Chapter Text
After more than two hundred years in captivity, serving Cazador, Astarion knew when someone was keeping a secret - be it vampirism or, Gods forbid, something worse.
And Halsin, he knew, was hiding something big.
The man seemed friendly enough, giving an embarrassed smile whenever Tav would flirt or comment about how massive of an elf he was, but Astarion could see it in his eyes. The way they’d flick towards the forest when no one was looking, either looking for someone or looking to escape. Running away or running towards - Astarion remembered the feeling well. Halsin was running, he was certain, running whenever someone got too close.
He was proven right when, out of the blue, Halsin stopped seeing Tav. It was a sudden thing, brought on by ‘stress over the Shadow Curse’, and Tav did not seem particularly bothered, but it was so bloody obvious the man was hiding.
Perhaps Astarion was just nosy, or perhaps he worried that this secret was something harmful to the group. Either way, he found himself approaching the only know-it-all in camp - goddamned Gale. Even Gale looked surprised to see him, raising a brow and closing an obnoxiously-large tome.
“Astarion! Forgive me for being surprised, but you never call upon me in the night. Need I remind you my blood is particularly nasty?”
“Oh, hush. I would sooner drink from rats than be in your debt, though I-” Astarion cringed, having spoke too soon. “Well. This is awkward. I rather require your aid, actually. What do you know of Silvanus?”
Gale hummed, furrowing his brows and really, he was rather stupidly handsome when he rubbed his scratchy beard in thought. “A question best suited for our Archdruid, though I suppose there’s likely a reason you’ve not approached him? No matter. Silvanus is the god of wild nature, though he’s a rather neutral god, not really good nor evil. He’s best known for being wild, unpredictable, much like nature itself. Of course, druids tend to worship him or other gods, though it’s … interesting that Halsin worships him.”
Astarion quirked a brow. “Why is it interesting? He’s a druid.”
“Oh, it’s just … quite interesting. Silvanus controls animals and Halsin, well - it’s just interesting, worshipping someone who could so easily use you for harm.” A pause, unnaturally long. “Being that he uses Wild Shape.”
“Why are you being weird?”
“My dear Astarion, I have no idea what you mean.” A simple smile, indicating that Gale, punchable as ever, was not going to budge any further. As if to accentuate this point, he said, “I’m sure Halsin could assist you further in your journey to druidism. Circle of the moon for the nocturnal one, perhaps?”
“You’re very funny,” Astarion said flatly. Then, before leaving he forced out a, “Thank you anyways, Gale.”
–
He did not push the subject further until they found a dilapidated library in the once-Shadow Cursed lands, the books strewn about the tables as if Thorm’s army had enjoyed a party in here once. Perhaps they had. But, now that they were all dead, it was Astarion’s territory. Tav and Gale had looked a little surprised when Astarion suggested camping by the library, and he had used the excuse that he was sick of seeing Gale reading the same thing over and over again.
However, that did not explain why, in the dead of night, Astarion snuck into the library, unsure really of what he was looking for - until he saw it.
He had no reason for it, but a book on lycanthropy stood out to him until he couldn’t resist, and then he was poring over the pages. Lycanthropes were evil - that was a long understood truth. Werewolves in particular were a nasty bunch, but, to Astarion’s surprise, there were more than just mere werewolves.
There were werebears.
Someone in camp awoke with a quiet gasp, and a near-silent curse to the Oak Father, so quiet that anyone not blessed with vampirism would have missed it. Astarion blinked, reading over the pages while simultaneously trying to snoop on a now-awake Halsin, knowing that the man very rarely broke out of his trance without reason. Hibernating like a bear and whatnot.
Werebears weren’t evil - they were one of the better lycanthropes, often worshipping nature and-
Silvanus.
Halsin stumbled to his feet but it was not a graceful thing, as if he were used to being on all fours, as if lumbering on two feet were particularly painful for him. To Astarion’s - what, surprise? - he moved for the forest, deeper into the trees.
Halsin was the only druid he knew that struggled to control his Wild Shape, often growing embarrassed about ‘the bear’s desire to escape’. He was also the only one to call it ‘the bear’, as if it were its own entity.
Astarion packed the book in his bag before slipping out of the library and into the trees.
Halsin also did not bite when he fought, though his teeth would have been far more effective than claws. Astarion read as he walked that, like all lycanthropes, werebears transmitted their infection through biting.
He burst into the clearing still holding the book, and though Halsin knew the forest well, he startled, turning around with wide, yellow eyes as if he had been caught. And he had. “Astarion! Pray forgive me for startling, but you - I thought you were asleep.”
“A half-witted lie. I wasn’t even in my bedroll.”
Halsin blinked, and then his eyes were brown again. “Ah. Was there something you needed, my friend?”
Astarion grew bold, then, taking a step closer. He did not ignore how Halsin stepped away. “How did you manage to keep your Wild Shape up for weeks while in the goblin camp, when the spell doesn’t last nearly as long?”
“I-”
“And you are rather large for an elf. Rather without explanation.”
“Astarion?”
Astarion approached him until Halsin’s back hit a tree, and then he was thrusting the book into his hands. Halsin paled at the sight of it, but Astarion, merciless and tired of being the only monster in camp, did not give him the breath to speak. “You’re a werebear.”
The book, shakily held, was opened to where Astarion had bookmarked it. Halsin only laughed, a nervous sound that, for reasons unexplained, made Astarion ache a little. “You’ve been doing your research, I see.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, relentless when so close to the truth. “Tell me I’m wrong, when you snuck out of camp on a full goddamned moon, and I’ll leave you alone. Though I doubt you will.”
Halsin swallowed, still reading over the pages, before looking down, meeting his eyes. “You are not wrong. That is what I am. How long have you suspected this? Are you the only person who knows?”
Astarion huffed, crossing his arms. “It was my turn to ask questions, but I’ll humor you. I knew you were hiding something from day one, but I had no idea it would be … this. I suspect Gale knows, but I didn’t tell him. I only wish you had told me naturally, instead of it being like this.”
“And for what reason?” Halsin asked. “If I had told you, you would have either screamed and associated me with werewolves, or you would have thought I was joking. You above all others should know what it is to hide your nature. And, well-” he looked away, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Gale … does know. He made me a potion to assist with the full moons.”
“So you don’t shift? Then why in the hells are we hiding out in the woods? Just out of habit? A little midnight stroll?”
Halsin laughed at that, though he was still nervous, still antsy. Astarion didn’t ignore how he pointedly looked away from him after staring a moment too long. “The full moon has its effects regardless of Gale’s help. If I do not shift into the bear, I - well, you know how it is with animals.”
“I really have no goddamned clue what that could mean, Halsin. I’m not a druid.”
“Oh. Right. Well, even without shifting, we still have heats. I awoke in the midst of it and well - I came here to get away from everything.” Halsin blushed deeply at that, shrinking down as if not wanting to be seen.
And Astarion, perhaps cruelly, snickered. “So you left camp because you’re horny? Darling, you could have just asked for help-”
“Absolutely not. Ask Tav, and he will tell you - I am not a gentle lover, and you have had too much experience with being hurt. I’ll not use you like that.”
Halsin was so firm, so idiotically sweet, that Astarion couldn’t help but place a cold hand to his chest - far too warm to be natural, though he supposed it made sense now. “I’m offering because I want to. And perhaps I’m bored and curious about werebears. You can’t blame me for a little curiosity. And besides, when is the last time you’ve been able to let go during one of these heats?”
Halsin shivered, gently grasping Astarion’s hand, looking down at his lips, his throat. “Never. Not even as the bear.”
“Then try me,” Astarion dared, smiling up at him. “I won’t break.”
Halsin leaned closer as Astarion stood on his toes, and just as his breath hit Astarion’s lips, he - the damnable, stubborn man - pulled away with a shudder. “Tomorrow. I - the moon is too strong for me to risk tonight. But tomorrow, we will meet here, and that is when I’ll have you - if you still wish for it.”
“Fine,” Astarion said, feeling the sudden lack of Halsin’s warmth and finding that he missed it. “Tomorrow, then.”