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Tav has been there for Astarion over these last few weeks in ways he never knew a person could.
In ways he never knew he needed.
And each time he has been sure they would fail him or reveal that what he needed was just a step too far, they have come through. Sometimes it has made him angry at the world that their paths have not crossed until now.
He wishes he could have met them two hundred years earlier, before he became the broken thing that he is. He wishes so many different things that sometimes it makes his dead heart hurt so much that he is almost willing to claw it out.
He tries to focus on the present, to push down the resentments that this world could leave him without for so long.
Because he has someone now. A lover, a friend, someone who cares.
He does not always agree with their decisions, but he is willing to stand by them, just as they are him.
Astarion intends to walk this path to its end, to kill the elder brain and Cazador and then…
It is almost too much to hope that they will survive both encounters, that they will have a future to decide, something full of promise and choice and freedom.
Real freedom.
He has seen what they can do together, though, and he thinks that this is something that is possible.
His freedom is so close.
When they go back to Cazador’s manor, back to the place that has been his own personal hell for two centuries, there is confidence in Tav’s steps, if not a little concern as they check on him, over and over.
They only ask if he is fine once. But he can feel their gaze—sometimes he catches it, too—as they keep an eye on him. Do they think he will fuck up so close to his prize?
No…
No, they are worried about his feelings or something sweet and adorable like that.
Well, his feelings can wait. Once he has spilled Cazador’s blood, maybe even taken the ritual for himself, he will be just fine. The shadow of his enslavement will have been banished and he will be free.
Desperation builds in him as they make their way through the manor and then down into the depths below.
When he faces Cazador, however, it is just as it has been every other time over the last two hundred years. It does not matter to his master that he has allies—strong allies—standing at his sides. Cazador still sneers at him, still belittles and berates him.
He tells himself that this time is different.
This is the last time.
When he runs forward, so much rage moving his body, he is set on beating that smirk off of Cazador’s face. He is strong now. He has tasted the blood of thinking creatures, he has helped put down gods’ chosen ones. He is no longer bound to follow Cazador’s every order, and he intends to show the bastard just what that means.
Except when he rushes his master, Cazador is not even fazed. Instead, there is amusement in his eyes as he stops Astarion in his tracks, as he binds him for the ritual, like he always intended to.
There is a look in his eyes, for that moment that Astarion stands frozen before him, fist raised and caught by magic.
It tells him that nothing has changed.
Nothing was ever going to change.
This has always been Astarion’s fate, and Cazador is enjoying seeing how Astarion still fights it, even now.
The fight begins in proper as Astarion calls out for help, struggling against the infernal bindings that hold him in place. His gaze darts across the platform as he watches his companions, his allies, his friends.
They were outnumbered coming in, but to be down one more…
To be down him.
This is not how this was supposed to go.
He struggles, each movement a futile attempt at the freedom that has been dangling so tentatively before him.
A voice whispers in the back of his head that maybe it was never real.
Maybe, despite all his desperate efforts, he was never going to be free.
These last few weeks were just the cruelest of them all, showing him that kindness and compassion do still exist in the world, that there is hope, that there is a future.
Just not for him.
And then, in the chaos, there is Tav.
They duck under a werewolf’s swipe as another companion engages the beast properly, and Astarion wants to cry because he knows what they are doing, even as they have to dodge back a step and evade another attacker.
They are coming for him.
Each step brings them closer, and he cannot help but watch their approach, the rest of the world falling away.
When they are barely an arm’s length away, they smile at him. It fills their eyes with a warmth that grips his heart, makes him want to cry.
Their hands reach out to free him.
He can almost feel the warmth of this skin against his when it happens.
A hand grips their face and jerks them backwards, nails digging into their skin. He can see the surprised look in their eyes through those clawed fingers as they falter.
The hand jerks their head to the side and Cazador’s fangs plunge into their neck.
Their face twists with pain. They claw at Cazador, try to find purchase to pry him off, but he is strong.
And he is watching Astarion as he drains them, utter glee dancing in his malevolent gaze.
Astarion’s heart drops.
His lover, his friend, his hero.
Their movements are slowing, the attempts to push Cazador away from them growing weaker with each miserable second that seems to last a lifetime of its own.
And Cazador is loving it.
It is not enough that he is going to unmake Astarion after two centuries of misery. It is not enough that all the torture, all the struggle, all the hope will die here.
No, he has to take away one last thing, to make sure that Astarion sees just how hopeless this has all been.
That he sees that he is the one who led the one he cares about the most, the one who cares about him the most, to this end.
Even in the very end, Cazador has to make sure that it will hurt.