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It was strange.
He had taken a thousand lovers, if one could even call them that. A thousand faces and names that eventually blurred together night after night. Nights that, for the most part, were ultimately better off forgotten. In all those years, there had never been a chance to connect, truly connect, nor was there a desire to. It was better that way; for both of them, there would never be more than one night together.
And now…
Now, Astarion had found himself back in Tav'Lyn's tent again. There was no reason for it; he had already gotten what he desired from the woman back at the tielfing's party. He needed protection; she had wanted some fun. Both came away satisfied. Then why exactly had he approached her tonight?
Habit? Partially to blame. After all, the more he made himself useful, the higher the likelihood she would keep him around. Perhaps, it was the fact that he couldn't deny their time together between and out of the sheets had been an awful lot of fun. Or maybe it was because of moments like these.
He and Tav'Lyn lay facing one another, their limbs entangled, while she rested her head against his chest. Astarion was not a large man by any means and yet he enveloped the drow. The warmth and softness of her body pressed against his felt good, as did the deceptively casual caress of her hand against his back. In response, his fingers began delicately brushing along the dark elf’s shoulder.
How long had it been since he had done this with someone? Had he ever?
“Do you miss Baldur's Gate?” she asked, breaking the silence of the night.
Astarion pondered the question for a moment. Did he? He certainly didn't miss Cazador. Nor his gaudy mansion; the endless torture; or the fetid, rotten rats he was forced to dine on.
But the city? After everything, it was still home.
“I suppose I do; it is my city after all,” he answered honestly.
She was quiet for a moment before speaking again.
“Tell me about it.”
“Heh, where to start?"
Astarion wasn’t sure where to begin. What could he say that didn’t immediately lead the conversation back to his enslavement? To Cazador. The past centuries had mostly been spent in seedy taverns, dark alleyways, or worse. Hardly a cheery subject. Anger bubbled within his chest. Why did every thought seem to return to him?
“How about what you love most about it?” She suggested, interrupting his darkening thoughts.
Astarion was starting to notice the cleric had a knack for that. She always knew when to steer the conversation away when it got too tender. Too painful. But she also knew when to push.
So, he did just that. He told the drow about the Upper City. The beautiful estates and gardens that comprised the city's affluent neighborhoods. He described the River Chionthar and how some nights he would sit for hours at the harbor and watch how the moonlight would shine off the water.
They laughed when he recalled how young patriars would regularly get drunk and bathe naked in the fountains.
He shared his favorite spots to steal and pickpocket. Hey, a rogue needed to keep himself entertained somehow!
Tav'Lyn listened to every word with rapt attention, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. For every description he gave, she met with a question. No subject was off-limits: architecture, the nobility’s social structure, the common people, and even the laws. He had known that Tav'Lyn had no experience with the cities of the surface, but it was becoming abundantly clear then just how out of her element the drow was.
He didn't mind the questions. Not when she was looking at him like that.
They became lost in conversation, and time no longer mattered. The hours slipped by like minutes as they spoke. Topics bled into one another, and he found himself remembering the rare but amusing moments from the past decades. Such stories were inevitable when the majority of your time was spent people-watching.
Although they were elves and needed considerably less rest than their companions, eventually he noticed Tav'Lyn's eyelids dropping heavily with weariness. Her body seemed to melt even deeper into his, and he watched as she finally closed her eyes and fell into her trance.
While she lay deep in reverie, he took the opportunity to watch her. He thought of the night when he first tried to bite her—the way her face contorted and held that stern countenance even during rest. He shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest when she pulled the knife on him. Now her features were relaxed and soft, a rare sight. He studied the freckles on her face, the scar across her nose, and the delicate white eyelashes around her eyes.
He pushed back the desire to reach out and lightly trace those freckles. A small smile played on his lips. Astarion knew she hated them, but he found them endearing.
He repositioned himself on his back, still allowing the drow to rest on his chest, and stared up at the ceiling of the tent.
Gods, how long had it been since he had just…talked to someone like that? A real conversation. Not showering them with shallow compliments and innuendos. He didn't even want to think about how many hours he had wasted feigning interest and nodding his head absently as his marks prattled on.
And not once in their conversation had he thought of Cazador.
It dawned on him then. It wasn't just Cazador that dominated his thoughts these days. It was her. Tav’Lyn.
The realization made his stomach clench and his chest ache. No good could come from that sort of thinking. Tav'Lyn would not meet the unfortunate fate of his other lovers, but that didn't mean this wasn't a temporary arrangement. The drow had made it quite clear that she didn't expect anything serious from him. Why would she? He had one use and one use only.
And her? Well, she had her one purpose too. To keep him safe from Cazador. That was it.
It was a foolish lie. One he had started telling himself often the more time he had spent around the woman. But it was a necessary one.
Still, as he lay there in her tent, his body pressed against hers, he wasn't going to deny himself this precious moment of comfort, no matter how fleeting it may be, and he allowed himself to slip into his trance.
This is why he kept coming back to her. For moments like these.