Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The underdark had been rough on all of them, even if it was just a quick expedition before they made their way to Baldur’s Gate and couldn’t turn back. No sense of time and the constant threat of drow left little time to take care of each other or themselves. That being said, Astarion was acting weird. Tav didn’t think they’d ever heard him cough before, not to mention that ever since they’d made their way through that patch of mystery mushrooms (that, they felt the need to note, Astarion had spent a disturbing amount of time in because he couldn’t jump for shit) he’d been getting progressively more sluggish until they’d had to practically drag him back to camp.

As it stood, they were cuddling in Astarion’s tent, adorned with hoarder levels of pillows and blankets. He had his head strewn across her shoulder as he read a book about necromancy by candlelight. It was a still, gentle moment, the kind that they knew he cherished, even if he’d never admit it. The only noises to be heard were the others settling in for the night (they assumed, as none of them were really sure anymore), critters skittering about the cave nearby and Astarion’s incessant, progressively growing more violent, coughing. And he kept swallowing, what was that about?

“Astarion,” He flinched at the breaking of the silence, the surprise stirring up a coughing fit he scrambled to muffle in his sleeve. “Are you alright? You don’t seem… well.”

He took a moment, barely a half second, to regain his composure and look back at them, the typical glint in his eyes dulled ever so slightly. “Of course, my darling, I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just checking.” If he didn’t want to talk about it, they couldn’t exactly make him. Besides, maybe they were just making something out of nothing. There were a lot of spores in the air, after all, it wasn’t that odd for him to get a bit of a cough. He lay against their shoulder once more, and they let themselves drift off to the soft mutterings of their partner as he read.

They woke up to movement, sharp and panicked. Before they’d roused enough to process anything, Astarion’s book was strewn out across the ground and he was gone. Groggy, they called out to him, only to be met with silence.

They sluggishly crawled out of their tent, joints whining at the loss of those endless cushions, and forced themselves to their feet. Someone heaved harshly off in the distance, choking and sputtering like some dying animal. “Astarion…? Astarion?”

They approached the sound on shaky legs, softly calling their partner's name, and when they finally got a look at whoever was making that vile retching sound came into focus…

“Astarion…” They found him on all fours just far enough from camp that all that noise wouldn’t wake the others, doubled over on his knees and puking his guts up off the cliff edge. For the first time in their memory, Tav wished the tadpole didn’t let him eat real food. Spare him the misery. Hand outstretched with a desperate need to comfort, they approached the trembling pile of limbs before them.

“You could’ve said something, love.” It didn’t matter how hard they’d tried to keep their upset from bleeding into the words; it came through anyway.

“G- go away,” His voice was thick, though they couldn’t quite tell if it was from unshed tears or choked back gagging. Either way, it made the pit that had bloomed in their gut grow heavy with worry. They took a few more steps forward.

“How long have you been like… this?” The closer they got the more evident his dishevelment became. His hair was thick with sweat and grease, his eyes were bloodshot and his arms shook so fervently Tav had to wonder how they were supporting his meager weight.

“‘M not pretty right n-” He spasmed, visible even in the dim light, forcing back another heave or cough, they couldn’t be sure which. “Now. Go back to sleep.”

Vines of guilt curled their way up their leg and around their torso. He didn’t really believe, after all this time, that they… Yes, yes he did. He was never going to not believe they were with him for his body. They sighed and knelt a few feet away from him, chest panging at the way he recoiled and tried to hide his face in the thick shadows. “Is there anything you need? Water, blanket, help back?” They made their voice soft, but did their best to not sound placating or babying. That wasn’t how they wanted him to think they felt about any of this, that they found the display pathetic. They didn’t. They found it disturbing. And maybe a little gross.

His silhouetted figure doubled over once more, chest hiccuping and heaving as he retched. They placed a feather-light touch on his back only to be met with a flinch. That was fine, they supposed, he didn’t have to want to be touched for them to try their hand at comforting him, though it bothered them that it seemed borne of shame and not just personal wishes. He spluttered on bile, going from vomiting to hacking his lungs up, and almost on instinct they pulled a strand of hair he’d knocked loose away from his face. This time, instead of flinching back, he leaned into the touch ever so slightly. They scooted across the sparsely grassy ground, trying to slowly get as close as possible without scaring him off.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on now?” Astarion shook his head, a damp curl falling in his face at the movement. They were only noticing just then, perhaps because it felt so natural to their not-dead-once-over flesh, but compared to his normal temperature he was burning up. Not enough to be delirious, at least, they didn’t think so, but enough to be cause for concern.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Good. Go away.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.” He sighed, and even completely concealed by shadows he looked exhausted to the bone.

“I can’t be what you’re used to right now, darling.” As if to punctuate his statement, he broke into a coughing fit that eventually, they weren’t sure either of them could say exactly when, it transitioned into some weird mix of dry heaving and hacking. They took another shot at rubbing his back, this time being far more successful in the attempt, getting no response either way to them drawing circles against his still-cold-but-abnormally-warm skin.

“I don’t need you to ‘be’ anything but okay, star.” Tav actually felt the moment the fight left him, muscles going from tensed to near failure to slack as putty beneath their spiraling hand with the snap of some invisible finger. It didn’t seem trust based, despite how much they wanted it to be, it seemed like he was just too tired to bother. They took a deep breath, mustering up some level of courage to imbue into their words even though they probably didn’t need it. He likely would’ve done anything asked of him without much objection in this state, no matter how unsure the words. “You need to rest, and gods help me, you’re going to, but do you want a bath first? You’re kind of covered in puke.”

A pause, though not one of thought or consideration. It was a lot more akin to needing a minute to decipher what they said.

“Please.” Honestly, if they hadn’t been paying ungodsly amounts of attention to anything sounding even close to his voice, they wouldn’t have caught what he’d mumbled. They watched him let one of his elbows give, making him collapse against their chest with absolutely no grace or flamboyance, only unadulterated exhaustion. They forced their pity back down their throat.

“Okay,” Tav’s voice sounded too gentle, they knew him and they knew how much he distrusted anything that seemed to actually care for him. They forced themselves to sound more neutral, ignoring how they really felt because this wasn’t about them or their feelings. “Can you walk?”

He shrugged, head buried in their shoulder they could feel growing damp with spit and bile that managed to stick to his lips. Astarion didn’t want them to see him like this at all, and it seemed that applied especially to his face. Still, they had to admit they were bothered by that. The fact that he didn’t trust them enough to let them see him at anything but his most breathtaking. Like that was why they were with him. Like they were that heartless. “I can try to carry you, if you’d like.” He wouldn’t. He might need them to, but under no circumstance would he want to be that vulnerable. It just felt nicer to say it that way.

Knowing that, it was only slightly (incredibly, beyond words not even accounting for others comprehension of them) worrying to feel him nod silently against their neck, followed by painful sounding and objectively pathetic coughs. They raked a hand through his damp curls, feeling them straighten out and lose all structure under their fingers, keeping their other gently rested along his twitching spine. “Shh, you’re alright.”

Whether that was true or just some sweet nothing muttered under their breath was still up for debate, but they were really, really hoping it was the former. They waited out the attack, not particularly wanting to startle him whilst his lungs tried to force their way up his throat, before slipping one arm under his knees, the other threaded through his arms. They tipped their head to the side, “Ready?”

He nodded into their shoulder, still refusing to look at them. Cutting their losses, they sighed and pushed themselves to their feet, near stupidly cautious about not dropping him. He’d been through enough for one night.

What no one tells one about being with a person who weighs about as much as a sack of potatoes and is also undead, is that when they’re cold, they are freezing. They shake like leaves in a hurricane. It makes them substantially harder to carry, but, again, they weigh fifteen pounds, so it’s not that bad. Tav was very, very careful not to jostle him too much as they made their way to the cave the crew had refurbished into a bath room, partially because they didn’t want to get thrown up on, but mostly because they didn’t think he needed to be any more miserable than he already was.

A torch cast flickering orange light against the stone walls of the cave the group had refurbished into a bathhouse. It wasn’t anything impressive, they didn’t intend on staying long after all, but it had a tub, a bar of soap, a washbucket and a heating stone, and that was all even the pickiest of them needed. Tav set him down against the wooden bath, and watched him immediately recoil into himself, shoving his face in his limbs before they even got a glimpse of it. They were pretty sure that was the point, and something about that made their teeth grind.

Shifting their focus for a time, they walked up to the edge of the tub and hovered their hands above it, mumbling the incantation to create water. Once it was full, they took the heating stone from the dish on the floor, whispered its password to it and tossed it in the water. Now all they had to do was wait, giving them ample time to check on the pale ball at their feet. They knelt beside him, barely catching him muttering ‘ow’ under his breath over and over again. From how quiet he was being, he hadn’t intended on being heard.

“What’s wrong?”

He almost looked up at them before correcting himself and hiding his face in his knees again, though they had caught a glance at his bloodshot eyes underlined with purple far deeper than usual. “Hm?”

“What hurts?” Yeah, he definitely hadn’t meant to be heard.

His voice was barely audible even in the silence of the cave, mostly because he was mumbling at the floor, “It’s nothing, dear.”

How long was it going to take to convince him that they wanted to help? Actually, was that even possible? Probably not. Why did he have to be so damn frustrating? “Astarion, could you please just tell me what’s wrong so I can fucking help you?! Gods!”

He stayed silent for a moment. A minute. Two. Just as they were about to apologize for being too harsh, he whispered into his knees, “Why?”

“What?” He coughed weakly a few times before answering.

“Why help? I’m not pretty right now. I can’t be like I normally am. You don’t have to stay here and put up with me. Why not just leave?” There was that husk in his voice he only had when he was being vulnerable, the one they’d come to love, but maybe not when he was using it to question his partner’s basic decency. Oh, wait, that was the only time he ever used it because kindness confused him. Nevermind.

“Because you’re my partner and I care about you? I was never with you just because you looked good, and I never expected you to look perfect all the time,” They sighed. “We both want me to help you, star.” The water was definitely warm by then, but the conversation they were having was an important one. Tav slowly, cautiously, put a hand under his jaw and tilted his face up and out from between his knees.

He looked gods awful, skin ashen and green, slick with sweat, eyes red with darker eyebags than they’d ever seen on him and half-lidded in an expression that could only be read as dismal. But they expected that, and while they were definitely bothered by it, it wasn’t for the reason he thought. He thought he was too vile looking to appease them, they thought he was undeserving of the misery so visible in his eyes. They gave him an energetic smile despite the fact that they wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep because they knew that was what he needed. “Come on, get undressed, the water should be warm by now.”

He did as he was told, though far slower than usual and without so much as an attempt to stand. Tav busied themselves with fishing the warming stone from the water and deactivating it before it burnt their fingerprints off, which, luckily, they managed to pull off without much fuss. They looked down at Astarion only to catch him staring blankly at the wall across from him, arms crossed over his abdomen. Pretending that wasn’t a disconcerting thing to watch him do, they offered him a hand that took him approximately five seconds to even notice before sluggishly accepting.

Based on how much of his weight he ended up putting onto them, yeah, maybe he’d been right to have them carry him before. If he couldn’t stand while balancing more than half of himself, he shouldn’t have been walking around. Thank the gods he hadn’t stumbled off the ledge he’d been leaning over earlier, that was something only explained by divine intervention. They helped him into the water the best they could, profusely thanking the gods once more when he didn’t collapse and crack his skull open or something in a similarly horrific vein of possibility. The universe didn’t normally cut him any breaks, they’d found.

They watched him position himself to face away from them, feeling something sharp drive its way through their chest as he did so. They knew, logically, that if anything that should’ve been flattering, in some dark and calloused way; he wasn’t looking at them because he didn’t want to acknowledge he was ‘making’ them take care of him, because he didn’t want to think about forcing their hand in the way his so often was. It stung all the same. “Is the water alright?”

He nodded, though it was so subtle they weren’t sure it counted as one, and mumbled something under his breath that Tav didn’t fully catch but sounded eerily similar to a thank you. Astarion would never say something like that unless he was coerced though, so it was more than likely a mild auditory hallucination. They were fairly sleep deprived after all.

They grabbed the soap bar and saucer set beside the bath, rolled up their sleeves and sunk the bowl below the water, taking care to make sure he saw them do it. “Close your eyes and tilt forward.”

He, for the second time in ten minutes, did as he was told without question or conjecture. None of that was normal, it wasn’t like him to just obey. It felt viscerally, gut twistingly wrong. They tipped the water over his white curls, ignoring the fact that he’d moved a little more than ideal from a poorly timed group of coughs. There was definitely something in his lungs his body didn’t want there, not only obvious from the periodic (near constant) hacking, but also because they could hear the nastiness in there every time he breathed. Vampires may not have needed oxygen, but spawn still seemed to feel the need for it.

They bit back their pity- or was it compassion? And ran the bar of detergent atop his hair, setting the dish on the ground for the time so they could work the soap in better. Astarion didn’t move, keeping his head tipped and eyes shut even though he really didn’t need to. Admittedly, he was most likely just tired, and it gave them a better look at his scars, anyway. He always seemed cagey about them, perhaps understandably, but they thought the intricacy of its patterns was breathtaking, both in a way of beauty and of horror.

Without a word of warning, he lurched forward and Tav accidentally yanked his hair, catching him hiss as they did so. “Shit- I’m so sorry, you could’ve warn…” He had a limp hand at his mouth, all the muscles they could see were tense, his skin was more sage toned than pale, “…ed… me- Do you want me to go get you a bucket?”

He nodded, sharper and faster than before, though still distinctly sluggish, breath heavy and mouth ever so slightly agape. They grabbed the oak washbucket a few feet off and held it under his jaw, wincing and pulling back his hair as he crumpled forward. He didn’t so much heave into the pail as he did allow bile to pour from his lips whilst they busied themselves with tracing his scars. Heaving implied a level of effort Astarion didn’t seem to have the energy to put in. The tissue below their fingers felt all together too warm but they kept writing spirals across his back anyway.

After half a minute or so, his shoulders quit spasming and he let his head fall against the rim of the bucket now balanced between his legs and chest. Their chest panged with empathy.

“Done?” He shrugged. They took that as a maybe and silently removed it from his lap, placing it on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and tightened into a ball, leaning back just enough to rest his head on their chest, though his face was still mostly out of sight. “Star?”

“I don’t feel well…” His voice was thick with what they could only assume were tears as he whined, the admission seeming to carry some kind of weight. The parts of his visage they could see were tensed with discomfort and colored ashen green. They couldn’t help the semi-nervous chuckle that bloomed in their chest at the sheer obviousness of the words, or the snarky comment that followed, “Really? Unbelievable.”

He tossed a barely visible pitiful glare back at them, looking genuinely upset at the tease. They sighed, letting their playful hostility leave them for something more serious and moving a hand to rake through his still-soapy hair. Their shirt was wet now, but they couldn’t care less. “I know. Let me rinse out your hair, I can help you back to bed once you’re clean,”

“Thank you…” If it was anyone other than Astarion talking, they would have just said you’re welcome and moved on, maybe made a mental note of how adorable it was if it was Lae’zel or someone similar; as it stood, their heart sank down and joined with the pit in their stomach. He was either completely, can’t-filter-his-words miserable or delirious out of his mind. Had to have been to say that out loud. It was probably a bit of both, in all reality.

They picked up the bowl they’d used to wet his mane before and gently filled it with water once again. Predicting their next request, Astarion tipped his head forward and closed his eyes. They rinsed his hair for a few minutes before they tried speaking to him again, refreshing the water as needed while they went. “Care to elaborate?”

“Hm?” His pointed ears perked up a bit as if to say they’d got his attention.

“You admitted you were uncomfortable. Care to elaborate on where?” Poking the bear almost never ended well for said poker, but the more they had to go off the more they’d be able to help and the faster he would get back to normal. They never thought they’d miss that sparkling ‘I’m going to kill someone the moment you look away’ smirk, but here they were. “My chest hurts and my head’s… weird. ”

They ran a hand through his hair, moving already washed off curls to the side and pouring another dish-full of water over his scalp. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s… heavy. I can’t think properly.” Well, that explained the odd amounts of silence, if one couldn't think one couldn't speak. They gave a small bundle of ivory coils a once over, checking for any soap they hadn’t rinsed off.

“Like a fever?” It'd become a background awareness as the night had gone on, they'd had bigger things to worry about, but he was still off-puttingly warm, at least for him. They could almost swear it was live flesh beneath their hands.

“Wouldn't know. I've never had on- ne-” He stumbled his way through the last words as a coughing fit shook his frame, leaving Tav to try and keep him upright as he wasn’t doing a terribly great job at it on his own. One of their hands cupped his shoulder to pull him back if he got too close to collapsing into the water, the other going to his back and tracing loops using his scars as a template. They felt their fingers dampen, though if it was sweat or water that caused it was something they’d probably never get an answer to.

It took a few moments, but the coughing eventually subsided and became nothing more than congested breaths. They set their palm against his jaw and pulled his head to face them, forcing back a flinch at just how truly ill he looked. Eyes glassy, half lidded with exhaustion and bright red, brimming with what they were almost sure were tears, cheeks flushed, snot left to dry trailing down to his chin accompanied by streaks of vomit. They gently thumbed as much of the gunk as they could without drawing attention to it, knowing how fast he’d look away if they did. “Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a second? I have to go grab you some clothes.”

Astarion faintly nodded, slumping into their palm and shutting his eyes as soon as he figured they’d got the message. Pity and worry clawed up their throat in tandem as they slipped their hand away, watching him shift his focus to stare blankly at the wall across from him. They bit down their guilt and left the cave, and him along with it.

It didn’t take long to find what they needed, mainly because they didn’t even attempt to find it in Astarion’s wardrobe, instead bee lining for their own bag and sorting through its familiar contents. He never kept comfortable clothes with him, the closest thing he had was his puke and sweat soaked camp outfit that was currently strewn out on the stone floor they’d just left behind, but even those weren’t really what Tav was looking for. They wanted something soft and breathable, which were not traits of fabric Astarion generally deemed himself worthy of. They disagreed, but they couldn’t make him choose comfort over fashion, so there wasn’t a lot they could do.

They pulled a black cotton shirt and loose trousers made of the same material from their pack. They had thought about giving him their nice pajamas, the ones lined with silk, but they didn’t particularly want them covered in snot or phlegm or vomit, so they decided against it. The outfit in their hands would be comfortable enough. They stood and made their way back to their chosen.

He was, unsurprisingly, coughing his organs up in the exact place they’d left him when they made their return. He didn’t seem to notice them as they set the fresh linens down and began tidying up the soiled ones to be washed before the others woke, too preoccupied with making sure that coughing didn’t spiral into puking, though they highly doubted he would be successful in that endeavor. After they’d gathered up the stray cloths and tossed them in the corner, they decided the display was too worrying to ignore. “Star?”

He flinched, looking in their direction long enough for his red rimmed eyes and bleary bloodshot stare to form cracks in their heart before losing any color his face may have had and turning away to retch. They did their best to not follow suit with the way their stomach was twisting with empathy and concern, and walked over to where he was leaned over the tub, holding the dirtied wash bin he’d thrown up in before under his jaw the moment they got close enough to do so. They really didn’t want to have more of a mess to clean up, not that they were mad at him for it. It wasn't his fault he was sick. They winced at the sound of fluid splattering against the walls of the vessel they were holding, bringing their free hand to his scalp and holding his hair back.

“There you go, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” They muttered sweet nothings to him, more an attempt at giving him something to focus on other than pain than any real words of understanding. Those could wait until he wasn’t choking up blood-tinged bile into a wooden bucket. He hiccuped out a broken little ‘hurts…’ during a lull, before quickly heaving up more unknowable fluid. They scrunched up their nose in mild disgust and looped a stray curl behind his pointed ear.

After what they were sure had been hours, the gagging slowly trailed off, heavy sobs manifesting in its place. They set the bin aside and swiped away a string of saliva from his lips with their sleeve, hygiene be damned.

“Come on, I’ll help you get dressed.” They grabbed his shoulder and pulled on it, trying to convince him to at least try to get up, earning them a whiny wince and a sleeve damp with tears. He muttered something under his breath, Tav just barely managing to catch it below everything else, “Please don’t make me move.”

They hissed in sympathy, “Need a minute, then?”

He nodded against their palm, swallowing thickly and a tad pathetically. So they sat there, silently thumbing away his tears, patiently waiting for him to collect himself, or to at least say he had. Choked back sobs echoed against stone and they held his head in their hands, perched atop their knees, in silence. Gods, he was warm. Earlier it had been worrying when put in perspective, at that point it was terrifying. Hopefully, due to his undead nature, his brain wouldn’t scramble from the fever. Hopefully, despite the fact that his flesh was normally cold as ice, his body could handle being as warm as life once more. He didn’t seem horrifically delirious, they supposed.

“I hate this.”

“I know. Feel any better?”

“Not really, but the walls aren’t spinning anymore, so… fine. Help me up.” They stood, smiling ever so slightly at the hint of normality bleeding into his voice, but they didn’t offer their hand. No, they had a chance to tease him, and they were going to take it.

“Say ‘please’.” They let their smile grow into a mischievous grin. Astarion looked up at them with an exhausted try at a glare and a voice probably meant to sound angry that came out more tearful than anything, “Please.”

It really felt like he’d intended on growling, not groveling, but gods did it sound like the latter. They grabbed one of his wrists, slipping their unused hand under the shoulder opposite it, and practically dragged him to his feet. That wasn’t to say he wasn't trying to stand up; it was to say he was failing at it. They felt him stumble as they pulled him out of the water, briefly collapsing against their shoulder before correcting himself. Despite the fact that he’d clearly been in pain all night, it was starting to become obvious he felt even worse than he was willing to let on.

They leaned down and picked up the clothes on the ground, keeping one hand under his arm as they didn’t fully trust him not to fall flat on his face without it. They stood back up and met his eyes, still bloodshot and sunken, but considerably less fogged over. “Do you want help getting dressed?”

He scoffed and looked askance, “I’m not an invalid.”

“I’m not saying I don’t think you could do it on your own, I’m asking if you want to.” Okay, that was a bit of a white lie, but only a bit. He could definitely get dressed on his own, but it would take triple the time and truly idiotic amounts of effort on his part, which felt a bit unnecessary. Tav knew for a fact it’d be better for both of them if he just let them help, but he still deserved the opportunity to refuse.

And it looked like he was going to, up until his trembling knees gave out and he had to catch himself by putting a hand, and a good bit of his weight, on their shoulder. His eyes flicked back up to them, and something in their (understandably) smug expression must’ve broken his resolve because he proceeded to sigh, inducing a few pathetically feeble coughs, look once again to the ground and mumble a petulant little, “Help me,” He paused for a moment, before adding a near silent, “Please.”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t too difficult to wrangle the top onto him, even though he was shaking like a newborn foal in winter, partially due to him not fighting it and partially due to the piece being three sizes too big for the scrawny bastard. Though, they did have to admit that he looked adorable with those sleeves hanging over his hands, it reminded them of a kid wearing their dads shirt. Made them wish Astarion could remember doing that when he was an elfling. They grabbed the trousers from where they’d draped them across the bath basin’s edge and handed them to him, planning on holding him upright whilst he did all the real work.

“So…” They held his arm tight, vigilant that he didn’t start to sway, “How are you feeling?”

He pulled the fabric over his legs and tried to tie a knot at the waistband, but his quivering fingers were proving to be too unsteady to manage it. “Vile. My lungs are on fire and it feels like my stomach is filled with lava.” Tav moved his hands away from the string and began to tie it for him. He shifted his tone from some vague sense of disgust to vulnerable and soft, “I… don’t think I’ve ever been sick. Or, you know… thrown up. At least not that I can remember. I don’t think I’ll miss it.”

They laughed lightly, more to clear the air than anything, and pulled their hands away as they finished up the fastener. “Yeah, I imagine not. The only thing I can think of that would’ve caused something like this was that field of mushrooms. Maybe they had some weird kind of spores?”

“I don’t care what caused it, I just want it to stop.” They supposed that was fair. He coughed a few times, and if they didn’t think there were spores in his lungs before, they did after they heard him sputtering for breath, practically drowning on nothing. They looked around the cave and sighed internally; they really didn’t want to leave him alone in that state, but they also had to tidy up the mess the both of them had made of the place before everyone else woke.

“I’m going to clean this place up a bit before I settle back into bed, I imagine you don’t want any questions from the rest. Should I walk you back over to your tent?”

“I’ll be fine on my own, you just do wha-” They laughed, this time wholeheartedly and loudly enough they had to cover their mouth.

“Nice try, but you can barely stand, star. Let me rephrase: should I walk you back to your tent or should I carry you there?” He flushed and flicked his fingers a few times, a flustered tic of his. He hated being caught, and he hated being seen as weak even more, even if it was accurate. Especially if it was accurate. “I can walk.”

“Okay.” They grabbed his arm and led him the eighty or so feet to his canopy, stopping once or twice to make sure he didn’t topple over. They let him stumble through the last few steps on his own, proving their earlier point when he barely managed even that. They took a moment to stare at the flickering campfire, trying to gauge how much it had burned down. A few hours until Lae’zel would start to stir, more for the rest. They had time.

It only took them twenty or so minutes to get Astarion’s sick-damp shirt clean enough that no one would bat an eye to it, magic the water from the bath and scrub pail clean of anything too gross to be seen as just gunk off a pair of socks, though it was a fairly disgusting ordeal. Blood, bile and half-digested food wasn’t quite the type of scent they’d bottle, but they didn’t resent him for it. They were more mad at the mushrooms than him. How dare those fungi hurt their beloved, the audacity.

It took a few extra minutes of rummaging around camp to find a bucket that wouldn’t be missed, but they were well known for their hoarding tendencies, and for once they were actually helpful as they found a wooden basin tucked behind a random chest.

They didn’t have to go into the tent to tell Astarion was still completely miserable, a few feet from the entrance they heard the poor thing cough, cut himself off with a pitiful little hiccup and groan. They brushed the cloth doorway to the side and knelt down inside, staring at him for a moment. He held a fist to his lips, his other arm wrapped around his stomach, eyes fluttering. They saw him flick his vision to them, but he looked away just as fast. They set the pail in their hands beside him and made no mention of it, for his sake. “Mind if I sit beside you?”

He moved his sights to them, a bit more permanently than before. His voice was thick with nausea and bated coughs, barely even a whisper, “Don’t blame me if I’m sick on you.”

“I won’t.” They slipped in between him and a wall of pillows, wrapping an arm across his collarbones and trying to pull him closer without jostling him too much. He made a muffled noise that they couldn’t pin down but it was either a burp or a gag and leaned into his hand, face tight. They felt their chest constrict with empathy. “There’s a bucket right there, you know.”

He shook his head, then broke down coughing, visibly cringing as saliva poured from his mouth into his palm. He turned away sharply and dry heaved while they rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort the poor thing. He wasn’t bringing anything up but drool and tears, they doubted he had anything but that left in his system, yet his body wasn’t giving up.

They thought about casting some kind of healing spell on him, but considering the little they knew of this… lung infection? They doubted it would help much. They just focused on keeping his hair away from his mouth, muttering sweet nothings. “Shh, shh, shh. It's okay, you’re going to be fine. Shh, I got you.”

After far too long, the retching died down, leaving him panting and whining bent over the basin with flushed cheeks and spit trailing down his face, hiccuping through soft sobs. They pulled his face into their sights, wiped away some of the sludge on his face with their already dirty sleeve and let him collapse into their side, bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. He clung to them like a lifeline.

“Isn’t this disgusting to you?” They could hardly call his voice a whisper; it was too weak and broken for that. They hugged him a tad tighter and giggled breathily, “Maybe a little. I love you enough to manage.”

“Thank you…” They pulled a blanket over his shoulders and scoffed playfully.

“Shut up and rest, star.” He curled up against their chest and buried his face in their collarbone with a miserable whine. Not having much else to do to help, they gently shushed him and moved one of their hands down to knead at his shoulder. Slowly but surely, they felt his muscles unwind and his limbs go slack. They kissed the crown of his head and then rested their forehead there, letting their heavy eyelids and sluggish mind have their way.

Gods, they hoped he was better off in the morning.

Chapter Text

He was not, in fact, better in the morning.

If one has ever heard the saying ‘it gets worse at night’, then they might assume he’d be, at the very least, better off during the (probably) day. That deduction fails to account for the fact that, biologically, vampires ‘days’ are nights and ‘nights’ are days.

While he was still deep in trance, Shadowheart had tried Lesser Restoration on him, with little to no effect. When they asked Halsin, he panicked more harshly than they ever could have imagined. The spores in this dosage should have killed Astarion, apparently, it's just that the poison wasn't evolved for vampires. Halsin had told them it killed by, “...Turning the creature's internal organs against each other, often using their stomach acid to melt them from the inside out,” Which was… reassuring.

Tav then demanded for everyone to get the hells out of camp until they were ready to sleep, because they knew how Astarion got about being vulnerable, and they knew he was going to need as much care and attention as they could give. Everyone obeyed without much complaint, many even trying to make excuses about how they had things to do anyway, saving Tav the headache of people and Astarion from the unnecessary embarrassment of being seen like that.

Sat beside him trying to read a book, they couldn’t help but stare at him and the way he trembled with fever. They had a cup of lemon and yarrow tea spiked with a potion from Halsin, a small saucer with ice water, a rag and a bowl of chicken broth containing an impressive amount of blood set beside them, ready and waiting for him to wake; if they were being honest with themselves they didn’t think he’d be able to stomach any of the ‘food’, but they were hoping he’d manage to keep some down long enough for it to help.

He groaned and sleepily threw an arm over his abdomen, stirring up a violent set of coughs that forced him upright just to spit neon green phlegm into the bucket still set beside him. Tav cringed, their voice coming out so strained with worry it was almost a hiss, “Good morning.”

He whined in what they presumed to be a response, slumping backward into their lap. His head clipped the book in their hands by just a hair, so they set it off to the side, not even bothering to bookmark the page. They raked a hand through his hair, nails snagging on tangles as they went; he melted to the touch like a needy dog. “How do you feel?”

“It hurts,” He shaped miserable mewls into something that vaguely resembled Common and buried his head in their thigh.

“Your chest?”

“Everything.” Clawing nails sunk into their flesh as he curled around them, and they felt the patch of cloth he’d hidden his face in grow damp with a thick sob. “Make it stop.”

“I can’t.” Tav forced a brightness into their voice that was anything but how they really felt, “I have tea though! And broth, but I’m starting to think I’ll have to spoon-feed it to you, so we’re going to start with the tea.”

He made an indeterminate noise somewhere between a groan and a gag. Blatantly ignoring that, they slipped a hand under his shoulder and gently tried to nudge him into sitting up, which he did seem to try to do, but honestly the attempt was so pitiful they weren’t sure it even counted. So they hoisted him upright, pretending that they were just helping him and not legitimately making him and shooting his palid face and bleary stare a smile as they reached over to grab the mug.

They gave a passing glance to his tremored hands, “Actually, can you hold this without dropping it? Don’t lie, it won't help anything.”

He shrugged tiredly and looked to the side, lacking all the usual flare and drama of their lover to make room for sheer exhaustion. Conceding to themselves that no, he probably couldn’t, they brought the lip of the mug to both of his and tipped it ever so slightly. He gave the cup a look of disdain and hesitantly opened his mouth a bit to let the drink in. He managed to get maybe three mouthfuls in before dissolving into a coughing fit. Well, at least he’d tried.

“I’m dying,” He rasped, words made more of coughs he’d shaped than actual voice. They wished they could say he was being dramatic, but he was more right than wrong.

“Well, actually,” They laughed nervously, massaging a muscle in between his neck and his shoulder with their thumb, “If you weren’t a vampire you would be. But you are, so you aren’t. We just have to wait this out.”

Coughing eventually gave way to a gag or two, but Astarion managed to keep all the fluid he’d drank down with enough effort. He straightened up enough to hide his face in the nape of their neck, and they let their free arm wrap around his frame and drape across his collar. He followed suit, though his was far less hug-like and far more like using them as a horizontal bed.

They heard the fabric door shielding them from the rest of camp shift, about to yell at whoever it was to go away before remembering the only creatures in the vicinity were Scratch and the owlbear cub. A beak poked through the gap, followed by a set of big eyes and squishy feathered cheeks. They felt the hot flesh of their partner shift against their neck to look at the creature as they muttered the incantation for Speak to Animals. “Hi, bud.”

“Pale friend smell funny. Smell like mushrooms and sickness,” The owlbear stepped inside and over to Astarion, nudging at his leg with his beak. “Scratch is worried.”

“He’s got some kind of spore poisoning.” The owlbear’s ears perked up, the feathers at the top bouncing as they moved, eyes bright and determined.

“Stay with pale friend! Help!” The owlbear demanded, quickly curling up in the middle of the two humanoids and placing a paw on top Astarion’s leg. Astarion’s only response was weakly moving his hand from their shoulder to the cub’s head, his other arm still wrapped tight around his stomach. He wasn’t even actually petting it, just using its skull as an armrest, but it seemed happy. They couldn’t help but smile, even if the situation wasn’t exactly ideal.

The two of them slowly adjusted to the new arrangement, Astarion returning to burying his head against their collar and Tav returning to playing with his hair. It was a sweet, peaceful moment, at least for them. He might have said it was an agonizing one, but they couldn’t know either way.

They heard him gag wetly and felt him shoot back as their shoulder grew wet with what, based on the fact that he had a hand over his mouth and was staring at them with unbelievable amounts of guilt in his eyes, they assumed to be tea-diluted bile. They cringed away from their own shoulder, but didn't have time to otherwise react. He unfroze from his deer-in-cartlights state to lean over the pail behind him and spit up whatever happened to still be in his system (and blood, which they could only assume came from melting stomach lining) while they clamored to pull back his hair. The owlbear chirped with equal amounts of surprise and concern.

He sobbed harshly as his body quit trying to reject its own organs, voice slurred with delirium as he rambled, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry…”

“Shh, shhh. Shut up. It’s fine. Clothes can be washed, and I’m far more worried than mad. Just calm down a bit.” That being said, they were quick to take their shirt off and wipe their arm dry with their clean sleeve. Just because they were more concerned than disgusted didn’t mean they weren’t still squicked out. Their chest panged as he curled into himself, ever so reminiscent of the night before when he’d been trying to hide from them. They almost didn’t catch him whispering into his knees, “Please don’t hate me.”

“What? No. No, no, no. I don’t hate you. You’re sick. Very, honestly and truly, fucking sick. This isn’t your fault. Would you hate me if our places were swapped?” After a few moments of crying silently, he shook his head. “Then why in all of Faerûn would I hate you?”

He didn’t respond, just sob-coughed into the sleeve he’d shoved his in his mouth, an attempt to muffle whatever noise he did make. The owlbear nudged him with his beak to no effect. They sighed and pulled the blanket he’d knocked off in his panic back over his shoulders. The owlbear pawed at them with big, upset eyes, “Pale friend is sad. Smell like pain and fever. You going to fix friend?”

They smiled sadly at the fluffy creature, “I wish I could. We just have to wait this out, I’m afraid.”

“But friend is hurt! Must fix, fix friend!” It jumped back and forth anxiously, shaking the ground just enough to make Astarion gag; he didn’t even try to move, though if that was from apathetic exhaustion, a certainty he had nothing left to throw up, or a mixture of the two, they couldn’t tell. They rubbed his back, hopefully soothingly, and reached for the rag nearby. Hesitant of the cold, they slowly dunked it into the ice water just beside it, hissing at the expected temperature and wringing the excess out.

They brought the washcloth to his unnaturally flushed cheek, his eyes still pressed to his knees, and grazed his flesh with it. He flinched, head moving just enough for them to see a sliver of his bleary yet demanding eyes. They answered his unspoken question, “It’s a cold compress. It’ll help.”

They braced themselves for pushback that never came, all he did was nod and slump back into his previous position. Mildly disturbed but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, they pressed the cloth to his cheek, their expression brightening just slightly as he leaned into it. Tav slowly made their way down, starting at his face, moving to his neck, then collar and shoulders, stopping occasionally to rewet the rag to bring back its original cold. They quit at his arms, mainly because if they wanted to go any lower they’d need to make him take off his shirt, which felt both unnecessary and, in this state, slightly invasive. They put the cloth down into the ice water, keeping it frigid for later use.

They bit their lip, knowing how difficult he was going to be about their next request, and reached for the half-full mug beside them. “Come on, head up,” They shook his shoulder gently. He gave the cup in their hand a quick glance before shaking his head. “Look, if you can keep it down long enough it’ll help, and if you can’t, it feels better to puke up something rather than nothing.”

They slipped their hand under his jaw and pulled his sights to them, his eyes bloodshot and slightly swollen from the damage of his still-flowing tears. They almost split his lip with their aggression as they shoved the mug into his mouth because this was all they could do to help now, and gods, were they desperate to. Sighing, he let them half-force him to finish the rest of the drink, though it did take a few minutes of slowly easing and coaxing it down. Less resistance than expected, they supposed.

When the cup was finally drained they set it off to the side, next to the lukewarm bowl of broth that there was no way in all of the hells he’d be able to manage any time soon, and scooted a bit closer. The owlbear had curled up at his feet, keeping vigil on the door. Once they’d got close enough, he quite literally collapsed against them, ultimately ending up as a miserable ball in their lap. They dragged the blanket over his shaking shoulders, leaning down and kissing his forehead before scratching at his scalp in a hopefully soothing manner. He just groaned and buried his face in their thigh.

They poked the owlbear in front of them a few times, earning a set of perked up ears and antsy eyes focused on them. “Can you do me a favor, little guy?” It nodded eagerly, seemingly desperate to help out. They pointed at their soiled shirt, “Could you take that over to the bath room, then grab another one from my pack and bring it to me?”

“Yes, yes! Help friend!” It rushed to grab the top and run off to do what was asked of it, leaving the two of them alone.

They heard the crackling and weak voice of the lump strewn across their lap mutter, “I’m sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to, I… I didn’t…”

“It’s fine, star, really. Sometimes you don’t get a warning. I’ve been sick before, though maybe not this sick,” They laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood before going back to being serious. “But I know you weren’t expecting that. I’m not mad at you, I promise.” They sat in silence for a moment, Astarion seeming to be trying to find the right response.

“Thank you. For… For everything,” He started sounding more watery than miserable, “You’re really good to me.” He burrowed his face in their pant leg with a hiccuping sob. They continued to pet his scalp, choosing to let him cry through the delirium for a minute instead of shushing him, they were hoping it would be cathartic.

The owlbear poked its head through the canvas of their tent, walking in and dropping a fresh top beside them with a proud chirp. Tav grabbed it with a, “Good boy,” scritching behind the fluffy thing’s ear for a moment before attempting to maneuver the shirt on. It was a little difficult to do with Astarion lying in their lap, but they would rather die than make him get up for their own minor benefit.

They glanced around the tent, taking the area around them in. The owlbear curled up in the corner, the deep red bowl of broth, Astarion’s sloppily bookmarked novel… his novel. An idea came to them. “Do you want me to read to you?”

He sluggishly shifted to look up at them, “What?”

“Your book, do you want me to read it to you?” He stared at them like they’d just bloomed a few tentacles. They bit back the urge to check.

“Why?”

“I thought it might be calming. It’s fine if you don’t want me to, I just-”

“No, I, uh… go ahead.” They smiled and reached for the red covered book, thumbing through it until they reached the place he'd marked. Slowly, they started to read. Slowly, he began to melt into them.

The dim candlelight made the words blurrier than ideal, but they were sure he didn’t mind their stuttering or their slow pace. Honestly, they doubted he even noticed. They took their time working through the chapter, pausing when he’d cough or to wipe his skin off with a cool rag when they remembered just how warm he really was. He normally felt like a late fall breeze, crisp and chill, but in that moment he felt more akin to an iron spit set above a campfire; that is to say, far too warm.

By the time they’d made it through the rest of the chapter he was half-tranced. They smiled at their love for a moment, happy to see him slightly less miserable, before continuing on. This time, instead of growing less tense as they went on, he only seemed to be getting more. Eventually they felt him try to sit up, though unsurprisingly he failed, muscles too weakened by fevered tremors. They stopped reading and looked down at him, his ashen facade and ear points turned vibrant red with warmth, “What’s wrong?”

Astarion curled in on himself, deliriously whining, “Sick. ‘Tomach hurts.”

They were able to presume the rest, he was trying to sit up so he didn’t throw up on them. Again. As they weren’t particularly keen on repeating that whole ordeal, they dragged the bucket into his reach. They couldn’t exactly call how he proceeded to position himself to lean over it sitting up, but he wasn’t quite laying down either. He hiccuped a few times before silently heaving up off-red internals and tea; they had to force themselves not to cringe so much that they let go of his hair at the voiceless gushing sound it made. They were damn near certain half of what he was spitting up was what Halsin told them it might become, liquified organs. To be fair, he’d also told them that they would regenerate in a few days and were unnecessary for Astarion’s survival, he was undead after all, but that didn’t make the thought more pleasant. Or the experience, they imagined.

He coughed roughly, spat into the vessel and fell backwards into their lap, limp as a ragdoll. They grabbed the compress out of its ice bath, turned his face enough that it wouldn’t just fall off and placed it against his forehead. His only response was an uncomfortable mewl. They went back to reading, not wanting to imprint the image of him like this in their mind any more than they already had.

They rambled their way through a few more chapters until they were certain he’d fallen asleep, oddly because he’d grown a bit more fitful. When he was awake he was aware of how exhausted he was, so he didn’t shift around pretty much at all, but in trance he’d get caught up in visions enough to squirm a bit. They had left his bookmark on the page they’d started, knowing damn well he wouldn’t remember a word of what they just read, so all they had to do was close the book and reach for their own.

They flipped to the spot they’d left off on and read aloud to themselves, hoping the soft droning would keep him in the realm of the unconscious until the worst of it subsided.

Chapter Text

It only took a day and a half more for it to pass. They had fallen asleep beside him, and when he sat up, they stirred. “Stari…?” They called groggily, their eyes fluttering open to see him, visage no more pale than they’d come to expect, red irises sharp. He flinched at the sudden noise, looking back at them with genuine confusion.

“What… what happened?” A beat, barely long enough for Tav to prop themselves up on their elbows, and his ears flushed a bright red as he started to massage the bridge of his nose. “Oh hells, nevermind.”

They chuckled, reaching up to rub the sleep from their eyes, “Remember now?”

“Bits and pieces.” They sat upright and cupped his cheek, though all he did in response was look away. The sounds of a camp only just beginning to wake could be heard through the canvas of their tent. “Gods, I… I’m so sorry. You did not have to put up with that.”

“What, did you expect me to leave you on a cliffside for three days?”

“Three days?!” The hand on his nose moved to cover his eyes. “Hells… how did the others not know?”

The air of the room turned sour with awkward hesitance. Tav looked away from him, just as he had them. “About that…”

“Please tell me you didn’t let them see me.”

They smirked nervously, voice strained, “Only Halsin… and Shadowheart. No one else, though.”

Astarion simply sighed and covered his face with his hands. Tav knew how vain he was, it wasn’t a particularly unexpected reaction, but they still didn’t like it. Their arm wrapped loosely around his shoulder. Neither of them made an attempt to break the silence, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Was he being, quite frankly, ridiculously dramatic? Yes, but they also supposed he had an excuse. Two hundred years of looks being all that mattered would understandably make one ashamed of being disheveled and pathetic for a few days, even if it was just a thing that happens to everyone. Well, no. Not everyone inhaled poison spores and had to live through their organs melting. They more so meant everyone caught something like this, usually a stomach bug, at least a few times in their life.

“You…” Astarion dropped the flair from his tone for just a moment, “You still love me, right?”

“I- What? Of course I do!” He breathed a sigh of relief and finally let his hands pull away from his face, leaning into their side and hugging them tight. Shock froze them for a moment - he had never been the one to initiate a hug before - but it only took a second for them to return the gesture. They found their face buried in the poofy white locks of his hair, smirking to themselves. “You do need to get better at jumping, though, rickety knees.”

They laughed as he punched them in the shoulder.