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If one were to ask Astarion who the best teacher for lockpicking would be, he would not hesitate to offer himself as an answer (whether or not he would actually teach was an entirely separate matter). And it seemed Tav had the same idea.
Their arrangement started a few nights ago. Their intrepid leader had found herself stuck in a dark cell with a lock that was a little complex even for Astarion, and even though she wasn’t locked in for too long the experience had visibly shaken her. When they returned to camp that afternoon she’d wandered into her tent and had to be coaxed out for dinner, which worried the party slightly, given Tav was often proactive about dinner preparation (and the act of eating it).
She was obviously glum for the rest of the night, even when Astarion and Karlach jointly tried to tease her out of her little shell. She merely smiled a little smile that didn’t bring out the crease in her eyes, before she muttered a response that was, at the very most, quarter-hearted. Lae’zel, of all people, offered to take over Tav’s cleaning chores for the night, with some excuse of wanting the job done right. Tav merely responded with another smile before declaring to the rest of the party that she would like to turn in for the night – again, earlier than normal, without even spending any time chatting around the campfire.
She returned to her tent to uneasy mutterings of ‘goodnight’ and ‘sleep well’, and the party looked worriedly at one another as she disappeared through the canvas. No one felt comfortable enough to say anything – the rest of them continued with their usual routines, but they would occasionally stop to check on Tav’s tent for any movement.
A few hours later, near the end of Astarion’s watch just before Halsin woke, Tav emerged from her tent, hugging a knit robe close. She had actually managed to take him by surprise — he was so absorbed in the book he was reading that he didn’t pick up on her timid shuffling until she’d stood a meter from him, whispering, “Astarion, could you… please teach me to pick locks?”
His head shot up, and he had to remind himself that he was in safe company before he pulled his daggers out and pounced on his companion’s throat. “Darling,” he began empathetically, putting a hand over his chest. He tried his best to act nonchalant, to try and pretend that she didn’t just shoot a bolt of electricity through his heart by walking up to him. He observed her face — this seemed serious enough for him to mark his progress on his book with an abandoned recipe of Gale’s and call it quits for the night. “You… want to learn to pick locks?”
“Yes,” she said, before hesitating. “I… Please.”
He shifted to make room for her on the rug next to him. She slowly ambled over, keeping her knit robe wrapped tight around her form. He arranged some pillows behind her. He noted her slouched posture. “Well, I’m guessing this is brought on by your little… debacle this afternoon.”
Her fists closed over the material tighter, near imperceptible if not for his keen eye observing her body language with great interest – leftovers from his days of seduction. “Yes,” she said, before looking at the tents around them, lowering her voice further as she divulged, “I’ve… never mentioned this before but I’m actually afraid of dark, closed in spaces.” She let out a shuddering breath and gave him a reassuring smile that he’d rate 3 out of 10 for convincingness. She tried to make herself look smaller, and when she continued it sounded like she was trying to persuade herself. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A bit childish of me, I know, but I… would just like to be able to get myself out of tight spots, you know?”
Astarion’s breath stilled.
How could he say no to that? The fear of dark, closed in spaces was not uncommon, nor was it childish. Most people were afraid of being buried alive in some form, and they should be – he was unfortunate enough to have had the experience to know that it was something to fear, when he spent a year locked in a tomb living what most would only consider a nightmare. And he didn’t even have the ability to die. He looked towards the fire as the memory washed over him, unbidden and unwanted but unstoppable. He could feel his mind drifting. He could feel his hands trying to claw away at the memory, as if it had a physical form he could contend with.
No — dark, enclosed spaces was not something he would wish on anyone. He supressed a shudder that tried to crawl up his spine, and he could almost feel the wood on his back and the lid on his face –
“If it’ll be too much of an inconvenience…” he could hear Tav say, though her voice sounded muffled and far away. He could feel the light touch of her hand on his arm, and it felt like a beacon he could use to return to the present to, “it’s okay, I just thought I’d try.”
“No, no,” he answered, trying to pull his mind back into his body, coaxing it to want to feel her touch, to feel the breeze that was real. Absently, he added, “I’m a marvellous teacher, darling — there will be no one better to teach you.” That part was true. He turned to look at her and patted her hand, which she then pulled away to wrap back around her robe. It seemed he was back. She looked at him with concern, but said nothing. He was grateful. “But I would like something for… compensation,” he said, somewhat suggestively, slipping into a comfortable and familiar mask.
May as well use the opportunity to push The Plan along.
Her eyebrows shot up. The whole of her face lit up, which was a pleasant twist from the night’s sullen mood. She seemed pleased and partly excited, even despite the prospect of needing to recompense him. “Of course!” she said, louder than she probably meant to as she continued in a lower tone that was no less excited, “That’s absolutely fine. I can, um,” she paused, hummed, and pursed her lips. Her eyes, dark and sparkling in the vicinity of the campfire, wandered to the side as she retreated into her thoughts in search of ideas. Was she aware that it was a tell of hers? He has been trying to figure out if there were stages to the eye rolling that revealed the progress of her thoughts. “I can… do your chores for a tenday if you want?”
“A month,” he countered, before he realised that this was not part of The Plan. Well, surely his tutelage was worth more than one measly tenday anyway?
She raised an eyebrow at him but the smile that spread across her mouth betrayed amusement. Her smiles always started crooked, favouring one side before evening out. It seemed her mood had done a complete shift from sullen to delighted. “Melon, you drive a hard bargain! Two tendays.”
“Three tendays, darling,” he teased.
“Two tendays.”
It was amusing that she didn’t call him out, given ‘a month’ and ‘three tendays’ were the same, but he chalked it up to her not noticing. He huffed at her, “that is not how bargaining works, you are horrendous at this.”
The irony was not missed on him that she had done the exact same thing – making the exact same offer for his same offer. Maybe she did get it, after all?
She muffled a laugh and nudged him with her shoulder. He let her jostle him. “What do you want me to do, offer two and a half tendays? Come on, Astarion, be serious! How about…” she breathed in through her teeth as she scanned her brain for another bargaining chip to up the ante with, her eyes now wandering from the top to the right in a smooth curve. She gasped and clapped her hands, pointing at him as an idea came to mind, “I can do your laundry for you,” she said soft and singsong, her nose scrunching up as she made that impish face that haunted his sweetest dreams. “I know you hate doing laundry.”
Oooh. He does — he hates the scrubbing, because it makes his hands pruney and ugly afterwards. And his laundry always took forever — he seemed to always get blood on his clothes, unlike someone like Gale who had to steer clear of bodies and was more effective from a distance. He marvelled at the unfairness of it — the wizard probably didn’t have to deal with bloodstains as much as he did, and he probably had some secret laundry spell to make what little work he has to do even easier. Boo.
“Tempting,” he said, not wanting to admit she’d found a really effective bargaining chip. “Now, darling, that’s on top of the chores, isn’t it?”
She studied his face with the ghost of a grin and squinted eyes. He kept his eyes on her, not one to lose a staring contest. Her eyes flickered between his, and she must have found whatever it was she was looking for, because she nodded and shrugged, “sure, I’ll do your laundry with mine in addition to doing your chores. For two tendays.” Tav stuck her hand out towards him — it seemed she thought she’d gotten herself a favourable deal, though Astarion thought the deal was most advantageous to him. A couple of lessons for two weeks of no chores and no laundry?
“Shake on it?” She offered, before her fingers delicately curled into a loose fist, cancelling the proffered handshake, “or would you rather draft something up, Mr Magistrate?”
He scoffed, before looking around his tent behind him for a scrap of paper. He had a quill and inkpot ready nearby, but paper was harder to find. “I think I would like it in writing if you don’t mind,” he teased, as she laughed breathily, “given your less-than-stellar memory, you’ll probably stiff me of the tuition.”
“I would never!” She said, pretending to be insulted. She leaned back into the pillows as she watched him, amused as his search turned up fruitless. She seemed much more relaxed now than when the night started. “No dice?” she teased, useless as she was, lounging on his pillows with a cheeky smile on her face.
He gave her what he hoped was a withering look. “No, darling. Surprisingly my mobile office doesn’t have a dedicated place to store paper, you see.”
She pointed at his book, still sitting at his lap, forgotten. “What about the back of that?”
Astarion glanced down at the book he was reading. He was almost embarrassed to be caught completely unawares while reading a Tenebrux Morrow book, like a child sneakily reading past bedtime, but Tav didn’t seem to care. He felt his nose wrinkle at the idea of vandalising a book, even a non-scholastic one.
“Why, darling, that’s borderline sacrilegious.”
“To whom?” She asked, as she reached her hand out for it, upturned and patient. “I wasn’t aware books were under the protection of any particular god.”
“To me,” he clarified, though he handed the book over anyway. “Don’t write on the cover.”
Tav had the audacity to look scandalised and insulted for the second time that night. “Excuse me,” she made a show of daintily opening the back cover to reveal a blank endpaper. She tapped a finger against the surface, “I’m not some kind of savage idiot. I was thinking of writing it on this bit.”
“That’ll have to do,” he said, as he gave her a long-suffering sigh. It was their best option given the situation, even though he wasn’t very fond of the idea. He took the book back from her as he began thinking up what to write. “Years of study, I assume, all to draft up a sham contract.”
“I’ll have you know this contract is legally binding, and very, very serious,” she corrected, as she watched him at work, stretching across his pillows. He racked his brain for old memories – he’d dealt with contracts as a magistrate, he could at least remember that much.
He tried to keep his writing small, neat, and even to fit what we could of what was important — the parties involved, the watered-down terms and conditions. He even asked her about what they should do if someone broke their promise (‘upon breach of contract, the party that fails to fulfill their side of the agreement shall compensate the other party by setting up the other party’s tent at the next campsite’).
And to her credit, she did take it seriously, nodding solemnly as she read lines of text as he came up with them. She barely made changes or gave input, trusting the majority of the process to him. At the end of it he drew up two lines, pleased with the result of their contract which had taken up both sides of the end page and inside cover.
She let out a big yawn as she pulled her legs towards her chest. She wrapped her arms around them.
“Oh, dear – apologies for boring you,” he joked. She waved him off.
“I’m sorry, it’s not you – your pillows are so comfortable and the fire is so nice,” she muttered, as she rested her chin on her knees to watch the fire. She was fighting to stay awake – he could tell, seeing how heavy her eyes were getting. He watched a few slow blinks.
“We’ll let this dry,” he said, as he watched rub at the tip of her nose. “Now, darling, I’m just checking again that you are of sound mind, and you are not doing this under duress.”
Another yawn. With one eye shut, Tav leaned her left temple against her knees, looking at him. She hummed. She gave a thumbs up.
“I guess that will have to do,” he sighed, as he looked down at the makeshift contract and signed ‘Astarion Ancunín’. “If I were a devil you would be trapped forever, love; you really need to read what you’re signing.”
Signing his name felt foreign to him, but there was a twinge of familiarity in the action. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to sign a legal document – slaves couldn’t own things, he reminded himself, but he found his hand signed with a flourish. He watched as the ink sunk into the fibre of the paper before he passed it to her.
“You have a lovely name,” was all she said, as she took the book and the quill and signed her name without hesitation. “I trust you.”
What a stupid statement. One should always check what they are agreeing to before signing — families have betrayed each other for less, and not even love can withstand greed. Astarion was reminded of Tav’s naïveté, and he was grateful to the gods that she’d never run into a particularly exploitative fey or cambion. She returned the book to him and looked at her signature – it was simple, with no flourishes unlike his. She only signed her first name.
When another yawn made its way out of her, he ushered her away. “Go, my dear,” he said, as she got back up and rubbed her eyes. He kept the book open in his lap, not wanting the ink to smudge on his hard work. “You need all the beauty sleep you can get.”
“Of course,” she said, as she brushed dirt off her clothes, looking down at him. Her eyes glanced at his pillows, before she pouted and said, “we can’t all be so lucky like you.”
He scoffed. “I know. How unfortunate.”
“Goodnight, Melon.”
“Goodnight, Tav.”
As she walked off to her tent, he tended to the book, the inkpot, and the quill. He kept an ear out for her movements – a light tumbling, some shuffling, and then silence. Once he could make out her light snoring, he called out, “sorry, Halsin, you can come out now.”
Halsin gave Astarion a sheepish smile as he emerged from his tent, wide awake and equipped with his own book. “I’m sorry, friend, but I did not want to interrupt your courtship.”
Astarion sputtered. What? “I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken — that was nothing but a professional interaction, my friend.”
The Druid shrugged as he nodded, “Ah, of course,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “Apologies. Go, rest - I’ll take over the watch, now.”
He straightened out the rest of his things before he slid into his tent and laid on his bedroll, barely kicking his shoes off as he went. Looking up at the canvas ceiling of his humble tent, waiting for his nerves to calm down before he attempted to trance. The contract, carefully crafted at the end pages of a copy of Tenebrux Morrow, was on the bedroll next to him — the safest place he could think of.
As Astarion closed his eyes to begin his meditation he thought Tav silly for taking on such a time-consuming method of repayment — with some bitterness in the edges of his thoughts, he thought, ‘I would have just offered sex for it.’
He was soon out like a light.
The first lesson, Astarion decided, would have to be on the tools of the trade. He’d grabbed a spare lockpicking set from the group chest, opened it to check all the contents were within, and rolled it back up.
He turned to find Wyll standing behind him. “Good morning, Astarion,” he greeted as he reached for the lid of group chest. He stepped to the side to let the younger man get through. “How are you this fine day?”
“Just tickety-boo,” he replied, cheerful and without an ounce of sarcasm. He was feeling quite motivated, spending his morning since waking coming up with a lesson plan for Tav. “How did you sleep?”
“Well enough,” the warlock replied as he studied a few of the blades they stowed away. He picked one, tested its heft, and looked down the blade’s edge. “Could use a sharpen, this one. I may have to borrow Lae’zel’s grindstone. Anyway, I thought I heard you and Tav having a chat last night.”
“Yes, she did come out to ask for a favour,” he affirmed, as Wyll wrapped the bundle of spare blades back up to store. He laid the bundle down into the chest like a father would a sleeping baby into its crib, “I didn’t think we were too loud, darling - apologies if we woke you.”
Wyll waved him off with a kind smile, “No, no, my friend, it’s fine. It got too warm for me and that woke me up. I thought I heard her laughing. We were very worried about her last night, so it was like hearing music. I guess that trap shook her up real bad.”
Astarion wasn’t sure how much he could divulge. The two of them began their treks back to their destinations in camp together. “Yes, it did,” he sighed, recalling the uncharacteristic way Tav shrunk into herself as she admitted her fear of the dark. “Well, it can’t be helped.”
The Blade of Frontiers put a hand on his shoulder as he prepared to head to Lae’zel and her ever moving grindstone. His hand was warm, and his grip solid. Astarion would have fallen for Wyll were he still innocent of the pain in the world. “Well, I’m glad you could give her comfort, my friend.”
The vampire watched him leave and wave to Lae’zel who eyed his sword with hungry interest. It wasn’t a designated chore in camp, but the githyanki had taken it upon herself to maintain the camp’s weapons. She quickly reached out for the sword to study the blade, barely acknowledging the man who had brought it and just as she started talking at Wyll about it Astarion turned to look for his new student.
He found her in the company of Shadowheart — she was braiding the cleric’s hair as the two of them had a chat about hair care in the wilderness. Tav sat on a tiny stool while the other woman sat on the ground in front of her, filing her nails. As he approached, the Sharran glanced over and said, “you’ll have to wait your turn, I’m afraid.”
“Star!” Tav greeted, cheerfully and bright as the day, the complete opposite to the raven-haired girl in front of her. Maybe it was in comparison to Shadowheart’s surliness that made Tav shine brighter the sun. “Good morning!”
“Darling, you seem awfully perky,” he joked, as he stood to watch them. He had never had anyone greet him ‘good morning’ with as much gusto as Tav, and she did it consistently, even when the mornings were less than ideal. Even Karlach couldn’t keep up with the enthusiasm every day, with some mornings where she came to life slower than usual. Tav was just happy to be alive. “For someone who didn’t get much sleep.”
“Gross,” Shadowheart chimed immediately, looking up at him with her usual flat expression. Sometimes Astarion liked to imagine her large, blunt fringe was just a very, very large monobrow, given her natural levelness. “Do you mind? I’m existing here. I don’t really want to be hearing about your sex life, thank you.”
Tav gasped, and accidentally tugged at a section of braid too hard, sending Shadowheart jolting back with outstretched arms. Astarion found it comical. “Sorry,” she said, as she rubbed at the cleric’s scalp to soothe it, “sorry, it’s not that.”
“Oh?” Shadowheart now switched targets — the little turd always went for the easier ones, never the type to work someone down like him, “Well, care to explain what it was, then?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night so I had a chat with Astarion,” she explained simply, as she continued braiding. She was getting to the end of Shadowheart’s long locks and began to gesture for the chain to be wrapped around it and woven between sections. “It’s nothing, really. I just asked him to show me how to pick locks, so if we ever end up in jail, we can at least have more than one person who can get us out. Is that comfortable?”
Shadowheart gave her head a tentative wobble and a bob, as she was wont to do when she was feeling particularly impassioned, and she nodded, clanging lightly as she did so.
“Yes; it’s perfect, thank you.” The cleric then frowned, staring ahead again at Tav’s instruction. The crown was slid up the braid and secured to the top of her head. The Sharran made slight adjustments for comfort. She hummed, before turning to Astarion as she continued to prod at the hairpiece. “Wouldn’t it be better to teach someone like Lae’zel? Since you two are always together anyway.”
“That’s not true,” Tav argued, as Astarion said, “I don’t just take on any student, darling.”
Shadowheart shot Astarion a look, before she turned to Tav, her eyebrows climbing beneath her large fringe. The “holy woman” was probably the biggest gossip at camp, ahead of Astarion – it seemed, unlike some other religions, Shar had no rules against gossiping. Or perhaps it was their elven heritage that made them so? Plied with wine, no one’s secrets were safe from revelation by her — and she looked like she just spotted one. She got up smoothly and offered a hand out to Tav, who got up from the stool with a groan about her knees.
“Oh, this is a weird mating ritual then,” she opined simply, laughing at her friend’s expression. “Well, don’t let me get in the way of it,” she said, as she waved them away, heading towards the rest of the party looking very much like a cat that just got the canary in a compromising position with another bird, “I’m going to go check on breakfast.”
Tav brushed off the dust from her lap, placing Shadowheart’s prized hairbrush on the table outside. “Why wouldn’t she believe me?”
“It was a slightly suggestive conversation, darling,” he said, as he reminded her, “I told her you didn’t get much sleep, you told her I was showing you how to pick locks.”
She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh!” She blushed as she looked at anything but him. He didn’t think it was even that scandalous, but apparently she did. “Oh dear, I guess that does sound a bit suggestive. Sorry about that, I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“No, love, I’m fine.”
“Well,” she let out a grateful sigh, turning back to him now with only the suggestion of a blush remaining, “how can I help you today?”
He raised the lockpicking set to show her, giving it a slight shake for emphasis. “I thought you may want your first lesson, my dear. We’ll be looking at the tools of the trade,” he gestured towards his tent, “would you rather yours, or mine?”
She turned deep red again. “Huh?”
“We wouldn’t want to be doing this in Shadowheart’s tent, now, would we, darling?” He purred, as he enjoyed how flustered she was getting.
She shook her head clear. “Hah,” she laughed weakly, “maybe I’m not as awake as I thought, huh. Anyway, sure — your tent has the nice pillows, and I haven’t made my bedroll, so we’ll go to yours.”
“Good choice.”
The first lesson was brief, but it went well. He gave her a run-down of all the tools in the kit, their primary uses, and he pointed out the essential, most versatile picks. She asked questions here and there, but for the most part she was the most attentive little student, looking intent and determined to learn. He could almost see the gears in her head working overtime, make out the smoke coming out of her ears. He left her to familiarise herself with the lockpick set as he got up at Gale’s invitation to go collect firewood for the night. She gave him a thumbs up as she pointed at each pick and said its name out loud.
It was when he got halfway into the forest that he realised he had just given her a free lesson by doing his own chores.
Astarion sighed as he began to collect kindling. No sense in going back now.
The next lesson was mostly an addendum to the previous — two days after he’d left her to get cozy with the arsenal of tools, he’d tested her on their names and which of them would be most useful if she could only stuff three down a corset at a party. He was surprised to find that she remembered most of the pick names, and her selection was also quite good. He wasn’t the educator type, but he was proud of how well his little student was doing. He told her just as much and she just glowed at the praise.
“You really think so?” Tav asked, as he buttered her up by saying she may have a knack for thievery after all, “I’m surprised I haven’t made you want to bash your head against a wall!”
“Oh, darling — it’s not that serious,” he said, as they put the picks away to finish up for the night. He rolled the kit up and handed it over to her. She tucked it under her armpit. “You’re a very attentive student.”
“Thanks, Star,” she said with a soft smile, wringing her hands together. There was a furrow on her brow. “My old teachers used to tell me I was a special kind of dim.”
“Oh, my sweet, maybe it was just that they weren’t good teachers at all,” he said, “I didn’t find you any dimmer than most, but maybe you were like me and just hated the more boring topics.”
“Of course! My mum always said my strengths must lie in other things outside of books.”
Astarion didn’t know if he should be sad for her or if he should laugh. He decided on neither – At least she hadn’t realised that her mum’s aspiration was insulting towards her.
Not that he had a wealth of experience to refer to, but Astarion really did think she wasn’t that bad of a student. She did have confidence issues, where she would doubt herself and glance over at him before she gave her answers, most of which were correct. With that tidbit revealed, he could tell he needed to add the extra step of rebuilding her interest in learning and her confidence in her own abilities.
“Well, at least I’m teaching you something practical,” he offered, trying to reassure her. “Those old books couldn’t get you out of a maze unless you stacked them up to stand on them, and in a pinch the best use for them would be kindling.”
Gale would have had a conniption if he heard them.
As Tav stood to leave, thanking him for the night’s lesson once more, he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She gave him a surprised look, eyes wide with some concern. “What’s up, Melon?”
He handed her his laundry, folded neatly in a wicker basket. It was odd – knowing he didn’t have to do his own laundry, he threw himself into battles with little regard for the blood. He didn’t even cuss when he slipped on a puddle of guts. He gave her a grin, showing a hint of fang. “Don’t forget these, darling.”
The next lesson involved practice. Astarion was a more hands-on teacher, after all. He’d placed a medium-sized chest in front of Tav, once dinner was finished and once she’d finished washing up. He gave the top of the chest a confident pat. “Your first chest,” he said, as he gave the wood a slight caress. She looked at the box in a mix of anticipation and nerves.
“Darling,” he called softly, as she bit her bottom lip worryingly, lowering herself to reach the lock. “You learn this best with practice. Remember that. Not out of a book.”
She looked up at him from where she knelt in front of the chest, her eyes large and slightly quivering. Had he said the wrong thing?
Her face melted into a smile. “Practice,” she nodded, before she took in a deep breath with her eyes closed. She let the breath out slowly – a calming exercise she liked to do before she took aim at most targets, moments before their deaths. Despite her excitable demeanour she was very good at changing course. “Alright! Let’s get cracking.”
Despite his initial promise, a book was involved — but only to explain the internal mechanisms of a lock. Kneeling next to her, he pointed at the diagrams of springs and barrels and explained how they all connected — how keys worked, how locks worked, and how one can beat a lock without the requisite key. How each pick would interact with locks. Patiently, he answered her questions and explained the motions required and the tactile sensations she would need to feel out for. Once she had a working understanding of the goal at hand, he declared her ready to try.
He positioned her in front of him, and with his arms wrapped around her from behind, he took her hands in his and guided her through her first lockpicking experience. With the tension wrench in place, he let her pick her tool of choice. Hesitantly, she selected a hook pick. She turned to him for approval, still placed in front of him.
She was entirely too close. The scent of her hair and the blood running through her veins filled his senses. He reminded himself to try and feed tonight. It was a little distracting, but he pushed through – he had a job to do.
“Which one is that, darling?”
“The hook pick…?” she asked, rather than answered. She tilted her head in question.
“Yes, and?” He tried to coax her towards the answer with his eyes, and she tried to read his face before she replied.
“It’s… the best one we can use for most chests?”
“Are you asking me, or telling me?”
“I’m… telling you,” she said, as she straightened up. She hummed, and took a deep breath in.
“Then try again, darling, and convince me this time.”
“This is a hook pick, and this works best for most chests,” she said, more confidently, as she kept her eyes trained to the side.
He smiled, “Correct,” he said, as she grinned with pride and turned ahead again. He gestured towards the tension wrench, and she took hold of it, before she leaned forward to insert the hook into the keyhole. Her backside rubbed against his crotch.
He ignored it.
“Okay,” he started, lowering his voice as he guided her hand. “This is very delicate, so it’s best to pay as much attention as possible. Can you do that, my sweet?”
“Yes,” she said, her confident voice carried over from the previous question. She was staring at the lock as if it were a snake about to strike – he swore she was even holding her breath. He rubbed his thumb over her clenched fists, reminding her to relax. He felt her ease in his arms, and softly she added, “Yep.”
“Okay. Now, slowly so we don’t snap the pick,” he inserted the tool into the keyhole, finding the first tumbler and hooking it up with the hook end of the pick. “It can be a tight squeeze and you have to get your angles right, so just keep it steady.” He gave it a light flick, slowly pushing it up in search of the threshold he knew wouldn’t be far. “Can you feel that?” He asked, whispering close to her ear for fear that she would miss the telltale click of a barrel locking in place.
He did, and he wasn’t even directly holding the pick. Tav gasped, whispering back urgently, “yes.”
“Good girl,” he crooned, “now, on to the next one, slowly. You don’t have to get them all right the first pass through, you can come back to them to test them out.”
This would be a prime time to act on The Plan — while she had her backside against his crotch and her scent all over him, with his body and hands over hers and his low voice in her ear. The position was so undeniably intimate and very inappropriate, but Astarion was surprised to find he didn’t feel sexual about it at all. Tav was focused, her attention 100 per cent on the lock she was determined to defeat, and he was focused on keeping her calm and level-headed so as to avoid frustration from overwhelming her. He didn’t want to act on The Plan. He wanted her to learn.
She was deep in focus when Shadowheart passed by. “Oh, dear — foreplay just out in the open?” She joked, as she walked past with her nightly goblet of wine, headed to her tent. Thankfully she was unable to cut through Tav’s concentration. “If this is how you do your lockpicking lessons then maybe I shouldn’t sign up.”
Astarion flipped her off, letting Tav’s hand go momentarily. The cleric let out an uncharacteristic cackle.
He felt the final tumbler click in place, and immediately Tav froze and held her breath. He could feel her buzzing with excitement – he had to stop her before she broke the pick and undid their hard work. “Okay,” he said, “we’re near the end of it but don’t get too excited just yet, darling. Keep your hand very steady. It’s time to turn it but slowly, like you would a very fragile key. You don’t want to break your pick now,” he guided her again, and with her breath still held she unlocked her first chest via thievery.
Before she could even open the chest she dropped the pick and the wrench and turned to Astarion, who was forced to pull back to avoid being whipped by her hair. “Did you see that, Star? I did it!” She was abuzz with a frantic energy, and she looked like she was vibrating from excitement and sheer glee. She squealed, spinning to her knees to face him, taking his hands in hers and doing an awkward little dance with them. “I did it!”
From across the camp, with her attention piqued, Karlach yelled out, “Woo! Good job, Soldier!”
“Well done, darling,” he said, as he beamed with pride. Her excitement was infectious, but she’d yet to see the best part. He gestured towards the chest with an impish expression, “why don’t you check and see your reward?”
Excitedly, she threw the lid open and peered in, only to give an exaggerated groan.
A pile of laundry awaited within.
Astarion had surprised her with another box again, a few days later. With Tav doing his chores he had time to do as he pleased and he had time to prepare materials for her. He found that he actually enjoyed trying to come up with little challenges for her, excited to see her proud grin. Plus, her reaction to her previous ‘reward’ tickled him, so he hoped to do it again.
With her doing his chores some nights were write offs, and he would let her tend to her needs instead of practicing. Some nights he would get so bored he would sneakily take on one of his own chores without telling her. Tonight, however, their nights off aligned. And with a new contraption he was excited to test, he sought her out, determined to dump the remainder of the knowledge she would need for her basic lockpicking skills tonight.
“Hello, darling,” he greeted, watching her as she brushed her fingers through her damp hair, wringing out the excess water with a quick squeeze. “Ready to practice some thievery?”
“Absolutely,” she smiled, rising to her feet and throwing her still damp hair into a haphazard bun that tipped over one side. She ducked into her tent and emerged with a wicker basket, with his clothes clean and folded. “I’ve got your laundry here, too.”
“You shouldn’t put your hair up while it’s still wet, darling,” he chastised her, as he led her across the camp to a new chest placed squarely at the centre of his outside rug. She placed his laundry down by the entryway of his tent and he took it inside.
“I know,” she said, exasperated, “but I just need it off my back. And I didn’t want to get your front wet.”
“Why would I get wet?” he asked, upset about the thought.
“If you sit behind me?” Tav gave him a confused look, “Aren’t you going to, this time?”
“Well, I thought it best for you to practice on your own,” he shrugged, “but if you’d like a cuddle…”
She laughed, waving his flirtations away. “No, no,” she smiled at the box, taking the lock in hand and examining it, like she’d observed him doing out in the field. She’d been more observant of his lockpicking recently, and when time permitted, he would tell her about the types of locks they ran into. He wasn’t sure what information exactly she was gleaning from it this time, but he said nothing. He poured himself a goblet of wine but offered her none. “I think I can do this one myself.”
“I think so too,” he said, as he sat on top of the chest to watch her. He crossed one leg over the other, leaning on the chest with one arm. “You’ll find it’s similar to the first one,” he let out his signature giggle, “I would know, I picked them both.”
She made relatively quick work of the first box — obviously not at his speed, but he didn’t even have time to get comfortable, so it was impressive nonetheless given she didn’t really have much experience with it. Such was his burden to bear as a fantastic teacher, he supposed. She undid the lock while eyeing him suspiciously.
“Darling, I haven’t put a cursed skeleton in there, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he joked, and she frowned at him while she leaned her weight into the box.
She gave the lid a hefty push, keeping her eyes on him as she did so. “No, but I swear if you’ve put your laundry in here again —”
She stopped midway through her threat when she finally spotted the contents of the box. Not his laundry, no. He was a better entertainer than that – he wouldn’t repeat a good joke so soon after, that was a Gale thing to do. She blinked, comically, and her mouth hung open in shock, and Astarion found that her reaction made the extra work worth it for him — he’d been lamenting how much work he was expending on preparing engaging materials for her, but this the memory of her dumbfounded face was reward enough.
She pulled out another box. Locked. She looked up at him.
“Well?” He asked, gesturing to the sizeable box in her hand. He put the lid of the large chest back down. He instructed her to use it as a makeshift table, while he took up one half of it as a seat. “Off you go, then, darling. Do mind your pick this time.”
It was the first time she’d run into this type of lock, but he’d told her about it before. With the only guidance provided being which pick would be best, he let her test it out, reminding her that the mechanics of it all remained the same. “Patience, my sweet,” he said. So slowly and surely, she worked on the lock, her face in grave concentration. Occasionally when he saw her frown deepen to a level beyond mere focus, he would chime in to remind her that she was more than capable of besting it, given she was a natural with the first lock. It worked to keep the frustration at bay.
A few minutes of silence later, she let out a gasp as she turned the lock open. She kept the lid shut, looking up at him again. “Is it going to be another box?” She asked excitedly, with a grin on her lips. She lifted the lid slightly, but not enough to see in just yet.
“Only one way to find out,” he answered, and she squealed with delight to find a smaller box within. Ah, he did have her sense of humour pinned down after all. He hasn’t lost his touch at reading people. “A new type of lock on that one, too.” Using his toe, he pointed at a new pick. “Try that one, love. And change your tension wrench.”
Placing the new box on top of the second box (which sat next to Astarion on top of the large chest), Tav began to work on the new lock, hardly giving Astarion a glance for any reassurance. She was too excited to doubt herself – this had turned into a game for her, as he’d intended. He was happy to see her confidence grow — he said less as well, finding that she would mutter the reminders to herself.
You know the basics, Tav; you can do it.
Gale approached them, tilting his head questioningly at the stack of boxes. His task of inventorying their potions temporarily abandoned, losing to his curiosity. “What are you doing?”
“Lockpicking, my wordy wizardly friend,” Astarion answered, as he kept his gaze on Tav’s fingers gently coaxing the tumblers to give way. Gale let out a light laugh.
“Yes, I can see that much,” he said, “but I suppose what I meant to ask was if you just have a series of nesting boxes in there.”
“Well, I wouldn’t spoil your surprises,” Astarion said, as he poured himself another goblet of wine, his good mood astonishingly not ruined by the wizard’s intrusion, “so best you don’t spoil mine, hm?”
The wizard bowed in apology but stayed in the vicinity, watching Tav at work. When she finally got the lock undone, she nearly ripped the box open to reveal the next one. Gale let out a laugh, and he returned to his inventory work but occasionally kept an eye out.
“Where did you find these?” She asked, as she took out the smaller box and placed it on top of the box she had just defeated. She was building up quite a stack. “Astarion, this is so silly.”
He was surprised she didn’t recognise some of the boxes he’d collected recently – he even used them for field demonstrations, but he supposed he couldn’t expect much from her memory. “Less talk, more picking, please darling,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. There was a lingering smile on his face. This was entertaining to him too.
By the time she’d gotten the boxes stacked to her height she’d gathered an audience. Astarion heard Wyll and Karlach making bets on the total number of boxes she would have by the end, and Lae’zel merely scoffed at the display, but said nothing discouraging of Tav’s attempts. Tav had told her teacher recently that the githyanki had praised her, in her roundabout way, for wanting to learn a skill more useful than their ‘wizard and his reading’. He found that statement most amusing.
Shadowheart sidled up to Astarion with a goblet of her own.
“Well, would you look at that,” she hummed, one arm across her chest, the other upright and holding her goblet by her face, “looks like you’re not a bad teacher after all, Astarion.” She tilted her goblet towards him.
“I will have you know I am excellent,” he said, as he tapped his goblet against hers in a toast.
“She’s learned very quickly,” she praised, as she picked up the bottle Astarion was drinking, examining the label. She hummed, mildly disdainfully, which Astarion ignored — no one can be a snob when the choices were vinegar or vinaigrette. She put it back down and took a conscious sip of her wine.
Another box emerged from the ever-birthing box. Another series of whoops erupted in the air. Even Halsin had now joined in, keeping Scratch and the Owlbear entertained when they got excited over the cheering. “She has,” he affirmed, proudly. “She could use some practice to speed up and I’ve kept a few skills to my chest – I wouldn’t want to not be needed anymore, of course.”
“Heavens forbid,” the cleric said, before moving over to stand alongside Wyll and Karlach, who let her in on their wager.
After two more boxes she was at the last one — he’d saved an intricate blue box for the final one, the smallest he could find, swiped from an abandoned house somewhere. This one, she had never seen before – he made sure to hide it as a surprise. By this point Karlach had lost her bet, and Shadowheart was about to lose hers, which Astarion took some glee in. Tav’s confidence was brimming now, and she moved with greater surety than before, speeding up slightly despite the myriad of new locks she’d been presented with. He marvelled at the change in her. Maybe she was a natural at this after all.
The final lock was picked away and with bated breath she opened it to pull out a pendant. The group, barring Shadowheart, cheered as she turned to present them her hard won reward, and she gave them mock bows as they applauded her. Karlach gave her a quick pat on the back (before she could singe), as did Wyll. Gale resumed his inventorying and Lae’zel went back to oiling her weapons. When the dust settled, only Tav and Astarion remained.
“Thank you, Melon,” she said sweetly, as she admired the pendant, the weight of it resting on her hand. It was on the smaller side, with a ruby inlaid in a simple prong setting. The chain was also quite delicate – it would have been a lovely gift for whoever had owned it, sadly now probably gone. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. Truly, you have been so wonderful. Could you…?”
He motioned her over and she turned her back to him, her hair now spilled out of the bun at Shadowheart’s insistence to allow it to dry. Carefully, he took the ends of the necklace and locked the clasps together as she held her hair out of the way. She looked down at the pendant sitting between her collarbones, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.
“If only my teachers were as patient as you,” she said, as she turned to take his hands in hers. “Maybe I would have turned out differently.”
He looked down at their joined hands. “Darling,” he said, sincerely, tongue loosened by the wine, “you are perfect, exactly as you are.”
She looked like she was about to cry. Not wanting to deal with emotions heavier than what he was already faced with (and not wanting to have to examine more emotions than he was now pondering) Astarion quickly added, “I’m sure you would have learned better if your teachers were attractive too.”
He was too late to stop the first tear from falling, but at least the rest were held back by her laughter.
“Oh, dear,” he said, as she gleefully turned to him with pride, besting another chest (which he had disarmed before he called her over — it was a little harder to teach trap disarming and he needed to keep some skills to himself), “I may have to pick another class with the way you’re going, my darling.”
“Oh, Melon,” she grinned, as she blew at the ends of her tools before making a show of putting them away in her lock picking kit, “we could always use a backup pick lock.”
Astarion must have made a face before he could school his emotions — Tav laughed as she rose from her kneeling position, her hands automatically reaching out for his arms like she normally did when she was trying to playfully placate Shadowheart or Karlach. He intercepted her hands with his, pushing them away exaggeratedly. “I’m kidding! It’s just beginner’s luck.”
“Luck?” He asked, as he leaned back with a hand to his mouth, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a catty expression. He purred, “Darling, if you think you just got lucky then maybe we should consider… extending those lessons.”
She shoved him lightly. He let her. “No! I don’t want to do your chores anymore.”
“Oh, my sweet, we can renegotiate the terms,” he said, as he slung an arm over her shoulder to lead her away from the chest she’d yet to empty. He’ll do that later. “You know, I’ve been really enjoying not doing my own laundry…”