🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[mystracal]

tfln | invitations | and there was only one bed | undermountain alurlyath | what could be | blood bond | the price of freedom
it wore his face | dinner with morena dekarios | rediscovery

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[mystracal]

Astarion—

[Though a little wobbly himself as what magic or draught they'd had him under slowly wanes, Gale is immediately by his side the moment he's off that slab, an arm around Astarion in case he needs help to stand.]

Can you walk?

[And he doesn't even wait for an answer to that as he starts testing his magic, calling some to his hand, his fingers aglow. If nothing else, he could surely portal the two of them somewhere closer to the Elfsong. He's been practicing his portals, just in case they should need to make a quick getaway from the Brain when the time comes - or, more likely, he needs to send everyone a safe distance away from him should he explode.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion straightens himself up, putting his arm around Gale in turn. He's not the one who just got kidnapped, and his pride won't let him by the one who's leaning on Gale all the way home. But he does perk up when the arcane power starts to swirl about Gale's fingertips.]

If you have an alternative, I won't say no.

[mystracal]

And it doesn't involve either of us becoming a sheep.

[He looks to Wyll, who assures them the rest of the party can walk well enough to meet them at the inn later. Halsin and the others may already be there as it stands. Gale nods.]

Right. Hold on tight, love.

[And with a swirl of magic, they are enveloped in a lavender light. It's not so much a portal as teleportation, but it will suffice. There's the sensation of being pulled from the very core, vast distances covered in the blink of an eye, and then—

He did indeed get them close, almost to the entrance of the Elfsong Tavern. They're dropped into the middle of the street, the people around them staring curiously at the two men who've appeared out of thin air, one bloodied from battle while the other's robes are cut to ribbons.]

[sangwhine]

[People can stare if they want, Astarion doesn't give a damn. He tightens his grip around Gale's waist while trying to keep weight off of his injured leg. They don't have far to go, he can endure the pain for at least that long.]

Have I mentioned before that I love you, dear? Let's get you inside.

[He moves them gently, only somewhat awkwardly into the inn. A quick conversation with the innkeeper and a very challenging set of stairs sees them both into a room with beds, a fireplace, and a basin for washing. Astarion can't help but give it an an appreciative look.]

Well, this is much better than our little outpost by the docks.

[mystracal]

That it is.

[He's almost hesitant to say that, but his distracted from whatever troubles him by the blood trailing down Astarion's leg.]

This way. I'd hate for you to have mounted a daring rescue, only to bleed to death in the finest accommodations we've seen.

[Astarion may have wanted to get Gale inside, but Gale wants to get Astarion to that basin - and particularly to the shelf full of bandages he sees next to it - as soon as possible.]

[sangwhine]

Darling, rest assured, you'll not be rid of me so easily.

[He'll let himself be steered, immediately moving to pull his armor off, revealing the full extent of his injuries. He gives a hiss or groan as each one is revealing, making it all the easier for Gale to track them. There's a deep stab wound at the shoulder, a nasty gash across his hip, as well as several more superficial cuts elsewhere on his arms. Yet despite Astarion's injuries, he's more intent on Gale, wanting to make sure that Orin hasn't done any lasting damage to him.]

You as well, love. Come, there's room enough for both of us.

[mystracal]

[Gale looks more and more worried as each wound is revealed, especially in knowing that he can't even provide Astarion with the sustenance he needs to heal. He hands Astarion some of the bandages from the shelf, silently insisting he should take care of those before worrying about anything else, before he unfastens his robes.

His wounds, by comparison, are almost ceremonial, reverent in their placement: lines along his ribs cut into his skin, trailing their curvature around his chest; more haphazard slices along his forearms and thighs, as though longing to dig farther, deeper; a single cut that trails the violet tendrils on the side of his throat, long and a little deeper than the others, as though he were lovingly caressed with the edge of Orin's knife.

He sighs, trying to mitigate his worry with levity.]

I do hope whomever moved our camp brought all my clothes. I'm out another set, it seems.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion takes the bandages, but he only keeps his hand on them as Gale's wounds are revealed. There's a clear anger and distaste write on his face with each line of blood reveled. The dull background throb of his own pain does nothing to ease that anger. He steps closer to Gale, gently tracing the cut to his throat.]

You'll use mine. I'll dress you.

[mystracal]

I'm starting to think you're using our courtship as an excuse to dress me better.

[Not that Gale minds that, nor the touch to the cut on his throat; it stings beneath Astarion's cold fingers, barely healed over, not yet even scabbing. His own eyes flick over Astarion, much more worried about this still-bleeding wounds.]

Your injuries are far worse than mine, Astarion. I am grateful you came for me so quickly, though. I cannot say what I'd have looked like had Orin had to wait for too long.

[sangwhine]

Damn my injuries. I nearly lost you. All because—because you couldn't tell me from her. Because she knew she could come between us like that.

[His hand trembles, his whole body tensed at the thought of it. He moves to the cuts at Gale's ribs, fingers drawing along the lines. He hates the thought that she make these marks, that Gale was hurt like this. He hates the thought that his own manner, his penchant for flirtation and lust let her take Gale from him so easily. Is he really so simple that a shapeshifter could dupe the man who should know him better than anyone else?

He swallows against the frustration and hurt, his head suddenly heavy and dizzy from the lost blood. His hand falls heavier on Gale's shoulders, using the wizard to keep himself upright.]

[mystracal]

[Gale will defend his foolishness later; for the moment, he's entirely too worried as Astarion struggles to stay upright.]

Astarion! Sit, please, before you fall over.

[He guides the vampire to the nearest seat, urging him to sit.]

We need to stop the bleeding. I will explain my lack of foresight later, but I cannot sit here and watch you suffer.

[sangwhine]

[Fortunately, it's easy to make Astarion sit. He's not resisting Gale, his mind is just in too many places at once. He gives a pained gasp when he moves, the wound at his hip jostling with it. The sharp spike of pain forces him to relent in his protests. He reaches for the bandages and cloth, finally tending to what he can reach of his own injuries.]

You have to—promise me you're all right. That there was nothing else she did to you.

[mystracal]

I promise, Astarion, I'm fine. Aside from a few new cuts, potential scars, and a throbbing headache, I'm in one piece from what I can tell. A far cry from what she said she'd do to me before rendering me unconscious.

[Discomfort flits across his face as he gets more bandages, wanting to help, should Astarion let him this time.]

And from what she said she'd do to you. Gods, I was- terrified. But you could tell she wasn't me - smell her, I'm sure.

[sangwhine]

[He'll allow Gale to help, setting his own bandages aside as Gale approaches with more. It's a nice thought, being doted over, and he wants Gale's touch on him more than anything right now.]

You're right that she didn't have your scent. She smelled of stale blood and viscera. It was nothing like you.

[mystracal]

[Gale works quickly, gathering a smaller basin, filling it with water, grabbing a sponge. Clean the wound, then bandage.]

I should have suspected something was off when you returned early and wanted me to follow you away from camp. You said you had something to ask me, and like the lovesick fool I am, I didn't question it but a second. I could feel something was wrong, but couldn't put my finger on what it was.

[He dips the sponge, gentle as he cleans around Astarion's shoulder.]

I got closer, and could then tell. It was your eyes - the way you look at me, that one crease you get when you smile. They were wrong.

[sangwhine]

[Even though he's being tended to, though Gale's touch is gentle, there's some unsettled part of Astarion that still feels that it isn't enough. That wants more. He puts his free hand to Gale's knee, just to have contact, to be sure that he's there.]

I suppose I should be grateful that you pay so much attention to such little things like that.

[He pauses, frowning a moment]

But what did you think that I might need to ask you that would draw me away from our merry little band? What would be so important?

[mystracal]

I- don't know.

[There was a pause there, one the breadth of a fraction of a second. Beneath his hair, his ears turn the slightest shade of red. Whatever he imagined the question to be, it's something he's embarrassed to admit aloud.]

Nothing should have been so important. I should have been more cautious.

[With Astarion's shoulder clean, Gale wrings the sponge and dips it again into the small basin, getting to work on cleaning the rest of his chest and arm so they can bandage it quickly.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion notices that pause, the hint of red. It's like a dangling purse string begging to be cut. There's no need for him to know what Gale thought it might have been, but for it to be something that had Gale act against his better judgement itches at him. He wants to know.

He turns his gaze to Gale's hands as they work over his chest and shoulder, affording the man some semblance of privacy while he pries.]

Dearest, you can tell me what it was.

[mystracal]

It's nothing, I assure you. Nothing that cannot wait until later, when you're suitably clean and rested.

[He wrings the sponge again. Time to work on the gash on Astarion's side. He grimaces at the sight of it.]

When someone else arrives, you should drink.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion winces with a small whine, the Bhaalist blades were sharp and cut deep. Gale's touch also brings his attention to the pain that he had been rather diligently ignoring.

Gale is right, though. He'll need to replace what he lost, to get himself back up to fighting condition. But there is another thought on his mind, especially with the cuts to Gale's skin so starkly visible right in front of him.]

I can drink when they arrive, yes. But perhaps, if you have your supplies with you . . .

[mystracal]

[Gale's eyes trail to Astarion, laced with amused disbelief.]

You would risk having that taste in your mouth all night?

[sangwhine]

I would risk having you in my mouth, dear.

[He tries not to sound too petulant in his tone, but he doesn't quite succeed.]

[mystracal]

[Oh no, that gets such a smile out of him.]

I'll readjust the formula based on our test last night. I was in the middle of writing down some notes when 'you' returned.

[Time to clean Astarion's arms, the cuts there relatively minor in comparison, thankfully.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion gives a little huff, annoyed and pleased all at once.]

It's an insult to all things right in the world that there's no way for me to kill her again.

[mystracal]

I'm not sure Withers would be willing to bring her back just for your entertainment.

[He finishes cleaning and puts the sponge away, getting some clean bandages.]