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You get a blissful couple hours of sleep before your eyes open and refuse to close. The only comfortable position you could find with your bruises was on your side, but now there’s no position that gives you any relief. Finally you sit up, wondering just how bad your back looks for it to ache so much. You would give all your gold for an aspirin right now.
It’s too dark in your tent to check your wounds. Even if you use your staff the light won’t be enough to tell the difference between the shadows and the bruises. With the camp quiet you step out of your tent and into the firelight. The braziers are still going, flames a little smaller now but giving off plenty of light.
The first few nights you’d been too scared to take off any of your clothing to sleep. Your jacket, socks, boots, everything had stayed on. But you’ve grown comfortable enough to take some of it off. You walk on the balls of your feet to get to a brazier, enchanted socks whisking away the dirt as fast as it touches them. Those, your loose pants and untucked tunic are all that protect you from possible attack. You’ll be fine within the base, surrounded by weirdly overprotective barbarians and Scratch. The dog lifts his head when he spots you, tail wagging but he remains laying by the campfire. You hold up a finger to your lips and he sets his head back on his paws, eyes closing. His tail gives a couple more wags before settling.
It’s hard to manoeuvre your body well enough to see all of your injuries. You can see the dark blue bruise on the right of your hip, which wraps around to your back, the edges fading to lighter colours. There’s an equally dark bruise on the right side of your ribs—had you been jabbed there? Between the goblins' pikes and a couple of falls you’re not sure who is to blame for what bruise. But those ones aren’t the ones bothering you the most. The ones in the middle of your back are what keep you from a comfortable sleep and you can’t see them at all.
You poke at the bruise on the right of your ribcage when a voice startles you. “You’re still injured.”
You whirl to find Tav crawling through the side exit that leads to the Spectator. Though there’s no sign of injury on his person your heart skips at the possibility of him going into that fight alone. You notice part of his casual clothing is scorched.
“What happened?”
“Apparently some of those mushrooms explode,” he admits with a smile. He jumps down to your level and starts to approach but quickly steps back. His tail lowers, nearly wrapping around his leg as the tip draws circles in the dust.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Are you mad at me?” He keeps his eyes on the floor but glances up at you to ask the question. “I’m sorry about Astarion. With the Gur and then…earlier.”
You grind your teeth together, remembering the blood on your hands. “I’m not mad anymore.”
It’s a half truth. Some part of you still simmers with anger but it’s directed at yourself more than Tav. And after everything he’s done for you…
“I’m sorry about before, too.”
You meet his wavering gaze. “About what?”
“At the hag's house,” he says. “When I tried to stop you.”
“Why would you be sorry about that?” He was trying to help you, hardly something to apologize for. Especially considering the very life and death dangers out there.
“I thought maybe…” His eyes scan the ground like he’d find the answer there. “I thought maybe I was annoying you. That’s…usually what I’m told.”
You tilt your head as you contemplate his words. With the way he runs around, gets in people’s faces, and takes the lead you could see how that might annoy someone in normal circumstances. Anger flares in your chest at the thought of someone calling Tav annoying, almost the same as you felt when you’d killed the Gur. You tell yourself to calm down—there’s plenty of dead around to accidentally raise…
“Who told you that?” you ask. Shadowheart? Astarion?
Tav thinks for a moment. “Just people.”
You frown. “You’re not annoying. I’m not annoyed by you. And I’m not mad anymore.”
Relief floods his face and he lights up. He rushes you before you can stop him, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off the ground in a bruising hug. If you weren’t so bruised already, anyway. Tav gives you a spin so you wrap your arms around his neck for stability.
When he completes another circle the bruises on your back are screaming. You say, “Injured! Still kinda hurt!”
Tav quickly lets you go. “Right, sorry!”
Despite his words, he has a wide smile on his face. You take careful breaths, debating on how to hobble back to your tent. Maybe Scratch can drag you…
“I can help,” Tav announces. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his tent in front of the statue of Selune. He’s left a small lamp burning inside, giving the area a warm glow. He’s as messy as one might expect, considering he fell off the ship without anything but his clothes. But the bits and bobbles he’s picked up on the journey so far decorate the area, from dishware to colourful rocks to what appears to be a lineup of well-chewed balls stolen from Scratch.
Tav darts around the tent and shoves a few random items off of his bedroll, waving for you to lie down. You sit as instructed while he rummages through a nearby bag. When he finally finds what he’s searching for and holds a small tin in the air triumphantly. He turns back to you, opening the and scooping out a blue gel. “Take your shirt off.”
Your brow furrows. “Pardon?”
“It’s a healing ointment,” he says, “it’ll numb the pain.”
“Oh, well…maybe just my back.” You turn and lie on your stomach, lifting your tunic until your bruises show. Shockingly, Tav is silent.
The ointment is cold against your skin. Tav is gentle as he rubs it in and announces when he’s done. You lower your shirt and sit back up, the pain wonderfully numbed.
“What are you doing?” you ask. Tav is sitting by you picking at under his nails, an attempt at getting the ointment from beneath those claws of his.
“It’s hard to get,” he admits. He holds his hands in front of his face as if that would help. You laugh and grab one hand, forcing him to display it palm up. The ointment is only stuck under the index and middle nails. Internally you fluster at the size difference between you and the barbarian. Whether you’re short or tall, petite or large, he’s a tiefling barbarian. He’s bigger than everyone and it shows as you hold his hand.
You manage to scrape out what little ointment is left between his nails with one finger.
“There,” you say. You let go of his hand but it hangs in the air. Looking at the ointment on your own you tuck your hand beneath your shirt and rub it to the bruise on your hip, the pain fading immediately. You look up at him to say your thanks but you find him staring at his own hand. “Tav?”
Tav startles, lowering his hand and straightening his back. Even in the dim light you can see his cheeks darken, though you’re not sure why he would be embarrassed about the skinship considering how easily he hugs people.
Eventually he shows a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you know what you’ll do when we reach Baldur’s Gate?”
You blink. The question feels to come out of nowhere so you just shrug. “I have no idea. I guess try to find someone that knows me? I still want to help you guys, even if it’s just getting cream out from your fingernails.”
You chuckle and scratch behind one ear. Really that one action was the most useful you’ve been this entire journey. When you look back at Tav there seems to be something he wants to say, but his mouth only opens and then closes. He smiles again, fake as Astarion’s.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says. His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard.
“Oh, yeah.” You bite the inside of your cheek. You’ll figure it out. Not we. Just you. “Um…I’ve said it a lot, but I feel like I haven’t…thank you for everything, Tav. I’d definitely be dead if not for you, and if I somehow managed to survive I’d be totally lost and—and confused. I mean I am confused still, but…you’re making it easier.”
Now you give him a smile, hoping the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes are hidden in the dim light.
But you don’t have to worry about your own tears because when you look up at the tiefling he’s the one crying. It’s silent as the tears fall down his cheeks, eyes wide as they stay on your face. “Really?”
“Yes?
Tav lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. You glance at his singed clothing and wonder if he’s hurt, but there’s no visible wound on him. You remember moments earlier when he’d asked if you were mad at him, annoyed with him. Had it weighed on him so much that you thanking him made him break down? He’s a lot softer than you originally thought.
You climb onto your knees, unsure of how to comfort him. “You’re-uh-you’re really important to me Tav. I’m…I’m sorry if I—”
Tav’s arms open and suddenly you’re engulfed by a hug. Even his tail comes around to wrap around your back and pull you closer. It would have been nice, were your own arms not trapped at your sides.
The air is knocked from your lungs, but thankfully the ointment he’d applied keeps you from feeling too much pain. He mumbles something into your shoulder, face buried and a horn poking at one ear.
“Tav?” you ask, voice strained. “I can’t hear you…or breathe.”
His grip loosens, but he keeps you there leaning awkwardly forward on your knees. His forehead is still pressed against your shoulder, but he turns until it’s also against the curve of your neck. The tent starts to feel way too hot, even without your coat.
“I said thank you,” Tav tells you.
You aren’t given a chance to respond when the flap of the tent opens and Shadowheart pokes her head in. “Not to interrupt, but we have a visitor.”
Tav lifts his head from your shoulder and you both turn your heads to look at the half-elf, and then past her. A new pit of anxiety settles in your stomach when you see who is there, and looking directly at you.
Withers.