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[thirsted]

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ASTARION

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[nishtha]

I have. And that he would not enjoy life as a damned soul and a monster. However, I don't believe I succeeded. He is young and impulsive, he wishes to show his family his power.

[thirsted]

[ A damned soul and a monster. That, at least, remains the same between worlds, then. ]

Of course he does. Well, at the very least, his options are limited, and I imagine you've given the same warning to Louis and Lestat already.

[ A long pause. Then, tentative, aware he's potentially crossing a line: ]

Did you have any choice in how you were turned?

cw: implied child sex slavery

[nishtha]

That is a difficult question to answer. My Maker bought me from a brothel when I was fifteen. Over time, I learned of his Dark Gift. I believe that I begged him to let me share it, so we could be together forever. But he refused. He didn't want to condemn me to the living death he had endured for thousands of years. Then I grew very ill. He broke his vow to himself to bestow the Gift upon me and saved my life.

Now, I believe that very few of us truly choose this existence. Even those who think they know what to expect from eternity are caught unawares by it. Which is why so very few survive. And those who are turned against their will.. that they continue to live at all is a miracle. Or perhaps a curse.

I get the feeling from your question that you had no choice, not even a chance to beg. Am I wrong?

cw: death

[thirsted]

[ Armand's answer catches Astarion by surprise. He could be lying — a task made infinitely easier by text — but why go to the lengths of inventing such a story? But the alternative, to be so forthcoming ... it's nigh unfathomable.

(And he finds himself, against his better judgment, almost feeling jealous. To have been turned by someone who cared for him — wouldn't it have been a better lot than the one he ended up with?) ]

It was presented to me as a choice. Accept my fate, bleed out and die, or accept the hand that was offered to me by a benevolent stranger, and live forever. In that moment, I thought it a blessing, but I knew better even before another day had come and gone.

[ A little less explicit in the telling, but no less true. ]

I didn't realize to be turned was such an ordeal, in your world. Is survival truly so rare?

[nishtha]

[ A sadly familiar tale, then. Like Lestat, and Claudia, and countless others. Louis, at least, had known his murderer. ]

The turning is not easy, but it is not the problem. When faced with the prospect of eternity as a vampire, some cannot cope. They end themselves rather than live as a monster. As for the rest.. like vermin, we fight over the scraps we can steal from mortals. We go to war and kill each other. All a vampire truly needs to fear is other vampires.

Few are able to live for more than a handful of centuries. I'm considered ancient for surviving 500 years, though it's a small scraping from the time ahead.

cw: suicidal thoughts

[thirsted]

I've wondered, before, if I would have walked willingly into the sun, had I the chance.

[ An unusually open confession, one that intimates the circumstances following Astarion's turning. ]

What is the nature of the relationship between a vampire and their maker, in your realm?

[ A question he knows he will have to answer in turn, but— he wants to know. ]

[nishtha]

[ An easier question to answer. ]

His blood is my blood. His body is my body. When we are together, our hearts beat in sync. I feel the tides of him, the rise and fall. His love and anger. I can sense his presence before he appears. There's no connection like it.

But there is a veil between our minds. I can't listen to his thoughts like I can those of others. A small sacrifice to make.

[thirsted]

[ A pang. Jealousy, in some form. Envy at the idea of having been turned by a love like that, to have that kind of devotion in his hands. ]

I don't suppose the word "spawn" is part of your vampiric vocabulary?

[nishtha]

We prefer the term "fledgling". Fragile, on leaving the nest.

[thirsted]

[ Even there, a kinder word. ]

For us, for my kind, the term is not one that the passage of years can change.

Vampire spawn are subservient. There is no shared bond except the exertion of our maker's will. Only if our maker is undone or we drink of their blood will that domination break. That thing you felt in my mind, when we first met — it is the only thing keeping him from reaching me.

[nishtha]

[ It sounds horrifying to Armand, though not surprising. Certainly some vampires treat their fledglings in the same way. He wonders if Astarion has spoken to Lestat yet. ]

Is that why it remains? Why you haven't found a way to exorcise it?

[thirsted]

One reason, among others.

But I know it to be a stopgap. True freedom will require more than that.

[nishtha]

His death.

[ A guess, but that's usually how it works, with vampires. ]

[thirsted]

[ Affirmation: ]

My fondest wish, in truth.

[nishtha]

I know vampires who were captured by their makers. Forced to degrade themselves. Given into cruel hands. It is not always about love, between us. And love does not always survive as long as we do. I know my fledgling may come to hate me, in time. And wish for my death as fondly as you wish for your maker's painful end.

Still, I hope that it happens for you. I would not like to see you in chains.

[thirsted]

[ Sympathy is still strange to him, stranger still when it (seems) genuinely meant. He stares at the message for a long moment, the ephemerality of love an ache underneath his ribs. ]

Thank you, Armand.

And I hope what you describe — of you and your fledgling — never comes to pass.

[nishtha]

[ They might not know each other well, may not be more than far distant cousins joined by a legacy of pain, but Armand knows that were Astarion's maker here, he wouldn't hesitate to strike him down. He was a slave once; he won't see it happen again, to anyone. ]

We can only hope.