Work Text:
Astarion sews neatly.
The needle and thread are fluid in his hands.
When Tav tries to sew, she tears holes in the fabric.
The thread frays and knots.
“Astarion,” she says, “I don’t know how you do it!”
Tav is Astarion’s first friend.
He hopes she never learns how to sew.
Tav first asks Astarion to teach her how to sew in their early adventure days: she was playing with Scratch when a stray claw or tooth nicked the fabric in her camp pants. It was a small hole at first, easily ignored, but within just a few days, it continued to grow until the rip on the side of her calf needed to be addressed.
She approaches Astarion’s tent, hyper-fixated on the annoyingly faint tickle of stray thread on her skin. “Astarion?” Tav hesitantly pulls back the tent flap and peers inside to see Astarion lounging on his bedroll with one of the books they’ve picked up on their travels.
“Yes, darling?” His eyes flit up to meet hers before returning to the page, unbothered by her presence. “Come in.”
Tav obeys and ducks inside. “You sew, right?”
“Yes. Are you finally going to ask me to fix that rip in your trousers?”
“Not quite. I was going to ask if you had a needle and thread I could borrow.”
Astarion lowers his book. “I wasn’t aware that you knew how to sew.”
“I don’t. No time like the present to learn though,” she says with a shrug.
His lips purse and he props himself onto an elbow. “These aren’t easy supplies to find, you know. I’m not keen on your unpracticed hands wasting something valuable.”
Tav rolls her eyes and lowers herself to the ground, sitting on her calves. “Okay, so teach me.”
“As you can see,” Astarion drawls, gesturing to his book, “I’m quite busy.”
“Yes, you look it,” she responds with obvious sarcasm, peering forward to get a better look at what he’s reading: A Pleasurable Deal, the well-known erotic play. Tav suppresses a laugh and simply looks at him with raised brows.
A smirk spreads across Astarion’s lips. “Not too long ago, a devil appeared out of thin air and proposed a solution for our tadpoles. I’m simply doing research on the subject.”
“Of course you are,” Tav says. “Will you help me or not?”
His smirk widens. “That depends. Will you ask nicely?”
Tav tips her head back and groans. She should have known Astarion would toy with her before granting her the slightest favor. “Astarion, please help me fix the hole in my pants.”
“Very well, I suppose I can assist,” he says coyly. “Now undress and allow me to take care of it.”
Her cheeks heat at the command but she wills her face to remain calm. Astarion has such a way with words where even an innocent favor eventually morphs into something lewd. “Or I could leave my pants on and you could teach me how to do it myself.”
“Where’s the fun in that, darling?” Astarion regards her with amusement and his eyes rake over Tav’s form. “Sweet as it is that you want to learn, you’ll only end up pricking your finger and bleeding on the fabric. I can’t have you wasting perfectly good blood like that.”
She rolls her eyes but obliges. With a sigh, Tav stands up, unlaces her trousers, slides them off, and wads them up in a ball before throwing them at Astarion’s beautifully smug face.
He makes no effort to dodge. The corners of his lips curl up into a mischievous grin and he sits up fully. “I didn’t expect you to bare yourself so eagerly for me.”
Tav crosses her arms with a grimace. She refuses to appear shy or embarrassed by the fact that she is standing in Astarion’s tent in her underwear. “You are impossible. Please just fix my pants.”
“Very well, if you insist we skip the fun part.” Astarion exaggerates a sigh of disappointment. He sets his book aside and reaches for a nearby small wooden box, presumably containing his sewing supplies. “It should only take a few minutes, darling. You can stay here and watch my skilled fingers work or I can bring them by your tent when I’m done.”
She’d rather walk through the camp half-naked than subject herself to more of Astarion’s teasing. It’s far too effective and he takes too much enjoyment in it. “You can bring them to me when you’re finished,” Tav tells him before adding quickly, "the pants, not your fingers." She turns and walks out his tent with her head held high, but not before catching the satisfied grin on Astarion’s lips.
***
It doesn’t take long for Tav to need Astarion’s skill with a needle and thread again. The group wanders through the Putrid Bog, searching for Auntie Ethel’s home, when Tav’s pack gets caught on a wild barbed bullrush. She hears the tear of fabric before she feels the resistance. She takes one step too far and her belongings spill onto the mud and moss.
“Shit,” Tav mutters.
While Gale and Karlach crouch down to start picking up and brushing off Tav’s things, Astarion appears beside her and tuts. “So careless. Keep this up and we won’t let you hold onto the valuables anymore.”
“You think we’d let you carry them, Fangs?” Karlach retorts with a bright, teasing smile.
“I don’t see why not,” Astarion answers with a shrug and a grin. “Tav destroys them, you would burn them, and Gale would eat them.”
“I don’t eat magical items, Astarion,” Gale scowls while he brushes off one of Tav’s books. Despite the frown on his lips, Gale’s eyes are bright with humor. He’s a good sport when it comes to the camp joking about eating boots.
“And I don’t destroy things,” Tav starts, suppressing a chuckle. “I just…” she trails off in search of the appropriate words, but none come. She is responsible for a lot of broken and ruined supplies. “Ugh, whatever,” Tav huffs and turns to untangle her ripped pack from the barbed plant. Before she’s able to free her pack, she makes the rip worse.
“Honestly, darling,” Astarion sighs, swatting her hands away. His clever fingers untangle the rapidly fraying fabric from the barbs and he slides the empty pack off of Tav’s shoulders.
Tav watches her companions place her belongings into their own packs, determined to treat her things with care and kindness. No one complains that their burdens are heavier as a result of Tav’s blunder. Nor do they complain that their exploration was sidetracked and slowed because of Tav’s carelessness. Even Astarion, who never hides his irritation, says nothing more on the matter until they return to camp.
The entire trek back, Tav mentally prepares to plead with Astarion to help her stitch the tear. She was prepared to boost his ego, beg, or give him the next magic trinket she finds. When they arrive back at camp, though, Astarion pulls Tav’s ripped canvas pack from his own and wordlessly makes his way to his tent.
“Astarion!” Tav calls after him. He looks over his shoulder as she jogs to his side. “I didn’t ask you to fix it.”
“No,” Astarion responds, turning his body to face her, “but you were going to.”
“Yes, but I would also settle for borrowing your needle and thread.”
“It’s a large tear and if it’s not sewn properly, it’s going to rip again as soon as you place anything inside.” He says matter-of-factly as he places one hand on his hip. “No offense, darling. This is not a project for an amateur.”
Astarion’s right, of course. She doesn’t care what the stitching looks like, but her pack gets fairly heavy. A poor job done would likely result in more muddy belongings and more delays. While she understands and agrees with his logic, she was expecting more resistance from Astarion. He rarely offers to do kind things without pressure or the promise of a reward.
“Oh, well…” Tav starts, surprised by Astarion’s voluntary assistance. “Thank you. I owe you one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Astarion says with a wink before turning to retreat into his tent.
***
The next incident is several tendays later. Tav is relieved that the damage isn’t her fault and Astarion himself can attest to her innocence - at least in regards to the rip in her tent.
It’s a particularly windy, eerie night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands when Astarion joins Tav for one of their regular feedings. She lays on her bedroll with Astarion over her. As he drinks, he cradles the base of her skull with one hand while the other snakes down Tav’s waist to her lower back, which he lifts until their bodies are flush. Astarion alternates between drinking from the fresh puncture wound, lapping at the pooling blood, and placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Tav’s hand tangles in Astarion’s hair and the other fists his shirt. She arches up, eager for more contact and desperately wishing there were fewer clothes between them.
Just as Astarion hooks a finger between Tav’s skin and the waist of her pants, a loud crack from outside startles them both and they jerk apart.
Astarion, still looming over Tav, turns his head to the side and listens intently.
“What was that?” Tav asks in a breathy whisper.
A drop of blood trails from Astarion’s lips, down his chin, and drips onto Tav’s cheek. She winces and turns her head slightly, not wanting to get blood in her eye. Tav removes her hand from his hair to wipe her blood from Astarion’s chin with her thumb. The action pulls his attention away from the noise and he cups her hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Just the wind.” Astarion looks down at her with a mischievous smirk before wrapping his lips around Tav’s thumb and licking the blood clean. “Now, where were we?” He asks, tone low and seductive.
Her breath hitches when Astarion adjusts, lowering himself and pressing their bodies together once more. Tav’s hands, on instinct, return to his side and hair when Astarion places a gentle kiss on her cheek where the blood drop fell.
Before they can resume fully, there is another loud crack outside, followed immediately by the rustling of leaves and branches, before something falls onto Tav’s tent and collapses the structure. They both yelp and scramble away, dodging the fallen object but unable to make it out of the tent.
After a few moments of surprised confusion, Tav and Astarion crawl out of the flattened heap, panting and frazzled, to find a giant tree branch crushing Tav’s tent. Discounting the fresh bite mark on Tav’s neck, neither Tav nor Astarion are injured.
Their companions stir around them and emerge into the camp, woken by the commotion. They only need one look to fully understand the situation. It’s quite obvious between the collapsed tent, the intense blush on Tav’s face, their disheveled hair, half-removed clothes, and Astarion’s too-tight trousers.
As soon as she comes within view, Karlach snorts a laugh at nature’s interruption.
“Hells,” Wyll says, intentionally avoiding eye contact with the pair, choosing instead to focus on the crushed tent. “Looks like we’ll need to be more careful with where we set up camp.”
“You’re both alright?” Shadowheart asks, though she looks uninterested in the answer and eager to return to sleep.
Tav turns to take in the damage to her tent and notices a large tear in the canvas from the split wood of the branch. “Yes, but I can’t say the same thing for my tent. I’m sure it can wait until morning though.”
“I’ll have it patched up at first light,” Astarion says as he takes Tav’s hand and leads her toward his tent.
Their companions hum and nod in agreement. They groggily return to their bedrolls, visibly relieved their continued consciousness is not needed.
Astarion turns to Tav with a mischievous grin and a sultry whisper. “Now we have all night together to finish what we started.” He pulls the canvas flap of his tent open and gestures for Tav to enter. She crawls inside, suppressing a grin of her own.
***
Tav is able to avoid damaging her things for a time, so the next time she asks for Astarion’s help, it isn’t out of necessity.
Upon reaching Baldur’s Gate, the group spends significant coin on refreshing and replenishing their supplies. Surprisingly, new clothes are a priority for everyone. It turns out that no amount of laundering can completely remove the tendays of grime and blood or the decaying stench of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
The perks of civilization don’t end in fresh clothes. For the first time in ages, they can all rest in real beds. They get fresh food. They no longer need to set up and take down camp. Cooking and cleaning are far more efficient with society’s conveniences. Now that they live a slightly less transient life, the group has a bit more free time and Tav figures she can use the rare opportunity to learn something new.
Sewing and embroidering both seem like useful life skills and Tav can barely sew on a loose button. Astarion, however, is extraordinarily gifted with a needle and thread. Despite the extreme care and precision that goes into his stitching, Astarion works quite quickly. He even makes it look fun. In another life, he might have been a tailor. If anyone can teach her competence in the craft, it would be Astarion.
She approaches him in their communal room at the Elfsong tavern. Astarion sits on his bed and embellishes his newly purchased doublet with pristine white embroidery floss. “Too plain for your liking?” Tav asks as she sits beside him.
Astarion doesn’t look up from his stitching but acknowledges Tav with a smile. “Now that we’re back in the Gate, I can’t run around looking like a vagrant or a peasant, can I?”
“Gods forbid!” Tav brings her hand to her chest in an exaggerated display of scandal. “Could you imagine?”
“No,” he laughs, “and I won’t have to.” Astarion’s focus still remains on his needle, but he gently nudges Tav’s knee with his own.
Tav peers over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. A muted gasp passes her lips when she takes in the beautifully intricate pattern of curling flora with all the color complexity of sunlight gleaming off of polished silver. The design vines up the front of the doublet on both sides of the fastening clasps, perfectly symmetrical. She realizes then, that Astarion isn’t using white floss alone; the entire pattern is embroidered with a variety of whites, grays, and even some pastel tones. The effect is absolutely stunning. If Tav didn’t know better, she would think Astarion was painting with melted silver.
“Astarion…” she mutters in awe.
Astarion looks up at her for the first time to gauge her reaction. “What do you think? I thought it would compliment my hair,” he says with a grin and a gesture to his perfect silver curls.
Tav holds her hand out and traces the curling leaves and flowers with a hovering finger, careful not to touch the fabric, lest she somehow ruin his hard work. “That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Astarion leans toward Tav with a brow raised. “Not as beautiful as the man who will wear it, I hope.”
She huffs a laugh in response. “My apologies, it’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Now imagine how I’ll look in it.” He sits back and holds the doublet out.
“I can’t,” Tav sighs wistfully, “I’m not sure my heart can handle that much beauty.”
Feigning annoyance and obviously pleased with the flattery, Astarion rolls his eyes and suppresses the smirk on his lips. “Your heart better get accustomed to it by the time I’m done because I can’t look into a mirror. I’m counting on you to describe my elegance in great detail.” He gently folds the garment and sets it on his lap before turning his full attention to Tav. “Now, is there something you need, darling?”
“I was actually hoping you might finally teach me how to sew,” Tav says, lifting her chin towards the doublet.
Astarion winces at the request. After a moment of pain, he schools his face into a polite, but fake, smile. “Darling. My love. Dearest Tav.” Astarion takes her hands in his. “You are capable of so many things…”
“Thank you…?” Tav raises her brows. “But?”
“But I have been doing this for a very long time. This is a bit beyond the skill level of a beginner.”
“Obviously!” She smiles before squeezing his hands. “I would settle for learning how to hem my own pants.”
He gives her another polite smile, too sweet to be anything other than pitying. “Don’t you think your efforts are better used elsewhere?” Tav narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to say something snarky, but Astarion continues. “After all, we have to kill an Elderbrain, a vampire lord,” he starts, holding up his fingers as he lists their known enemies, “a politician, the leader of a murder cult, the leader of a different cult…”
“Okay, I get it,” Tav agrees reluctantly before Astarion can continue his list to the next hand. “Now isn’t the best time.”
Astarion wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side before placing a peck on Tav’s temple. “I could probably teach you the basics at some point. Assuming we don’t die, of course.”
Tav leans into his embrace and closes her eyes, letting his signature scent of herbs and brandy envelope her. “I suppose I could prioritize staying alive instead.”
Astarion presses another kiss to her temple in silent appreciation.
***
Even with the Elderbrain defeated and Baldur’s Gate mostly saved, it isn’t easy to settle down after their adventure. They were wandering the Sword Coast as a group for so long, it’s almost jarring to spend their time on banal tasks with no threat of death hanging over their heads.
Jarring or not, it’s a welcome change. Astarion and Tav work toward their own, unique version of domestic bliss and are able to find a cute little townhouse in the lower city to share. The first thing they do in their new home is hang up thick curtains to shield Astarion from the sun.
Tav steps back from the newly installed curtain and curtain rod to stand next to Astarion who is evaluating Tav’s work. His lips are pursed and he holds his chin in his hand, the other arm braced across his chest. When Tav gets a good look at the curtain, she understands why he looks so unimpressed.
She exhales a defeated sigh. “Go on. Say it.”
Astarion furrows his brow and blinks, the epitome of mock innocence. “Say what, my dear?” His confused pout starts to curl up into a cocky smirk when he catches Tav looking at him through the corner of her vision.
“I should have listened to you.”
“About what?” Astarion asks, tone dripping with sarcasm.
Tav frowns. “They’re too long.”
“Hm…” A victorious smile spreads fully across his lips and Astarion looks toward the window to consider the curtains. “You don’t say...”
“You were right, Astarion,” Tav says, enunciating each word and rolling her eyes.
Astarion sighs dreamily. “I do love hearing that.”
She bites the inside of her cheek and looks around the sparse room for a clock before remembering they haven’t purchased one yet. “It’s getting late. I might not be able to return them until tomorrow.”
“Fret not, my love,” Astarion says sweetly, still high off his victory. He pats Tav on the shoulder before leaving her side to rummage through a nearby box, yet to be unpacked. “Better too long than too short. I can hem them.”
“At least let me help!” Tav suggests before beginning to search for his sewing supplies in a different box. “It’s my fault after all and you did say you would teach me.”
The sound of Astarion shaking the small wooden box of supplies pulls Tav’s attention from the box of unpacked belongings. It figures he would find it first.
“It’s really no trouble.” Astarion begins to poke through his collection of needles, threads, and floss for a color close to their new curtains. “While I am certain you would make an enthusiastic student, teaching takes time.” He holds a spool of thread up to compare it with the curtain fabric before nodding to himself and shutting the box. “I work faster alone. I can have it done before sunrise.”
She knows Astarion is right, but a lump of guilt still forms in her chest. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Tav,” he responds. There’s a faint, satisfied smile on his lips while he begins to thread the needle.
“I feel bad,” she says, crossing her arms and pressing her mouth into a fine line.
Astarion wraps the non-threaded end of the string around the needle several times before pulling and sliding the knot down to the thread’s end. He looks at Tav with a fond expression and a soft smile. “Really, darling. There’s no need.” When she returns his gaze, her face is unconvinced and pleading. Astarion continues, “If you truly insist on helping, you can dig through these boxes for a bottle of wine and an opener.”
With a smirk, Tav relents and accepts defeat for the second time in one night, but not before placing a chaste peck on Astarion’s cheek. “Consider it done.”
***
The subject comes up again shortly after unpacking and settling in when Astarion and Tav enjoy a quiet, peaceful night in their new home. Astarion is lying on the chaise lounge with Tav nestled in between his legs, her back against his chest. The newest addition to their little family, Myshka the cat, is curled up on Tav’s chest. The couple is bundled under a blanket, reading their respective books in companionable silence. The only sounds are Myshka’s purring, the crackle of the fireplace, and the occasional turn of pages. Astarion holds out his book with one arm while the other wraps around Tav’s shoulders, resting just below her collarbone. Tav holds her book above her head while gently scratching the chin of their “son.”
She’s so comfortable and relaxed, Tav struggles to comprehend what she’s reading. After the fifth or so time of rereading the same paragraph, Tav’s eyes droop closed and she loses her grip on her book. It falls unceremoniously onto her face and Tav jolts up with a squeak of surprise.
Her surprise is contagious: Astarion sits up slightly and slaps his book closed while Myshka puffs up and bolts off Tav’s chest.
“Ah! Myshka!” Tav sputters as the cat uses his claws to escape and jump away, clearing the full length of the chaise with ease.
Astarion releases an uncharacteristic and undignified snort in an attempt to suppress his laughter. “You’ve frightened him away,” he scolds sarcastically and picks up the book, thankfully a paperback, from Tav’s face.
“I’m sorry, Myshka!” Tav calls to the cat, who appears to have recovered emotionally from the startle and stretches out his legs nearby. She sits up fully, inspects the blanket, and notices a small tear where Myshka was laying. When she lifts the blanket to show Astarion, Tav sees that her blouse was damaged as well: there is a small rip in the fabric, near her sternum and between her breasts. “Damn, he got my shirt too.”
Astarion sets their books aside and sits up, bringing his chest flush with Tav’s back again. He rests his chin on her shoulder and wraps one arm around her front, draping it under her navel. Astarion’s free hand gently traces along her ribcage, skimming the underside of her breasts with his thumb before toying with the fresh tear in an intentionally suggestive way.
“Hm…” Astarion hums into her ear. “You were planning on wearing this to Withers’s reunion, weren’t you?” He says as he rolls the frayed thread between his fingers. The touch is barely there, but the cool graze of Astarion’s finger against the warmth of Tav’s skin is enough to wake up every nerve in her body.
“I was.” Tav responds with a smile, leaning her head back and arching into Astarion’s body.
His lips ghost the side of her neck and a shiver runs from the base of Tav’s skull down her tailbone. “I could fix it for you,” Astarion whispers, tone low and husky, “but you’ll have to take it off.”
“Astarion!” Tav gasps quietly and brings the blanket to her chin in a display of mock modesty. “In front of our son?!”
They both still and look at Myshka, who is on the other side of the room, facing away from them. His hind leg is outstretched and he’s cleaning his paw, totally unbothered by whatever else is happening in the room.
Tav feels Astarion smirk against her neck as his nimble fingers unlace and loosen the back corset ties before pulling her shirt up and over her head. When the offending garment is removed and tossed to the side, she twists in Astarion’s embrace to face him and settles into his lap before he trails kisses on her shoulder, up her neck, and along her jawline.
“You could fix it,” Tav starts as she weaves her fingers through Astarion’s curls, “or you could finally teach me.”
“It’s a delicate fabric, darling,” he says before placing a gentle nip at her ear. “Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you.”
It didn’t seem too delicate when he threw it on the floor.
Tav hums in contemplation as Astarion guides her hips up slightly and begins sliding her pants down her thighs. “I'm starting to think you're trying to distract me so I don’t hold you to your promise,” she muses, adjusting in Astarion's lap to help him peel off her clothes.
“And?” Astarion drawls, “is it working?” When his hand glides up her inner thigh, Astarion raises his brows and gives Tav a cheeky grin.
Tav returns his smile. “Yes.”
Tav lays in bed, nestled into the crook of Astarion’s arm with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, unable to rest. While he trances, she mindlessly traces shapes on his bare chest with her finger. Her thoughts keep returning to Astarion’s reluctance to teach her how to sew.
It’s not as if it’s a big deal. She’s an adult and if she wants to learn something new, she is more than capable of teaching herself. Nothing is stopping Tav from buying scrap fabric and her own needle and thread to practice. If she truly wants to learn, she doesn’t need to wait for Astarion’s approval.
But he did say he would teach her the basics if they survived their adventure.
Though Tav was only interested in learning because it seemed useful and she was bored. Sewing and embroidering aren’t exactly hobbies she sees herself taking on. If Tav is realistic with herself, she would utilize the skill only when necessary. And how necessary could it ever be with Astarion around, insisting he fix things himself?
So Tav doesn’t need to sew. She may not even genuinely want to learn, but the thought of Astarion teaching Tav is so charming. The two of them could spend quiet evenings working together on something small and unimportant. It’s obvious that he cares deeply about the craft and has been practicing for who knows how long. Tav just wants to share his passion.
It’s a sweet thought, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants to spend the time to teach her. Anyone who has ever interacted with Astarion can tell he has limited patience. Yes, he has significantly more for Tav, but even still, his patience isn’t endless. He is an expert and she is a total novice. Teaching Tav to sew would probably be a frustrating experience for Astarion, no matter how much he loves her.
If Astarion didn’t want to teach her though, he shouldn’t have promised. He could have said no.
Tav regrets the thought as soon as it enters her mind; it isn’t fair to him. Astarion has had a long, complicated relationship with the word “no.” Even now, with the Elderbrain defeated and Cazador dead, he still struggles to express what he wants. He had no autonomy for 200 years. Tav can’t hold Astarion to something he agreed to if he didn’t think he could decline.
She sighs softly against Astarion’s cool skin. She should just drop the subject.
For whatever reason, Astarion isn’t interested in teaching Tav to sew or embroider. And that’s fine. No explanation needed. Should Astarion ever offer a lesson, she will agree to learn enthusiastically. Until that time though, Tav will allow him to handle their tailoring and sewing needs without pestering.
Tav places a gentle kiss on Astarion’s chest and her hand stills and splays across his abdominals. Her eyes flutter shut as a yawn forces its way from her mouth. With her head now clear, it doesn’t take long for Tav to drift off.
A tenday passes and the reunion Withers organized is approaching. Tav sits at the table with a cup of coffee, lost in thought. With everything their adventuring party has gone through together, it’s silly to be so focused on what to wear. They all tried to maintain appearances and hygiene but Gods know they were not always successful. Tav’s old companions wouldn’t bat an eye if she showed up in something ugly, so long as it was clean and free of blood. Actually, given her vampiric partner, blood-free might well be above the bar for acceptable dress.
As if summoned from her reverie, Astarion enters the kitchen looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Do you remember my doublet from when we first arrived in the city?”
“I do.” Tav blinks several times to clear her thoughts before adding, “what ever happened to it?”
Astarion scoffs and throws his hand up dismissively. “I was wearing it when my dear siblings came to visit us that night in Elfsong. It was positively drenched in blood. There was no saving it, unfortunately.”
“That’s too bad,” she says with a frown. “It really was beautiful.”
“Yes. Indeed.” Astarion holds out his hand. “Come with me, darling.”
Tav doesn’t bother to hide the wariness in her expression as she takes his hand and stands. Astarion’s grin seems to grow with each step as he leads them into the study. When they pass the threshold of the room, he releases Tav’s hand and walks behind the desk to open its drawer. She watches him with narrow eyes, growing increasingly suspicious.
From the drawer, Astarion pulls out the silken blouse Tav was planning to wear to the reunion. Tav’s eyes widen and her hands cover her mouth to stifle a gasp. Astarion didn’t just fix the rip. He practically created a new garment.
Astarion took what was originally a perfectly nice but admittedly simple top, and transformed it into an elegant piece of art, almost too beautiful to wear. A series of fine stitches coil and curl up the bodice in vines, branches, and flowers to create a striking design. Whether a trick of the light, the subtle sheen of the silk peeking through the stitching, or the thread he used, Astarion’s embroidered design seems to shimmer.
Tav can’t pull her eyes from the blouse as she walks closer in a daze. Much like his embroidered doublet, before it was soiled in blood, Astarion used a multitude of colors and shades to create an effect that should be impossible to achieve with thread alone. His old doublet looked as if it was painted with melted silver, but this new garment is pearlescent, like the inside of an oyster shell.
She traces the pad of her finger delicately over the embroidered flowers, realizing just how small the stitches are and how careful he must have been to create such a detailed pattern on the fine weave of silk. The more Tav looks at it, the more she notices. Hidden among the flora are little birds. On the bottom hem, she finds a small rabbit. The details become difficult to make out as Tav’s vision blurs with tears.
Astarion tips her chin up with a finger and Tav pulls her gaze away from the embroidery for the first time. The expression on his face only makes it harder for Tav to keep back her tears. Astarion looks down at her with warmth and pure adoration, like she’s the sunlight that he’s been longing to bask in again. He cups her cheek and brushes away a stray tear with his thumb.
“So…” Astarion starts in a soft, careful whisper, “what do you think?”
Tav is at a loss for words, unsure that her vocabulary can adequately voice its beauty and her gratitude. All she can say is “Astarion,” as she closes her eyes and leans into his touch.
Having presumably set down the blouse, Astarion wraps his arm around Tav’s waist, pulls her closer, and places a light kiss on her forehead. She can feel his lips curl up into a smirk. “No rush, my love. You can sing my praises after you’ve collected yourself.”
Tav huffs out a laugh, still too overcome to form complex sentences. “It’s stunning, Astarion. Perfect.” She embraces him fully, sliding her arms behind his back and resting her head on Astarion’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, darling. Truly,” he says softly into Tav’s hair.
As they stand together in a quiet, affectionate embrace, it slowly dawns on Tav that this is Astarion’s gift to her, not just the beautiful embroidered blouse, but the act itself. Hemming their curtains, patching her tent, fixing her pack: all little acts of appreciation.
She hugs him harder.
If this is an expression of Astarion’s love, Tav is content to never sew a thing.