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Tav thinks she’s happy.
She has a house in the lower city, a husband who would hang the moon for her, and friends that she can turn to if any of the former went sour. She’s the hero of Baldur’s Gate; her drinks are paid for in any tavern she steps foot in. By all means, she should be happy.
She is happy.
Except when she isn’t. On nights when her magistrate husband is out at a pub, kissing her chastely on the cheek without so much as a disingenuous invitation to join him, leaving her to mull over her thoughts. It’s on nights like these that she starts to think of her former companions.
Gale of Waterdeep. He’s probably tucked deep away in a tower, hidden behind mounds of books. They exchange letters, now and again, when Gale’s dragged himself up from his books long enough to scrawl something out on parchment.
Wyll Ravengard. She’d attended his coronation six months ago. He’s much too busy to worry himself over someone as trivial as Tav, but he still managed to invite her to celebratory feasts and legislative meetings. The thought of involving herself with politics was nauseating, so she’d declined most times, but she appreciated the gesture.
Astarion– Tav doesn’t let herself think about Astarion. It’s hard enough having to live with the memory of his bite on her neck and the ghostly pinpricks of his touch on her skin.
Distantly, Tav reaches out to pour herself a glass of wine. If her husband could spend the night debasing himself in public, there was no harm in debasing herself in private.
Her thoughts drift back to Astarion, as they always do. She isn’t sure if she’d ever stopped thinking of him.
“I think what you need is a friend, not a lover”
The words haunt her. Tav doesn’t regret them, can’t afford to regret them, because regretting them would mean she isn’t happy. It would mean that she meant to take advantage of a broken man. A man who believed that the first person to show him kindness in two hundred years was his soulmate.
Tav knows that breaking off their sordid love affair was the correct decision. She’d do it again, if she had to. Her feelings towards Astarion meant nothing if it meant giving him the space to trust her without the expectation of romance. And he had trusted her, hadn’t he? More than he would’ve if they’d continued sleeping together.
A knock on the door interrupts her lascivious pity party. Tav sets her glass down, mildly surprised to find the bottle half empty.
Tav opens the door, half expecting to find her husband in a drunken stupor after losing his keys. What she doesn’t expect is Astarion.
He’s just as handsome as the day he left her. All piercing red eyes, regal cheekbones, and a jawline that could cut glass. He looks healthier, though. There’s a flush to his cheeks and a give to his flesh that wasn’t there before. The thought of someone else taking care of him warms Tav. It also makes her want to gouge her own eyes out.
“What are you doing here?” Tav asks, and she hates how accusatory she sounds. She hurries to save it. “I mean—I sent letters to every tavern in the city! I searched for you for days, weeks, months. I only stopped because Shadowheart said you might not want to be found, not by me at least.”
Astarion laughs at that. The sound is tinny, musical, like wind chimes during a monsoon. “That cleric was always too perceptive for her own good.” he grumbles goodnaturedly. “But we can discuss that later, darling, preferably when you’ve remembered your manners and invite me in.”
Tav rolls her eyes, but she opens the door wider and side steps to make room for him. “Forgive me, your highness, please come in. Most of my esteemed guests have the forethought to inform me before a visit.”
He sidles in like he owns the place. It sends Tav’s mind careening down unhelpful avenues, thoughts and flashes of welcoming Astarion home instead of her husband. When his hands brush hers in passing, a lance of electricity jolts down her spine.
Tav ignores it, shutting the door behind her. She busies herself from memories of his hands by pouring a glass of wine for the two of them. Her hands tremble as she pours, and Astarion moves to encompass them to steady her.
A small flicker of something passes through Astarion’s face. He controls it quickly, replacing it with an easy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The tension doesn’t fade so easily from his body, a thin cord of muscle pulsing in his neck as his hands flex at his sides.
“I didn’t know you were—“ Astarion clears his throat. His eyes are fixed on the ring adorning her left hand. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“Oh—“ Tav flushes with embarrassment. She almost wants to cover it, as irrational as that would be. “I suppose I am. Met him at a tavern a few months ago. Spur of the moment decision, if you know what I mean.”
Just as quickly as that flash of vulnerability appeared, it’s replaced by feigned disinterest and boredom. His upturned eyes are staring pointedly at his nail beds. It makes Tav nauseous.
“What have you been up to?” Tav asks, desperate to cut through the silent wall Astarion’s built. It’s times like this she still wishes she had the tadpole, to poke and prod inside the impenetrable space Astarion has placed between them.
Finally, he makes eye contact with her. His eyes are blank, but the tension along his throat hasn’t faded.
“Oh, the usual debauchery.” He says curtly. “Nothing as exciting as you, obviously. Married within a few months? I expected better from you.”
“That’s not fair, Astarion. You don’t get to just—cavort from tavern to tavern, feeding on whoever you want and judge me for my choices. You didn’t want to be found, and believe me, I tried.”
She feels the spring of tears rush to her eyes, but she wills them back. She refuses to let him see her as a sniveling, lovesick puppy.
The facade drops from Astarion’s face for a moment. He lets her see the conflict in his eyes, the lovesickness that she’s sure is mirrored on her own expression.
“I wasn’t cavorting, as you’ve so callously described my actions. I was ashamed.” Astarion swallows, and Tav follows the motion of his throat shamelessly, desperately. “I couldn’t damn you to an existence of darkness. To steal you from the sun—it was a fate worse than death.”
“I tried to resist, but I am a selfish, selfish man, Tav. I came here with the intention of asking for you back, of proving that I was a changed man, that I knew what I wanted. And I want you. To see you bear the scar of my bite, wedded to another man? It drives me mad.”
“Say the word, and I’ll go. But before I do, answer me this: are you happy?”
The question gives her pause. She is happy, or as happy as she can be, isn’t she? Never mind the sleepless nights next to a man that could never, ever compare to Astarion. The months spent searching desperately, hoping at the very least that he was alive.
Her hesitation is all it takes for him to continue.
“Run away with me,” Astarion says, and his voice has taken on a pleading edge that’s too similar to how he sounded all those months ago in Cazador’s crypt. Tav flinches with just how much that plaintive tone affects her, even now. A nagging thought in the back of her head says it always will.
Tav should turn away from him and his plaintive stare, those ruby red eyes that have never looked more vulnerable. She should quietly, firmly show him the door, should close the door on him and what could’ve been once and for all.
She’s happy. She has a beautiful home, a husband who loves her, and more friends than she can count. Tav has no reason to leave.
She has her bag packed before she can think about just how bad of an idea this is.