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One of the most frustrating habits Tav kept was their insistence to check any nook and cranny for valuables. This included inspecting every single book on dusty bookshelves and flapping the pages in case a scroll fell out. Astarion hated the fact Tav's searching was validated when magic scrolls were crammed amongst tomes. Why did so many people carelessly leave scrolls laying around the place?
They were exploring yet another abandoned area, a small hamlet where the residents abandoned for whatever reason. Perhaps the crops had failed. Maybe the bubbling rumours of war set them scurrying towards Baldur's Gate. For whatever reason, the former townsfolk had left plenty behind. And Tav painstakingly checked everything.
Everyone hurriedly made excuses why they were unable to help search the house other than Lae'zel, the Gith promptly walking away with visibly distaste. After travelling together for a few weeks, the entire party hated when Tav did this but no one ever protested. Tav rarely complained whenever they were dragged off for a mission either Karlach or anyone else brought up, the group followed along with their insane searching skills.
It did not mean everyone stuck around to help the ludicrous rummaging. They all acknowledged no one should be left alone in case a trap exploded or a surprise attack occurred. A surprising amount of invisible people hung around old crypts waiting to sink a dagger into an unsuspecting target. Since the loss of one of their eyes and being replaced by Volo, they could see invisible targets. Whoever was the last one out the door had to stay behind as Tav's backup whilst the others got out free.
This role was unfortunately Astarions today.
Stuck in a dingy, oppressive basement under yet another ruined house, Astarion leaned against the closest wall deprived of cobwebs, watching Tav struggle to open a desk drawer. Most like it would contain yet another ink pot and quill. Even Gale didn't write that much, the wizard slyly throwing the countless quills into the campfire each night. Astarion ideally studied a nearby dilapidated bookshelf, his red eyes scanning the spines. Mostly they revolved around musical theory or a subject equally as dull.
“Tav are you done checking every drawer yet?” he drawled, boredom plucking the small speck of patience he had.
“Not yet,” they called back, rummaging through papers, “ooo, more gold.”
They threw the meagre pieces inside the collective group purse. Satisfied they had searched every inch of the desk, the high elf sorcerer rushed around the corner, silver-blonde braid bobbing as they went. Gritting his teeth, Astarion made a mental note to be the first one out the door whenever Tav's looting ways emerged.
“Astarion,” Tav said, using a singsong voice, practically skipping around the decaying household, puffs of dust kicking up with their footsteps.
“No,” he replied, folding his arms tartly.
Tav pouted, displeased by the quick rejection. “I didn't ask you anything.”
The rogue inspected his impeccable fingernails, boredom evident. “I suspect you've found a chest with a tricky lock and need a dab hand.”
“Well…” they began, “there might be a locked chest I can't open and need some clever hands to pry it open.”
“Compliments will only get you so far darling,” drawled Astarion
Truthfully, he did like lockpicking and did give him a task to do rather than just stand around looking good. He excelled at that. But it didn't mean he'd stand to attention whenever Tav called. Cazador had made him do enough of that.
“Please, Astarion, could you use this beautiful hands of yours to help me out? I can only clumsily guess how to open the chest?” said Tav, batting their eyelashes.
Astarion giggled, before catching himself and smothering the noise. He hated it. That Tav's antics made him laugh. Not the fake one he used for luring in targets. The one which pretended he loved every shitty joke, to flirt with and appear coy. His fake laugh made him feel sick, a nausea spreading whenever it bubbled forth.
Yet, he'd never used the false not with Tav. The other high elf always summoned his embarrassingly high laugh as if using their magic. For the longest time, he’d forgotten how to feel genuine joy. Cazador made sure they never enjoyed their undead lives. Whenever the sadistic vampire thought his spawn contained a seed of joy, he’d do anything in his power to destroy it. But Tav did the opposite. They nurtured his joy; through offering blood, asking if he actually wanted to join their crazed excursions or stay at camp, enjoying free time reading or any hobby really. They asked his opinion even if they disliked his responses, listening sincerely for any input he had.
In the beginning of their reluctant adventures, Astarion kept waiting for the other shoe to violently drop on his head. Each time he sassed the sorcerer. Each time he feasted on a sentient creature. Each time he dared enjoy himself. The slightest disobedience resulted in torture; Cazador doing it himself or compelling Astarion to mutilate his own body. Sitting upon his throne and laughing himself skin as his enslaved spawn peeled away flesh, gorged out his eye, anything his sick mind conjured.
Tav never did that. They smiled. They gave him rewards without him asking. They cared. The whole thing confused Astarion because there wasn’t any reason behind it. Tav just did.
“Come on, Star, don't make me beg,” whined Tav, bouncing on the balls of their feet impatiently.
The roguish vampire blinked, realising he'd remained silent too long, lost in horrifying memories. “Fine. But I expect something in return worth my while.”
“Is being your regular blood donor not enough?” asked Tav, indicating the indents marks along their neck.
“I want something pretty,” he replied.
Tav gave him a mock scandalised look. “Am I not pretty?”
“Despite my best efforts, I can't sell you in exchange for things I want and I suspect the others wouldn't be pleased if I succeeded,” said Astarion, grinning mischievously.
“You've tried to trade me? I hope you gave a good price. What do you want? Other than my blood,” said Tav, rolling their eyes.
“Oh, just first call on useful armour and 80/20 split on the gold found here. I know you've found quite a bit here,” said Astarion, “and the chest will be opened.”
“No to the armour, yes to the gold,” said Tav.
“Fine. Show me this troublesome chest.”
Tav excitedly bound forward, guiding him towards an old chest, orange rust decorating the metal latches. Astarion had no idea why Tav was so thrilled by the prospect of the chest being opened. From previous experience, they’d found countless useless items which Tav gathered up even if it was the hundredth dagger they’d come across. But they did manage to sell them for a tidy price, keeping the party well supplied. Astarion reached inside his pockets and pulled out one of his many lockpicks, getting to work.
“If there's only silver goblet and alchemy components in here, I'm going to shove you inside and lock it again,” said Astarion, acidly, twisting the lockpick.
“And if there's a powerful artefact, I want an apology,” replied Tav, heading towards a dusty ladder.
Astarion snorted. “Not bloody likely.”
“The artefact or apology?”
“Both.”
Astarion worked gently as he tested the lock, working it easily with his nimbly fingers. Tav clambered up the ladder, ignoring the troubling creaking noises. They were reaching for a small loft area which seemed to contain sacks probably full of rotting food. A telltale click told Astarion he’d successfully opened the chest. Lifting up the lid, he found a potion of an ambiguous nature he’d let Gale look at, a rather shiny, gold necklace and a pouch of coins. He slipped the items in his pack.
A cracking and crashing noise grabbed Astarions’s attention, the sound loudly bouncing off the basement walls.
“By the Allfathers hairy beard!” shouted Tav, pain dusting their words.
Astarion rolled his eyes and put away the lockpicks with a flourish, gracefully spinning around and seeing Tav sprawled on the floor underneath a destroyed ladder. Dust and cobwebs covering them, Tav groaned as they slowly sat up.
“Are you alright?” asked Astarion, rushing over.
“Still breathing… despite everything,” Tav groaned, clutching their head and pushing aside their now ruined braid.
Moving their legs, Tav hissed, face scrunching up as they clutched their left leg. “I think my ankle might be broken,” they said, face paling, beads of sweat perspiring along their forehead.
“Honestly, it was only a little tumbl - oh, by Baldurans balls, that shouldn't be so… angled,” said Astarion, grimacing as Tav pulled up their trousers leg.
The fabric pulled up, Tav wore sensible travel shoes, their ankle fully exposed and a large, swelling lump bruising along the skin.
“Yeah, that’s broken,” they said, voice strained.
Astarion shook his head. “Well, isn’t this inconvenient.”
“Well, I'm sorry my broken bones are so inconvenient,” Tav said, acidly.
He held up his hands. “Alright, alright, calm down, I only met it’s going to be difficult getting you out of here. I think the others might be too far away and I’d rather not leave you find them in case something happens.”
“How sweet,” they said, teeth gritted.
Astarion snorted. “Yes, that’s the first thing anyone thinks when seeing me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can use a spell or a healing potion,” said Tav, checking their travel. After a minute, thye sighed. “Or I would use those things if I had any. I think Gale might be hoarding them all. I could use a mage hand or flight-”
Astarion didn’t let them finish their sentence, reaching down and plucking them into a bridal style carry. “Lets not faff around deciding. I’m perfectly capable of carrying you back to camp. Shadowheart can do a little cleric magic and your ankle bone won’t be sticking out.”
Tav squirmed for a second, cheeks reddening. Considering how the pair had already indulged in each other, having absolute feral sex, Tav and Astarion found soft intimate displays of affection deeply uncomfortable. There were times they sat close, reading from the same book, Tav’s head leaning on his shoulder. Moments when the pair didn’t think about their actions and just existed together.
Whenever Tav or Astarion noticed their hands drifting too close or even, gods forbid, hug, they’d quickly pull back and ignore it. They liked the sex. Forgetting their problems for a brief moment and chasing after pleasure. But either wanted complications. Tav was always thinking of those after them, knowing they couldn’t bring another person into the problem. It was too dangerous. If the tadpole situation was sorted out soon, they’d probably run off back into the wilds, stop being seen by everyone.
Astarion kept expecting things to sour. A certain feeling always crept up whenever he spent time around Tav. Comfortable. Tav made him feel comfortable. A novel feeling. His past before becoming a vampire was merely a shadow. The last memory he possessed was his head being bashed in by the Gur before Cazador’s fangs stole his life. Astarion didn’t have any true memories of comfort before then. The one time he felt comfort was in Sebastian’s arms, the sweet boy caring for him, lavishing him adoration, the poor boy never stood a chance.
“Hey, thanks for this,” said Tav, looking sheepishly at their hands.
“Darling, I couldn’t leave you alone in some dark basement. That and Karlach might actually skin me,” he said, brushing aside the gratitude.
“You didn’t have to carry me like this. There were other ways. Look, just take the thank you,” said Tav, blushing as they averted their eyes.
Astarion chuckled. He so badly wanted to kiss the top of Tav’s forehead. “You’re welcome. I would miss you.”
Tav cocked an eyebrow. “You would?”
“Yes, I don’t think anyone else had camp will let me feed from them. I can’t give up my one and only donor,” he said, flashing a sly smile.
Tav lightly batted his arm. “You are such an arse,” they said, affectionately.
“You like my arse. I have the scratch marks to prove it.”
Tav rolled their eyes. “You are incorrigible.”
“And that’s why you keep me around. Alongside my dashing good looks.”
Astarion carried them from the basement, walking up the stairs of the house into the equally ruined house. He held Tav close, feeling their silver-blonde hair tickle his chin. It smelt of the lavender oil they used every morning when braiding their long hair. A scent which told him when they were close by, reassuring him they hadn’t left. One day, the adventure would be over and they’d depart, Astarion would never smell that enticing scent again.
Reaching the camp, the others swiftly fussed around their leader who sheepishly admitted what happened, everyone taking the time to scold their reckless behaviour. The rogue left them to it, settling down for the evening. Glancing up over his book, he saw Shadowheart working on Tav’s broken bone. Their eyes locked, Tav smiling through the pain and waved. He grinned back, hiding behind his book.
Astarion hoped this little adventure wouldn’t end too soon.