. Astarion’s eyes flash as he grins, and Halsin gives him an indulgent smile. “Still not what I mean, little star.”
“Well, how do you propose we figure it out together, in that case, druid?” Astarion gives him a withering look.
“We could start with you telling me what you are feeling, and could go from there,” Halsin says, chuckling when Astarion glowers at him. “Or I could give you physical comfort, a hug. Perhaps I could hold you even.”
“For someone who claims to not be after carnal pleasures, you sure seem interested in getting your hands on me,” Astarion says, wicked lips twisting into an icy smile.
“I assure you, that is not the case,” Halsin says.
Astarion is quiet for a while, not looking at him, and Halsin gives him the time to chew over his thoughts while he carefully picks his next words. Each conversation with the younger elf is a delicate dance that Halsin is still learning the steps to, one that Astarion often seems to change.
“Suppose I did want this comfort you’re offering,” Astarion starts slowly, not looking at him. “A hug or… or what have you. What do you get out of it?”
Halsin frowns. “I get to hold you,” he says because he won’t deny that he’d benefit from the act, too. “And I would be able to help you in some way. For me, that would be more than enough.”
Astarion looks at him with clear and heavy skepticism, and Halsin knows it’s pointless to try to argue for his own trustworthiness. There’s no way for him to truly understand what goes through Astarion’s mind, the suffering he’s known at the hands of others that makes him look at his companions with wary resignation. But he knows that words and promises won’t be what shows Astarion that Halsin is worth trusting, but time, devotion, and patience, all things Halsin possesses in spades.
“Well, you’re very kind to offer, Halsin, but I really am perfectly fine,” Astarion says, the wall going up between them. “I have never been one to concern myself with the opinions of others. I see no reason I’d start now. Those Gur don’t know me.”
“No,” Halsin agrees, though he knows Astarion doesn’t believe his own words. “They do not.”
“I appreciate you thinking of me, Halsin, but I don’t require a keeper this evening, and I’m sure you’ve better things to be concerning yourself with,” Astarion says, a clear dismissal.
“There is no better use for my concern than for you,” he tells him, though he won’t fight Astarion sending him away.
“You can leave me to my sulking, all the same,” Astarion says, and Halsin gives him a solemn nod.
“As you wish, little one,” Halsin says. He wants to reach toward Astarion, to tuck his wayward curls back away from his face, but he doesn’t. “Should you change your mind, you’ll find me in my tent.”
“Not under the stars?” Astarion teases.
“Ah, well,” Halsin smiles. “The city dulls their shine, I fear. And it does pain me to see them this way.”
Astarion doesn’t speak, and Halsin takes his cue to make his leave. As he heads to the ladder, Astarion murmurs, “Goodnight, Halsin.”
“Goodnight, little star,” Halsin whispers, and with his heart heavy, he descends from the tower, leaving Astarion to his shadows and ghosts.