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Chapter Text

Tavali was usually good at maintaining a stoic disposition in the face of her enemies.

She didn’t scare or frighten easily, and at a moment’s notice she could turn on the charm that was both instilled in her from her mother’s lessons as an innkeeper and innate within her fey blood.

But this was getting ridiculous.

For minutes now, she and Jaheira had been keeping this loathsome Sharran occupied by selling him some of the junk they’d pilfered from Moonrise Towers. Lae’zel stood behind them to hand over battered pieces of armor or weapons they'd planned to sell in the city anyway. The githyanki passed them the cheapest pieces one by one and did her best to avoid looking at the man, lest she give away the game.

The soldiers and the sorcerer had the black-haired man distracted by ordinary, everyday goods already worth only a handful of gold, taking his meager offerings of coin each time they made a trade. They kept his interest from drifting by occasionally producing a luminous white pearl or strawberry red agate

And meanwhile, Astarion was robbing the Dark Lady’s servant blind.

So far, Tavali had seen a cloak, a longbow, and several jewels disappear into Astarion’s pack or onto his back while he moved on silent feet out of the man’s sight.

Her rogue was doing this, undetected, in broad daylight.

Truly, she couldn’t fathom how he moved sometimes. If she hadn’t known what he was up to, she’d never have caught on.

“What in the hells,” the man grinned as Lae’zel handed over another dagger. “You loot every corpse between here and Elturel?” He seemed impressed by the idea.

The fact that this man was both a swindler taking advantage of destitute refugees and a Sharran keeping an eye out for Shadowheart just made this all the sweeter.

Tavali was just grateful Jaheira didn’t seem to mind their antics.

But when Astarion at last lifted a great silvery blue warhammer from the items on display and his knee wobbled just slightly under the weight, Tavali decided it was time to cut and run.

“Well, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure,” she said with a forced grudging tone, “But I do appreciate the coin and you taking this stuff off our hands.”

Astarion heard her hint and backed slowly and carefully away. The sorcerer wasn’t sure that the grass even moved beneath his feet.

“Feel free to come back if you find any more goods.” Ferg kept up a knowing smirk. “These camps are dangerous. If you keep too much, it’s hard to know who will put a knife in your back.”

Astarion was far enough away and he started moving, putting swathes of distance between himself and Drogher until Tavali thought he disappeared around a corner back toward the barn. She desperately hoped the three of them got clear before more trouble came.

“If we should need to offload more,” the half-elf said slowly and while keeping eye contact with the human man, “will we find you here? Or do you move about every day?”

He didn't look away from her toward his depleted stash.

“Oh, I'll be around. You come looking and I'll find you.” There was a wicked, leering glint to his dark eyes now, and Tavali had enough.

“Good day, then,” she inclined her head.

Then she spun around smoothly and jerked her head for her female companions to follow her back up the path toward the main thoroughfare.

“Not that I disapprove, per se,” the Harper started once they'd gotten far enough, “since he admitted to being an exploitative bastard, but why were you stealing everything he owned?”

“He’s a Sharran,” Tavali muttered. Jaheira looked at her, brows furrowing quickly as they walked.

“How do you know that?”

“I, uh,” Tavali tapped a finger to her right temple. “Cheated. He was behaving so poorly and watching the crowds too carefully. I thought he might have been involved with the toys and the bombs.” Tavali had been sickened just thinking of one of the precious tiefling children at the barn or the young girl Yenna clutching one of those bears close only for it to explode. “When I read his mind, right at the forefront was the mission to watch out for Shadowheart trying to sneak back into the city with the refugees.”

Jaheira stared at her as they walked.

“A neat trick to have, I suppose.”

Lae’zel scoffed to the side, but said nothing more.

They didn't hear anyone kick up a fuss as they put distance between themselves and the Sharran, heading past the mansion where the thugs' bodies had been earlier that day.

“Let's drop what we collected off at camp, then head toward the general shop,” Tavali said briskly as they came to a stop at the mostly unoccupied path back to their camp. “We can take cover there and offload the rest of this,” she jerked a thumb at Lae'zel’s and her own packs, “in case guards are about to go sprinting past.”

Privately, Tavali hoped they were clear of that danger. How was Drogher going to report missing merchandise without drawing the manips’s attention?

Astarion appeared moments later, a truly superior and self-congratulatory grin on his face.

She rolled her lips to try to fight it, but Tavali's cheeks pinked and she grinned back all the same.

“Not that it wasn't impressive, but no one likes a braggart, Astarion.” Jaheira said, a bit jovial despite the words.

Tavali started giggling harder as they headed up the inclined path and turned right. 

“I don't know, Harper,” he gave Tavali a smug side eye and smirk. “I think some people like it plenty.”

The sorcerer only laughed more openly.

“You're ridiculous. Insane,” Tavali added as they headed up the slope toward camp. She was eager to examine their newly acquired goods outside the town and away from prying eyes. She also wasn't foolish enough to think Ferg hadn't noticed everything Astarion had taken by now. He might still try to come after them. “A lunatic.”

“All true, but only if I'd been caught, darling.” Astarion tossed his hair and whipped the new longbow off his back. “Instead, I'm a daring scoundrel. A dashing rapscallion. Unsung champion of the poor.” He ran his fingers over the finely carved wooden edges but gave her a once over.

“Ye gods,” Jaheira moaned behind them. Tavali looked over her shoulder to see her staring into the blue sky.

But the sorcerer just couldn't stop smiling for the moment.

They'd beaten back thugs this morning and found explosive teddy bears just an hour ago and yet again he made her laugh despite it all.

“You did that in broad daylight,” she nudged his right arm with her left elbow. “There was a guard a dozen paces away!”

“And she saw nothing,” he snorted dismissively and ran his fingers over the bow string. “Too busy trying to talk down those Rivington protesters.” He shot her a cocked eyebrow over his fangs.

“I know this face,” Lae'zel spoke up suddenly from Tavali’s right side. The githyanki shifted her still somehow bulging pack over her left shoulder. “Karlach taught me the expression.” The githyanki looked fixedly at Astarion. She raised her right hand in front of Tavali and pointed her index finger at Astarion’s face while he crossed his eyes to look at it.

With great certainty, Lae'zel proclaimed. “You are shit-eating.”

There was a pause as everyone checked their steps to process that.

Tavali choked once on a small, incredulous guffaw, forcing herself to take another step up the path.

Astarion sputtered once, bringing his free right hand up to rub over his eyes. “For gods’ sake,” he muttered.

Then Tavali was laughing outright. The curly-haired woman let out a whoop of laughter as she bent over her stomach slightly. “Oh, oh my gods, Lae'zel.” She straightened with her right hand pressed over her abdomen to look between the rogue and warrior on either side of her. “That was too good.”

Behind her, Tavali heard Jaheira cough and chuckle into her fist. “You are exactly right, Lae'zel.” The Harper said. “In spirit, at least.”

“As if I don't get enough grief about what I actually eat,” Astarion complained and dropped his hand. He was shaking his head slightly with a smile still full of mirth. “Now I've got to put up with translation errors about it?”

Lae'zel glanced back and forth between the three of them.

“Tsk’va! If I have said it wrong, enlighten me.” She looked put out under the angry bluster.

Tavali wrapped her right arm up and across the githyanki's shoulders in a brief squeeze.

“You didn't really say it wrong.” Tavali giggled at Lae'zel's narrowed eyes. “You didn't!” She laughed again and explained as they crested the hill and the abandoned farm came into view.

After supper on their last night before they were supposed to reach Rivington, she and Astarion found themselves like they usually did: sitting together with a bottle of wine and a view of their friends around the fire.

Tonight, Aylin was in high spirits. The paladin was tossing Isobel arounding in a boisterous dance while Wyll obligingly played an upbeat tune on his lute. The cleric was giggling breathlessly as she was thrown into the air and caught again just as easily.

It was a sweet scene, and Tavali took it in while reclining against Astarion's chest from where she sat between his legs. She’s switched into her camp clothes like he had, both finally able to wear looser and thinner garments now that they were outside the Shadow Curse and back into proper early fall weather. Although she wasn’t even certain if, in the days that had passed since her abduction, it was only Eleint or if it had turned into Marpenoth.

Aylin spun Isobel around so quickly it might have given a lesser person whiplash, but the half-elf girl seemed pleased by it.

“Thank the gods she and Aylin both survived and found each other again. Or, well, one in particular,” Tavali added with a mindless toast toward the luminous half moon visible over their camp.

Isobel had been a sweet addition to their camp, even though she and Aylin mostly kept to themselves. The cleric was friendly, but Tavali privately suspected she wasn’t as outgoing as Aylin was.

But Tavali had deeply empathized with her explanation of her love for Aylin, and how the aasimar’s immortality had not daunted Isobel in her pursuit of true love.

Tavali had only had her rogue a handful of weeks, and the thought of not being able to love him felt like a fist around her heart.

"I suppose she's another fine example of the saying 'you can't choose your family,'" Astarion responded blandly.

“Poor Isobel,” she agreed quietly. “What he put her through.” Tavali didn’t want to say Thorm’s name and conjure the spector of him in their warm camp. She shook herself slightly. “Just the thought of it gives me chills.”

Astarion nodded absently. “The transformation he went through was,” he paused, “horrifying.” His shoulder shifted beneath her. “So powerful, but so grotesque.” He huffed. “There was hardly anything of the man left, even before we finished him.”

Tavali heard what he said, each word serious and without mockery intended. She had to take a deep breath to refrain from saying something too quickly that she would regret.

Instead, she focused for a moment on their friends.

Karlach was cheering the dancing aasimar and Chosen of Selûne on. The tiefling snatched Wyll’s arms up in her own to corral him toward the fire, seeming not to grasp that Wyll might not be able to keep the music going if he was dancing himself.

Tavali tipped her head on Astarion’s left shoulder, fidgeting in place. “It’s probably for the best that Isobel didn’t have to see him again after she ran. She and I spoke one of the nights on the walk here. To see someone you love, and then see that there’s nothing left of that person,” Tavali shuddered badly enough that Astarion’s hands came up to rest over her arms, and his legs bracketed her in more deeply. “I can’t imagine anything more heartbreaking.”

Except Astarion was forcing her to imagine that very possibility more and more as they headed toward the city. Tavali did her best to keep her temper, to not snap at him any time he tried to broach the ascension with her. She knew well enough that not talking about it wasn’t going to make his desire for power go away. Arguing like they had that night in Moonrise Towers hadn’t helped matters, even if he was the one to become hostile first.

It was hard to keep talking about it when she didn’t blame him for wanting more for himself. Cazador’s infernal “miracle” was everything Astarion had been denied for two centuries. He could walk in the sun again, eat food as mortals did, and would never have to live in fear of compulsion again.

Sure enough, that night found them discussing the ritual again. They stood apart from one another in one of the empty, ruined barns so they had a modicum of privacy.

The rogue kept trying to persuade her to help him, but in this Tavali was standing firm. Of course she wanted to kill Cazador. Of course she wanted Astarion to be safe. But nothing they’d found so far suggested they needed to steal the ascension from the vampire lord to accomplish either of those goals. That was just Astarion wanting to take power for himself.

Astarion was hurt, lips twisting and eyes crinkled with it, as he said that it was for her, too. He said he wanted the power to keep her safe forever, and he could only do that as the Ascendent.

Tavali gasped lightly and had to fight tears to tell him she didn’t want that, and would never accept that kind of protection for what it would cost.

Astarion looked like she’d slapped him.

But it wasn’t hard to tell him “no” when she knew what would happen to him if he became a vampire lord. She wasn’t like Wyll; she didn’t make a living almost exclusively hunting monsters. But there were enough stories and chronicles of vampire lords to know there was an enormous difference between them and spawns, and not just the power imbalance.

“Neither of us would be safe if you went through with it, Astarion,” Tavali said, weary and pained. “You wouldn’t even be you anymore.” She’d shaken her head at his confusion. “You can’t become a vampire lord and still be you. I may not be an expert, but even I know that much. Maybe vampire lords aren’t completely soulless, but there’s a reason you don’t see them using their powers to fight evil and save innocents. They're despots, and they always crave more power.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “Do you really think you’ll care about me once you turn into that?”

His face twisted, denial suffusing his features. “You don’t know that it would be like that for me. The Rite of Profane Ascension could be different. I would just become even more of a magnificent bastard than I already am.” He tried to inject brazen charisma into the words with his hands aloft on either side of him, but it came off too strained.

“Maybe,” Tavali agreed with no conviction. “But we’ve no reason to think that, either.”

Astarion had scoffed, clearly annoyed that she wouldn’t come around, and switched tactics.

Tavali agreed to help him find his siblings in the taverns around the city, since that made sense no matter what if they wanted to track down where Cazador might be hiding. And she didn’t want him to see them alone, without back-up.

Because Astarion was right when he made the point that if they didn’t find his brothers and sisters first, it was only a matter of time before they tracked him down.

Their group convened for a lunch break at camp rather than flaunting how much food they had in front of the refugees.

Tavali's barn donation of produce and meat that only had a day or so left before it spoiled had hardly made a dent thanks to the salting, drying, and preserving her team had started doing to their stores in the beginning.

Astarion had grumbled about it, but Tavali would take the way everyone else had lit up in approval over his griping about food he didn't even eat. As if she hadn't caught the way the high elf had smiled when she gave the small red-headed girl a few coins and a bit of food.

The others were duly impressed with their rogue’s endeavors from the morning. Besides just robbing Ferg, he’d also disarmed over a dozen traps and uncovered evidence of the “teddy bear conspiracy,” as Karlach was now calling it. That he’d also absconded with some of the mustachioed toymaker’s nicer garments, jewels, and books from his mansion was incidental. Even stalwart Wyll seemed to surrender any budding objections to the thefts once they had explained that the first man had been helping to create explosives to use on refugee children and the second had been a Sharran.

Shadowheart planned to speak with the black-haired man later thay day accompanied only by Wyll and Karlach to avoid any accusations over the missing goods.

“No need to make it clear my friends and I have already gotten one over on them all so early in the game,” the cleric had said flippantly.

Isobel had smiled at the plan, though Aylin wished only to smite the Dark Lady’s servant where he stood. They’d all talked the aasimar down from that ledge.

Gale set about eagerly examining all the new loot while Tavali took charge of feeding them all.

After lunch, Astarion approached her while she spoke with Jaheira at the druid's tent about their plans for the city. He stopped at Karlach’s tent first, handing her the hammer he’d stolen, before moving toward her.

“Mind if I interrupt?” Astarion asked smoothly. He lifted his right arm, and Tavali realized there was something dark draped over the limb.

Jaheira raised her small bottle of water in greeting to him. “By all means, ‘dashing rapscallion.’” Astarion rolled his eyes while the Harper made a point of turning around as Tavali faced him.

They took a few steps away toward the dilapidated barn to their right.

“I’ve something for you,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Not another present,” Tavali bemoaned with a pleading smile. “You can’t keep doing this, I’ve nothing to give you between running around like mad men.”

She also worried that the high elf felt like he had to find gifts for her now that they weren't having sex. His thought processes were often convoluted, but Tavali prayed he didn't think she required offerings to be with him.

Worse, he might be doing it because she'd shot down his advocacy toward ascension again the other night.

She hoped he just liked giving her things for the sake of it, and because it was a thing more traditional couples did.

Astarion ignored her and whipped up the garment he carried with a flourish. He flicked it sharply, and it unfolded into a cape.

Tavali realized it was the same one he’d stolen from Ferg earlier.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Tavali breathed. She reached out to take the bottom edges of it while Astarion held it aloft by the shoulder clasps.

"Think of it less like a gift and more like a tool to survive all this running around," Astarion said drolly in response to her obvious delight.

The cloak was gorgeous; a rich green with black stitching that formed curling leaves and vines up and down the length of it. The brown leather at the top was soft and supple.

It was exactly her type, which she thought Astarion knew by the way he was grinning in pleasure at her.

“Gale said it’s another feywild piece,” he said in explanation. “A nymph’s cloak.” The high elf winked at her. “I thought it fitting.”

Her cheeks went pink at his implication.

Running her palm over the center of it, Tavali picked up the traces of arcana woven deeply into the fabric. The cloth carried a slight iridescent gleam. Whatever its origin, the cape was heavily enchanted.

“Does he know what it can do?” She asked with a blushing smile.

“Oh yes,” Astarion said lowly. His smile was cunning. “It allows the wearing to cast a powerful spell. Dominate person.”

Tavali dropped the cape as though it had shocked her.

It fell limply straight and hung loose from Astarion's hands. He blinked down at the cloak and then back at her in surprise before frowning.

“Oh,” she said, hands fluttering in front of her chest where the cloak had been. “It’s, that’s, that is powerful.”

Astarion stared at her for a moment. “What’s wrong?” He asked perplexedly.

Tavali took a breath. “It’s- those kinds of spells,” she said unhelpfully. The half-elf cleared her throat. “It's not a good idea for me to use them. With my powers, where they come from,” she glanced over at Jaheira on their left, suddenly feeling too close. The distance between them wasn’t actually enough to keep her from hearing. “What we talked about,” Tavali said quietly in question, staring into Astarion’s red eyes and praying he would understand, “back in the Shadow Curse? Hags and the like?”

The rogue blinked again, eyes going distant, and Tavali saw when he understood.

Tavali swallowed, grateful he didn’t need her to go through it again. Much as she loved their friends and liked Jaheira, she wasn’t quite ready to dive that deep into her personal struggle with the older woman yet.

Astarion’s face fell, no longer gleeful at the prospect of giving her another gift. Now he looked dismayed.

“Ah,” he said lightly and brought the cloak closer to his body and away from hers. “Well, I, I suppose I didn’t think of it like that.” He borderline pouted down at the green cape. “It just looked like it suited you,” he finished lamely.

“It does,” Tavali reached forward and put her left hand on his right arm. He looked at her hand, then met her eyes again. “My love, it looked perfect to me. It’s just my style.” She squeezed his arm a little. “You were spot on.” She smiled at him, feeling horribly guilty even though neither of them had done wrong.

And for Astarion to turn over to anyone an item enchanted to grant the power to dominate spoke volumes. She knew how he felt about that kind of magic due to Cazador’s constant subjugation.

The one time he’d been hit with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, he’d taken it terribly. That enemy caster had met a swift and grisly end once the spell had broken.

“You know me so well, it’s embarrassing.” She shook her hand on his arm just a little.

Astarion nodded a little. “I do, don’t I?” He joked, but it fell flat. He lowered his right arm to hold the cloak carelessly at his side.

Tavali moved closer and raised her right hand to his left cheek. The high elf didn’t flinch away, so she rested her gloved hand there. “It’s a beautiful cloak. Thank you for thinking of me.” She swept her thumb over the apple of his cheek. “May I kiss you? I want to,” she added softly, “very badly.” 

Astarion’s lips twitched in a weak grin. “If you must,” he said softly, but was already tipping his head forward.

Tavali set her lips on his and wrapped both arms tightly around his neck. She felt his arms snake around her back and drag her in tighter. They passed a long moment like that in the shade until he let her pull away to breath.

“Thank you, my love,” she pressed against his left cheek.

Astarion huffed. “Next time I’ll-” he started, but she kissed him quickly again and cut him off.

“No ‘next time, I’ll get it right,’” she admonished gently, “or whatever you were just going to say. This cloak is lovely.” She squeezed and rocked them once. “You thought it would be a good power for me to have.” Tavali said into his left ear. “I love you. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

The half-elf felt Astarion swallow, and his arms around her tightened. He kissed her left cheek. “Who else would I trust with it?” He asked roughly.

Tavali didn’t respond, but met his pressure with her own.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t make it more than five steps into the circus before Karlach was nearly jumping out of her armor to check out the vendors and carnival booths. She seized Wyll’s left wrist and took off, shouting for Tavali to find them once she was done. The sorcerer flapped her hand and smiled tiredly as the group split up.

The early morning sun cast a peaceful glow over the idyllic scene. Multi-colored tents, face paint and glittering costumes on performers, bards beginning their melodies.

It would have been delightful, were it not for the squishy, decaying clown torso that Lae’zel currently had slung in a thick brown sack over her back.

The gatekeeper had told them all to bugger off until Tavali had whispered hurriedly into his ear that she thought they’d found the body of one of his troupe. Astarion had enjoyed the way the man’s face had completely drained of color when they showed him the remains kept concealed in the woven bag.

Few patrons had arrived yet for the morning performances, which was what Tavali had been hoping for when they planned to stop by and speak with the ring leader about any missing persons.

As they walked in the direction given to them by a pink-haired human acrobat, taking in the array of sights, Astarion caught the whiff of a now familiar smell.

He slowed and looked to his left.

There was a kobold in a coat and top hat. It was hawking bits of junk.

There was a human hand among the baubles, still stained with congealed blood. It was sitting on a plate on one of salesman's tables as though nothing was amiss.

By coincidence, the hand's scent was a perfect match for the chest piece Lae’zel was still carrying at his side.

“Darling,” the vampire said lightly, calling her back from the few steps forward she’d taken. Tavali turned over her left shoulder to look back at him. “Why don’t you come have a look at all this?” Astarion asked invitingly.

The small kobold started hopping from foot to foot with his jaw in a wide smile.

“Oh! Oh! Curly lady! Come see. I have lots of treatos and magics.”

Tavali came over, brow furrowed while Lae’zel grumbled.

Astarion lifted a pair of bracers without looking at them too carefully.

There’s a human hand just there, he sent to the sorcerer quickly. Tavali startled slightly and looked around. When she saw it, her face blanched a little.

Distract the lizard, will you, dear?

Tavali blinked, but agreed.

“You’ve some fine potions,” she said with only a slightly strangled tone. “What’s this one?” Tavali lifted a blue one and drew the red scaly man’s attention to her.

While the diminutive creature chattered excitedly, Astarion walked just out of sight and picked up the hand. He turned back to their githyanki friend and shook it slightly before dropping it back to his side and out of sight.

Lae’zel was quick on the uptake, her lip curling in disgust, and let him quickly and subtly tuck the severed limb into the sack with the body.

“Thank you,” Tavali said sweetly as she handed the kobold some coins. “You have a good day,” she finished cheerfully as she kept up the facade of a pleased customer.

They walked very quickly away and reached a tall figure in a truly inspiring purple gown who was controlling a line of skeletons in a dance recital.

What the hells? Are necromancers just around every corner these days? Astarion pondered into Tavali's head since she hadn't bothered to close the connection. He’d been surrounded by undeath for two centuries, but he’d also been out and about in the city most nights. Astarion could’ve sworn necromancy was still outlawed and met with fear and aggression more often than not.

Tavali responded by shaking her head in slight incredulity. Can't say they felt this common before I was abducted. He felt her own aversion temper by bemusement at what they were seeing.

The tall drow turned to them just as Astarion heard the lizard start chirping about losing something.

Too late now, since the ringleader was taking the time to speak with them.

“You brought me a body?” The apparent necromancer brought her left hand to her chest as though delightedly scandalized by Tavali’s quiet explanation of their presence. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

Astarion might like this wizard after all.

Tavali blinked, mouth open in a partial smile like she was unprepared for that kind of response. “Uh, not- not exactly. We have parts of a body, but, based on what he’s wearing,” she gestured for Lae’zel to set down the pack, “we think you might be missing a clown?”

The fighter dropped the bag unceremoniously at that point, tugging the strings loose so the striped costume was visible.

Lucretious’s eyes narrowed as she knelt down in front of the bag's opening to examine the corpse. “Well,” she said, darting an dubious look between the contents of the sack and the tents further down the way, “that certainly looks like one of our costumes. But no one’s gone missing,” she added matter-of-factly as she rose steadily to her feet again. “We just had a troupe meeting this morning. Everyone was accounted for then, and this fellow’s been dead,” the elf cocked her head in contemplation at the remains with a wave of her right hand, “well, longer than a night anyway.” Tapping a bejeweled right finger on her chin, she then pointed to the left down a dirt path. “Dribbles is getting ready to go onstage for his morning show. We can ask him afterwards if anyone lifted a costume. Maybe an overeager fan.”

So they were confined to the circus for another hour as the clown “couldn't possibly be disturbed,” and Tavali was too worried about whose body they'd found and the doppelgangers running about to take the chance.

They wandered back to where their collective adventuring party was examining paints, a djinni with a wheel, and a red headed fey creature.

“She's a dryad,” Tavali said with a look of wonder. “I saw one once when I was little,” she breathed. The sorcerer cast her eye over the enormous tree flanking the green woman’s table and chair. “This is, perhaps she’s bound herself to that tree. They can’t travel or live without a connection to their bonded tree.” Tavali frowned slightly at the vine and leaf covered woman. “Why would she come so far from a forest?”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow at his lover. “Is she not permitted to wander, my adventurer?”

Tavali blinked at him and laughed quickly. “Of course, but I’ve never heard of one who did. They’re said to be protectors of the woods and to loath civilization." Tavali tilted her head again as she considered the fey creature. Karlach and Wyll had just wandered up to her, so the half-elf came up slowly behind them as the woman turned to speak.

“This city of stone and city is an endless scream in nature’s womb,” the woman began forlornly.

Astarion had to choke back a chuckle when Tavali rolled her lips and glanced up at him with her eyebrows raised knowingly.

Dead on, my love. She sounds like the bear.

Halsin had been growing more agitated and prone to railing at the degradation of nature and lack of compassion in society over the couple of days they’d spent in and outside Rivington. Astarion was tempted to tell the man to stuff it if he thought eating food scraps and living in tents dappled by sunlight was such an unbearably cruel fate.

It wasn’t about being right, Tavali replied dryly as the dryad went on, “I have felt no peace here.” But why stay if she’s miserable?

“Your eyes, stira,” the green woman went on as she beheld Karlach. “There is pain, endless and deep. But also devotion, blazing like the sun. You are in love, are you not?”

“Oh, uh, I mean-” Karlach stumbled, hopping between her feet. Wyll at her right side ran his left hand awkwardly down the back of his head. “Yeah? Yeah! I am in love.”

Astarion leaned back, taking the young couple in. Tavali muffled a squeal beside him.

Lae’zel said chk! and moved away to find their other traveling companions.

The guardian of the forests went on, explaining her test of love to the bard and barbarian. The tiefling woman turned to Wyll, grasping both of his arms, as she begged him to try it with her.

She’s certainly got a lot of confidence, the vampire mused as the dryad collected coin from the two.

Or just a lot of love, Tavali offered in return.

Their companions took their places in front of the dryad, listening to her instructions and standing straight. The fey raised both hands, palms glowing a dusty gold, and a swell of warm magic crested over the two of them.

Karlach and Wyll breathed deeply, and sighed as though falling asleep.

Standing a few feet back, the tide lapped at the edges of Astarion’s senses. His body relaxed slightly, the smell of the earth and warmth of the sun settling around him like a blanket.

He felt Tavali's form shift at his side. He looked down and saw her hands rising up. A low blue light emitted from her palms as she moved them subtly over their companions forms.

After a few seconds, she breathed a sigh a relief.

Just a powerful illusion spell, she sent to him.

Tavali leaned back against his left side, and his arm came up around her back beneath her varied shield and weapons holstered there. It was an angled side hug more than anything, but one had to make do when your partner and yourself were often armed.

Did you catch a wave of it? Tavali asked with a little amusement. She must have felt his calm state. 

A bit, he conceded as the dryad spoke to Wyll and Karlach of their “bond.” It doesn’t feel bad, though.

He felt hesitation from her.

Will it upset you once it wears off? She asked, a touch worried. He felt her nerves at the idea of someone getting into his head without his consent.

I don't think so, Astarion replied easily. This doesn't feel like compulsion. And you don't seem concerned, so I won't be.

Gods, she thought back. It sounded shaky, if touched. She twisted a little against him so more of her front pressed into his side and her face met his at an angle. That's too much faith in me.

Astarion considered that, still feeling vaguely like he'd found a tepid stream to soak in.

No, he replied after a moment. I don't think so.

She huffed out loud. I love you.

The warmth grew by degrees. She said that every day now. Sometimes because he made her laugh, or did something impressive, or she was going to sleep and wanted to say goodnight.

He had yet to say it back to her. The words stuck in his throat, choked off by the threads of the leash Cazador had had around his neck the last centuries.

Maybe he would be able to say it when Cazador was dead and he had his freedom back.

There was a sensation like her hand on his face.

Want to take her test with me, her voice was teasing and sweet, like this?

Oh my love, he flexed his fingers where they fell on her hide armor, how could I say no?

He felt her smile though he could not see it.

The red-headed fey began by addressing Wyll.

“Listen. Think. Who does she loathe above all others?”

The question took both Tavali and Astarion a little aback, even through his dose of contentment.

What a question for a circus act, Tavali thought in surprise.

Indeed, Astarion agreed, sharing her feeling of mild disturbance. Hardly the sort of soppy romantic overtures you'd expect.

The Blade, apparently, wasn't caught off guard by the nature of the question.

“The man who sold her,” Wyll said firmly, “followed by the woman who bought her.”

Oh gods, thank the gods he didn't name them, Tavali thought with relief for a fear she hadn't even realized she needed to have.

Astarion quickly caught on. It certainly could draw the wrong attention to cry hatred for Gortash here.

Karlach nodded in place.

“Just the thought of either of ‘em makes my blood boil. Probably literally.” The tiefling rolled her shoulders. “Can’t stand either of the fuckers. Ding ding!” Her left hand flexed in a brief fist and rose slightly in praise.

The dryad went on, commending Wyll for his answer.

Well, that's an easy question for you, Tavali thought with the barest edge like a blade to her thoughts. Cazador.

He smiled grimly. Too easy a question for me indeed, my love. Rather trickier for you.

He thought about it briefly. The high elf recalled the memory she'd once shared of her spiteful and petty elder sister. He could recall the feelings of resentment and hate in the memory, but they had been sanded away by time.

I don't hate Helena, she answered honestly, if with sadness, before he could properly guess. That would take more energy than I have for her. There's just no room for her in my life.

Who do you hate most then? He asked.

The dryad was speaking again, building up to her next question.

Tavali let her head fall a little into his left shoulder.

Cazador, she said with simple, deadly sincerity. Like there was no other, better answer for her.

Through the pleasant haze still lingering over him, something burned. He tilted his face a little to his left so her curls brushed his cheek.

What?

Tavali shrugged against him, lifting her left hand to rest over his left still at her waist. Who else would I hate most? He beats out Shar in my heart. Gortash. Mizora. Vlaakith. Her tone was practical, matter-of-fact. That’s probably my top order these days.

Astarion blinked again. He wanted to ask after her own life, her own past, because surely she had someone she hated for herself? All her anger and resentment couldn’t just be for those who hurt her friends.

There wasn't time to get more or clarify that answer, because the dryad had moved on and Tavali's focus shifted back to her voice.

“Tell me, what is her idea of a perfect day?”

Wyll hardly took a beat.

“Vanquishing foul villains,” Wyll said heartily, “and celebrating her victories in the arms of the one she loves.”

“Oh gosh,” Karlach gushed, fidgeting in place. “You know me too well.”

Gods above, that better not be your answer, Astarion begged lazily. You hero types are exhausting.

What is your guess then? Tavali asked amusedly, keeping her thoughts more shielded than before so he couldn't cheat.

Spoilsport.

He took a moment to ponder it. She did love putting down evil when she found it, and he’d seen her in the moments after a battle; she would look around, take stock of their team, and glow with steely pride to see them all still standing and their foes conquered.

But that was what he liked. It wasn’t Tavali’s favorite thing.

Astarion thought of campfires, and plucking raspberries in the forest along the river. He thought of her throwing the ball for Scratch or tossing the owlbear a chunk of meat. He thought of her grinning at him over the cooking pit, or dancing in the Underdark with the merry, mellow feeling a glass of wine brought her.

For all he knew her well now, in a way she was still what he’d suspected when they’d first met at the beach. In her heart, Tavali was an sweet, uncomplicated thing.

As much as you like rescuing the downtrodden, you vastly prefer the days when we were all just traveling together. He sent along a cobbled image of their herd of adventurers on dirt path with the trees on either side of them. So you would have an uneventful day on the road to take in the sights and talk. Finish it off with a good meal with all your friends. He smirked into her hair, and he let his voice drop to a purr even in his head. And my body beneath the sheets against yours at night.

“Shh,” she giggled into his chest piece as if he’d said the words out loud. Pleasure surged up within her all the same.

Am I not correct? He prompted with a twitch of his fingers on her hide skirt.

Yes, yes, you menace, all perfect. She tilted back and pressed a kiss to his chin just hard enough that he moved a bit with the pressure. Tavali lowered her forehead back down so he was left with her curls again. But now I get to do you.

By all means, darling, he sent back with his lips against her right temple. Do me.

He severed the connection a little as she had, blocking her from peering into his mind.

She chuckled again but inhaled deeply.

You're well-fed, Tavali started slowly, allowing a scene to bleed through like a watercolor painting. And have absolutely nowhere urgent to be. You could lounge about all day, or seek out excitement and revelry, the pictured blurred between the imagined sitting room she crafted for him and a bar draped in reds and blues, more color and feeling than anything else. Or anything else. And the choice is solely yours to make.

Astarion deliberately breathed steadily.

His feelings roiled together; he was ruffled at how well she knew him in so little time. He almost wished she didn't for it made him feel as exposed as a snail out of its shell. But he was desperate to feel seen, to be understood so acutely.

He settled for deflecting from both sentiments, as usual.

Cheater, he accused with a smile into her hair. You didn't make a choice between which outcome I'd prefer.

“Hmm,” she hummed, body swaying just slightly in his arms in a way that made him move with her. Feel free to mark down my score.

The rogue sputtered once.

Cheeky little minx.

Takes one, she replied pertly, but then he felt her attention return to the dryad and what was, apparently, the final round of the test.

“A decade from now, what will the mighty Karlach do? Where will she be?”

The question made both their minds stutter.

Astarion felt Tavali’s immediate grief and felt his own swell of sympathy for the painful truth that Karlach very likely did not have a decade more. He felt the half-elf’s hands flex against him, and he kept a firm grip on her waist.

Much as they didn’t get along, Astarion doubted Wyll needed help with this.

Their bard did not disappoint.

“She’s settled down in a quiet village, helping keep the peace. She has a partner who loves her at her side. Maybe a kid or two.”

Gods. It's amazing he can speak with the sap wrangling around his throat. Astarion rolled his eyes with a smirk as Tavali gave him a mental and somewhat physical shove.

Karlach’s body lit up with the golden glow of her engine. “Damn. That sounds good. But, kids?” Her head tilted down, her feet shuffling aimlessly. “I dunno. How about a really mean goat?” Wyll chuckled, and so did the tiefling. “But, I don’t know. Things could change I guess. I’ve heard.”

Astarion tuned them out and lifted his right hand to Tavali’s left shoulder. He spun her carefully into a full hug, sighing blissfully when she wrapped her arms around him obligingly.

Where am I in a decade, love? He asked, eyes closed and breathing in her scent.

Free and able to do whatever pleases you. Tavali tucked her face into the left side of his neck. The rest is just details.

The vampire swallowed, pleased with the easy answer even as a smoky wisp of dread started to rise within him. The ashen taste of it was enough to drive the remainder of the tranquility dryad’s spell away like a cold breeze.

He had the good sense to gently close their connection and press a conciliatory kiss to her forehead before Tavali caught wind of it.

Details. Details like how he was going to ascend, how he was going to seize Cazador’s power out from under him. Like how he was going to walk in the sun forever.

Like how in ten years, who knew how powerful he would have become?

Tavali didn’t want to hear about that. She didn't want to hear that he was building another simple plan brick by brick the closer they came to his old master.

He couldn't afford for her to bring down another tower that he'd barely begun to construct.

Tavali didn't even realize she was doing it. Yet every time they spoke of it, she met his arguments with a catapult. For every point he tried to make, she lobbed burning tar and stones against his new fortification.

Just days ago, when they’d first made camp on the edges of Rivington, he’d brought up the ascension again. The sorcerer had looked at him like it broke her heart to even think of him taking that power for himself.

He was lucky it hadn’t devolved into another fight like it had at Moonrise. His lover had instead let him talk about it, only to disagree with most of his points. She wouldn’t agree to be smart when it came to fighting Cazador, wouldn’t accept that his power would benefit her, too.

“I wouldn’t want it,” she’d said dejectedly when he explained that he wanted to protect her. He’d felt the answer like a punch in the gut. The tower quaked with the blow, but didn’t fall. “You could offer me the world with that power and I wouldn’t take it. Not for what it would cost.” Tavali had swallowed, rolling her tongue over her teeth behind her lips. “So if that’s an excuse you’re telling yourself, you’ll have to drop it.” She shook her head just enough that her loose curls shifted around her cheeks.

It was one of the reasons he wanted to wrest the ritual from Cazador. He knew how vile and craven the world was. If he was stronger, he’d never be taken off-guard again, and neither would the people he kept close.

He’d gotten Tavali to agree to help him find his siblings lurking among the taverns and alleys of the city, at least. But her willingness had stopped there.

Since she’d still cuddled with him in his tent that night and told him she loved him, he was very wary of pushing her further too quickly. He needed her onside when they confronted his master, and he absolutely did not wish to spend however many nights stood between them and the Szarr palace without the comfort of her at his side.

Then they’d run into Gandrel and his tribe of all people, and they seemed to think he was capable of change, too. The were convinced that he was the key to defeating Cazador and saving their children.

What about him made people think he was suddenly the saving type? His armor was still black, red, and gray last he’d checked. He still had red eyes and fangs.

But Tavali had looked at him with her wide green eyes and windswept curls. She’d told the Gur tribe that she trusted Astarion’s word about Cazador, that their children were likely long gone. But if there was any chance, their band of misfits would do what they could to save them.

Astarion knew Tavali had been a terrible influence, because he’d even agreed with that plan.

Just like earlier the very same day when he’d agreed to disarm over a dozen traps in that rich fop’s basement and exposed a plot to blow up refugee children using stuff toys .

If he hadn’t been allowed to rob that Sharran merchant blind all while Jaheira and Tavali watched with insipid grins on their faces, Astarion would think he’d left the Shadow Curse and stepped into a parallel world where he was the champion of the lowly and not the monster they would happily slay.

Tavali rubbed her gloved palms up and down his back, pressing tightly enough that he could feel it through his armor.

The green woman was praising Wyll and Karlach’s deep connection when another voice spoke up from behind them.

“I thought Wyll and Karlach took the dryad’s love test,” came an accented taunt from his left shoulder. “Yet it is you two I find embracing.”

Tavali didn’t step fully out of his arms, but pulled back enough that her hands rested on his biceps and his hands on her arms. She grinned unabashedly at the High Harper, though Astarion pouted.

“Give them a moment,” the younger half-elf nodded toward her friends still standing with the redhead. “And they’ll probably do the same. We gave our answers more informally.”

“I see,” Jaheira said, tilting her head and looking at Astarion with a glint in her eyes. “Glad to see you made each other happy, then.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion said dismissively, moving to take Tavali by her left arm rather than hug her. He stepped to Jaheira’s right side to draw them away from the enormous tree shading the druid’s table. Tavali obligingly slid against him until they were side by side again and let him lead her toward their other companions.

“Oh, but wait!” He heard Karlach say in hurried dismay. “Don’t I get to do him, now? Wyll deserves to know that I know him, too!”

Tavali giggled a little but kept walking, content to leave the other couple to their fun. “Guess we avoided giving another hundred gold to that poor fey,” she muttered into his right ear. “We took her test for free.”

“All the better, my love,” he murmured back as Shadowheart walked briskly toward them. “I do know how you love to save coin. And,” he sniffed, “I have no desire to tell the whole circus our business for the sake of a dryad’s stamp of approval.

She squeezed his left arm with her right hand as the cleric reached them.

“Thank the gods. Can you take a look at this wheel game?” Shadowheart asked Astarion, jerking her head quickly backwards and to the left. “The djinni has obviously rigged it but Gale is convinced he can solve the trick. I had to confiscate his gold to keep him from spending half of it.”

“Oh, gods,” Tavali groaned good-naturedly. “That man has never met a puzzle he didn’t need to solve.”

“I’m happy to get involved, darling,” the rogue answered, letting his gaze sweep over the djinni’s pile of treasures that were obvious forgeries under closer inspection. “Anything to help our wizard friend.”

Tavali and Shadowheart both scoffed in unison.

In Astarion’s opinion, this morning was off to entertaining start; they’d met the outgoing ringleader, he’d stolen from a kobold, and gotten in some heavy flirting with his lover.

The day was really only improved when, after giving the vampire an opening to steal the djinni’s ring, Gale was banished to another plane of existence.

Tavali and the others didn’t seem to think so, nearly starting a fight right there in the carnival before Lucretious rushed over and promised their mage would be fine, he just had to walk to the portal home.

Gale reappeared twenty minutes later with an enormous old chest. The brunette was covered in twigs, mud, and bleeding bite marks like he’d fought an alligator.

“There were dinosaurs lumbering after me and I did not have time to pick the lock.” Gale pointed a finger straight at Astarion as he dropped the worn metal box down on the ground at his feet. “So please work your special brand of magic and tell me I at least earned us something worthwhile.”

Given the way Karlach whooped and Lae’zel and Jaheira looked over the the truly magnificent trident they lifted from the chest, it was apparently worth something.

Despite their wizard mumbling about missed opportunities to explore the jungle he’d traveled to and Tavali’s ire with the djinni for endangering her friend, Astarion could not be persuaded that this morning wasn’t a success.

The most disappointing part was when the clown they killed turned out to be a fraud, but he'd been able to add doppelganger blood to the list of creatures he'd sampled.

Overall, a win.

Chapter Text

Tavali agreed to stake out the Flophouse with him that evening, since they had no more pressing matters to address that night and Gortash’s coronation was apparently another two days away.

Valeria had been informed of the doppelgangers hiding directly under the temple and the murder weapon they'd missed, yet been summarily unimpressed or willing to change her mind on the murder.

Astarion had briefly enjoyed Tavali's frustration with the drunken hollyphant's uninterested attitude, but it was quickly replaced by something else.

An old instinct had flared inside him, one that freedom from Cazador and conversations with Tavali had begun to uncover.

He was irritated with the celestial for the half-assed effort, because- because if he couldn't rely on investigators to do their jobs properly, then the wrong perpetrator would be convicted. Because he wouldn’t have thought to order a second look at a case, or suspected the Sleuths of blatantly ignoring contrary evidence since that was their job. And it was their job to do their job so he could do his and punish the right damn person-

The vampire had to turn away from those thoughts. He hadn't lingered on them in two centuries. Astarion couldn't recall with certainty what he'd done, or thought, or felt. But it made a voice in his head that sounded like his lover's ask if he'd ever cared enough to ask those questions.

Then their party had spoken to Raphael and heard the devil's offer. Astarion had wondered which merry band he'd been supposedly stalking if he thought the sorcerer would ever agree to give him something like the Crown of Karsus.

But after Tavali had obviously declined the proposal, the poor thing had then had to talk past the Emperor's attempt to figure out what was going on and then deal with Voss's recriminations for not agreeing to give a cambion untold power outright.

Honestly. Astarion was going to need Karlach and Shadowheart's help to bolster their leader’s spirits after the bruising they had taken today. At least Lae'zel had acknowledged Tavali's wisdom in avoiding the devil's bargain after her initial angry reaction.

Their party split up, some to find supplies and some to explore, while Shadowheart and Lae'zel had agreed to accompany them to the Flophouse.

Privately, Astarion would've preferred it to be just he and Tavali. But the curly-haired half-elf wanted them to have more back-up. Of all their band, at least Lae'zel and Shadowheart could show discretion if they learned more about the ascension. The last thing he wanted was the Blade or the Harper getting involved with this.

And apparently, Tavali had a friend who worked in the Flophouse before she'd been kidnapped, and she wanted to introduce her to her new companions. Her eyes had sparkled a little when she told him that, like she was happy to have the chance to introduce him to someone as her lover.

Mad woman. My love.

But they only managed a few steps into the boarding house when Astarion's right hand clasped Tavali’s left shoulder.

“I can smell them,” he whispered, letting them take a few steps further into the inn. “My siblings.” His red eyes flicked to the stairs on the right.

Tavali turned to him on her left, eyes wide but then with furrowed brows. She cast a look toward the lattice window past him on the south side of the building. A bright orange glow was still visible, and she drew him to the side toward it so they weren’t next to the patrons taking an early supper at the crowded tables.

“It's only just sunset. How could they already be here?”

“I don't know,” Astarion answered tersely. It didn't make sense to him either. He'd never received orders to spend the night somewhere.

Why change our orders now?

Tavali breathed carefully, looking around. “Do you want to head up there now?”

Astarion nodded jerkily. “Best to see what they’re up to before they realize I'm here.”

She nodded, and gestured for Shadowheart and Lae'zel to come closer.

“Some of Astarion's siblings are here,” Tavali started lowly. She glanced over at him. “Do you know how many?”

He inhaled again, casting his ear to the floor above them. “Two? It's hard to tell. They smell different now that my senses are enhanced.”

“What's the plan?” Shadowheart asked perfunctorily.

Tavali glanced at him, frowning a little. “I think,” she started slowly, “we should see if we can learn anything without bringing you into it yet.” The half-elf was looking at him.

Astarion bristled backwards an inch. “What?”

“Let Shadowheart and I do the talking. If you can stay out of sight and overhear it, you can send me,” Tavali tapped her left temple with one finger, “the right questions to ask.” She looked at him, and went on pragmatically. “The longer we keep Cazador from knowing you're back, the better. If he really could sense you, wouldn't he have sent someone by now? Gandrel’s family hadn't received another missive to capture you.”

Astarion chewed on that, his mouth a moue.

“And how are we to get this information?” Shadowheart asked curiously.

Tavali grimaced at her. “Ever pretended to be an airheaded mark for someone before?”

The thought sent disquiet racing through Astarion.

“I can’t be certain, but it sounds doable.” Shadowheart cocked an eyebrow at the sorcerer.

“What of me?” Lae’zel asked in response.

Tavali gave her an apologetic look. “Can you stay off to the side with Astarion? If this goes sideways and they attack us, I’d rather the armored githyanki warrior catch them off guard so badly they make a mistake.”

Lae’zel didn’t object to the plan to be an intimidating presence rather than a simpering one.

That found them all walking casually yet carefully up the stairs to the second story. Astarion had hissed at Shadowheart to stow the glowing solar mace she still carried, and she’d only been able to hastily wrap the head in some rags.

Gods below, the people I’m stuck with, Astarion thought with more cruelty than was called for. But he was on edge. Two of his siblings were in this inn while the sun still shone, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

He’d only just come back to the city, and already Cazador was throwing him off.

Their party heard voices in one of the rooms above. Astarion knew those voices well.

Tavali and Shadowheart looked at each other and then moved into the wide rooms that held the beds. They moved naturally, as if they had not a care in the world, until they lingered against the wall beside the occupied section.

Astarion flitted to another wall, peering inside, and curled his lip.

Petras and Dalyria. He flipped back around to ensure they didn’t catch sight of him, much as he’d love to pick a fight with the human right now. To think how much stronger he was than Petras now.

The oaf started talking.

“Do you think the Master has plans to expand his territory? Take Candlekeep? Maybe even Amn?”

Tavali glanced over at him, lips pursed and eyes wide with surprise at how openly the fool was discussing such a topic. He raised his eyebrows knowingly and sent along a request to be let in.

She allowed it, her mind opening to his caress like curtains to a breeze.

That’s Petras. He’s an idiot. Don’t interrupt, he may run his mouth some more.

The sorcerer nodded.

“I wouldn’t dare guess at his plans,” Dalyria replied, voice nervous. Astarion breathed very slowly to remain undetected. He hoped they were too surrounded by their own undead scents to catch his. “And we need to go, Petras. I do not wish to face the Master if we are late for his preparations for the Black Mass.”

“I only need one more mark. Then we can go,” Petras said with dismissive reassurance.

“We have enough for the Master,” the drow responded, and Astarion recognized the anxiety in her voice. They must be pushing the boundaries of Cazador’s orders. “No more are needed.”

“It’s not for the Master,” Petras went on condescendingly. “It’s for me. After two hundred years of rats and dogs, I want a beating heart there, waiting for me once the Mass is complete and we’re finally granted our freedom.”

Freedom? Astarion spit across the connection so viciously that Tavali winced. He thinks the Master will actually free them? How could he have grown dimmer in the time I was gone?

Tavali glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“There is no time, Petras,” Dalyria urged. “He is expecting us back at the palace.”

“Relax.” The blonde did not sound intimidated by the inherent threat of running late. It made Astarion’s fists clench. He’d never escaped punishment for such a transgression. It had been the rack and kennels for him, even when he brought a mark.

Tavali turned toward him more sharply this time, and Astarion struggled to get his mind and temper under control. He hadn’t meant to be sending her those details.

“The Black Mass won’t start until the Master drags Astarion from whatever hole he’s been hiding in.” He heard the sneer in Petras’s voice. “We have time for one more mark.”

Tavali took that as her moment to step forward.

She pulled away from the wall with a tap to Shadowheart’s arm. The sorcerer rolled her shoulders and tossed her curls off her forehead.

“One more for what?” She asked with lackadaisical interest as she entered the room.

Astarion fought every instinct he had that said to rush in and stand between his lover and his brother.

Shadowheart moved to stand behind her in his stead, and the vampire had to content himself with that. On his left, Lae’zel had her hand on the grip of her sword.

“I didn’t realize we had company,” Petras’s voice turned jovial, and Astarion heard the sound of him and Dal turning toward the interloper. “Well,” the man’s voice dipped lower. “Hello, beautiful. Aren’t you a sight to behold?”

Astarion felt how Tavali was taken aback at the overly zealous greeting, and sent mild, mocking approval for her reaction back down the connection.

“Please excuse my brother,” Dalyria broke in. “He forgets that we have a very pressing engagement.”

“Please excuse my sister,” Petras rejoined without giving Tavali a moment to respond. “She can be such a terrible bore. But you,” Astarion heard the leer in his voice, “look like someone who enjoys a party. There's to be a celebration at the palace of Cazador Szarr. Why not join us?” He asked enticingly.

Too forward too quickly, Astarion corrected in his head without thinking. His technique has always been sloppy.

Tavali flinched mentally again, and Astarion cursed himself for the involuntary message. He needed to get a grip.

“What are we celebrating?” Shadowheart chimed in coyly when Tavali didn’t keep the conversation flowing with her usual skill.

Astarion whittled down their connection to a slimmer thread, too cognizant of the fact that he had been what threw her off.

“Oh, the lord is celebrating his advancement,” Petras went on blithely. “But you should come! It’ll be the talk of the Gate.”

“Hmm,” Tavali hummed. “I don’t know. We don’t usually accept invitations from strangers.”

Petras only laughed. “Well, good thing we’re such good friends, then.”

Several things happened in the next second.

Astarion felt a prick of pain down the bond, like someone had lodged a long needle beneath Tavali’s breastbone. Her lungs hitched unperceptively to those not sharing her mind.

He felt a memory rapidly flare up and dim even through the subtle connection left in place.

Astarion looked at her with a sultry smirk. His own eyes fairly glowed red in the fading sunlight. "Somewhere we can,” he paused significantly, “indulge in each other.”

Tavali quirked her lips a little to the left. “It sounds lovely, but,” she grimaced, “you don’t need to ‘reward’ me for anything.”

“Oh that’s hardly the only reason,” Astarion dismissed with a wave of his left hand. His lip curled up to the left, and one long fang gleamed. “It’s more of an excuse, if anything.” His face grew a little softer. “Assuming you want this too, of course.” Then the rakish grin was back. “But we both know you do,” he finished confidently.

Tavali rolled her lips, fighting a smile that would give away just how much she would like to have that with him. “You know,” she teased, “if I wasn’t already feeding you, and didn’t know you better, this would feel very suspicious.”

Astarion had grinned and given it back to her. “Well,” he waved his right hand at her, “it’s a good thing we’re such good, trusting friends now.”

She laughed.

The vampire felt as she made the connection and comparison, felt her think choppy words like same, manipulation, flirt, mark, and “simple plan.”

He felt and heard the ache in her as she forced out a strained chuckle in response to his brother’s joke.

Fuck, he thought dimly, and then aggressively. Godsdamn- Fuck.

“Truly,” Petras’s voice became more of a purr, “it’ll be a once in a life-time experience, I promise.” He finished a little breathlessly.

Damn that idiot. And damn me for not thinking-

Time to put an end to this before Petras did more damage.

Astarion wheeled away from the wall, giving Tavali and the two other women no time to react before he strode into the room.

He had a split second to take in everyone’s positions: Dalyria beside Petras, looking between her brother and the two women in trepidation. Petras standing angled toward Tavali, a cocky grin on his face.

The backs of Shadowheart’s and Tavali’s heads just before they turned around to face him.

“Keep talking and it’ll be the end of your life experience, Petras,” Astarion spit without preamble.

Dalyria and Petras jumped back a pace as though shocked. Their eyes went wide and their mouths gaped, giving Astarion a moment to take in the differences between his memory and reality.

Glowing orange-red eyes. All their teeth sharpened into fangs.

Why? He thought in frustration at his ignorance. Why do this to them now?

“Astarion?” Dalyria choked out first. Her left hand rose almost like she wanted to set it on him to prove he was real. “It- it cannot be.”

The rogue stayed a few feet away, coming to Tavali’s right side. His lover sent her agitation and fear for his presence through their connection, but Astarion finally broke it. There was no time for distractions now.

“That’s no way to greet a brother, Dal,” he said cynically. “Didn’t you miss me?” Astarion rolled back his shoulders and bent his elbows to throw out his arms.

“Why- why did you come back?” Dalyria was aghast. “You got out. You were free.” She sounded so genuinely upset about his reappearance that Astarion didn’t know what to make of it.

Tavali spoke quietly from his side. 

“We’re here to kill Cazador, and stop the ritual. That’s the only way to make sure he stays free.”

Astarion sniffed at little at the verbiage, but didn’t disagree.

Dalyria’s eyes blew wider again. “You- you can’t mean that.”

Petras recovered by then. “He’s playing mind games,” he snapped dully at the drow. “He can’t raise a hand to the master, let alone kill him.” The blonde turned back to sneer at the older elf.

“You have no idea,” Astarion tilted a baleful look toward his brother, “what I can do.”

Quick as a viper, he strode forward and shot out his left hand. He had his fellow spawn’s neck beneath his palm in a moment, throat and silent jugular between his fingers as he dragged his brother to the window and the still fading sunlight.

“No!” Dalyria shrieked, instinctively stifling her own voice with her fingers.

Screaming never got you anywhere in their home.

“Where is he hiding?” Astarion growled savagely in Petras’s crisping face. The human only groaned and writhed in pain, trying to break the stronger vampire’s grip. “Tell me!”

They carried on for a few moments, and Astarion glared unmercifully at the deep blue cracks and craters that opened across Petras’s face. His skin was rapidly losing structure, turning a dusty brown as the black sclera of his eyes glazed over a sickly, pale gray.

“Brother, please!” Dalyria begged from the far corner. In his periphery, Astarion noted that she made no move to come forward and help their younger sibling.

He was prepared to let the sun char the obstinate idiot when Tavali’s voice broke in.

“Astarion,” she called, with that horrible beseeching tone to her voice. “Please, isn’t that enough?”

Oh, but how he hated her sometimes.

Because of course she didn’t make it an order. She wouldn’t command him to let Petras scurry back into the shadows. If she did, he could tell her to piss off and that he didn’t take orders from her.

No, he thought resentfully. You’ll just make heartfelt entreaties and, his grip on his brother’s neck slackened, damn it all if it doesn’t pierce me all the same.

He took another moment to watch a piece of Petras’s cheek flake away.

“Fine,” he heaved, and threw his brother back towards the beds on the far side of the room.

Petras fell to his hands and knees on the wood floor, nearly bashing his face on the ground in his rush to crawl away from the window.

“You owe your pitiful life,” he said cruelly, “to my friend. Now tell me what I want to know.”

Dalyria didn’t hesitate this time, hastily explaining Cazador’s plans. “Do you really think you can stop him?” She implored at the end, likely revealing more than she ought to about her true feelings about the matter.

“I’m the only one who can,” he said decisively.

Petras broke in then, hands hovering over his ruined and barely mending face. “What happened to you, Astarion?” He demanded past his horror. “What are you?”

Astarion gazed at him, relishing the difference in their power now. “I’m more than what I was. The sun can’t harm me,” he lifted his left hand, unmarred by the light, “and Cazador can’t compel me. I don’t need to fear him anymore.” He smiled viciously at them both. “Now go,” he sneered, “before I change my mind about roasting you, brother.” He wriggled his right fingers in front of them, and Petras balked even as he silently raged.

To his immense surprise, both of them waved their arms in wide arcs. He jerked for his dagger, getting ready to fight, when they disappeared in a burst of red fog.

“Gods,” he cursed. “They can turn into mist now? So much for being the only one with new tricks.”

He turned to face his comrades then, body alive with adrenaline and the fresh information.

Lae’zel still stood in the entryway, sword at the ready, while Shadowheart was at his lover’s side.

The former Sharran was watching him carefully, while Tavali just looked unhappy.

“Nothing but fools all the same,” he went on as he faced her, “to think Cazador would free them.”

Her lips thinned for a moment. “Do they have any choice but to believe him?” She asked quietly.

“Well, no choice to obey, certainly. But believe? Psh.” Astarion flapped his right hand dismissively. “The only truths he ever told were the ones that held pain. Promises of mercy were figments.”

Tavali sighed then rolled her lips under her teeth. “You were supposed to be hidden,” she admonished. “I'm glad you spared him, but now they’ll tell him you’re back. That makes it much harder to take him by surprise, Astarion.”

“Let them,” Astarion quipped. Tavali looked cross at that. “You weren't going to get the kind of details we needed by chatting him up. And now I know what I need to."

“You didn’t need to throw yourself in harm's way so easily!”

“Only you're allowed to do that?” The rogue fired back.

Tavali looked surprised, but quickly shifted to offended. “I can defend myself just fine. And Shadowheart was right next to me.” She waved at the other half-elf currently stepping to the side away from them.

“And did you know they could turn into mist?” The half-elf's mouth closed with a quiet snap. “Because I didn't. Do you think Shadowheart could have grabbed you back if Petras had decided he wanted an extra mark the easy way?”

Tavali was silent. He saw her biting the inside of her lips as she tried to work out a response.

He wasn't inclined to give her the chance.

“And it hardly matters now, does it?” He asked in annoyance. “It’s done with. They know, and have no choice but to do Cazador's bidding." He shrugged. "I pity them for it. So let’s focus on the present and what this means for our plans.”

Shadowheart took a few steps away and headed toward Lae’zel.

Tavali crossed her arms and looked at him. “Which are?”

He tossed his head, catching sight of Shadowheart mumbling something to Lae’zel. Both women moved to head downstairs without a word. Astarion waited until they were gone before facing her again.

He lifted his head a bit higher.

"Seven sigils on seven spawn,” he began. “And Cazador has the other six. So we have to take the fight to him,” Astarion closed his right hand into a slow fist, “and take that power for ourselves.”

Ascension. Power. Dominance.

Tavali tilted her head back, eyes closed as she looked toward the ceiling. She lowered it again and looked at him stoically.

The tower rose up between them again. He was standing on the low, hastily constructed walls while Tavali stood on the ground below.

“You say you pity them, but then in the next sentence you plan to kill them.” Tavali's voice was hard, if not a little sarcastic.

“That's always been their fate, Tavali,” he snapped. “I don't have to enjoy it, but it's better they serve a greater purpose.”

“What makes that a greater purpose?” She raised her voice slightly, and it was gratifying to get a rise from her again. Anything but her damnable pleas. “Why do you have the right to sacrifice people?” 

“Well, I don't get to pick and choose how to obtain ultimate power,” he sneered. “And you act like their poor innocents.” He cut his hand in a wave between them. “They brought just as many people to Cazador as I did.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Did they have any more choice in it than you did? Were they happy to be his spawn?” Her face warred between anger and pain the more she talked.

A minor blow and dent to the wall. Not enough to bring anything down.

He inhaled deeply and didn't respond immediately. 

What did it matter? We did it all the same. No one else would care about that line. Why must you?

He tried to harden his face as he looked at her. “It doesn't matter. Why can't you see this is my best chance for freedom? For the future?”

She was already shaking her head, but she came in closer. She didn't pull away.

“I want you to be safe and happy. There's no chance of that if you do this.”

“You're wrong,” he said harshly. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Tavali made a sound between a scoff and a gasp. “You think so?” Something despondent came into her glittering eyes. “Has Cazador ever been happy?”

The question was so nonsensical and antithetical to what he could have imagined she'd say that he was momentarily rendered speechless.

It soared over the wall and landed with a burst of fire against his inner foundations.

Astarion snarled and tried to back away, but she reached up and seized his shoulder guards with her fingers.

“Has he been happy?” She demanded and tugged on him, succeeding only in dragging herself closer.

“He was ecstatic,” Astarion growled into her face, “when I was helpless in chains. He smiled as Godey dragged a hook through my guts and laughed when I screamed.” Her face twisted in pain but she didn't falter. He reached up and clasped her biceps through her armor.

“Is that how you want to be happy?” She pleaded. “You think that's real happiness? That's your plan?”

He bared his fangs. “I plan to never be in someone's thrall again.”

“So you'll become a maniac like him?” She flexed her hands against him once like she wanted to shake him. They swayed inches away and back toward each other. “Is that what you want to do with your life? Be like him?”

Cracks and fissures appeared in the tower walls, racing deep and dark.

He released her hands and pushed her away from him. She didn't resist and took two steps back. Her hands fell to her sides.

“Don't,” he hissed. She didn't flinch away. If anything, she looked more stubborn. “Don't you dare. You have no-” he cut himself off, since she did have some idea because he'd had the stupid, weak urge to tell her about the wounded parts of himself.

She'd listened to it all. Back when he was half doing it to shock and manipulate her, and then when he realized that it sometimes felt good to let it out. Then more in the false shelter of their tents in the Shadow Curse, arms around each other and her warmth bleeding through her shirt and into him.

His eyes started to sting, and he bared his teeth senselessly at the window instead of facing her.

“I will never be weak again,” he said darkly. “This is the only way I can guarantee that.” He scoffed again. “If you can't see that, you're being blind.”

Through the frosted glass, the last hazy slivers of orange sunset were disappearing behind the brown buildings of Wyrm's Crossing. The sky had turned to pink and purple.

She exhaled shakily.

“You are blind,” she said forlornly. “If you can't see how strong you are. Have been.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the left, lips pressing tight against each other. His fangs dug in just lightly enough to avoid cutting his own mouth.

He'd had to learn how to do that two hundred years ago.

“I would have broken.” Tavali said frankly. He looked over at her sharply, still scowling. “Do you hear me? I would have broken if Cazador got his hands on me and did all that to me. There'd have been nothing left.” Astarion shook his head and turned away again. The window was safer. “The tadpoles wouldn't have saved me because I would've gone so insane I couldn't pull in marks. So, he would have had to kill me as a waste, or,” she said when he made a disbelieving noise at that, “my powers would have erupted out of me to kill him or me. Anything to achieve freedom.” She said it matter-of-factly, like suicide by fireball was the natural conclusion of that story.

He didn't know where she was going with this. The tower was rumbling, bracing for another blow because he couldn't see what direction the attack was coming from.

“I didn't have that option,” he growled. “Or I would have taken it.”

He'd longed for death from the first day. From the first few hours as Cazador ordered him from his graveside and into the dungeons.

“I know,” she answered softly and without a hint of judgment. “But you didn't, so you had to survive.” From the side, he saw her step toward the window and face him. He kept her a brown and green figure in his periphery. “You know better than anyone how hard surviving can be.”

“It wasn't survival.” He snarled. “It was slavery. I didn't choose to persevere and endure.”

He had a vision then of a dusty, airless tomb. Pitch black and silent, his finger tips bloodied and nail-less from his desperate scratching.

Not now.

“You did more than endure, Aster,” she said gently.

Don't call me that, he wanted to snap. Except he couldn't, because then she might heed his wishes and never call him that again.

“If you were as weak as you think you are, you wouldn't have escaped him at all.”

Astarion had to look at her again at that ridiculous statement. 

“If you were truly only his thrall,” she took another small step closer, “you would have run back to Baldur's Gate as fast as you could, tadpole be damned. The only thing that would have mattered was returning to your ‘master,’” she said the word like an insult, and he couldn't help but appreciate that even past his agitation. “You didn't run back to Baldur's Gate the moment you woke up on the beach,” she explained. He didn't have time to consider what difference that made. “You refused to keep doing his bidding. You pushed the boundaries of all his orders and when you broke them, you kept pushing.” She was in front of him now, between the window and his body. “You looked for people who could help you, even if you didn’t think of it like that at the time.” The fading light surrounded her and lit her hair from behind. He met her green eyes, fierce and undaunted. "And here you are, planning to bring him down, knowing how horrible he is and what he wants to do." She tilted her head to the right. “Do you have any idea what that makes you? How strong?” She asked bluntly. He only swallowed, uncertain as to where she was going. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

He involuntarily shook his head a fragment.

She huffed a tearful laugh. “I see someone who is not broken. A man so strong he kept so much of himself, even after two hundred years of hell.”

He swallowed, rolling his tongue in his mouth and twitching his head just slightly in denial.

He'd lost nearly everything. The life he'd had before, the very memory of it, was splinters. Any family he'd had, people to whom he might have mattered, were little more than the bare outlines of figures in the fog of his past.

“All I kept is spite.” He rasped, trying to infuse hate into his voice and failing.

“You're wrong.” Her hands came up, hovering over his cheeks. He didn't flinch away, so she laid them there. “You're a man who did what he had to because there literally wasn't a choice. Yet the moment you had a chance to be free, you took it. After years of torture and mind games and, and-” she broke off a moment. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion.

A section of the tower walls was collapsing, like the ground beneath it had turned soggy and unstable.

“I- I don't even have the words to describe you, Astarion," she said, pleading again. There was something defenseless and vulnerable in her gaze now, like she was the one being so unerringly exposed. "You, you're just so much."

He shook his head, squinting his eyes closed to reject her words while his body betrayed him. His face pressed tighter into her fingers like she could leave permanent grooves there.

Ascension. Power. Dominance.

The tower hadn't fallen, still stood surrounding him. But it had weathered far heavier blows than he thought she could make, and Astarion worried what more might shake the structure before the moment of the ritual was upon him.

Lord. King. Master.

He started to stack the bricks back up, even with mortar that felt weak and runny.

Strong. Enduring. Much.

The high elf raised his hands to press over hers, his fingers curling to wrap around her own.

Love. Dearest. Aster.

Nothing was resolved. He hadn't- this hadn't changed his mind. 

Astarion breathed deeply against her hands, the air rushing over her fingers and replaced by the scent of her. It overpowered the smell of stale undeath that clung to the very floorboards of this place.

The light was fading in the window behind her as they steadied themselves against each other for long silent moments broken by the patrons beginning to carouse below and the crowds passing unaware on the street below.

Chapter Text

Their soppy session of standing in each other’s arms was rudely interrupted by a deep, pointed cough.

Separating from her, Astarion saw a dwarf with a close cropped brown beard eyeing them suspiciously.

“If you’ve not paid fer a bed, ya don’t belong here,” he said sternly. “Take your fooling ‘round ‘cross the street if that’s what’cher after.”

Astarion was briefly tempted to threaten the shorter man with his knife for the interruption, but Tavali lowered her hands from his face to his own arms before stepping away.

“Sorry,” she said half-heartedly, and moved toward the entrance. “We'll head downstairs.”

They only made it into the hall before seeing Shadowheart standing halfway up the stairs. She was leaning against the wall, and didn’t look like she’d only just arrived.

The cleric cocked an eyebrow. “All settled?” Her gaze was a little too knowing, too pointed.

Between her expression and her voice, Astarion immediately suspected that the silver-haired woman had heard more of his conversation with Tavali than he'd meant her to.

Or perhaps she'd heard some of their other discussions on the matter and just hadn't revealed her insight until now.

It disturbed him either way.

He didn't need any of the others learning of his plan to ascend. They'd only rail against him and interfere.

He took cover beneath the flagging walls of his tower.

None of them understood.

“Yes. I do want to check if my friend is still here, though.”

Shadowheart smiled lazily. “Curly pink hair? Chef's hat?”

Tavali lit up.

Astarion did draw his dagger, just a little, when they went down to the kitchen to look for Tavali's friend.

His sorcerer knocked on the dark wood door frame, poking her head around the wall with a polite greeting.

There was a single woman working over the stove. Her pink curls were drawn back in a short pony-tail beneath her white chef's hat.

The human turned, face blank and professional, until she got a good look at who had spoken to her.

The heat-flushed woman dropped the loaf of bread she'd just removed from the oven onto the counter with a great clang, eyes wide as she blinked rapidly at Tavali.

“You-” she stammered, and Astarion looked between the two women with a little alarmed. Tavali looked surprised as well, but smiled as though touched.

“Bleeding hells, you're alive!” The cook tossed her mittens off in a flurry of movement and threw herself at the half-elf.

Astarion's hunter's dagger hilt clicked free of its sheath immediately. Were it not for the strong way Tavali reciprocated the hug and laughed, the woman would be bleeding from a stab to the gut.

It was gratifying to see Shadowheart had stiffened similarly at his side.

“Hi, Queelia,” Tavali said into the woman's shoulder.

“You great git, where have you been?” Queelia, as she was apparently named, twisted Tavali in the hug a few times before pulling away to hold her at arm's length. “When you went missing during the attack, and nobody saw you for days, I figured-” the cook's face crumpled a little. “All your stuff was still here, so I knew you didn't just take off. You paid through three more days!”

“Sorry for the scare,” Tavali answered with a weary chuckle. “I did get caught up in it.”

Queelia looked horrified. “Have you been sick and injured somewhere this whole time? Why didn't you send word?” Queelia looked hurt. “I would have come to see you.”

Tavali reached up to rest her hands on Queelia's forearms and pull the woman's hands from her biceps. “No, I was taken in the attack.” Queelia blanched. “But I joined up with other survivors and we escaped. Only problem was the ship was so far from the city we had to hike back the long way.”

Queelia seemed to look around and notice the rest of their group standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Oh, gods, come in, come on back,” the woman backwalked with a grip still on Tavali's hands and ushered them further into the kitchen.

Astarion strolled in leisurely and took in their surroundings. Among the cabinets, sacks, and platters, the only weapons available were the knives along the counters. The woman seemed to be unarmed.

What followed was a quick introduction of them all. Queelia's eyes went wide as she realized she had a bona fide githyanki in her kitchen. Her heart skipped a little once Tavali introduced her to him, the half-elf glowing a little more like she was just so pleased for them to meet.

It made something within him quake slightly, to receive that look of quiet adoration as though their argument upstairs hadn't changed anything for the sorcerer.

My darling.

Queelia looked between him and the other curly-haired woman for a moment before an impressed smile crossed her face. “Gods above, Tavi,” she glanced at them all again. “You sure keep fine company.”

Tavali flushed pink, and Astarion decided the girl was probably safe enough.

Tavali was eager to catch up with Queelia and, Astarion realized, see if the woman couldn't make them some fresh food to take back to camp for their companions.

“Of course! You're too skinny, Tavi, you look famished!”

Astarion and the rest had flinched at that. Over the long weeks of walking and fighting and whatever scraps they could scavenge, the mortals of their group had all become accustomed to their somewhat gaunt appearances.

“I've some victuals that'll set you to rights.”

The cook was also, apparently, another soul Tavali had saved in her travels. They got the story while Queelia fired up her stove and got to preparing some of the vegetables and fish that were going spare.

As she wandered the Sword Coast, the sorcerer had come across Queelia and her caravan of people making their way to the Gate. Out of want for company, Tavali had joined them and provided some much needed magical support to the group over the next few weeks of slow, sweltering summer travel. That had come in handy when they were raided three times by goblins and bugbears along the journey and lost a third of their band.

“They were probably early Absolutist attacks,” Tavali speculated with a frown.

Once they'd reached the city, Queelia had found work as a cook.

Astarion wondered at that. He hadn't been to the Flophouse in quite some time, rotating through other taverns to avoid attention. But the cook from a few months ago had been a barrel-chested man with ginger hair.

"He apparently left with no notice," Queelia shared. "Just took off one day. All they got out of him was that he was being called away by his god."

That information had sent a pulse through each off them as Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Tavali, and he all realized what that likely meant. His love's eyes squinted in misery for a moment.

In any case, after Queelia got the job she'd gotten Tavali a bed in the inn. Their friendship had continued to grow right up until the Nautiloid had swept Tavali away from the streets of the Lower City.

Astarion couldn't be surprised by any of the story. It fit Tavali and her folksy heroism too well. And he and their companions knew too well how easily she made friends.

When the tale was concluded, Shadowheart decided to share her own idea of how the rest of the evening should be carried out.

“Lae'zel and I will take the food back,” she said easily. The cleric reached out to take the wrapped parcel before Tavali could receive it from Queelia. “Why don't you two stay here for dinner? Tavali can keep catching up with her friend and Astarion can get away from camp a while.”

Underneath the generous tone, the vampire heard a subtle command.

Shadowheart smiled sweetly at him. “You two need to talk some more anyway.”

Annoyance flared in his chest followed swiftly by perturbation.

Tavali hadn't been fooled by Shadowheart's false charity either, but she hadn't argued. There wasn't time when Queelia put her right hand on Tavali's left wrist again in delight.

Astarion found himself sitting at a small table in an inlet on the side of the tavern, thankfully secluded from the rest of the throngs coming in for the dinner rush. Even those without lodging needed food.

Astarion had taken the seat that faced the door to ensure he could keep an eye on the comings and goings. If anyone came in and paid them any attention, he’d see it.

Tavali took a glass of red wine from Queelia, and Astarion did the same only to avoid suspicion. He'd already turned down an order for a meal.

“There is something I wanted to ask you again,” Tavali opened their conversation as her friend darted away again with a promise of stew. She rolled her lips a little nervously. “I was getting information out of him without you,” the sorcerer went on. She didn’t need to specify who. “Why did you risk yourself like that?”

Astarion rolled his eyes and looked away toward the window on his right. There was barely any light visible, leaving only a dull Grey behind the translucent glass.

“No, please talk to me,” she was growing upset even as she fought to keep her voice down, and that was the crux of it.

“He was getting to you,” Astarion looked at her, lips twisting in frustration.

Tavali blinked. “What?”

“I felt it, Tavali,” Astarion look past her right ear to avoid her eyes. “You were listening to his lines and thinking of me. It reminded you of,” he flipped his right hand between them over the table, “how this started.”

Her face fell, but she didn’t deny it. She stared him down and took a deep breath instead.

“I’m capable to pushing through uncomfortable feelings, Astarion,” she said a little reproachfully. “And it's not like,” she rolled her shoulders and waited until he looked at her again. “I already knew,” she said soberly. “He didn't,” she paused and glanced at the table before looking back at him. “He didn't hit me with some terrible shock. It just,” she shrugged and frowned helplessly for a moment. “Took me off guard to be reminded, is all.”

Astarion didn't say anything to that, only swallowing dryly.

Tavali sighed and uncrossed her arms. She slid her left hand out, fingers curled toward the table in silent offering.

“It was strange,” she started slowly. “He said the same things you did. Different, but,” she paused. “Similar. Like you were both,” she hesitated again, shaking her head and squinting slightly. She picked up her goblet with her right hand. “Cast to play the same part in a play. But you’re different people, so you play the character differently.” Tavali wasn’t looking at him, staring unseeing past him toward the bar. She took a pull of her wine.

“I’m sorry,” he said lowly. He had nothing else to give.

She frowned at him, still looking reflective but more confused as she set down the glass. After a moment, she spoke. “I’m not blaming you for it,” she explained. “And I’m not- I’m not mad.” Tavali leaned forward and her left hand slid closer. “Is that what was worrying you?”

Astarion's lips pulled, pouting.

“Do you blame me?” He asked, trying to keep back the bite that wanted to come out.

“I'm not, Astarion. If anything I’m,” she looked crestfallen. “I’m just sad. For you, me, for them.” She looked down at her own fingers. They tapped a single rhythmic line down the wood. “It just makes me sad,” she said again, frowning at the scratched and sticky tabletop.

Astarion reached out then with his right hand and took her left. She wrapped her fingers in a loose hold around his.

“I didn’t mean for them to remind you,” he said quietly and begrudgingly, matching her gaze on their hands, “about me. About,” he waved aimlessly with his left hand before dropping it onto the table beside his untouched goblet, “how I used you.”

Tavali hummed. “It did, but you told me the truth weeks ago.” Her voice became a little wry. “I’ve already gone over every word and moment we had together that I could remember. This didn’t bring back anything new, or change what I feel.” The half-elf squeezed gently, and he returned the pressure.

“Good,” he whispered, glancing up at her again.

She shook herself. “Besides,” she started again, meeting his eyes with a weak grin. “It’s not like those lines were what won me over. You did that more when you were yourself than the other way around.”

Astarion exhaled a chuckled. “Oh?” His own grin returned a little. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the way you smiled and blushed when I came out from behind that tree and spoke to you of how I longed to have you,” he deliberately dropped his voice into a sensuous pur.

It was strange to joke about it now, like he had cast the night farther into the past than was the truth. At the time, he’d been wearing the cloak of the rake he knew so well. It was laughable she’d ever been lured in by-

“Since I was already in the clearing wearing a skirt with no underthings,” she shot back, teeth showing through her smile now, “I was laughing at you more than anything,” 

Astarion’s line of thought skittered to a halt.

“Laughing at me?” He said with some affront.

“Do you really not know what you looked like that night in the forest?” She was teasing now.

“You were like something out of a novel. Coming out from behind that tree, shirtless, with the moonlight in your hair.” The sorcerer waved her right hand up and down his body from table line to head.

“Your heart was pounding,” he said defensively, “when you saw me.”

He could remember it. Her pulse had started racing when he came into view, and her body had leaned toward him in yearning even as they had engaged in one last round of flirtation.

“Of course it was,” she giggled now. “You still looked beautiful, didn’t you? But then you started in like a tawdry romance and it was,” she shrugged, something giddy in her expression, “you were something fanciful.”

Astarion clicked his throat and picked up his wine goblet for something to do. The red blend was sour as always.

“Astarion,” Tavali said as though explaining something obvious, “I had already agreed to go to bed with you back before the goblin raid. Because you were funny, and sweet, and clever, and,” she broke off a little, shaking her head. Tavali cocked an eyebrow at him. “If you thought you were using lines, they only worked because they made me laugh. Flirting with you was fun. It was lighthearted, not something I took so seriously.” 

Astarion rolled several phrases over his tongue, wishing to prove her wrong, until he realized he didn't want to prove her wrong.

If this relationship was meant to be real, wasn't it all the better that she'd been drawn to him outside the pretty beguiler he had needed to be? That the moments when he wasn’t trying so hard were the ones she liked best?

This isn't a battle I want to win.

“If you say so, darling,” he acquiesced gentlemanly.

She smiled, softening again, and didn't release his hand.

They lapsed into silence, quietly sipping their wine while they awaited Tavali's food.

“It’s mad,” Tavali spoke again with a glance around the room. “I was here only a little over a month ago. It feels like a year has passed.” She shook her head lightly. “When the ship came, I was looking for work in the city, trying to feel out if anyone needed an adventurer. But now,” she shrugged heavily, “I feel like a different person.”

Astarion made a noise of agreement.

“I was meant to be making my rounds that night,” Astarion said distantly. “The sun had just set when the Nautiloid came over the city. I didn’t even make it to Wyrm’s Rock.”

Tavali hummed.

“Maybe we would have met that way,” her thumb rubbed over his knuckles, and she smiled softly like it was a sweet idea.

It wasn’t. It made his vinegar-laced stomach churn.

“Gods,” Astarion cursed. He pulled his hand swiftly out of hers and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t say that.”

“What?” Tavali asked in startlement, left hand recoiling an inch or so from the table.

“Don't- I don't even want to think of that,” Astarion said as a bubble of nausea formed in his gut.

Tavali didn't take long to pick up his train of thought. Her expression fell again.

“Do you have any idea how many souls I lured from places like this?” He asked darkly. “Wanderers just like you. Just passing through, staying at the inn without more permanent plans.” His eyes narrowed, the old self-loathing rising. “Transients no one would notice or miss.”

His vindictive imagination was already spinning with the idea.

Tavali at the bar, her beautiful curls loose from braid or bun and her armor shucked in favor of the long skirts and loose shirts she preferred in the summer heat.

She would be alone, sipping a glass of the blush she liked and picking at the remains of a fresh roll on the counter. Maybe she would be making casual conversation with the bartender.

He would have smelled the road on her. Dirt, grass, leather. Maybe the trace of whatever spells she'd cast that day. The markings of the perfect prey.

Would her hair have smelled like apples?

Would I have noticed?

He swallowed back dark red bile as he pictured her spread out on the white silk sheets in the boudoir of the palace. Her hair wild and free on the gold-lined pillow cases, her cheeks pink and mouth open as he brought her to pleasure on the gilded bed and then left to fetch his master.

Tavali chuffed a little, leaning back in her chair with her left hand at the table edge and her right around her glass. The movement snapped him out of the horrible path his mind had wandered down.

“I don't know,” she said with a poor smile in an attempt at levity. “Queelia would have noticed. Might have even gone to a manip about it.”

“Don't,” he urged again. His right hand clenched on the wood of the table while his left fisted over his armored thigh.

“Astarion,” she said slowly. He still felt sick, but looked up at her again. “You wouldn’t have gotten me to go back to his palace with you.”

He scoffed, looking away from her toward the window again.

“You’re so certain of that?” He asked snidely. “I can be very persuasive. We just spoke of the times I did get you to sneak off with me before. What makes you think I wouldn’t have gotten to you here as well?”

Tavali cocked an eyebrow at him. “Because I don’t go off to shag strange men I’ve just met,” she said in a deadpan. “You asked to sleep with me days after meeting me and when a tadpole threatened to kill me at any moment. The circumstances were very different.” She crossed both her arms and put them on the table, hands resting on opposite elbows. She grinned a little. “And I’d already paid for lodging here. You think I was going to spend that money and then just go sleep wherever some pretty elf promised to take me?” She shook her head at the inside joke about her thriftiness, flicking the curls resting on her circlet away from her face. Despite his nerves, he unclenched a little involuntarily at the reference to her copper-counting ways. “And either way, we just talked about this. You can’t win me over with lines and forced charm. I’d have turned you down or known something was going on.”

Astarion blinked, lips twisting a little. She did have a penchant for reading people.

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

She smiled sadly at him again.

“Astarion, you would not have killed me,” Tavali said gently but firmly. “Don’t think that.”

And the truth was? Her points did make him feel better.

Even if it had never happened, if he’d never gotten the chance to meet her when he was a slave, it was comforting to think it wouldn’t have ended with them together in that wretched pleasure chamber.

No matter the circumstances, she would never have been a victim he brought back to Cazador. 

There was a relief in that.

“All the same,” he said tiredly as the turbulent sensation seeped out of him, “I am so glad we didn’t meet then. I much prefer our actual meeting.” He met her quirked, teasing eyebrow with his weaker one of his own. “Burnt hand and all.”

Tavali laughed, nose wrinkled and eyes closed, and something in his heart loosened again.

Queelia chose that moment to come by, dropping off a bowl of steaming vegetable stew with a cheerful greeting. “This’ll fill you up,” the human announced in a wave of air scented with onions and potatoes. “And I know you said nothing, but you can’t just go without,” Queelia said to him, and put a plate with several slices of bread and butter on the table. “With the Absolute’s army marching, supplies’ll start to run thin. Better eat now, or you can’t be sure when the next meal will come.”

“Ah ha ha,” Tavali chuckled, looking at him with twinkling eyes at their unspoken joke. “Thank you, Queelia. You’re too kind.”

“Not at all,” the pink-haired woman smiled while wiping her hands briskly on her apron. “Gotta get back to it, but,” she leaned forward, putting her right hand on the table to face Tavali. “If you were to be quick about it, I’m pretty sure your stuff is upstairs in the storage attic. And Fraygo should be away on business tomorrow mornin,” she added conspiratorially.

Tavali eyes glinted with understanding. “Sounds good,” she whispered back and took up her spoon. “Cheers, Queelia. You’re a good friend to have.”

The cook beamed, and took her leave.

Tavali tucked into her supper, eyes closing with sincere pleasure at whatever she was tasting.

Astarion sat there and watched her, reclining in his seat and trying to force himself to relax again from the adrenaline of seeing his siblings and the conversations that had followed.

His sorcerer was halfway through her bowl and into her second slice of her bread when she looked at him for a long moment. She glanced down at the bread and then back at him.

“What?” He asked lazily. “I’m hardly going to give you grief for not sharing.”

Tavali’s lip flicked in a habitual grin, but then she looked playful. “Nothing,” she started carefully, setting down her spoon down with a clink in the bowl. “I just didn’t realize until now,” she smiled just a little wider, “We’re on a dinner date.”

Astarion blinked, but then hmph’d, nodding his head in mocking agreement. “I suppose we are, my dear,” he grinned at her.

Her smiled broadened. Her feet slid beneath the table, and the toes of her boots knocked his.

“We didn’t even put on nicer clothes for the occasion.” She hummed a little, and glanced around. “Although I suppose that’s not necessary for a place like this.”

Astarion snorted in agreement, glancing around at the variety of adventurers filling the inn in various states of armor.

“You’re the most ravishing thing for miles,” he said smoothly, only to grin when she huffed.

“That’s you by far,” she retorted with a taunting smile.

He preened without arguing, and nudged their feet together beneath the dining table.

“I love you,” Tavali said plainly, hooking their ankles tightly for a moment. Then she lifted the spoon back to her mouth without waiting for a response.

Like those words weren't something remarkable in and of themselves when they came from her.

He almost reciprocated, almost said it back.

They'd come so far together so quickly. Surely he could tell her what she meant to him?

Not yet, his guilt and fear whispered. Not safe. When you have ascended. When you are free.

He took a sip of his wine and let her finished her meal with the words caught in his lungs.

Chapter Text

“Isn’t this a surprise?” Astarion murmured into Tavali's left ear from behind her as she sorted through the sack she'd been able to retrieve from the Flophouse that morning.

Between finding the body of the librarian in the hidden chamber in the attic, extracting a confession about explosive teddy bears out of that repugnant toymaker, and dispatching the doppelgangers at the Harper hide-out, the half-elf hadn’t had a moment to actually go through any of it.

There were skirts, shirts, pants, more underthings. A few gems she'd hidden surreptitiously inside of socks and garments had remained concealed.

Her small sum of gold was gone, but her mother's jade and pearl teardrop earrings were still hidden in a tiny, nearly invisible pocket that no one had noticed. The jade and pearls had both been harvested from the Sea of Fallen Stars, and the jewelry was a family heirloom.

The small, palm-sized elk her father had carved for her a week before he died was wrapped in old clothes still intact.

Tavali could have cried in gratitude for Queelia hiding her things in the storage attic instead of letting Fraygo toss it out with the trash.

When the rogue came up behind her, Tavali was holding aloft a leaf green embroidered jacket with a prettily studded dark brown leather belt. Beneath it was a long golden-yellow one piece.

A "splendid" ensemble. It was quite possibly the only high-end outfit she currently owned.

“You've an eye for elegance after all,” Astarion purred. He reached out to stroke a hand down the tailored jacket. “Where'd this come from?”

“A sale in Suzail after the war, if I'm not mistaken.” Tavali said matter-of-factly. “A few years old but I hardly wear it.” Tavali turned to her left to tip her forehead into his. “Not much reason to dress like a lady when you're out adventuring. Except for the odd dinner with one grateful councilman or another.” She pecked a kiss to his right cheek and leaned away again. She hung the jacket on the old wire they'd procured and fashioned into a clothing hook. Glancing around, she walked over to the side of the tent to hang the get-up from a pole.

“I'm surprised, my dear,” he said conspiratorially. “The green is familiar, but where's your favorite purple?”

Tavali huffed good-naturedly at the familiar tease and rolled her eyes. “I liked this combination just fine.”

Honestly. You crash land one time with green robes and one pair of purple underwear that a high elf rips off of you in a forest romp and he never lets you forget it.

“But this is an outfit for a special occasion, dearest,” Astarion cajoled. “Surely you would have selected only your favorites?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “It was an estate sale, Aster. You take what you can get.” Astarion's nose wrinkled at the clarification, but he wisely didn't comment. He'd already told her of his penchant for looting corpses before his freedom from Cazador. And it was how they had half their belongings now. “As you enjoy pointing out, I like green and I like saving money. This let me do both.” She flashed him a grin as the outfit began to sway lightly in the soft breeze. “And I can wear the jacket with other outfits of any color,” Tavali admitted with a wink.

Astarion rolled his eyes slightly. “I knew it.”

Tavali wrinkled her nose over her smile and turned back to the inexpertly folded outfit.

“Is this what you'll be wearing to Gortash's coronation then?” He asked curiously, following her and letting his left finger tips run over the yellow beneath the jacket.

“If I can get some of these wrinkles out,” she lamented. “Wearing armor would be pointless with the Steel Watch. But I'd love for us to show up to face him looking confident if nothing else.”

Astarion snorted. “Is that what you, Karlach, and Wyll were discussing earlier?”

Tavali nodded.

Most of the group had agreed to stay at camp for the coronation. Tavali suspected their numbers and members were already known to their enemies thanks to Orin, but there was no need to flaunt it.

But Tavali couldn't very well go alone, and Wyll and Karlach refused to sit at camp. Not when Gortash would be within reach and Wyll still needed to find information about his father.

Karlach had insisted on wearing her new Bone-Spike armor, freshly dyed pale pink, and wouldn't hear another word about it. The tiefling wasn't going in front of Gortash with nothing but cotton or silk between them. Tavali had been hard pressed to extract a promise from the barbarian not to start a fight they had no hope of winning. She wasn’t going to argue more about armor.

Wyll had been more amenable to getting into some decent clothes, even if it would make Karlach look like their hired muscle instead of their friend and teammate.

“And am I still invited along?” Astarion asked deceptively sweetly.

Tavali sighed and answered. “Yes, Astarion. You can come if you want.”

That had been another near fight the day before. Astarion had insisted on coming along to the coronation and Tavali had argued it would just make it easier for Cazador to track him down.

“My siblings have already squealed, darling,” the rogue had pointed out snidely. “I promise you, the last place he'll be looking for me will be an extravagant affair like this.” His lips twisted a little. “I wasn't permitted to attend anything of the sort, or to dress as would be required to even get in the door.”

She suspected he knew that comments like that were a killing blow to her attempts to change his mind. One comparison to his treatment under Cazador, and Tavali tended to buckle.

She preferred to hold the line when it really mattered.

Astarion grinned smugly, eyes glittering, and announced he would go prepare his outfit as well.

When he came swanning out of his tent the next morning, Tavali did a triple take at his appearance.

Astarion grinned. “Like what you see, darling?” He spread his arms out, bending them at the elbow, as he gave her a twirl.

“I-” Tavali started before she temporarily ran out of words.

Astarion was wearing an emerald jacket with gold embellishments, glittering with a shine like it was polished dragon scales. The black undershirt at his neck contrasted with his pale skin and hair like onyx against moonstone.

He was stunning.

“Ha,” she said unintelligently, resting her right hand over her Pearl of Power amulet at her throat. “Amazing.” She looked up to meet his red eyes, glowing brighter from the sun and against the green. “You're beautiful, Aster.”

Something in his preening expression softened at the genuineness of her statement. He swallowed a bit before resuming his peacocking.

“My thanks, but do you notice anything,” he asked pointedly as he approached her. The rogue lifted his left hand to her chin, tipping her head back with two fingers. “My love?”

Tavali was too busy staring into his eyes and anticipating a kiss to make a coherent guess at first.

“It,” she stuttered, gaze dropping for a moment to his lips before she lowered it further to examine his outfit again. Astarion moved his hand to rest against the right side of her neck and clear her view.

From this close, her chest was nearly pressed against his.

Despite the obvious difference in quality, it was suddenly clear how closely the green and gold of both their clothes matched.

Tavali laughed, lifting her left hand to pat Astarion on the chest. She faced him again with a bright smile. “Did you match me?”

The high elf's own grin was smug, if endearing. “Of course, my dear. What choice did I have when you chose to wear something so lovely?” He trailed his right hand up her left arm to her shoulder. He leaned in to press his lips to her left cheek. “Like a sunflower blooming in front of me.”

A shiver ran up her spine at the flirtatious tone while her heart raced and flushed her cheeks with color at his flattery.

That's a new comparison, Tavali thought with heated cheeks. 

“You- you said you don’t care for flowers.” The sorcerer rolled her lips.

“Perhaps,” Astarion allowed, “but perhaps some are starting to grow on me.” He swept his lips languorously to her left ear.

“Aster,” she said shyly, resting both hands over his biceps. The emerald fabric was silky beneath her fingers. “You- you say the sweetest things sometimes.” Tavali moved her left hand to his neck, fingers slipping against the elegant collar.

She felt him swallow against her. “That's just part of my charm, darling,” He nipped at the point of her left ear. “And it's only ever the truth. Surely you want my honesty?”

The half-elf hummed in embarrassment into his cheek.

“Where'd you even get this?” Tavali deflected back to him with her right hand moving over his left sleeve.

“That toymaker blowhard's house.” Astarion sniffed. “Just because you dealt with his thugs for those refugees didn't mean I couldn't help myself to his wardrobe.”

Tavali rolled her eyes but made a scoffing chuckle. After weeks of scavenging and thieving nearly everything they owned, she was probably desensitized to Astarion's quick fingers. If it had been someone else he'd robbed she likely would have felt worse about it. But she had no sympathy for a would-be child killer.

“Uh huh,” she said knowingly, moving her hands over the slightly padded shoulders. “And was this the only outfit you took?”

“Do you know, I couldn't say, my sweet?” The rogue pulled back from her with a face projecting innocence. “It's been so long. Who can remember?” He asked airily.

Tavali wasn’t completely certain, but she thought they’d only reached Rivington a handful of days ago.

“Ridiculous,” she said, tilting her head down toward his chest and giggling. “You're ridiculous.”

“I was meant to have this outfit, my love,” Astarion said insistently, tilting her face back up toward him with his left thumb on her right cheek. “When I found it, I only thought to grab it and move along. How could I know you would come out with a match only days later?” His smile turned softer again, alluring. “And besides, you so graciously wore red for me in the Shadow Curse. It was high time I returned the favor and wore green for you.”

Tavali's entire body burned red and leaned toward him like a moth to a flame.

His grin turned wicked again as he captured her mouth. She felt his right hand come up the back of her body to rest beneath the jacket. The chill of him could be felt through the thin cotton and silk blend of her less ornate but still stylish unitard.

His fingers skipped over the buttons cinching the bodysuit together up her spine.

“I wondered how you got this on,” he whispered against her left cheek. “Clever as you are, my love, this clearly took some help. Who did you go to?”

“Sh-Shadowheart helped,” Tavali matched his voice level.

Astarion hummed a little. “Not me?” He asked petulantly.

Tavali huffed.

“You were in your tent,” she answered matter-of-factly, “when I looked around for help.”

Astarion groaned. “A tragic loss.” He brushed his lips against her left ear where the pale green jade hung above the pearl. “Will you compensate me,” he breathed, “by letting me help you take it off later?”

Tavali smiled wistfully into his left ear and pecked a kiss there. “If you’d like,” she answered happily.

“Our very own Blade of Frontiers graces our hall!” Gortash crowed, eyes sweeping across the expanse of them. Tavali and Astarion made up the back of their small group, content to let Wyll lead the way for once.

The black-haired man approached them with an insouciant gate, looking utterly relaxed with their presence.

“And an old friend,” Gortash said lowly with a look at Karlach, “come to say hello.”

Despite the acknowledgment, he didn’t give Karlach more than a few words before he chose to focus on her partner at her side.

The Blade had been outfitted in a raffish ensemble of sedate red with a light blue undershirt.

Baldurian colors. The colors of the Flaming Fist, and what they once stood for.

His city, his father.

Gortash greeted Wyll confidently, taking in the bard’s appearance with a curious eye as he spoke. “And, I do hope you’ll forgive me, Master Ravengard,” Gortash eventually said with a perfunctory apologetic incline of his head, “but I’ve been very reliably informed that you are not the leader of the esteemed company you keep.”

Bane’s Chosen slowly swept his eyes over to Tavali.

She kept her face blank, giving only a lift of her chin as she regarded him.

“Tavali Willowcroft.” His smirk would have been called sleazy if it wasn't just polished enough to pass muster. “Tales of your exploits reached my ears only recently, but I was able to track down some of your history.

Tavali only tilted her head. “Were you?”

The black-haired man closed his lips in exaggerated contemplation for a moment. Tavali took in the dark eye shadow the man wore, along with the ghoulish embellishments to his attire. 

She had the shallow thought that he wasn't going out of his way to conceal his true nature.  Perhaps it was unfair to judge a book by its cover, but most folk didn't add howling demon faces to their formal attire.

This thought was followed by aggravation that the people in charge of governing the Gate either weren't paying attention, didn't care, or already lacked any real political power to oppose him.

“I must say I'm surprised,” Gortash said, eyeing up and down Tavali's body. She stiffened a little at what appeared to be just blatant perusal. He looked her in the eyes again with a knowing grin on his right cheek. “No Cormyte purple? No medals from the war?” The soon-to-be Archduke’s eyes were sharp.

Astarion puffed up in irritation at her left side.

Tavali blinked and felt a sliver of ice in her heart.

It’s a minor detail, she thought quickly as she forcibly passed the tyrant an unperturbed smile. Adrenaline trickled slightly through her chest and limbs, but she would not show it on her face. I have an accent. Anyone would pick it up. Gale did. And any Cormyte could have been in the war.

But she wasn't stupid or blind enough to miss the threat.

I found you, Gortash's dark eyes said. And if I want to, I can find out more.

Fortunately for her, most of her living loved ones were in her camp or scattered far from here.

Let the bastard try.

“We, ha,” Tavali covered her surprise with a single chuckle, “are permitted to wear other colors,” she finished mildly. 

How different that joke felt yesterday, she pondered, when Astarion made it.

Gortash’s gaze remained self-assured and composed as he spoke, covering Thorm, the Netherstones, and Orin as he proposed an alliance to dominate the brain.

Karlach was nearly ready to revolt as they watched the mockery of a coronation take place. Wyll spoke hurriedly to his father, trying to get through to him, when the thralled Grand Duke defiantly told them of Florrick's imprisonment and pending execution.

Tavali bid them all to leave with a promise only to consider Gortash’s proposal of an alliance.

There were too many people here, and there was no further headway to be made.

The half-elf sighed heavily, feeling a new weight in her chest at this latest chapter in their quest to rid themselves of tadpoles and destroy the Absolute.

“Absolute bastard,” Astarion cursed quietly as they marched quickly and efficiently back out of the audience chamber.

“Too right,” Karlach growled from the front of their pack. “Prick thinks he can do whatever he likes and get away with it,” the tiefling trailed off, nearly shrugging off the comforting hand Wyll tried to leave on her left arm.

Tavali glanced over at Astarion with a raised eyebrow, unconvinced he was talking about the greater evil at stake.

“Are you mad he stole your joke?” She asked sardonically as they kept pace with each other.

The rogue did in fact look peeved at the question.

“The gall,” he scowled, not looking at her. “I haven’t been teasing your color scheme for weeks for some egomaniac with tacky bronze demonic buttons to come along and give his own commentary.” Astarion sniffed pointedly.

Tavali could only roll her eyes and keep walking.

It was obvious what was actually bothering Astarion.

It didn't please him to have something in common with a cur like Gortash that wasn't wealth or power.

Tavali had felt something similar when Orin, the hideous bitch, had mockingly called her the “Bonekiller” the first time they met in person.

For a moment, Tavali had been terrified that Orin's mental acumen was so strong she could pull memories from days before without the sorcerer even realizing.

Then the half-elf had realized with a sick roll of nausea that no, Orin had not read her mind.

Orin and me thought of the same name for someone who killed Myrkul's Chosen. Orin and me made the same joke.

It had left her disturbed and shaken from the start of the conversation with the changeling, floundering where she was more often sure-footed. The lilt of her words had been weak.

It had been Astarion, quick-witted and so good at reading her, who brought her around to face him afterwards once they'd gotten over the shock of having a shapechanger threaten to infiltrate their group.

“Darling,” the rogue had laughed in a little disbelief during dinner that night when she quietly reminded him of their sweet, simple conversation in bed after killing Ketheric. “Relax. It was much cuter when you said it. And that was the most obvious suggestion you made of the lot.”

Tavali's lips twisted around a bite of potato as she eyed the fire instead.

“For gods'- You cannot actually be comparing yourself right now.” Astarion had looked annoyed. “You were exhausted and trying to make me laugh. She's a psychotic serial killer who worships murder and took the lowest, easiest hanging fruit of quippy names.”

Tavali had only shrugged. “I know. I know you're right. But it was still so strange to hear.”

Astarion had scoffed and been silent for a few moments.

“Well, obviously, dear. She was wrong, in any case.” Tavali had glanced over at him as their friends mingled and walked around with their own dinner and drinks. He’d cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned forcefully. “You said I got the killing blow and tried to give me the heroic nickname.” He'd waved his hand flippantly in front of his chest. “She didn't even get the details right.”

Despite the queasy remnant of the conversation in her gut, Astarion had made Tavali huff a laugh.

Now, the sorcerer threaded her right arm tiredly through the rogue's left as they made it back into the main thruway of Wyrm's Rock.

“It’s funnier when you do it,” she said of his ongoing tease of her color choices, mentally fatigued from the adrenaline of the coronation even though it was all they had accomplished that day. They still had to go to the prison and see what could be done for Florrick as it was.

Astarion set his right hand over Tavali’s on his left arm. “Naturally,” he said poshly.

“And you weren't trying to threaten me with it,” she added mildly. “That certainly killed any charm.”

Astarion exhaled in temper. “As I said,” he muttered, “the gall.”

She moved her fingers against the crook of his elbow. “We're lucky he didn't look into you. I'll take a little mockery if we keep your diet a secret for a little longer.”

Tavali had mainly been worried about Cazador trying to make a grab for Astarion at the ceremony. It hadn’t occurred to her, stupidly, that their other enemies would be gathering intelligence on him. She was always wary of someone outside their cohort finding out his nature and rallying a mob to violence. That should have been a greater worry with someone like Gortash pulling the strings.

“Hmph,” was Astarion’s only reply. But she felt his fingers on hers twitch.

Later at camp, after a dreadful visit to the cells and leaving Florrick with a promise to rescue her that night, Tavali and Astarion retreated to their tents to undress. Tavali fully intended to take a nap before they all rose to leave again after darkness fell. She would need her wits about her for another prison break.

Astarion was true to his word, though. No sooner had Tavali sat down within the low confines of her tent than he was flicking at the tarp requesting entry.

She’d only giggled and let him in, sitting on her legs and giving him her back as she carefully removed the green jacket. The yellow one-piece didn't even cover her shoulders completely once the jacket was gone, leaving her arms bare.

The rogue’s mouth was at her neck moments later, lips trailing down the slope and catching briefly on her amulet chain.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about, darling?” He asked playfully as he ran his hands down her sides over the fabric.

“What?” Tavali answered back with dutifully matching humor.

“That this was our first outing in the Gate as lovers. How fortunate that we sent the right message to anyone watching.” He slid his hands upward to the center of her back. Tavali felt him make contact with the delicate buttons and undo the first one.

Tavali chuckled again. “And what message is that?” She asked, looking over her right shoulder.

Astarion's face was out of sight, but his voice was in her right ear. “That you are with me, and I am with you. That we are nothing to be trifled with. And,” the high elf went on more flirtatiously, “we looked absolutely fabulous next to each other and I eagerly drank in the envious gazes of everyone gathered.” A few more buttons came loose and he nipped at her ear while she huffed a laugh. The earring jangled, and it prompted her to reach up to remove her jewelry while he handled her clothes.

“'Envious gazes,'” She echoed blithely around a smile. “Can't say I noticed with the Steel Watch bearing down on us.”

“That's why you have me there, darling. Very little escapes my notice.” 

A few more buttons gave way. The yellow garment was separated enough to reveal a corset-like, silky light green brassiere outlined with thin leaves and vines in a deeper green and dotted with small red and purple blossoms.  The straps were just visible as the one-piece's sleeves came loose around her shoulders.

“Oh my,” Astarion purred now. “And what's this?” He undid several more buttons in quick succession until more of the undergarment was revealed. Tavali felt his fingers skim the top seam of her matching high-waisted underwear and closed her eyes.

She grinned lazily over her shoulder at him again as she undid her Pearl of Power. “A new set. I bought them within a day or two of the abduction. They were also in my bags.” She let her teeth show in her smile. “Do you like them?”

“My darling,” Astarin said in a teasing growl, “do you even have to ask?” His hands moved briskly and reached the end of the buttons. He lifted her temporarily into the air so he could pull the body piece more easily down. Tavali turned back around to lay on her back against the bedroll and lifted her hips so he could pull the yellow pantaloons down her legs. Her position revealed the floral detailing on the front of the bodice.

“Since I was dressing up anyway,” she said sweetly, dropping all her jewelry onto a small pouch at her right side, “it seemed wasteful not to go all the way.”

Astarion's eyes were dark as he crawled over her. “Indeed, my love,” he said smoothly. He lowered his mouth to press along her left cheek. “And we can’t have waste.”

His left fingertips just skimmed the bodice and bone lining on her right side. He bent down to kiss her.

Tavali reached up to card her left fingers through his hair and stroke her right hand down his ornately covered back.

“Beautiful thing,” he whispered against her lips. “My sweet.”

Tavali giggled and tilted her head back a little against the well worn sleeping pad as the rogue moved his mouth down her jaw to her right ear. 

Astarion's right hand traced the swirling pattern of a vine over her left breast in answer. Tavali shuddered a little at the sensation.

Astarion braced both hands behind her head and lowered himself to lay across the length of her, his right leg falling between hers. She felt the cold buckles of his jacket and the elegant satin lining against her skin.

A few delicious minutes of kissing and carefree caresses came to an unexpected end when Astarion shifted his head and body just wrong.

“Ow!” Tavali cried softly but abruptly. It was not a good “ow.”

Astarion jerked back, mouth parted but with his fangs still notably behind his lips. He stared down at her from a few inches away with a confused, furrowed brow.

“What?” The rogues eyes scanned over her as he lifted himself away and more onto his knees.

It brought the cold silver buckles that had just pinched her away from her skin. A small red spot was already forming in the gap between her bodice and underwear.

“Ah, shit,” Astarion said hurriedly as he halted his withdrawal.

Tavali looked down further and saw what had distracted him. She stopped fidgeting as he reached down to grope for the long strand of green thread that his button had caught along the right edge of her underwear along her right hip.

“Tsk, damn,” Tavali cursed quietly under her breath.

“One moment, don't move, darling.” His left hand fluttered over the silver buckle to gingerly pull the looping strand free and lower it back to her body. He placed it delicately back against the rest of her garment as he finished pulling away.

Tavali bent her spine to look down at the cloth. There was a minor pull now near her hipbone.

Astarion and Tavali glanced at each other and then at his buckles. She smiled helplessly and tipped her head back to eye the ceiling of the tent again.

“I'm sorry, let me take it off,” Astarion said hurriedly. A little embarrassment colored his voice.

Tavali just waved lethargically before setting her hands over her stomach.

The bubble had popped, and the sensual mood was fizzling away from them as Tavali rubbed her thumb over the redding spot on her stomach.

“It's fine, nice things never last when you're adventuring. But I,” she swallowed. “was actually about ready to have us stop,” she whispered. She looked at him through hooded eyes. He was kneeling, legs on either side of her calves now with his fingers already undoing his jacket clasps.

He pouted at her, but there was something genuinely crestfallen to the usual expression.

He was blaming himself for the moment slipping away.

“I'm not mad at you,” she shook her head, mussing her hair even more on the mat beneath her. “It was an accident. I didn't think about it either,” Tavali grinned self-deprecatingly. “But I do want my nap. You can get changed and join me if you like,” she offered simply. She reached to the empty spot on her left and lifted her worn green camp shirt to hold it up in demonstration.

Astarion's face was blank for a moment as he considered.

The half-elf used her elbows to awkwardly bring herself back into a sitting position. “Or don't, love.” She let her shirt fall into her lap and ran her hands down his arms again. The fabric truly felt wonderful. “Do whatever pleases you. I'll only sleep until dinner anyway.” Tavali reached up and gave his left cheek a soft squeeze with her right hand.

“Hmm,” Astarion hummed into her hand with his eyes downcast. “If you change, perhaps I'll try my hand at fixing my error.” His left fingers came up to ghost over the new pull in her underwear.

Tavali quirked her lips to the side.

“I'm really not mad, you know?” She ducked down to try to meet his eyes again. “And it was both of us, really.” She trailed her right fingers into his hair. “I wasn’t pushing you away, you know.” She finished teasingly.

Astarion curled his lip, but breathed quickly and pulled away to rest more on his haunches. He brushed his hands brusquely down his jacket as though removing unseen dirt.

His fine, immaculate jacket over his fine, well-tailored shirt and pants.

His clothes that he must have altered himself because the toymaker couldn’t have been such a perfect match.

Just like how Astarion had tailored his other camp clothes, and hers, and a few of their friends after he'd admitted to the skill when their scavenged outfits were falling apart around them.

It made her wonder just how long Astarion had been carefully washing and repairing his white-collared shirt or the padded armor he’d had in the beginning. What were the consequences for damaged clothing?

It made her heart burn with hate for Cazador, lurking somewhere in Baldur's Gate without any 

Tavali almost spoke, almost brought it up now, but something in her deflated.

They didn't need to rehash his torment again. Not now, in the middle of the day, following that godsawful coronation.

Later, she thought with a sigh. Another time, we'll talk about it if he wants. We'll stick to good things right now.

“But you know, I'm surprised!” Tavali said lightly and reached out with her left hand to tap his bicep. Astarion looked her in the eyes again with a furrowed brow. She smiled a little mischievously. “I thought you would call me out for this underwear.”

The rogue looked at her with a cocked eyebrow before taking the bait and giving her another once over. “Oh? And why was that, my love?”

Tavali grinned. “I wore these,” she brought her left hand up to rest against her brassiere, “to the coronation.” Astarion blinked down to where her hand lay, brow still cocked skeptically. “So I really did wear purple all along.” She ticked her fingers against a few of the lilac blooms interspersed among the green. “Now you're the only one besides me who knows,” she whispered like it was a great conspiracy.

Astarion blinked, and then looked down. His left hand came up to clasp over his forehead in farcical aggravation.

“Aha,” he chuckled as he smoothed his fingers stiffly down from his forehead to his chin. “Ah ha ha ha.” He shook his head just hard enough that his curls bounced.

Tavali smiled broadly when he looked at her again.

“You are nonsensical. Ridiculous,” Astarion added. He knelt and leaned forward again to peck her on the lips with his left palm on her cheek

Tavali smiled into the kiss, grateful for his return to better spirits.

“And you like it,” she responded primly and very much like he liked to do.

The rogue’s lips parted in a grin around hers.

“I do,” he agreed very much as she always would.

Chapter Text

Packing up for their long walk back to the gates to the city was a slow process the day after Gortash’s farce of a ceremony, Florrick’s prison break, and Wyll’s broken pact.

Thankfully, it was made considerably shorter from all the loot Tavali had decided to sell among the traders in Rivington. There were only so many arms available to carry the armor and weapons their fearless leader had pleaded with them to take along.

“Now that we’ve gotten rid of most of the merch,” Karlach mused as they divided up their provisions into sacks in the early morning light, “I wouldn't mind doing a little shopping in the city.” Karlach crossed her arms over her head and twisted side to side at her waist. “See what’s on offer nowadays.”

Shadowheart hummed as she set aside a portion of pork for fresh wrapping. “Same. I think I may have overdone it with the black and purple for, oh, my entire life?” She tugged lightly on the jade and black slimfit outfit she was currently sporting and thought of the cloth lining of her adamantine splint armor.

How proud she’d been to dye it indigo. How right it had felt among the onyx and nebulous purple in the Gauntlet of Shar.

Shaking her head lightly, the cleric looked back at the tiefling. “Your new gear serves you well though.” Shadowheart added, looking at bonespiked armor and boots Karlach had found or purchased over their few days in Rivington, as well as the horned helmet with a bird skull ornament.

Karlach preened a little. “It does,” she smiled. “And I’ve liked having something besides the shitty leathers Zariel made me wear.” She put a hand to her hip where the pale pink-dyed bones protruded from the cloth on her legs. “But it won’t hurt to take a look around. Might find better gear for someone else in the group, too.” The barbarian looked over at Shadowheart with a toothy grin. “Or dye for you, if that’s what we need.” The taller woman tilted her head in thought. “Have you checked the chests? We’ve picked up lots of stuff, there’s loads of colors besides purple.”

Their group leader happened to pass by at just that moment with a sack of her own in both arms. She turned to look at them. “What about purple?”

Karlach threw her head back and laughed cheerily. “Nothing against you, wild thing.” Karlach gestured to Shadowheart. “But Shadow here was talking about maybe going for a new look.” Karlach’s clawed fingers did a quick flick toward the cleric’s head. “Besides the hair, I mean.”

Tavali checked her steps, clearly having intended to keep walking, and turned to come stand beside them at the bags. “Oh,” she said thoughtfully. “What are you thinking? We have lots of dye,” Tavali nodded toward the chest on the other side of camp. “We can swing through the shops again on our way into the city, too?”

“See?” Karlach chortled and bumped Tavali with her left shoulder. The sorcerer took a step to the left to stay upright. “Great minds think alike. We can find you something good.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks heated, just a little, at their unabashed care. “Well,” she cleared her throat. “Maybe once we’ve settled in for the night, I’ll take a look at it all again.”

“What are you thinking in general?” Tavali asked as they all lifted their sacks and brought them toward their pile of belongings to be transported into the city. The younger half-elf’s eyes flicked to Shadowheart’s hair briefly as they walked.

“Hard to say,” Shadowheart deflected. “I don’t think yellow and green would suit my complexion,” she said airily, and waved her hand at Tavali. “Unlike you.” They’d all seen the gold and green outfits Tavali and Astarion had donned for the ceremony, and how well they’d looked in it. The curly-haired woman snorted delicately and nodded in agreement. “But maybe a kind of red?”

Tavali’s lips quirked to the side in subtle disagreement. “Astarion makes that work,” she conceded. “But he really leans into the ‘bloody’ aesthetic.” Shadowheart huffed in agreement. Their vampire left most of their battles covered in blood and gore. The black and furnace red dye on his armor blended well with it.

“Could go a different way with it, though.” Karlach piped up. “Like that bloody plum dye we have?”

Shadowheart’s lips thinned as she sat down her sack and straightened again. “That has blue in it, right?”

Tavali answered after setting down her bag beside Shadowheart’s. “Yeah, a dark navy.”

The cleric mulled it over. “Blue doesn’t feel quite right either,” she said at last. “I know I’ve,” she waved her hand at her hair, “tried out something new with my hair, but I don’t think I’m ready to fully commit to the whole Selûnite look.”

The sorcerer breathed, stretching her arms over her head and clasped her hands high as she regarded Shadowheart for a moment. “Whatever you want,” she said easily. “Just,” her lips quirked in a sad smile. “Remember the gods don’t own colors.” She let her grin turn more playful as she reached up to set her hand against her bare neck. “I’m not going to trade in my lavender scarf or cape, you know?”

Shadowheart grinned back and flapped her left hand carelessly. “Of course not. Still,” she cracked her own neck and rolled her shoulders. “I’m ready for something new.”

They did swing through the circus once more to stock up on supplies, and the strange mummy was happy enough to sell Shadowheart a few bottles of dye they didn’t already have clinking around in their camp boxes.

But the day became unexpectedly and yet unsurprisingly chaotic almost as soon as their merry band made it through the Basilisk Gate and into the city.  Between three different would-be victims of assassination and too many damn doppelgangers to count, their group had barely had time to sit and gulp down their waterskins before moving to the thing. Thank the gods Tavali had voted to divide and conquer, or else they’d never have managed to save everyone.

So it wasn’t until the evening at their newly established camp around the docks that Shadowheart took the time to consider her armor again. Dyeing her things could probably wait, but she didn’t want to wear them anymore. She wanted the cool purple colors stripped away, wanted to never look like she might be one of Shar’s daughters- disciples- cultists again.

So that brought her to a flat spot on the edge of the stone harbor with a tub sturdy enough for dyeing their things, and their box of dye set out and unloaded beside her.  She and her barbarian friend had changed into some of their more raggedy outfits, leery of any dye splashing their clothes and making a mess.

“What about the deep lilac?” Karlach offered. “That’s like, orange and purple. Wouldn’t look anything like Shar’s colors.”

The cleric agreed, but, “I,” Shadowheart said slowly, “don’t think that quite goes with silvery hair.” She caught her braid over her left shoulder. “Same with the browns or other warm colors,” she said before biting her lip.

Their red dyes, including the higher end ones like lush burgundy, clashed too much with her new hair. Same with green and yellow, as she feared.

And fetching as it looked on Karlach, Shadowheart wasn’t quite ready to commit to delicate pink or the peach apricot they’d seen earlier as well.

Those seemed two soft for what she was, for what she had done. And maybe it was foolish, putting so much time and mental effort into choosing dye for her armor. But her armor was what she would show the world of herself. It was what she would show all those Sharrans waiting for her in the city with the Mother Superior.

She couldn’t show up still in the colors of her forsaking and forsaken goddess, but neither was she going to show up garbed entirely like a cleric of the Moonmaiden.

Selûne’s light had been missing for too long for that, even if she had the goddess’s blessing now to keep her fighting.

And at the same time, she did want to look good whenever she knocked down the doors of the cloister. She wanted to look sure and confident and like every part of her was kitted out to destroy the people who had destroyed her life and her parent’s lives.

Perhaps it was vanity, but she and nearly all her companions understood the importance of first impressions.

Which brought her back to the pile of assorted dyes.

“So no purple,” Karlach reached over and picked up a couple of bottles and set them back in their box. “No green, or yellow, or browns.” She repeated the motion, watching as their options dwindled. “And you agreed no red?” Karlach held up a bottle of sinful red on bone white, and Shadowheart shook her head. “Alright, away they go.”

The half-elf had real hope for the gorgeous maroon dye Figaro sold her at a hefty discount, but that turned out to be their first bust. The tiefling had helped her fill the tub with clean water and pour in the dye to try. But the swirling colors changed the metal adamantine itself a shade of pinkish-purple, and that wasn’t the look she was going for.

“Damn,” she cursed quietly. There went that theory. And the maroon and dark blue paired so well together, too. It seemed a waste to toss out the mixture. “Do you have anything you’d like to throw in here before the dye fades?” Shadowheart asked quickly, knowing they had little time before the magic would run out. “A shirt or anything?”

“Huh?” Karlach blink. “Oh no, uh, but you do,” she nodded to Shadowheart’s pile of shirts, sweaters, skirts, and pants beside the tub. “You should toss something in. Those colors will go great with your hair, like you were worried about.”

Shadowheart turned, making a quick decision and whipping up the raffish garb she’s had folded in the pile. “A high-end shirt,” she said briskly, tossing it into the tub, “for the high-end dye.”

“Nice,” Karlach said appreciatively as the silk turned to maroon. “You’ll look ready to dine with the patriars,” Karlach held up her right hand to mimic holding a teacup, pinky out.”

“Ha,” Shadowheart laughed, pulling the outfit free and moving to drape it on a laundry line to dry.  After so many weeks camping together, their group was exceeding efficient at getting their camp up and functional in record time. “I’m sure the invitations will be pouring in for my company,” she added as she walked back to where Karlach knelt with the dyes and Shadowheart’s armor. “They can make the letters out to,” she made a sweeping gesture with her left hand to encompass their camp. “Abandoned harbor in the lower city.”

“Then we’ll have our own tea party,” Karlach retorted with a toothy grin. “That empty chapel can be our new dining room.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and grinned as she sat back down. They both looked at the remaining colors just as Tavali came back with a bottle of white wine for them to share.  The sorcerer had also changed into some scruffy clothes in a shade of swamp green and brown.

“I asked Lae’zel if she wanted to join in,” the Cormyte said as she sat down beside the two women, “so she might come over soon.”

Shadowheart’s lips tightened quickly before she smoothed her expression again.

It was silly, she reminded herself, to be hurt over something that had never come to be. Although it made her have a smidge more sympathy for Gale than she’d felt earlier in their journey. Questions of “what if” and the uncertainty of unacted on feelings left a bitter taste on the tongue.

“And we’ve had this bottle,” the wild mage pulled out their corkscrew, “for ages. So let’s polish it off if we can,” she finished blithely. Shadowheart glanced over at her fellow half-elf, casually taking in her face.

Tavali looked exhausted, the shadows under her eyes more prominent than usual. While Shadowheart hadn’t seen it in person, Karlach had relayed the fight between their friends and Dolor at the boutique.  While Karlach and Jaheira had, to Karlach’s incredible and bloodthirsty delight, taken down the assassin together, Astarion had taken a bad first hit from the dwarf and gone down at the beginning of the fight. Tavali had screamed for Jaheira to heal the rogue while trying to keep several assassins at bay from two paralyzed would-be victims.

The silver-haired woman hoped a little relaxing this evening, even if it was just dying clothes and cooking dinner, would be a welcome reprieve for their leader and her mounting stress levels.

“We’ve eliminated most of the bunch,” Karlach said, lifted up a different dye for Shadowheart’s inspection. “How about pale green, Shadey?” She swirled the bottle.

“I do like it,” she agreed. “Keep it in the ‘possibilities,’ pile, then.”

The cleric summarily rejected blue, baby blue and gold, black and azure, boreal blue, but kept black and jade green.

“Do you associate all shades of blue with the goddess of the moon?” Lae’zel’s voice was condescending as she approached from behind Shadowheart’s back. “Is Toril’s daytime sky not light blue? Is its ocean not deep blue by some measure?” The githyanki jerked her chin toward Gale’s tent. “Does Gale’s armor make you think of the so-called Moonmaiden?”

Gale had dyed his padded leather armor with his favorite lavender dye at some point while they were in the Underdark, and had kept the look up since then. It left him with a long blue outer coat lined with dark brown leather and pale-yellow embroidery over a warm purple underlayer.

The look suited him well and, as Lae’zel had guessed, had never made Shadowheart think of Selûne.

But-

“It’s,” Shadowheart said, forcing any testiness out of her voice, “complicated.”

It apparently hadn’t been for Lae’zel. The fighter hadn’t seemed to care about dyes in the first weeks of their travel, but she’d quite happily changed her flawed helldusk armor to black and summer green once Dammon gave it to them. She hadn’t changed it since.

“Only because you make it so,” Lae’zel said dismissively. “You do not want to draw comparisons to the Selûnites we camp with? Then do not do so.” Lae’zel dropped down in a fluid motion, sitting with her legs crisscrossed and pulling the nearest bottle into her lap. “The other cleric does not even wear blue.”

“Does ocean work?” Tavali headed off any greater animosity, like she always did, and offered Shadowheart the bottle.

The half-elf considered it and nodded once. “I’ll try it,” she said and reached for the pants of her armor.

Less than thirty seconds later, both half-elves and the tiefling groaned. The dye had indeed made part of the fabric a deep blue-green, but it made every other stripe yellow.

“Not that, then,” Shadowheart said, feeling a bit frustrated with the dye and with herself.

Karlach snorted and tossed in a set of gray travel clothes to the dye, watching it expand and coat the shirt.

Mellow fruit was the same problem as the pale pinks (too soft, to sweet, that’s not what I am-). And now they really were running out of options. Everyone took a healthy swig of the white wine as they considered which to try next.

Lae’zel held up her bottle then and shoved it toward Shadowheart. “This one would suit you,” she said imperiously.

Shadowheart took the bottle, more to get it out of her own face than anything else. She looked down and read the label 

Cobalt blue.

Her lips thinned a little.

“Lae,” Karlach started a little uncertainly.

“It is not ‘blue’ in the way the aasimar styles herself.” Lae’zel tossed her head slightly toward the Selûnites on the other side of camp. “It is the color of the Chionthar in the sunlight at the druid grove.”  Shadowheart blinked down at the bottle at Lae’zel’s unexpectedly… poetic words. She watched the liquid inside swirl slightly in the neck toward the stopper. “I know not the word your kind have for it. But it is a paler shade of the ocean dye.”

“Teal,” Shadowheart said absently, letting her mind return to the beach where she and Tavali had woken and first agreed to travel together. “We call it teal. Or maybe turquoise."

It was nearly the original color of the adamantine armor. And teal didn’t make her think of Selûne, or any other god in particular.  The same way Tavali’s violet cape didn’t make her think of Shar.

They poured it into the tub and stirred the color in before lowering the pants in. Checking the color before it reached the chain skirt, Shadowheart smiled at the turquoise that blended with pale gray. She abandoned some caution and lowered in the skirt, watching as the color soaked in a looked and looked perfect against the natural blue-green of the adamantine. Other parts of the lining turned dark gray, unexpected but good-looking, and finally she soaked the cuirass entirely for a few seconds before withdrawing it with both hands.

She should have known there was a surprise still in store.

From the waistline to the shoulders, it had dyed the interior leather pieces a bright rosy pink.

“Huh,” Shadowheart said, lifting the armor and examining the contrast. “That’s,” she offered slowly, turning the cuirass around, “curious.”

“Alright,” Karlach said in vexation with both hands lifted and her palms forward. “How in the hells does ‘cobalt blue,’” the tiefling lifted the empty bottle and shook it a little, “make part of the armor coral pink?”

Tavali looked equally baffled and reached for the bottle herself. Shadowheart held the front of the armor before her again, examining the pink leather where is met the darker gray.

It looked…

“‘The very heavens at dusk, alight with stars and deepening through blues.’ Eh,” Tavali winced and grinned, setting down the bottle carelessly. “I guess that meant all the colors of sunset, even when it’s pink sometimes.” The Cormyte took another gulp of wine before passing it to Karlach.

“I,” Shadowheart said cautiously, “think I like it.”

Maybe it was because the turquoise did remind her of the river where they first made camp together. Maybe it was because the gray added a certain austerity, even when set against the pink. Gray called to neither Selûne nor Shar, after all. It existed in-between the white light of the moon and the impenetrable black night sky.

And maybe the pink did add a nice pop of color, something to stand out against the darkness.

“Oh, yes! Keep it, Shadey!” Karlach cried exuberantly. “You'll look so good! We'll be the pink pair, you and me. You set ‘em up, I'll knock ‘em down!”

Shadowheart huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t go quite that far,” she said with a wry smirk. “Mine is a,” she hummed. “Tasteful splash of pink. But I’m all for taking down whatever comes our way.”

Shadowheart turned to face Lae’zel more fully and gave her a courteous nod. “Good choice, “Lae’zel,” she said genuinely, with less forced diplomacy than she usually used. “It’s perfect.”

Lae’zel, whose chin had been tilted upward and whose expression had clearly been braced for a less sincere response, blinked owlishly for a moment. “Chk. So long as you are satisfied, and we can be done with the dilemma.” The fighter crossed her arms in a show of arrogance.

Well, Shadowheart rolled her eyes again. That’s about what I can expect.

They did, in fact, finish off the bottle of white wine while Shadowheart dyed her gauntlets, boots, and helmet using several bottles of harlequin black and white dye.

“Thank you,” she said more softly. She looked at each of them quickly, rolling her second boot in her hands to ensure the dye coated it evenly.  “For helping me with this. Maybe it is frivolous, but,” she trailed off with a toss of her head that sent her braid back over her left shoulder.

“No way, Shadey,” Karlach disagreed cheerfully. “I get it. And we are gonna look so badass in this city,” Karlach preened as they finished setting out the armor to dry. “What on the agenda for tomorrow, anyway, Tavi?”

The curly-haired woman stretched, twisting her back from seating or kneeling for too long. “We should explore a bit more, get a feel for the city and check out the shops. There wasn’t time today, but we need to stock up on supplies anyway. And we should check out that fireworks shop.” The sorcerer’s eyes darkened and her lips curled into a meaner smirk. “We owe them a visit for all those refugee kids.”

“Yea-hah, we do.” Karlach punched her left fist into her right palm, emitting a quick flare of flames. 

Shadowheart matched her friend’s enthusiasm, and she saw even Lae’zel sit up a little straighter and nodded in firm agreement.

“And?’” Astarion asked while Tavali came to their sacks of rations to start preparing dinner with Gale. He’d changed out of his armor and into his ocean blue shirt and gray pants. “Was the mission to change up the cleric’s armor a success?”

“I think so,” Tavali answered with a happy smile as she lifted up a hefty bag of potatoes. Thank the Oak Father that the tubers kept for so long and could be cooked in so many ways.  Pork and potatoes might very well be responsible for keeping them all alive during their travels.

“And? What was the verdict?” The wood half-elf saw Astarion crane his neck over the stone walls to see Shadowheart at her tent.

“Turquoise, gray, and pink,” Tavali rattled off as she carried the sack to the table they would use to carve the vegetables for the night. She was pretty sure they had some cheese left as well, which usually paired well with the potatoes no matter how they cooked them. She turned, meaning to go back and look for wherever it was wrapped, when a cream linen parcel appeared in the corner of her right eye.

Astarion cocked an eyebrow at her when she took the proffered wrapped cheese from his hand, having completely missed him grabbing it from their supplies.

Not even surprising that he knew and grabbed it for me, she thought with a curl of warm pleasure. Astarion tended to hover around her while she and Gale made dinner and occasionally helped out with some of the food preparation. His camp chores usually tended more toward clothing repairs or making poisons, given his history, and it had taken some time for him to get the hand of handling food for mortals. But his skills with a dagger had translated well enough for him to help at a cutting board from time to time, and Tavali made a point to thank him (and everyone else in the group, really) whenever he contributed.

And she felt particularly clingy with him today, after the bad fight in the boutique. Tavali couldn’t think of another battle where he’d taken such blows, and certainly not so quickly.  They’d all been in one bad scrap or another, but this had been different. Dolor had beaten Astarion at his own game and sent the high elf to the ground with two impossibly fast stabs.

Tavali never wanted to see that again. Which was problematic, considering their current situation and her own previous lifestyle.

So she pushed the painful thoughts from her mind and smiled sweetly at him. The sorcerer popped onto her toes to give his right cheek a quick kiss and a “thank you” for anticipating what she would need to cook dinner. She enjoyed the embarrassed and pleased way his mouth would purse at recognition of his efforts.

“Ahem. Well, that is quite the change up from our little Sharran,” Astarion mused aloud.

“Former Sharran,” Tavali corrected. “And thank the gods for that,” she muttered more quietly.

“Quite. And what did you think of her revised look?” Astarion asked curiously, and Tavali felt his breath over her left shoulder as he watched her pull three potatoes from the sack.

“Me?” Tavali said redundantly, turning her face toward the sound of his voice. “I thought it looked very pretty. It complimented the adamantine well.” She looked back at the food and set the potatoes to the side to pull out a few more. So many companions to feed. Yenna now, too.

“Not even taking offense for Shadowheart’s newfound stance against purple?” Astarion teased, lips turning more into her left ear.  The fingers of his right hand climbed to Tavali's right shoulder and curled there lightly in her threadbare green shirt.

Tavali rolled her eyes and didn’t look away from the potatoes. She started to give the first one a quick scrub and wash to remove the dirt. “I’ll soldier on,” she quipped.

Astarion hummed into her ear before backing up again. He came to stand at her left side and unwrapped the half circle of cheese. Taking up one of their pillaged cooking knives, he began the careful process of shaving the Waterdhavian sharp cheese to drape over the potatoes while they roasted.

“Well, her choice of colors notwithstanding, I think it was a splendid idea.” Astarion mused after a few minutes of mostly silent preparation, 

“Yeah?” Tavali asked, not quite paying attention as she started to thinly slice the potatoes. The thinner they were, the faster they cooked. She was starving.

“Oh yes. Don't you remember how quick I was to shuck the two outfits I had from Cazador?” His voice darkened around the name as it always did. “I had the one you found me in,” his voice grew a bit distant, “for ages.”

The half-elf’s knife slowed for just a moment, her focus turning away from her work and back to her lover. She did remember that, and all the other times Astarion had wanted this outfit or that dye.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Do we even have your old armor anymore?” Tavali asked, casually curious.

“Hardly,” Astarion harumphed. “I sold the pieces to the tiefling smith back at the grove. For all I know, he still has them.”

Tavali huffed. “Hopefully he’s sold everything we sold him by now.” She kept slicing, giving Astarion a small glance and a smile. “You still have the poet’s shirt, though,” she said softly. “I saw it in your things the other day.”

“Ah, well,” Astarion tossed his head, his own knife still moving. “Some things are classic.”

Tavali chuckled a little. “On you? Definitely.”

They sliced for a few more minutes in silence before Astarion spoke again.

“Although, now that I think about it,” he said slowly. There was something almost annoyed in his tone. “I haven’t branched out much, in the end.”  Tavali glanced at him again and saw him frowning down at the cheese. “That grace cloth, my snake armor,” he said, bringing the knife down with a particularly hard thud. “Red and black all over again.” Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “Just like Cazador commands.” The rogue’s voice took on a distinct cutting edge.

Tavali couldn’t say anything to that at first. She was wary of talking about the vampire lord lately, with the fight with him on the horizon and Astarion still insisting that he ought to ascend in his old master’s place.

And Astarion was right; the graceful cloth had been black and red when they got it and he’d deliberately dyed the Yuan-ti scale mail black and red. He didn’t have many other colors among his camp clothes, either. His main outfits in the Shadow Curse had involved the black padded vest they’d found with the Zhentarim and his cream poet’s shirt.

While his original padded armor had been dark blue and purple for the most part, Astarion had mentioned to her that Cazador more often than not kept them in shades of red. When Tavali thought about it, she remembered the red of Dalyria's pants and Petras's shirt at the Flophouse.

But-

She’d thought Astarion had been proud to wear those armors. He’d commented on the way the colors flattered him, and preened when she complimented it:  The red in the cloth brought out the red in his eyes, the black made his skin pearly and his hair more luminous.

“We have a lot of other colors, if you want to change things up.” Tavali offered quietly. She looked over at him on her left side and caught the twist of his lips. “Did you have anything in mind?” she asked lowly.

Astarion scoffed, but didn’t answer immediately.

“Do you like red, Aster? And black?” Tavali deliberately kept her voice more casual than the otherwise-innocuous question felt. 

“I- well,” Astarion prevaricated briefly. His lips quirked to the right in a not-smile. “It’s certainly gotten me plenty of compliments over the years,” the high elf hedged. “Everyone loved to say how a little red brought out my eyes.” He turned to her, blinked rapidly and making cow eyes at her.

Tavali snorted and pushed him away half-heartedly. “It does look good on you,” the half-elf agreed. Her eyes dropped to the deep blue-green of his shirt. “And so does this,” she lifted her damp left fingers from her work to brush the clean back of her wrist against his right bicep. She grinned up at her lover. Astarion huffed, but some of the stiffness went out of his face. “And so did that emerald and gold jacket you wore to the coronation,” she added sweetly, feeling the mood lighten again.

Astarion lifted his head and brought up a haughty expression. “Well, of course it did, darling.” His fangs flashed over his smirk. “Most things do.”

“Psh,” Tavali nudged his right shoulder with her left companionably. “Is that so? We can get you a bright orange shirt first thing tomorrow,” she suggested cheekily.

Astarion’s nose wrinkle and he looked away and back toward his cheese. “Gods below,” he muttered. “Do I look like an orange?”

“No,” she answered easily.”  She pulled over the last potato to slice. “But you do look good in red and black.” Astarion looked at her again, expression losing the iota of playful annoyance and Push settling into quirked eyebrow. She shrugged, and leaned against him for a moment. He was cool through the thin blue shirt and her short-sleeved green one. “If you like red and black, then don’t change a thing, Aster.” Her own voice developed an edge. “Cazador doesn’t own colors any more than Shar or Selûne.” Tavali paused for a moment, wondering if perhaps she ought to encourage the other direction, too. “And if you don’t want to wear red and black,” she lifted the dagger in her right hand and pointed toward their chests. “You have at least a dozen other colors to choose from,” the sorcerer bumped her left hip into his right, “for something different.”

Astarion blinked slowly and let his lips curl into a truer smile. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “Maybe, my love,” he whispered against her mouth. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “When our pressing business is over,” he murmured, “and Cazador is dead,” there, again, that flash burn of hate in his ruby eyes, “we’ll see about expanding our wardrobes a bit.”

Tavali smiled back at him and sealed their lips together again in a quick press. “Deal,” she said, and turned back to the dinner preparations.