Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You seem to know quite a bit about alchemy. A bit of a brewer, are you?” Astarion offered quietly from her right side, observing as Tavali stripped the mugwort roots from the stems and cast the leaves aside.

“Some basics,” she answered absentmindedly, placing the roots in a small bowl and taking up the pestle she’d scavenged from the temple. She tossed her head to get wisps of her curly brown hair that had escaped her braided bun away from her face. “Antidotes, some healing potions. Can’t rely on priests for everything when you’re from a small village. Clerics aren’t cheap,” Tavali quipped with a smirk at Shadowheart on her left. Said woman was sitting not far from the small fire she’d constructed with the wizard while they roasted a few fish on small skewers.

The black-haired half-elf tossed her long ponytail casually and didn’t disagree. “We are an invaluable resource.”

Tavali let her smile widen enough that her teeth were visible. Then she started grinding down on the roots in quick hard circles.

Camping in an abandoned temple where corpses had recently risen from the ground to drive them out might not seem like the most obvious course of action for their ragtag group of a human, two half-elves, an elf, and a githyanki. But after the grim, skeletal “Withers” had risen from the ground and promised to find and aid them, Tavali frankly didn’t want to sleep on the beach or in the wilderness exposed to every other thief or mindflayer that might come crawling for the crashed nautiloid. The temple was quiet and secluded, with four walls and a roof to keep the weather off them but a sizeable hole in the ceiling to make a small fire for supper. As a miraculous bonus, it contained an underground freshwater lake.

It was exactly the kind of place an adventurer like Tavali coveted when traveling on foot, and she’d encouraged her fellow survivors of the Nautiloid stay there with her.

They’d agreed with an ease that had surprised her, given her previous experiences with traveling companions. Most would balk in outright fear or question her sense of propriety for suggesting they stay in such a place. Candidly, she’d half expected Astarion to sniff at the prospect, given his expensive if a little worn down raiment.

But the high elf had only nodded, looking lost for a moment as he accepted a bedroll and pillow that they’d liberated from the thieves.  He commented later on that camping out was a novelty to him in general, and hadn’t put up a fuss at the low accommodations. It made Tavali wonder if he might be less well off or snobbish than he had initially come across.

Gale and Shadowheart hadn’t seemed to mind the sleeping arrangements, the wizard and cleric rummaging through the bookshelves and chests for supplies. The human male took almost immediate charge of their dinner from the meager supplies they’d manage to gather from the wilderness and thieves.

Lae’zel had only nodded, declaring the location pragmatic if they must rest, and set up her camp in a corner away from the exposed roof to tend to her weapons.

Now they all sat together around the campfire, changed into more comfortable clothes and trying to relax after what had been a truly tumultuous day.

Astarion leaned back on her right side, apparently content to observe her instead of doing anything else. He’d changed into a set of brown and black trousers and a somewhat rakish white poet shirt that left a good portion of his chest on display. Tavali had actually blushed a little and looked away when he returned in the ensemble. 

She was a little surprised at the clothes all her companions had on hand beneath their armor. Each looked much more put together than her in her worn green shirt and brown pants.

The high elf drew her attention back to him. “And what will these weeds make?”

“If I can make a suspension, mugwort roots make antidotes to poison.”

Tavali saw from the corner of her eye as Astarion lifted a single long reed of mergrass.

“And this?” The elf twirled the green plant in his long pale fingers.

“Not certain,” Tavali admitted, shaking the mortar to mix around the dry roots as they were crushed into salts. “I know it does something, but right now I’m planning to make that ,” she stopped grinding to tilt the stone tool at the reed bundles, “the suspension for my antidote.” The half-elf looked up at her recently acquired companion. “You could help, actually. Do you mind cutting it into thin pieces so it will boil faster?”

Astarion looked distinctly put out at the request, pouting and holding the mergrass away from himself as if he regretted picking it up.

Tavali rolled her eyes and went back to grinding without waiting for an answer. “Seems the least you could do with your knife since you held it to my throat this morning,” she added casually, scrapping the salts into a clean dry bottle she’d lifted from the attacking thieves.

Astarion scoffed as her side, but she heard him withdraw his knife from his side with a grumble, so she counted it as a win.

“You said you were a sorcerer, Tavali?” Gale chimed in from across the fire on Shadowheart’s left side, drawing her attention to him. “Any formal schooling?”

Tavali glanced up at him, grabbing another clump of mugwort to rip and grind. Her fingers carried residual salt and green smears from the leaves that she didn’t bother to brush off yet. “Nothing like you would’ve had, no. But my father was an old druid. He taught me what he could of his ways.” Tavali rolled her shoulders. “I never joined a circle myself. Most of my tricks I picked up through trial and error.” The young woman tossed her curls over her left shoulder, sending Gale an impish grin. “Or the odd mage who was willing to show me a thing or two.”

“Aha,” Gale chuckled, grinning almost bashfully. “Well, hopefully we’ll all return to our full power in no time and you can show me what you picked up.” The man tilted his head at her, expression a little wistful. “In Waterdeep, I was a deft hand at study and research, but this is my first foray as a proper adventurer. I must admit,” Gale cast a look around their somber surroundings, “I hadn’t intended to start this life with a tadpole placing such limits on my abilities.”

“Chk.” Lae’zel scoffed from her cross-legged position on Gale’s left. “The limitations it has placed on your abilities will be the least of your problems if we do not reach a zaith'isk in time for purification.” Lae’zel tossed her head derisively. “The soft bodies of istik leave much to be desired.”

“Do they?” Shadowheart responded lightly. “I don’t think I imagined the way your swings grew slower as we finished off those undead.”

The githyanki bristled immediately, yellow eyes flashing. Astarion shifted at her right side, leaning away from the fire and the two women as their bodies tensed.

Tavali cleared her throat. “I didn’t notice either of you flagging. You warrior types are so far above me in physical combat. It's a relief to fall in with skilled fighters.” Tavali sent them both a sheepish grin. “Even if I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Her attempt at peacekeeping seemed to diffuse the rising hostility, appeasing Lae’zel’s desire for superiority and Shadowheart’s for appreciation. Gale started in on their prowess as well, asking Lae’zel if there were any spellcasters among the githyanki she could tell of.

Astarion’s knife stopped shaving the mergrass, and Tavali turned to look at him. The high elf was staring at her, strange red eyes piercing and left eyebrow quirked. His grin was knowing, and Tavali’s lips pursed a little as she tried not to match it.

Too obvious for him to miss, she thought as she turned back to grind the salts.

The conversation moved on, leaving her to her grinding and sorting until the fish were ready and each took a skewer.

Tavali saw Astarion eye his blankly, if a little distastefully, and wondered if this would be what made him complain.

“So where are you from, Tavali Willowcroft?” Gale asked cheerfully from over the fire. “Your accent doesn’t sound Baldurian or Waterdhavian, and the family name didn't ring a bell for me. But if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’re from further east?”

“Yes, Cormyr.” Tavali smiled at the wizard, who tapped a finger to his ear in victory. “I grew up there but left years ago.” She quirked her lips to the side. “It’s a beautiful place and I loved it, but it’s hard to just be an ‘adventurer’ there. They have many laws in place to keep an eye on everyone’s comings and goings, especially spellcasters.” She raised her recently poured red wine, the best they could find from the stores. “Other places in Faerûn are more lenient and forgiving in that regard.”

“Oh yes,” Gale responded, nodding sagely. “I have read on some of their policies. Safety is a paramount concern, but I don’t know how I would feel about being conscripted into their militia at the drop of a hat.”

“You might have enjoyed the War Wizards and the Council of Mages,” Tavali offered teasingly, “since you like scholarly pursuits. Wouldn’t you like advising Queen Rae on all matters magical?” She set her chin in her left palm.

Gale put up his hands, palms forward in surrender. “Oh ho, I can’t say I wouldn’t jump at the chance. Your homeland was host to a veritable plethora of magical anomalies throughout the centuries.”

There was a distant look in Gale’s eyes, his mind clearly flipping through his studies on Cormyr’s storied history.

Tavali grimaced a little at his reminder. As much as she loved her country, it certainly had bleak moments in magical history. And that wasn’t even counting the near catastrophe of Queen Raedra's marriage to a duplicitous undercover Sharran around a decade ago, or their recent victory in the war on two fronts against Sembia and Netheril. Tavali was lucky she'd survived her brief foray into the fighting and still had a kingdom to return to, if she ever wished to do so.

“How old are you?” Came Shadowheart’s quiet inquiry. Tavali looked over to realize she was speaking to her.

“Thirty,” Tavali replied promptly. “And you?”

Shadowheart shrugged and waved her empty left hand. “My recollection is often foggy. Somewhere around forty, last I considered it.”

They both turned to Gale then, who huffed. “Thirty-five, but that looks a little older on us mere humans,” he said good-naturedly. Tavali smiled, giving the handsome man an eye roll. She wouldn’t butter him up; there was no way he didn’t know that he had aged well and with a distinguished bearing.

Shadowheart turned to Lae’zel, but didn’t ask the question again for her either. The young githyanki sat up straighter, pausing with the rag she’d been using to polish her sword in her lap. “I’ve seen twenty-two years by your calendars.”

Tavali’s face fell just a little. Younger than I expected, she mused, and tried to subtly glance around. Judging by the faces of her companions, it seemed the others were similarly taken aback by Lae’zel's statement. Tavali herself had been adventuring for years at that point, but Lae'zel had the bearing of one who'd seen much more combat than twenty-two years would ordinarily entail.

The half-elf turned to her right then, eying Astarion where he was lounging insouciantly on his left side with the top of his head pointed toward her. She noticed his fish was already gone and his wine was half drunk, so he must not have objected to the camp fare after all.

She quirked a challenging eyebrow at him, and he snorted.

“Oh, don’t look at me.” He raised his right hand holding the wine goblet, pointer finger out as he waved it in an arc toward each of them. “I’ll not be judged by you spring chickens. Suffice to say I am the eldest among you, and yet still carry a youthful glow.” He looked over them all and then let his eyes rest on Tavali, giving her a jaunty wink with his left eye that the others couldn’t see.

Tavali rolled her eyes again but still curled her lips up in a closed-mouth smile.

Youthful glow. Astarion was plainly one of the fairest creatures she’d ever seen, even with dark bags under his eyes and the beginnings of wrinkles on his face. She wondered if those were the result of his age and lifestyle or simply stress from the peril they’d just survived.

“I’ve been a cleric for years, but don’t think I’ve had many actual long-term quests. Most of my work was,” Shadowheart paused, seeming to think of how best to phrase her next words, “closer to home.” The black-haired woman focused her attention on Tavali again. “How many years have you been an ‘adventurer,’ then?”

Tavali blinked, but answered after a quick moment’s thought. “I got my start when I was fifteen. I left home for good and committed to it about six years ago, I think. But I mostly worked in Cormyr during the war. Towns needed someone to handle the goblin or orc raids while everyone else was off fighting.

Shadowheart nodded slightly. “And you’ve traveled in groups like this before?”

Flashes of her last "long-term" adventuring party, so sweet and so bitter, went through her mind as she breathed in.

Tavali focused on the cleric more fully, cocking her head. She heard Astarion shift around on her right side, but didn’t turn to him. “Yes, a few different ones over the years. Why?”

The older half-elf leaned back on both her palms behind her. “You were quick on your feet in battle, and came up with plans that made adequate use of our different strengths fairly quickly. When we crashed, you knew where to find supplies and shelter like you’d done it many times before.” Shadowheart tilted her head to the right, letting her ponytail swing slightly behind her as she looked Tavali over. “With the exception of the elf over there, you also made a point to save each of us in one way or another since this journey began.” Shadowheart quirked her eyebrow in Astarion’s direction. “Although I suppose giving clemency to someone who knocked you on the ground and held a knife to your throat is a sort of ‘saving.’” She smirked a little cattily toward the man on Tavali’s right, and she glanced at him.

Astarion’s face was strangely blank, a half smile on it and eyes fixed on Shadowheart. He took a long sip of his wine, still leaning sideways on his left arm.

“Is there a point to your observations?” Lae’zel cut in, looking at Shadowheart frostily.

Shadowheart barely spared her a glance before focusing on Tavali again. “You clearly have the most experience with this. So tell me, what do we do next?”

Tavali’s mouth parted, brows furrowing as she blinked in startlement.

Gale shifted from across the fire, sitting so his left leg was propped up as he observed Tavali over the flames.

“I,” Tavali started, looking over at Lae’zel and Astarion in turn. Both were looking at her, the former exacting and the latter curious.

This was new. She had never been treated as the team leader before, not in such an outright manner. Her last group had had fighters far old and more experienced than she. They'd taken her council readily enough on matters of magic and strategy, but they had always had the final say.

The sorcerer faced Shadowheart again. “We’re going to search for the tieflings that mentioned seeing other githyanki." Tavali answered carefully. "If we find them, we’ll see if Lae’zel can get us to the creche. If not, we’ll keep looking for a healer.”

Shadowheart stared at her for another moment before tipping her head in apparent acquiescence.

Tavali leaned back, feeling as though she just passed some unspoken test, and took a bite of her fish on the skewer, carefully avoiding the bone tines with her teeth.

“Thank you, again,” Tavali said to Astarion, walking on his left side as they headed up the stairs out of the temple the next morning, “for taking first watch last night. I did sleep easier knowing someone was keeping an eye.”

Astarion’s white hair glowed like a halo in the morning sunlight rising over the hills to the east of them as he turned to look at her. “Anything for you, my dear Cormyrean.”

Tavali stopped abruptly, looking up the few inches necessary to meet the high elf’s eyes. He stopped a pace ahead of her and turned back over his left shoulder.

“Cormyrean?” She chortled, snorting and wrinkling her nose. “Did you just call me Cormyrean? Oh my goodness,” her cheeks flushed quickly with mirth, left hand finding her stomach and right hand resting near her lips with the pointer finger sticking past her nose at him, “you just dated yourself a bit, my friend.”

“What?” Astarion responded, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “You said you were from Cormyr.”

Tavali laughed a little again.

“I am, but we go by Cormyte nowadays. For the last, century at least.” Tavali just giggled. “I don't know if I've ever actually been called a Cormyrean unironically before in my life.”

“Well,” Astarion huffed, turning up his nose a little. “Pardon me for being so behind the times.”

Tavali smiled still. “You elves, it’s impossible to tell with you. How old are you?”

“My word,” Astarion brought his right hand to his chest scandalously, mouth slanted drolly. “Such an uncouth question for a lady to ask.”

“Psh,” Tavali slapped her right hand in his direction, letting the backs of her nails swiped across his left bicep casually. “Is that you trying to charm me?” She grinned toothily at him. “I grew up in an inn and working on a farm. There’s no ‘lady’ for you here.”

“Hmm,” Astarion lowered his eyelids, looking her up and down languidly. “And the greater picture comes together. The beautiful young farmer’s daughter who longed for something more,” he started dramatically, raising his right arm with a flourish towards the sky as he started walking away again. Tavali followed behind him, grateful the rest of their party was already ahead of them and wouldn’t necessarily see his dramatic antics. “She left her bucolic life and family behind to set out for realms unknown.”

Tavali snorted, the sound somewhat humorless, quirking an eyebrow at the back of his curly head. “Close. I buried my parents, sold the land, and then set out for realms unknown.”

Astarion’s body jolted slightly, hand twitching in the air as his fingers curled into a loose fist and he brought his right arm back down closer to his chest.

Tavali thought, somewhat absurdly, that if elven ears could move as animals’ did, his would be pressed back flat.

“Yes, well,” Astarion started again, still not looking at her even as she matched his stride to rejoin him on his left side, “our intrepid hero all the same.”

Tavali nodded agreeably at the non-apology. “I try,” she said sensibly.

Astarion turned to look at her again as they walked, that unreadable expression back in his eyes.

Tavali leaned her head back, keeping an eye on the path to prevent either of them from falling like fools to the ground as they caught up with their companions. She didn’t get the chance to ask Astarion in private what he’d been thinking of as he looked at her, or how old he really was, because soon enough they found a goblin raid and had bigger problems.

Chapter Text

“It really is fortunate I've the tadpole, or else I'd never be able to be near you,” Astarion murmured into her right ear, breath wafting over the tip.

Tavali checked her grip on a skewered, juicy white fish midway to her mouth. “It- what?” She glanced over at him as he took a seat by her right side on the log she’d claimed for a late lunch. The rest of their companions had similarly spread out through the dilapidated village, keeping an eye out for more trouble. It meant the two of them had some relative privacy, though Wyll wasn’t far away.

The sun cut through Astarion's hair and illuminated his red eyes while it made the detailed embroidery on his navy blue padded armor glitter.

He smirked, and lowered himself lazily onto the end of the wooden seat. “The garlic, my dear.” Astarion nodded at the uneven remains of the fish, its spines showing where her teeth had torn the meat away. They’d been lucky enough to scavenge a whole, unspoiled fish barrel from the slain goblins in the village. “Gives me a horrible rash when I touch it. You and your wizard add it to nearly everything.”

Tavali's eyes went a little wide, glancing between the plate and his expression. “Oh my gods, I never even realized- thought. Garlic really does hurt vampires? I never knew if that was an old wives tale or not.”

The few feral vampires she’d come across in her days had been very straightforward, desperate fights for her life. It was never planned, never an intentional battle. It was usually a vampire lingering in an old crypt or abandoned hovel that she’d happened upon and was inspecting to make camp.

She’d certainly never had the time or thought to hurl a chunk of garlic at the slavering creatures. 

Astarion snorted. “Decidedly not a tale. It shouldn’t kill me, but anywhere it touches becomes painful and inflamed. It was one of the most common weapons one of my siblings liked to use against the rest of us." Tavali listened attentively. This was the first he'd mentioned a sibling at all, let alone more than one. "She would put dried garlic in our sheets and we’d jolt back out of bed covered in red blemishes.”

Tavali leaned into his left side a little more unconsciously. He’d become less prickly as the days had wore on. At first, he’d acted like he couldn’t stand to let anyone touch him. Now he seemed to like small casual touches, and he’d initiated a few of his own on occasion. At least with her; she couldn’t say if he was alright with the others.

He hadn’t told her much about his past, and she hadn’t felt that he would welcome more probing. But she wasn’t so naive to think that a vampire spawn would know many kind touches over the last two centuries. It reminded her of Karlach’s ongoing struggle.

Gods, she couldn’t even imagine what either of them had been through.

Tavali looked at the meat she still hadn’t bitten.

“Do you need us to cut it out of our supplies?” The sorcerer asked quietly. “If it bothers you-”

“Oh perish the thought, my dear.” Astarion waved his right hand carelessly. “The tadpole lets me walk in the sunlight. It's handling a vegetable just fine. And besides,” he took a long inhale, “it's rather nice to be able to smell it properly again. Before it made my nose itch terribly. I'd forgotten how pleasant it smells when cooked.”

Tavali frowned, and lifted the bite to her mouth. She chewed slowly and swallowed.

“What else should we know about you? Is there anything the tadpole hasn’t taken away?”

Astarion tilted his head at her and cocked his eyebrow sarcastically. “Besides my endless and unquenchable thirst for blood?” He asked more cuttingly.

Tavali sighed pointedly right back. “Yes, Astarion. Besides that.” She remembered a conversation they'd had the morning after she learned he was a vampire. "You mentioned about running water and houses before."

“Thank the gods I can wade into the river, otherwise I’d never get clean in all this fighting we do. But let me think,” Astarion said. He dropped down so he sat directly in the dirt and leaned his back and left arm against the thick log. Tavali took another bite of fish and listened. “We haven’t really gone into the home of anyone living yet. But nothing stopped me from going through that gate at the Grove, or through doors there. It may be that the worm bypasses that as well.” He quirked his eyebrow at her again, but more jokingly this time. “I’m not eager to learn if radiant damage would still reduce me to ash.”

“It can reduce anyone to ash,” Tavali responded with a grim grin. “Technically. Just takes longer for the rest of us.”

“Oh yes, my friend, how silly of me.” He rolled his eyes, but she thought of something else.

“It’s allowing you to be healed as well,” she said thoughtfully. Astarion paused, looking at her closely. “Undead can’t be healed by magic. But Shadowheart healed you with the rest of us a few times, right?”

The rogue nodded, smirking again. “Indeed she did. I was quite surprised the first time I noticed. Potions work too,” he added.

She nodded absently, and considered him.

"What about your body?" She inquired, sweeping her gaze over his shoulders and arms.

Astarion tilted his head at the unexpected question, but quickly shifted into a leer.

"My body?" He said coyly. "All of it is working perfectly well, my dear. I assure you."

Tavali made a point of rolling her eyes heavenward, even if a telltale blush just manage to rise in her cheeks.

"I was thinking more physical changes. You didn't," she looked at him a little apologetically, "look starving when we met. You actually seemed to be in decent shape." Astarion preened just a little at that. "But you don't look different now after feeding. Maybe lighter shadows under your eyes." The half-elf pointed vaguely with her left hand toward the skin under her left eye. She paused to think of how to word her question. "Does your body ever change?"

Astarion's expression turned a little hard as he faced the hillside and mulled over the question. "Not that I can recall." He bounced his left hand around on his wrist for a moment. "I think this is what I looked like from the moment he turned me. No matter how long I went without food," he said, voice becoming callous, "I never grew any skinner or lost muscle. My mind would become foggy and my reflexes would dull into nothing," he went on, "but you'd never tell from just looking at me."

Tavali felt a shiver run up her spine despite the summer heat around them.

He tilted his head to look at her again. "I'll let you know if I start to see otherwise." His grin took on a more lecherous flavor again. "You can give me a full look over if that's necessary.

The half-elf couldn't help tipping her bead back and chuckling again at the stark change to his tone. She blinked hard and turned back down to the remains of her lunch.

“We’ve all been weakened by the tadpole in other ways,” she mused. “My casting is limited, like it's trying to block my strongest spells. I can’t even fly anymore,” she lamented.

“You can fly?” Astarion asked, looking genuinely surprised for once. He practically goggled at her.

“I could,” she responded with a woeful chuckle. “It took a spell out of me and I couldn’t do it for long, but yes. Lately though, when I tried to use it during the fight with the harpies, the magic just wouldn’t come to me. It’s like it’s been sealed.” She tapped a palm to her chest.

“Huh,” Astarion turned back to face the sloping valley. “Do you know, I couldn’t tell you how much I’ve been weakened or not. With the blood of thinking creatures to empower me, I feel stronger than ever. Who knows what it’s limiting in me, if anything.” The rogue lifted his right hand and summoned the beginnings of a firebolt before letting it fade away again. “That’s all I can remember ever casting, and it’s still there.”

“Not much time for spellcasting?” Tavali asked quietly. Astarion shrugged. A thought occurred to her, one she’d had before but hadn’t had time to bring up. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she started slowly, smiling in anticipation when his face grew wary, “but I’ve been meaning to ask you. Were you a magistrate? Or was that just the story you told people?”

Astarion did in fact look offended. “Of course I was a magistrate! That would be a ridiculous story to make up.”

"Well, you don't see many magistrates strutting about in decent enough shape to fight goblins and worgs," Tavali defended with a laugh. "Most of the ones I saw were larger gentlemen who spent their off time in private lounges with enough liquor to carry us through the week."

"Ah," Astarion sighed. "Sounds glorious." Tavali rolled her eyes again, and he sniffed derisively. “I'll have you know I was one of the youngest to ever be appointed in Baldur's Gate. Beat out a few older humans for the seat, and my, were they sullen about it.” He tossed his hair idly. “They all thought the experience of their years was worth more than anything I could bring to the table. But I was good at it,” he said, a foreign lightness coming over his features. “I played the courtroom like a conductor at an opera,” he swished his right hand in front of them both as though setting the scene. “Knew all the rules and tricks. The prosecutors loved when I was assigned a case. Troublemakers were never let off easy under my watch.”

Tavali quirked her lips ruefully to the left side at that. It wasn’t hard to imagine Astarion as something of a hanging judge, given how little sympathy he seemed to have for the plights of others.

“Don’t make that face,” he said immediately, pointing quickly at her with his right index finger. “The streets were safer thanks to me. You can’t pardon every thief and brawler because they have a sob story.” His red eyes glinted a little. “You didn't show mercy to that goblin earlier when he begged you, even when he was the last of his band standing.

Tavali blinked and thought about that morning when they'd made their start of clearing the village of goblins.

The goblin Astarion meant had been torturing a deep gnome named Barcus with a windmill while the smaller male pleaded to be released.

“I didn't,” she agreed. “And I stand by that decision.”

So had everyone else who'd been there, though Karlach hadn't liked it.

“But he hadn't shown mercy to the gnome he was torturing. And if we'd let him go, there was nowhere for him to run except straight back to their stronghold and warn them about us.” Tavali shrugged. “And I don't deny I hate goblins,” she said, uncharitable as it sounded. “Half my missions during the war were cutting them down because they used the fighting as a chance to terrorize the countryside.” She glanced over at him again and curled her lips slightly to the right in challenge. “Your sort of troublemakers probably weren't goblins.”

“No, but if you show one vagrant leniency, it emboldens the others. That’s how your city becomes overrun with scofflaws. It’s important to,” Astarion nearly flinched and trailed off, fingers curling back toward his palm. All five digits twitched, and his lips thinned before he lowered his hand.

Tavali blinked uncertainly. “What is it?” She asked quietly.

“Nothing,” he said dismissively. “I just- haven’t thought about it all in a long time. No point,” he said bitterly, “when I was nothing but a slave with no need for it.” There was a moment of silence as he glared into the ground, but then he shook himself, breathing deeply. “I barely remember it. And it’s all ancient history at this point, anyway.” He jostled his head as though clearing it. “I’ve a new mission in life, and that’s gaining control of this tadpole and crushing Cazador into pulp.”

Tavali had been about to take another bite of her grilled fish, and instead tilted her head back in momentary disgust. “Charming. Thank you for that image.”

Astarion didn’t apologize, only grinned bloodthirstily. “And on that note,” he said lightly, sitting up straight and bending his right leg upright. He draped his right arm over his knee. “I can’t help but notice you’ve been reluctant to take our dream visitor up on their advice. They encouraged us to consume more worms and grow stronger, not pulverize every one we find.”

Tavali turned to look at him, eyebrows high on her forehead. She furrowed them when the high elf only looked at her expectantly. The sorcerer turned back to her fish and took a healthy bite. It was growing cold.

“Well? He prompted.

Tavali swallowed. “You’re surprised that I’m not taking illithid tadpoles?” She asked rhetorically. “We’re trying not to turn into mind flayers if you remember.”

“Yes yes, that would be bad,” he brushed aside their ceremorphosis like it was nothing with a wave of his right hand. “But if you’re going to just keep destroying them whenever we kill another host, I’d be happy to take one off your hands.” He smiled cajolingly. “One of us should try it and see what happens.”

Tavali leaned away from him to her left, a deep wrinkle between her brows and eyes disbelieving. “You want to take another tadpole?” He couldn’t be serious.

“Oh, I have my reservations. First of all, they look disgusting. Second, I’ve no wish to turn into a purple, glistening monster.” His eyes turned more cunning. “But who knows what new power it may grant? Power is always worth a little risk.” His fangs showed through his smile.

Tavali scoffed a little disbelievingly. “‘A little risk?’” She shook her head. “Ceremorphosis is permanent. Or so nearly impossible to undo it may as well be. You say you're willing to experiment with them like it wouldn't kill you if it goes wrong? I know,” she held up her left hand to stall him when he immediately started to object, “what the dream visitor said. But we don’t know who they are or what they really want. We already know they’ve taken a different form to talk to each of us.” She gave him a pointed look. “That doesn’t fill me with hope about them.”

That had been an awkward conversation the morning after they’d all had their illithid transformations miraculously stopped. Gathered round the campfire and hesitantly eating breakfast, Gale had been the first to describe the lovely woman he’d seen. When he’d commented wistfully about her dark hair and beautiful, unmarred face, that had raised half their group’s attention, including Tavali’s.

Karlach had spoken first. For the barbarian, the dream visitor had been a mighty male tiefling paladin.

That had set off Lae’zel, who insisted hers had been a battle-scarred githyanki kith’rak, like the one they’d deceived at the bridge days before.

Shadowheart broke in that the guardian had been an austere, statuesque woman with long charcoal braids and spiked armor.

Wyll had coughed, then quietly said his was a sturdy human knight with close cropped dark hair.

Astarion had chuckled humorlessly when they’d all turned to him but described an olive skinned woman with curly red hair in a chin-length bob, looking like a fetching bard despite her heavy armor.

Tavali had listened to it all, ears filled with buzzing, as she remembered her dream guardian.

Thin. Skin pale but rosy and freckled. Curly blonde hair drawn back in a low bun.

A face like her mothers, except more beautiful and awe-inspiring than her pretty human mother had been. The dream woman had been without the wrinkles of six decades and younger than Tavali had ever known her mother in life.

There had been a curving, webbed burn scar lashing from her left cheek across her nose, like someone had whipped a lash of fire directly into her skin.

Like the dream guardian had wanted her to see Laira Willowcroft, battle-scarred and fighting for all their lives, in hopes of spurring on the protective instinct of a daughter to help their mother.

Tavali was not a fool. And she’d seen enough tricksters both mortal and fey in her day to know when she was being manipulated.

She’d given them all a perfunctory description, and then said what mattered most: that if they hadn’t been ready to trust this strange person, it wasn’t helped that they were hiding their face and identity.

And it was obvious what the guardian had done once they'd all started comparing. Each different face was chosen to appeal to each of them in a unique way; A savior, a comrade, a leader, a goddess.

A mother.

The group had agreed for the most part, even as Astarion had huffed and pouted.

Now, Tavali remembered that he had been the most eager and willing to accept whatever powers the dream guardian had promised.

“You can be paranoid all you like,” Astarion said with a sickly-sweet smile. “But I’m not going to cower. When we come across another tadpole, I’d prefer if you would let me have my way.”

Tavali took the final bite of her fish and then dropped it onto her plate. “If we find another tadpole, I’m going to destroy it like usual,” she said simply as she looked back at him. “You want to have your mind and body ripped to shreds to become a mind flayer? That’s your call. But I’m not going to help you.” She tossed her head a little, letting her few loose curls sweep away from her right eye.

“Oh,” he said lowly, tone deepening. “So it’s like that, is it?” His red eyes were frigid and annoyed.

“Yes,” she said easily. “I like you, Astarion. Gods know why,” she said, reaching up and resting her right palm over her scarf where her new puncture wounds sat on her neck. “Haven’t you gotten that idea yet?”

The rogue looked taken aback, some of the hostility clearing before he tried to put on his usual smarmy expression. She didn’t give him a chance to make a clever rejoinder.

“So why would I help you hurt yourself?” Another moment of startlement, and his face was torn between miffed and uncertainty. “You need help killing your old master in the city? You’ve got me. You need someone to feed on to stay strong? I’m willing to keep helping. But I’m not going to give you a tadpole so you can lose yourself and become an illithid. What was the point of surviving the Nautiloid if you do that?”

Her high elf companion didn’t say anything, staring at her like he was outraged. His mouth parted, words on the tip of his tongue, before he rethought them. Astarion turned away to glare out across the low hills in front of them.

Tavali sighed and matched his stare, though she kept her gaze on a low cobblestone wall. She recalled the few words Astarion had shared about his life before now. He had explained how someone became a vampire spawn left to be puppeted by their master. He'd added that as a slave, he was completely unable to resist his master's commands. She knew that their abduction was the first time he'd ever escaped beyond Cazador's reach.

And Tavali had seen Cazador’s loathesome face and heard the echo of his voice when Astarion had shared his memories with her the night he’d bitten her. Astarion's hate and fear had simmered through the bond at just the thought of the elf.

“I don't know much about what you've been through,” Tavali said more softly. “And this isn't- I'm not judging you. But that’s a line for me.”

A few birds chirped in the distance.

“You want to hear about Cazador,” he said grimly into the quiet.

Tavali frowned and glanced over at him.

"Not if you don't want to tell me," she said, trying to give him an out.

“I don't want to say a damn thing,” Astarion retorted. "But that's not going to do me any good, is it?"

She didn’t say anything in response. Selfishly, she did want him to tell her more of what he was up against. Astarion had given her very few details thus far.

"He's a vampire lord in Baldur's Gate," the rogue began, straightening his back like he was reciting his lessons for a teacher. It made her gut curl around her recent meal uncomfortably. "The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power." His nostrils flared and his lip curled. "Nothing so blasé as political or military power. I mean power over people. The power to control them completely," he said with quiet menace, though his eyes weren't aimed at her. "When he turned me nearly two hundred years ago, I became his spawn and he my tormentor," he finished darkly.

Tavali was wary of asking anything that would make him stop talking. For a moment, it felt vaguely like she was the hunter stealthily stalking her prey, except contrarily the prey was also luring her in.

"Did he just attack you one night and bite you, like you told me about?"

Astarion snorted nastily. "He didn't lead the attack, no. A group of thugs did that. They were angry about a ruling I'd handed down as magistrate." His lips twisted and his eyes were dull as he walked through the past. The half-elf wanted to reach out and put her right hand on his left arm, but she resisted. There was no chance he would appreciate that kind of reassurance right now.

"They beat me to death's door only to be chased off when Cazador appeared. Then he knelt in front of me and offered to save me by giving me eternal life." He shook his head minutely. "I can still remember how grand he looked, leaning over me in a fine red robe and not a hair out of place for his efforts. And given that my choices had been winnowed down to eternal life or bleeding to death on the street, I took him up on it." Astarion swallowed dryly. "Soon enough I realized how long eternity would be."

Astarion paused, rubbing his fingers together mindlessly into fists. Tavali gulped a little herself.

"I was less than a slave, really," the high elf went on. Despite her earlier desire to listen, now Tavali almost wished he would stop. But she would never say it. If he trusted her with these parts of himself, she would hear it. Even if it was just because he wanted her to let him take another tadpole. They do say to be careful what you wish for. "When he gave an order, it wasn't a question of obedience. He spoke and my body reacted. Some days he had us submit to torture. On others, he would have us torture ourselves. We did whatever his weathervane mood dictated."

There was silence again. Tavali rolled her lips, trying to blink away the mist in her eyes. "He just," she cleared her throat quickly, "kept you around to torment you?"

"Oh no, darling," Astarion disagreed quickly. "I had a greater purpose. I was tasked with luring the most beautiful souls from the city back to the palace for him." Tavali's blood went a little cold as she stared at him. "He had a ritual, you see," Astarion went on conversationally. "After I turned them over to him, he would ask if I wanted to dine with him. If I said yes, he would serve me a dead, putrid rat. Of course if I said no," Astarion tilted his head lackadaisically to the right, "he'd have me flayed." Tavali's mouth fell open in dismay. "Hard to say which was worse."

"Truth be told? You were my first," he'd said shyly, averting his eyes from her gaze. Tavali had been startled, unable to imagine how a vampire could live for two centuries and truly never have tasted the blood of a humanoid.

This answer was more horrible than she could have imagined. It made her thoughts stall as she tried to sort through each individual piece of appalling information. When she inhaled shallowly, her mouth moved up and down nearly soundlessly with helpless rage and despair.

Torture. Endless torture for no purpose. Like Cazador, for all his terror-inducing powers, was no better than a sadistic child tearing the wings off butterflies just because he could.

Putrid rats? Was that all Astarion had eaten for those years?

And lure back to the palace? Tavali wasn't stupid. She knew what that must mean, how far down Astarion's dignity must have been buried.

The vampire lord gave the word, and the spawn's body reacted.

Two centuries of that. Two centuries.

It made her want to hurl her lunch back up. It made her want to scream with fury. It made her want to sob. For him, and for the countless people he must have been commanded to lure and then sacrifice to his master's appetite.

Astarion gave her a side eye, likely perturbed by her conspicuous silence and contorted expressions. She closed her mouth just in time for a tear to reach the corner of her lips and smear salt water there. He turned to look at her more fully, his face strangely expressionless as his eyes focused on the trail another tear left on the opposite cheek.

"Sorry," she rasped, brushing her gloved fingers hurriedly under her eyes. The leather pulled the soft skin there, stinging a little, "That was, that's horrifying." She breathed again. "I'm so sorry."

The rogue's body twisted toward her, coming in closer as he lifted his right fingers to her left cheek. He caught a stray tear and swept it away from her skin. "Thank you," he said lowly, drawing back, "but this isn't about sympathy. It's about knowing what we might be up against." Astarion scowled. "Mind flayers might not be the only creatures hunting us. And we've already had overtures from a damn devil. We need to keep our eyes open, and take what advantages we can get.

“I know,” she agreed solemnly. Astarion only quirked his left eyebrow at her. “Just,” she started hesitantly before giving up and frowning at him sadly. “At least wait until we're closer to that bridge before you cross it, will you?” He frown, looking perplexed. “Don't be so quick to risk yourself for whatever boon the tadpoles give," she explained more clearly. "You may regret it more than you think, and won't even be able to take it back.”

Astarion's lips twisted and his face was still apathetic.

"You just got your freedom back," she said in a slight rush. "Don't cast it aside on these things. You-" she tried to force the thickness in her throat back down. "If you survived all of that, you will survive what comes next without them." She put her right palm down on the log between them with an imaginary hold on his hand. "And you will not have to do it alone."

Tavali held his gaze, matching all the hardness on his features with steadfastness on hers. She wasn't sure how persuasive she sounded or looked with tear tracks on her pink cheeks and no doubt redness in her eyes.

After a few seconds of their very intense staring contest, the high elf's expression collapsed.

“Honestly,” Astarion said, getting back some of his usual whinging tone and turning away again. He leaned the whole of his back on the log, elbows both resting on it to support himself. Tavali leaned away from him to sit up straight again, though the hard round seat of the log had started to become uncomfortable. “It was just an idea. No need to be so-” he gestured emptily with both hands in front of him, “about it.”

Tavali inhaled deeply but didn't respond, feeling the weight of his story bearing down on her chest.

Silence came over them again until the sounds of nature made up for it. There was a cricket chirping nearby, bees buzzing in a flower patch around the corner. Midges flew past.

She took up the small red apple she'd been allotted from their stores. The entire party had been more than a little alarmed at her willingness to spare Astarion her blood, and had taken to giving her extra food over the last couple days. Fortunately, the amulet truly did seem to heal her without any drawback. That was a good thing, because she had no more appetite today.

“Well,” Astarion said with a drawn out exhale. “I suppose I should get back to ransacking these hovels.” He stood in a fluid motion and wiped his hands across his pants, dusting the seat of them for dirt. “Shout if you find another set of rutting beasts to slaughter.”

Tavali choked a little, a gasp of incredulous, dismayed laughter and befuddlement at the sharp turn of his mood. She pressed her hands tightly into her face “God's, you're impossible.” She said through her fingers.

“Of course, my dear. It's important to keep you on your toes. I can't have you getting bored of me, now can I?” His eyes weren't as devious as she'd have liked to see over his smirk, but he'd apparently shucked off the cloud that had come over him.

It didn't seem healthy, but Tavali envied the skill. Her lungs still felt shaky.

Astarion whipped out and twirled the sharp dagger he'd acquired from a husk of a strange roasted meat they'd found shortly after they had fended off the interrupted bugbear and ogre. “Ta for now,” he saluted with the knife before wandering away.

Tavali breathed deeply in the solitude, a heavy gloom settling in despite the sunny day. She'd started sweating at some point while they sat on the log. Perhaps it was just from the warmth of the Eleasis sun around her. Or perhaps her body had physically reacted with adrenaline at just the thought of all that suffering.

So many secrets and shadows among their group.

Her life had been a walk through the park compared to the people's she traveled with now, and she didn't understand how they could have endured all that they had and survived.

The leash of an unwanted warlock pact.

The need to consume magic for an unspecified reason or perish.

A tiefling who'd been sold like cattle and promptly turned into an infernal war machine.

A Sharran, raised in a cult that taught her searing pain was a sign of devotion.

And a vampire who'd been subjected to unspeakable torment for two centuries with no end in sight.

She knew with very little doubt that she would have broken under any of it, either to wrath or despair or insanity until the chaos of her magic consumed her and liberated her that way.

That evening at dinner, Astarion was back to making witty banter. She couldn't match his quips like she usually did. Tavali knew he noticed because it seemed to frustrate him slightly. But she couldn't just forget the things he'd told her even if she knew he didn't want her to only see his torture when she looked at him.

But she needed an evening, at least one evening, to process it all.

That night, when she had a moment to herself lying on her bedroll in the privacy of her tent, she turned her mouth into her sleeve to muffle any noise and let the tears flow. Hopefully, no one with enhanced ears could hear her and she'd be able to get the sadness out in peace.

Chapter Text

Readying herself for bed that night was a trickier task than usual.

Foolishly agreeing to remove her padded armor and stand only in her undershirt, the priest of Loviatar had easily drawn blood with his whip. She'd felt it burst in a thin line of pain at the first blow. Her attempt to muscle through the ordeal for the promised blessing had almost been lost in the yelp she choked in her throat, turning into a deep growl as she asked for the next strike.

Any advantage we can get in this.

Yet Astarion hadn't volunteered to endure more pain even for a blessing, and Tavali thought that spoke volumes about how he truly felt about the idea for himself.

The second hit had broken her skin in lines that made her shirt cling to her back, stickier than her sweat and hot. The third and fourth had scored her open enough that she was panting with one arm out against the wall to stay upright.

When Tavali had turned around as Abdirak announced he was done and bestowed his blessing, she met Shadowheart's impressed eyebrow and a once-over from an arms-crossed Lae’zel.

But when she approached the three and looked to Astarion, the half-elf checked her step for just a moment.

Who knew our friend had so much blood in her?

He was smirking at her, the smallest curl of his mouth to the left. The elf’s eyes were hooded and dark, pupils blown wide, and he only took his eyes off her face to slowly look down the arch of her neck and over her shoulder toward her back.

It sent a strange, uncertain heat through her. Had he liked seeing her in pain? Had he liked seeing her push through it?

Did he just relish the smell of fresh blood?

"Do you need a healing?" Shadowheart asked with mock generosity, cocking her hip below her crossed arms and drawing Tavali’s attention away from those deep red eyes.

“No,” she scoffed, rolling her sore shoulders as she took back her armor. She hadn’t been hurt nearly enough to waste the spell. Tavali cast her eyes and ears about, but no one loitered nearby as they heard Volo’s renewed warbling. “But I’m grateful we already decided to take the night before taking this whole camp on.”

“Chk. Per your plan, we are still meant to find more small clusters of these creatures to eliminate quietly. Unless you’ve decided to turn from that cowardly plot.”

“Not at all,” Tavali replied primly, moving to take the lead again as they followed Volo’s voice to his prison to deal with it. "Trust the Cormyte on this, will you? You don't fight goblins by letting them mob you."

Her country had a weary, drawn out history with goblin raiders. This was hardly her first camp rout.

About half a dozen dead and concealed goblin bodies and one freed druid later, her company had cloistered themselves in the goblin camp with the hope of getting some rest before the bloodbath. Though they intended to take Halsin’s advice and take out the remains of the leadership first, there was no easy way out of this camp. They hadn’t been able to find an escape route that didn’t have a collapsed or otherwise blocked wall. Tomorrow would be a massacre.

Tavali wasn’t as hurt by the idea as she would have been years ago when her wandering and adventuring days had begun. She didn’t take pleasure in it, but to fight this “Absolute” and save the people in the grove? The wood half-elf wasn’t so soft as to think it could be avoided. Minthara and Dror Ragzlin were resolute, and the goblins wouldn't be dissuaded. Priestess Gut's concealed body was testament to that.

Gale, Wyll, and Karlach had found accommodations on the other side of the ruined temple, keeping strictly to the divide and conquer mandate on the chance the goblins realized that quite a few of their horde had gone missing since the group had arrived. She was camped with Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion near Halsin’s former prison in the hopes that they would easily get the drop on Minthara in the morning. The others were to begin fighting Dror Ragzlin at the same time. Hopefully neither True Soul expected an inside threat. It was a risk, considering they'd already poisoned the beer on top of everything else. Crusher's ring sat on Shadowheart's hand. The goblins who'd killed the pleading man were thrown into the spider pit. Liam had been freed and his torturers tossed happily by Karlach into the deep chasms that lined the temple.

The worg pens were a crypt if not for Halsin remaining hidden there.

But neither of the three goblin leaders had been able to push deeply enough into her or her friends' minds to see the truth of their plans. That had to be enough.

Now she sat alone in the corner she'd claimed for herself for the night. Back to the larger room, she'd opted for what little privacy there was to be found. The whip wounds hadn’t had much time to close between the brief skirmishes and subtle scouting she and Astarion had done before her half of the party settled in for the night. When Shadowheart’s usual healing spell had fallen over Tavali at the end of the day, the magic had dedicated itself to the more recent and much harsher injuries the few goblins they’d fought had managed to inflict. It felt foolish to ask Shadowheart to waste her energy again.

Tavali slipped out of her armor and into her sleep pants, but the shirt was another matter. She brought her hands to the hem of her worn, battered, and now bloodied shirt.

She fought a wince, forcing the muscles of her back to relax as she started to pull the shirt up from her hips. The linen was caught in the bloodstains, sealed tight by her armor into the healing wounds.

Dammit.

She took a deep breath, debating the deliberate and careful approach versus ripping the proverbial bandage off in one quick go.

A tentative lift pulled against the lowest cut on her back, twinging with pain but not much give in the sticky fabric.

Fast and painful it is.

She exhaled in a whoosh as she tried to roll her shoulders loose again, fisting the shirt in both hands at her waist. With one great tug upward, she felt the clothing detach from the cuts but could not fully contain one pained "Ah!" from escaping as the shirt lifted off. Tavali pulled it off her arms and breathed heavily for a few seconds as the wounds burned.

"Alright over there?" Shadowheart's voice came skeptically from the left on the other side of the half demolished wall.

"Alright," Tavali answered a little breathlessly, cracking her neck to distract from the sting. She reached both hands behind her back to quickly undo the clasp of her undergarment and free her skin entirely. Once that was clear, she angled her left hand behind her back and gingerly touched one long line. She felt the dampness and grimaced to see the faint spots of red on her fingertips. She reached for the night shirt she had set to the side, but feeling what was an actual drop of new blood making a journey down her spine, the wood half-elf realized she would need to wash or bandage the wounds if she didn't want to wake to a bloodstained and ruined purple garment in the night.

She'd just set the shirt in her lap, eyes closed and shoulders slumped in resignation, when a different voice came lilting and close behind her.

"Might I offer my services, darling?"

Tavali jerked back upright, hands whipping her shirt up to press and cover her chest. The movement jostled her cuts and her whisper was half pain and half surprise.

"Astarion."

The elf chuckled lowly, and she turned her head sharply to look over her right shoulder at him. He was already only a few feet behind her and he lowered himself with feline grace to crouch down with one knee on the stone floor. From the angle, she could make out one eye and half a smirk.

"Didn't mean to startle you, my dear. But you do seem to be struggling." Astarion’s gaze drifted slowly down her bare and bleeding back before returning to meet hers. There wasn’t any ruby sheen to make out in the dim light. 

Tavali's face flamed red and she turned her head back around to stare fixedly at the corner in front of her. She didn't lower her arms or loosen her grip on her shirt.

It was, she bit her lip, frankly embarrassing how quickly he undid her. She wasn't used to the way her heart flipped. And Astarion had already suggested the day before that they "take an evening together," which did not help matters. Much as she liked him, it was difficult to push past the idea that he was always working an angle, especially after his plea for another tadpole and the heartrending tale of his life that had followed.

What angle she was could have several directions. Ingratiating himself to the frankly bizarrely chosen de facto leader of their troupe? Ensuring he stayed on her good side to let him keep feeding? Keeping quite the ally on his side?

"I'm not easily impressed by people, but you're stronger than I gave you credit for," complimented over a too perfect smile.

"We could take an evening together," offered with that cunning gaze running up the length of her.

Still, beyond his flirtations, Tavali had seen the unfettered way he looked at her in the aftermath of their battles, grin sharp as his daggers and eyes alight with something like lust.

So even the awareness that he could be playing with her wasn't enough to stop her mood from improving when he came to talk to her. Nothing disarmed her like one of his ridiculous quips and antics, his throwaway lines tossed about like one of his knives.

In the middle of a race against the clock to free themselves from ceremorphosis, and he could bring a chuckle out of her like no other.

Tavali's mother had often told her that one day her heart would tumble happily into another's hands through her laughter. Of course it was the mad, rakishly good looking rogue high-elf that was figuring out the trick.

But even now in these early days in each other's company, the young sorcerer had started to vaguely wonder if he might come to want her heart for himself beyond whatever plans he had in store, and if she wouldn't mind if he had it.

Far-reaching fantasies for a different time.

“Captivating as it was to watch you endure the pain with hardly a sound, those whip marks are smarting, aren't they?” She heard him come closer still, fabric and shoes scrapping lightly against the uneven ground until she could feel his breath against her right ear. “Would you like me to tend to your needs?”

The wood half-elf breathed deeply and very, very slowly. From his comments, at least he'd somewhat answered her earlier suspicion. “And how would you do that?” Tavali whispered, tilting toward his voice over her right shoulder. His nose pressed along the apple of her cheek for a moment before he leaned back a little.

“You so callously reopened all these cuts.” Astarion started. “And,” he said silkily against the cord of her neck, lips catching against her skin as he drew down leisurely, “you did offer to let me feed tonight.” He ducked his head the few inches necessary to fit his lips against the side of her neck and pressed lightly at the puncture wounds there, sealed over every morning with an unusual speed they’d come to assume came from his nature.

Tavali inhaled sharply and her body flinched in surprise as one finger started tracing up her spine, brushing and stinging across the sensitive cuts to catch one rolling drop of blood and lifting at the wing of her shoulder. “Seems wasteful to leave this veritable banquet untouched.” There was a brief sound like kissing, and Tavali realized he had just sucked her blood from his finger. She inhaled shakily but he spoke before she could say anything more. “And I do know how you abhor waste, darling.”

Tavali huffed a lighthearted laugh at the now well worn joke, her skin buzzing where he had touched her. She was still blushing fiercely as she forced out a breathless answer. “Well,” she began, smiling softly at what little of him she could make out over her shoulder, “if you’re kind enough to offer.” Tavali nodded her head and faced forward again.

She signed deeply as his left hand found her left shoulder and applied the slightest pressure. Tavali let herself be guided forward, bringing up her knees to rest her left cheek against them while her thighs and crossed arms kept her shirt safely pressed against her breasts and stomach. "I hope this kind of thing isn't what you're into," the sorcerer said shakily. "I don't plan on making a habit of letting anyone beat me."

Astarion’s right palm landed on the right side of her waist and the fingers of both of his hands flexed to tighten his grip. "No," he said lowly as his breath flowed over her skin. "But I'll certainly enjoy it while I can."

If Tavali’s body hadn’t been primed in anticipation, she wouldn’t have noticed the first gentle trace of his mouth over the highest cut. Astarion started at the wing of her right shoulder, barely there as he made an unhurried, slanting trail downward toward her spine. His lips parted slightly as he pressed down harder, his tongue darting out to collect the blood that beaded her bruised skin. Pinpricks of pain that made her twitch forward fought with the sparks of pleasure that had her pressing back as she inhaled deeply and ordered her body to relax into it. Though he didn’t use them to tear her skin anew, Tavali felt the outline of his fangs when he sucked keenly at the deepest part of the wound, drawing forth a fresh burst of blood before moving on to the next. The hair over his forehead caressed her skin above his mouth as he moved. The young woman was painfully and longingly aware that the beautiful and dangerous elf had not even deigned to do more than kiss her lips the night before at their camp in the blighted village, inviting her into his bed and giving her a tantalizing taste of what he would be like if she accepted. Now he came to her like this.

She stared at the dark and dusty stone wall to the right, focusing on the way the light reflected off the moisture and failing to distract herself from the sensation of him on her flesh. After one particularly strong pull of his lips her breath trembled out of her, and she was certain that she felt a familiar smirk against her skin. The cad. Tavali realized, flushing, that this was another tease, a preview to what she could expect if she only followed through on her promise to spend an evening with him.

Her pulse thrummed through her entire body. Surely she hadn't ever been so aware of her heartbeat before? The flutter of it was deafening in her own ears, and it sped up further for a few moments as she remembered he would be able to feel it.

Inch by inch, slowly but surely, Astarion showed due care to each laceration she’d received that day until his mouth had brushed a complete map of her pain down the length of her back. Tavali shivered as the rogue pulled away with one final, lingering press of his lips between her shoulder blades.

“Looking much improved, darling. And to think, I didn’t even have to bruise that pretty neck.”

Tavali blinked through the haze, eyes readjusting to their surroundings as the spell Astarion had woven dissolved like mist around her. She groaned softly, unbending her spine to sit straighter again, though her shoulders stayed slumped. The wounds, while still a mild ache, had been soothed into placidity. She could tell without touching that they no longer bled.

Exhaustion was coming over her now, as it so often did in the wake of both the adrenaline rush Astarion could induce and the blood he imbibed. Squinting at the wall in front of her, she made the unworried and impulsive decision to pull her shirt away from her body and push her arms through the sleeves. Holding it over her head, she let the material fall unrushed down the length of her until the hem settled against her hips. Hardly the most seductive move, and he couldn't see much from behind her, but he must have seen her intent.

Rising tiredly to her feet, Tavali turned around to look at him. Astarion was standing a few feet away now, white curls glowing dim gold in the limited torch light. It was difficult, she thought sadly, to make out his eyes in this light. He was hard to read most days, but the darkness didn’t help. Yet there was a self-satisfied air to him, and she saw his eyes move up and down her body in a gradual sweep.

With a slow, careful movement, she brought her right hand up to brush her fingertips against his left cheek. Astarion tipped his head slightly, not pulling away but raising an eyebrow in question.

“Thank you,” Tavali whispered, lifting herself a little on her toes to buss the words and her lips against his right cheek.

For a brief moment, she thought painfully of his history again, and wondered if anyone had ever tended his many wounds.

She lowered her hand and pulled away slowly. Then Astarion’s right hand pulled up, catching the back of her neck in a gentle hold so her face didn’t make it more than a foot away. Tavali angled her head back to look at him properly, and could just make out a glimmer of light reflected in his eyes.

“Sweet thing,” he murmured, sliding his fingers forward so he held her chin, “the pleasure was all mine.” His eyes were heavy lidded, and he leaned forward as he tilted his head slightly to the right. His fingers drew her toward him until his lips stopped only an inch from her.

Tavali’s eyes drifted shut as she closed that distance. Astarion kissed her back with his fingers gliding to grip her jaw, holding her against him while his left hand rested firmly on her lower back beneath the wounds. Tavali let the fingers of her right hand trail up into his hair as she pressed closer.

Astarion had just used his tongue and lips to open hers, carrying the faintest metallic tang, when there was a very pointed cough to Tavali’s right.

Tavali pulled away with a start, lowering her feet until her ankles were back on the ground and her freshly pale face was partially hidden against the left side of his collarbone. “Sorry,” she said in a hush to him, hoping Shadowheart didn’t hear or gods forbid see anything more. “Not the right place.”

“Of course,” Astarion answered, adjusting his right hand so that it cupped the back of her head instead of her face. “Not quite the moment to 'indulge,' after all. We should get some sleep.” He tilted his mouth to her left ear. “We need to make short work of these goblins tomorrow so we can finally get some privacy.”

The sorcerer shivered in his arms for a moment before they separated. Astarion pulled away first, releasing her with arms held theatrically wide and a slight bow as he cast a pointed smirk to Tavali’s right.

Turning slightly, she realized that the partially destroyed wall she’d originally been hiding behind didn’t quite extend out to where she and Astarion were standing. They had, in fact, given Shadowheart an unnecessary view.

Said dark haired half-elf was now looking at her with her own eyebrow quirked, her expression saying Really? so clearly that Tavali could practically hear her friend’s deadpan in her head.

“Goodnight then, my dear.”

Tavali looked back to him, smiling shakily in embarrassment and nodding. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

He sauntered away back toward his own bedroll, and Tavali went back to hers near the cleric. She had just managed to get her legs into the blanket and start to lean back when the other woman spoke again.

"Here I was," Shadowheart sighed resignedly, and Tavali looked humbly toward her. "Thinking Astarion was likely the peculiar one. But I should've realized when you agreed to let him bite you so easily." Shadowheart raised a taunting eyebrow at her. "He's just what does it for you, isn't he?"

Tavali's mouth flapped as she worked on a response, debating contesting that Shadowheart hadn't seen Astarion's eyes or desperation for blood the night she learned the truth, or trying to explain that she was drawn to him for a host of reasons that had started before his vampiric nature became clear.

In the end she only smiled helplessly, raising empty hands in admission as she shrugged. Shadowheart fought down her own grin, but she couldn't conceal the begrudging mirth in her rolled eyes or mumbled "Shadows keep us." The half-elf turned over and started to settle down in the thin bedding. "Go to sleep, wild mage. Try not to be too distracted during combat tomorrow."

Tavali snorted, cheeks still pink, as she bid her goodnight and turned to lay on her stomach, mindful of undoing Astarion's patient work.