Archive of Our Own ^beta

You're The Only Thing (That I Think I Got Right)

Some people have to fight to survive.  Astarion never considered that would be his fate.

The short thirty-nine years of his existence seems small and inconsequential compared to the centuries that followed. A life ripped from its intended path, and thrown into unforeseen chaos.

Astarion can recall with perfect clarity the last moments where he was truly alive, and the choice he made that landed him here. A hushed courtroom, and a gavel lowered in haste - the rippling echoes of his decision would stretch far beyond the walls of the courtroom. Shortly after, the Gur had left him for dead in the alley. Shrouded from the moonlight itself, Astarion lay dying, bathed in his own blood. 

Dire times can make even the foulest of beasts resemble a divine saviour, and Cazador's promise of eternal life rang like an angelic song on fading ears. Astarion clawed to his short life with everything he had, signing his life away in a delirious nod of consent. 

There was no relief to be found in Cazador's cure, his fangs slipping beneath the delicate skin of his neck in haste. The pain was unlike anything Astarion had ever encountered. 

From the moment Astarion had emerged from his early grave - the first of many cruel tests from his master - he had splinters lodged in his knuckles and sputtered out dirt, his very being longing for a new form of sustenance. 

Astarion had only since known what he was told by his master.

“You could have perished in that alley,” Cazador reminds him, another lash landing against Astarion’s bruised and broken skin. “Perhaps you should have. Vampirism is a gift, a blessing I have bestowed upon you. Thou would do well to show me your respect.”

Astarion was always a quick learner, and he quickly learns what it means to prove his gratitude to his master. While he does not care to lose more of himself through dubious actions, only a fool would willingly earn himself more torturous nights. 

Despite his best efforts, Cazador points out the smallest of errors. Imperfections are abundant, each transgression needing to be answered for regardless of their inconsequential nature. Despite being created for greatness, it seemed Astarion was destined for nothing but disappointment. Astarion is flayed over and over again, unable to please Cazador's standards. There was no fairness to be had when the goalpost of perfection was ever evolving. 

“The master wishes to speak with you,” Godey warns, tapping against Astarion’s kennel. “In his room.”

The day he is called directly to his master's chambers, Astarion no longer fears death, but welcomes it. As Cazador sets himself to the task of carving up Astarion's back, Astarion pleads to all the gods he has ever heard of in passing to show mercy and end his torment, even if it means striking his life from him.

“I knew I chose well when I turned you,” Cazador delights. “Your screams are delectable… the sweetest sound imaginable.”

It is the only act of defiance left in Astarion's repertoire to ensure such enjoyment is limited.

His mind, much like his freedom, is no longer his own. Astarion can hear himself screaming within the confines of his own mind, but Cazador's rules triumph over his autonomy with terrifying ease. So long as that quarterstaff remains in Cazador's hand and Astarion’s own eyes glow crimson with its influence, there will be no stopping his master's will.

Astarion only leaves the palace walls with the same mission repeating over and over in his mind, his own steps no longer his own. Astarion visits the local nightlife establishments and searches for the souls that are easy to corrupt, the souls that are easy to seduce, and the souls no one is likely to miss.

“I think I love you,” says his conquest, and Astarion has to employ more active measures to his sensual ministrations in order to disguise his rising disgust. Those three words were a testament to the performance, increasing in their commonality even as they began to lose all real meaning. 

Anything left of Astarion is buried beneath layers of shame and screeching, each victim he brings back whittling what might have been left of his soul into nothingness. His only reward for losing himself and dooming others is a putrid rat for dinner, or an imaginative punishment from Godey or Cazador himself.

The years pass without much fanfare, nights blending into a nauseating repetition. 

Until there's a boy, one Astarion knows is too young for Cazador's clutches. 

The boy is naive, trusting, and good in ways Astarion cannot remember ever being. There is enough life in the boy's eyes to wake Astarion from his own pity-filled purgatory.

A lump lodges in Astarion's throat, his own stomach threatening upheaval for the first time in years at the thought of bringing this boy back to Cazador. 

By some miracle, Astarion manages to resist. He returns to the palace empty handed, a plethora of rehearsed lies on his lips.

But there are no secrets between spawn and master.

Whatever fleeting grace period of freedom that existed in the boy's presence turns into a year of solitude for Astarion - locked behind a coffin once again, now charmed to prevent his release. Whether or not his siblings can hear his screams are unknown. Whatever fight remained buried deep is unearthed and defeated as his hunger threatens to consume him. All he has for company is his own thoughts, which linger on all-consuming regrets and mistakes. 

The ordeal leaves Astarion reconciling with who he must be to survive, who he must be to avoid such trauma ever again.

A rogue. A performer. A courtesan, or perhaps just a whore. An executioner, the last monster people encounter before their bitter end.

He had learned to resist was to suffer, and Astarion had already bore more than he could take. He would not continue to test the definition of insanity while he resided in conditions so poor.

Astarion became the very beast he knew the citizens feared. He was the one citizen’s whispered about to their children, meant only for fables but undoubtedly serving as a cautionary tale. It was his eyes peeking from the shadows, his voice and body the pivotal allure, his sweet words that trapped thousands and damned their souls.

In the early hours of the morning, Astarion is headed back to the palace. His latest intended capture is only a few paces behind, the girl’s footsteps close and biting at his own heels. Her lipstick is smeared over her face, not yet cleaned from their earlier activities.

The lack of sunlight conceals the ship as it begins to sweep the city streets. Astarion does not know what hits him until it is too late, until he is squirming away from a tadpole headed straight for his eye socket. 

He exits the ship, embowed with several new abilities. He can feel the constant overwhelming influence of Cazador flee his mind, and his words and actions finally become entirely his own.

Neck stretched back enough to cause a twinge of pain, Astarion feels the sun's warmth caressing his skin where it should have crisped into ash. 

Above all, Astarion can feel a power thrumming through his mind and body, making him stronger in all aspects. It electrifies and excites him, making fantasies of revenge seem less impossible.

It was, of course, too good to be true. 

Even this freedom was limited, with the very source of his freedom also being the source of a time bomb now lodged behind his eye. 

His companions are understandably weary, terrified, and mortified at the prospect. While turning into a mind flayer would also not suit his desires - complete rejection of the opportunity also feels wrongful. Unlike his companions, Astarion was less afraid of the tadpole than returning to his former servitude.

Their fearless leader - Tav - was a strong fighter. She holds a greatsword with authority, swinging it with virtuosity. Her battle style was tactful and adept, and her words are considerate and kind.

She was also naive, much the same way that boy in Baldur’s Gate had been so many years ago…

Astarion had tackled her to the ground with a blade to her slender and vulnerable throat. His hold was only broken by their tadpoles intervening. Without visible hesitation, Tav had still handed her forgiveness out without second thought. 

“Ah, a kindred spirit,” Astarion teases, scanning her perceptively. 

He recognizes the lustful interest in her eyes as she gazes upon him, and sees an opportunity open before him.

Tav likes what she sees, and Astarion knows with a resounding disappointment which playing card to pull from his deck of tricks.

He throws a shoulder back in a seductive yet pensive stance. “I was ready to go it alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn’t such a bad idea.”

Her smile is blindingly bright.

In a mere matter of hours, Tav proved her gullibility knew no bounds. Tav had already promised to aid a cleric with a chronic pain condition, rescued an insufferable wizard from a portal, and befriended a githyanki.

Despite her innocence and propensity for heroism, Astarion would have been stupid to deny himself such a formidable and easily influenceable ally. If he explained the situation, or even force himself to lay with her - perhaps Tav might also agree to free him from Cazador's hold.

The environment may have changed, but Astarion knew better than to hope. 

At its core, his mission remained the same. 

It was once again a pursuit of safety, shrouded in the disguise of devotion.

What else was he good at, if not exactly this? 

***** ***** *****

Trapped within the confines of the palace, Astarion was forbidden to read. Cazador couldn’t have his precious subjects educating themselves about what they were, lest they grow unionised in their knowledge and overthrow him. 

Astarion had not realised how much he longed to feel the softness of the pages, to challenge himself with difficult prose, to experience enthusiasm at the prospect of expanding his knowledge base.

The first crypt Astarion had explored with his companions had been dusty, but had also contained several bookcases. He felt intrigue rise in his chest, and a compulsion to investigate.

“How peculiar,” he whispered under his breath, his slender fingers ghosting across the book spines.

If he were to be questioned how a few happen to find their way inconspicuously into his travel pack by his travel companions, Astarion would simply divert their attention onto another topic at hand. 

Plan in place, Astarion turns back to the party only to see Tav openly shoving every item known to man into her own travel pack - and suddenly, a few books seems far less scandalous than looting a man's boots shamelessly from his corpse. 

She catches his lingering eye and responds in kind with a clever smile, tossing her head to the side. “I figure we can sell these, buy something more useful for the team like food or armour.”

Leave it to him to choose travel companions that were a pack of selfless idiots. How dreadfully boring .

Astarion turns back to the books, with a renewed confidence in his ability to take his time with his selection process. 

After all, he hasn't had the ability to choose his own reading materials in two centuries. There is a lot of catching up to do, a lot of information to intake and learn if he is to exact the revenge he so desperately longs for.

“Astarion! If books are what you fancy, would you be receptive to a recommendation from a well-read and studious wizard like myself?” Gale asks.

It takes everything in Astarion to refrain from baring his fangs. They crush against one another as Astarion chooses his battles precariously. “I think not. Unless you happen to know if any of these reference how to obtain power.”

“If power is what you seek, you might be out of luck. Most of these look like ledgers and fables. I could certainly lend you a scroll I found in that vase across the way. Or I could teach you a spell or two, as I happen to know a few that might be of interest to you. There are several ancient cantations which-”

Astarion continued to scan his eyes over the book titles, slowly tuning out the wizard. To his unfortunate luck, Gale was right. None of these looked like much help. 

Even if not for a more immediate and grandeur purpose, other titles began to stand out. There’s a Book of Dead Gods , although Astarion is certain that nothing he’s ever prayed to has ever listened. There is another called The Unclaimed , but a quick preview also reveals several mentions of the goddess Shar. He also has no use for the Chapel records, as they list an impressive amount of departed souls beyond resurrection. 

He settles for Journey Through the Jungle , as it seems like an adventure that mentions a goblin guide. He could do worse. Perhaps it might give him some strategy ideas. 

Astarion spins on his heel and walks away from the wizard, angered that someone who can still breathe is using up all the oxygen in this crypt for themselves. 

He doesn’t make it far in the small space, nearly tripping over the body Tav is still looting.

“Gale means well,” Tav chastises him in a tactfully low voice as Astarion draws closer to her presence. “You might consider taking him up on his offer.”

Astarion is nearly certain she cannot hear his thoughts, but her quick perception temporarily stuns him. He had thought her preoccupied, but clearly Tav was observant. “When I need something from the wizard, I will ask. I did not ask for his input.”

Tav stands from the body she was looting from, and brushes dust and debris from her hands. “I get the impression you are used to travelling alone.”

“What makes you think that?”

She smiles. “You do not seem to care for banter.”

“And I get the impression that you seem to think you know everything,” Astarion defends instinctively. Remembering the task at hand, and his safety at stake, Astarion swallows his temper and pivots with ease. “On the contrary my dear, I prefer to banter with someone capable of matching my own wit .”

“The road ahead is long, Astarion,” Tav says, forging ahead without biting at the bait he’s offered. “I assure you that investing in familiarising yourself with those we travel with might yield a great return.”

Astarion scoffed. Who was she to stand before him and chastise his choices? 

“What would yield a greater return is if any of those books were truly suited for my tastes.”

Tav snorts, an unbecoming sound, yet slightly endearing in the lightness it brings to the darkening conversation. “I’m sure we can find you a romance novel yet, should you desire it.”

“What I desire is something that can tell me more about our condition ,” Astarion seethes. “What use is this fate if we still do not know how to control it? What use is this point of this entire journey if not to seize any opportunity at power?”

Tav’s smile diminished and her eyes became downcast, her face morphing into something that almost represented a soft disappointment. There is a genuineness in her expression, making the damp air of the crypt seem even heavier as it pushes on Astarion’s shoulders. 

“We may not have found any answers yet, but I am thankful to have found one another,” Tav confesses, slowly bringing her eyes back up to meet his own. “But you are right. Knowledge is a power in and of itself. Should I happen to stumble upon anything I might think you’d find useful, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

While it had not crossed his mind that Tav would be the kind to willingly restrict or prevent him from meeting his goals, or to make empty promises - Astarion is struck by her devotion to transparency. 

As they exit the crypt, something about her conviction acts like a whirlwind, pulling Astarion in and daring him to allow himself to feel an emotion he has not felt in years. 

Hope. 

***** ***** *****

Astarion watches every night as Tav visits each of their tents diligently. 

As an expert in performance himself, he studies how Tav interacts with the others. Astarion sees how she adapts to each person’s presence, maintains an open body language, even begins to mirror the movements of their companions, and asks curious questions of each.

It is mesmerising to watch how the others respond in kind. 

Shadowheart normally stands tensely, holding her arms close to her body like armour. As Tav approaches, something loosens in Shadowheart, who visibly relaxes when Tav is near. Though the cleric's words can still bite - there is an understanding between them, a respect earned through Tav’s previous actions on the ship. 

“Your gratitude is appreciated, but unnecessary. I would hope you might have done the same for me, if our places had been reversed,” Tav diverts. 

Although boisterous and confident in battle, Wyll tends to keep to himself at camp. Wyll’s quiet contemplation and shyness seem to fade when he speaks with Tav, even as she probes with sensitive questions about his family. Tav focuses on speaking to his strengths, and Wyll seems to stand taller for it.

“The sword coast is lucky to have you,” Tav preens.

Speaking of potentially taboo topics, Tav listens as Gale speaks of his ex-girlfriend and goddess. Such a conversation would certainly disinterest Astarion, as Gale would most certainly leave out the details actually worth hearing in the pursuit of maintaining Tav’s decency. What should bore her instead leads Tav to respond empathetically, without teasing or bestowing judgement. 

“Your goddess,” Tav acknowledges with a small smile. “It sounds like she meant a lot to you.”

Tav approaches Lae’zel cautiously, refraining from violating the githyanki’s personal space. She commentates on Lae’zel’s swordsmanship, providing tips. Even as their conversation shifts into speaking about culture, Tav simply challenges and inquires about Lae’zel’s beliefs without projecting any bias or distaste for them. 

“I suppose concepts such as honour and fidelity truly do transcend the strongest of cultural barriers, even if they may look different on the surface,” Tav poses.

Astarion studies the information before him, even as she draws near to his own tent. He cannot help but consider her motivations. Is it a game to Tav? Conforming to others' will and expectations? Winning their approval with ease? Is it some display of fairness, or feigned obligation to make the rounds in this manner?

This preoccupation with the desires of all the others leaves him curious in more ways than one. 

What does Tav desire? He’s seen her unsubtle glances in his direction. Having pleased many lovers, he has allowed himself to wonder. Would she be the type to want sweet nothings drawled into her ear? Or perhaps she would be all business and authoritative - the focus during the act solely on the movement and pleasure itself, losing herself in responses rather than vocabulary…

He loses himself in thought, caught off guard by her arrival. She may have caught him staring at his book, but he has not read a single word. 

“Good evening, Astarion.”

Astarion straightens his spine, ready to adapt. Raking his eyes at an intentionally slow pace from Tav’s modest feet to her bright eyes, he begins to wear one of his best smiles. 

“Well, hello. What can I do for you?”

There is no mistaking the gleam in Tav’s eye as his purposeful indiscreet observation causes her cheeks to flush. Astarion’s earlier observations were correct - Tav likes what she sees. 

“I feel like I hardly know any of you,” Tav states, gesturing to their company. “I figured you could tell me more about yourself.”

“How terribly vague,” Astarion teases. “The real question is what would you like to know?”

They speak for what seems like hours, but must only be a matter of mere minutes. Tav is ambitious in her investigative questions, most of which make Astarion feel transparent. It is an active effort for him to not give all of himself to her alluring draw. 

Astarion knows all too well that just because someone promises safety does not mean they can be trusted. 

When her questions drift to his past and true identity - he employs the traditional strategies. He clips some of his answers, changes the topic, avoids talking about feelings in favour of observations and distractions. These are the mechanisms that have formerly served him well. Tav does not seem to mind.

All too soon, Tav is making her way back to her bedroll - the faint scent of rosemary and fresh blood lingering in her wake. 

Her inquisitiveness does not feel inauthentic, but Astarion cannot comprehend how someone can give so much of themselves to others. If she truly knew who she was trusting, Tav might think differently of getting so close to him. 

The best solution was to hold his cards close. Astarion had already seen some of the cards in her hand, all he had to do was wait for the rest to be played. 

***** ***** *****

Turning the book over in her hands, Tav evaluates it. Astarion does the same from a pace back, his mind alight with intrigue. 

Once Tav had slipped the purple stone into place, Astarion felt the air shift as the magic took hold. Putting the key and the book in two separate locations was undoubtedly a sign that someone did not want this easily opened. 

Need rose in Astarion’s throat, nearly as strong as a craving for blood. This was what he had been waiting for. 

The words have left his tongue without his explicit intent, only barely remembering at the last second to curb them into a suggestion rather than a demand. “You should let me hold onto it.”

And Tav simply hands it over. 

As if she had already planned on it. As if she remembered their conversation from only days prior. As if it is of no mind to her what happens to it next, despite the opportunity lingering at her fingertips. 

The book lands heavily in his hands, and he cannot pull the sly smile from his lips. There is no argument, no subsequent inquisition about his motives. Perhaps she truly was as naive as he thought, to hand it over without further consideration. 

“Just be careful with it,” Tav warns noncommittally.

How strange it was to make his own fate, for the first time in centuries. Astarion can only nod as she marches on, not looking to hex his luck by speaking further. 

***** ***** *****

The tadpole was not the only parasite feasting on his brain. 

Tav consumed his thoughts more than he had anticipated. It was insidious, like a disease creeping up and threatening to bring him to his knees. She was a problem for which he did not have the answer. 

Each passing day raised more questions than answers when it came to Tav. Her eagerness, her compassion, even the delight of her companionship…

Astarion did not know what to do about it. 

He did not know much about the woman, beyond the obvious and the vignettes Tav shared with him as they travelled. They spent more time talking together than most of the other companions, an active and calculated effort on Astarion’s part. He could not have anyone else, least of all the likes of Gale, distracting her mind away from him.

“I think you can have a rest day, Astarion,” Tav had told him sweetly, despite the fact the words felt like a knife in his back. 

Maybe he had come onto the fighter a bit strong, miscalculating the signals she gave him or even overestimating his own importance. Sidelining him was not something Astarion had anticipated from her. He found himself growing used to spending the daylight hours at her side, watching her carefully. 

It took a great deal of care to refrain from letting his sharp smile turn into a pout. “If that is what you wish. Though I do look forward to hearing the spoils of your adventure upon your return.”

Tav left with Gale, Wyll, and Lae’zel in tow - leaving Astarion and Shadowheart to fend for themselves. The cleric stubbornly kept to her own tent, shutting down his advances to speak.

Without the adequate company of others, Astarion felt himself driven mad with curiosity. Like a doll left on the shelf, all he could do was sit and contemplate her return. It made for a dreadfully boring way to spend the day. 

“What to do with you…” Astarion pondered under his breath. 

He replayed the small catalogue of their previous conversations, searching for clues to her heart. Astarion began to make a mental list. If he compiled all his knowledge, the answer was sure to present itself… or at least, that was his working theory.

What did Astarion know about Tav?

Tav liked taking care of others, providing them with their needs and fostering their dreams. She liked watching the sunset more than she enjoyed watching the sunrise, though she could not attribute it to any conscious reasoning. In a vehement yet foolish manner, she did not believe in no-win scenarios - always insisting that it was worth thinking of an out-of-the-box solution to benefit all parties. 

She maintained eye contact with enemies and friends alike, unwavering in giving them her full attention. While seemingly striving for the approval of everyone in their ragtag group, Tav was not afraid of a difficult conversation, nor did she pass the opportunity to sass their adversaries. Her years as a fighter had made her a light sleeper, yet she never looked more at peace than when she shut her eyes with the intent to dream. 

Not one to forget, Tav’s memory was like a vault that categorised all important information for recall. She only talked with her hands when the conversation grew passionate, enforcing her words with her gesticulations. Perhaps the detail most noticeable was the way the tone of her laugh would shift, the way it would rise to a point of absolute silence if the joke was truly enjoyable. 

None of this information was particularly helpful to him - even if Astarion could recall it all with surprising ease.

His questions remained, his pursuit of safety lodging on their solutions. How could he make her want to spend more time with him? Was there already someone else in her life taking up the space he intended to occupy? Was she the type for gifts, and if so, what? Have his current efforts been successful enough to make her think of him fondly? 

Astarion knew he could make her heart race with one successful look, but what would make her heart open to him? He could feel the need to know rise in his throat, not entirely unlike his hunger. 

Astarion stuck his nose in a book, and pretended to read. Whenever the paragraph repeated itself, he would sneak a glance to their camp entrance, awaiting her arrival. 

***** ***** *****

They came across a hidden chest, and Tav eagerly pulled the shovel she found ages ago to dig it from the ground. The lock glinted upon it, hiding its secrets from plain view. 

“Shit,” Tav cursed eloquently.

Astarion wants to play it off nonchalantly - but one of the more exciting aspects of freedom is all the gifts that come with it, such as taking whatever is inside this chest for himself, should he find it valuable enough. 

He supposes it is a duel opportunity, produces some gains for him and allows him to demonstrate his rogue abilities. The more Astarion can prove his usefulness and showcase his reliability, perhaps the easier it will be to fool her.

“Not to worry, I’ve got this.”

Tav’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “What? You think I can’t do it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I am only implying that I have a talent for opening things with a little bit of finesse and a whole lot of patience…”

“You incorrigible bastard,” Tav whispers.

“Oh, by all means - if you must, take your best attempt!”

“Maybe I will,” Tav argues with a smile as she sinks to her knees in front of the chest. 

Astarion cannot help the thrill that comes with getting under her skin, slipping past her armour and igniting the flame within. 

Retrieving a lock picking kit, Tav sets to work. Astarion crosses his arms, leaning into his right hip and holding back a laugh.

Her hands - while able to work diligently with a blade - fumble helplessly to hold the tools at the correct angle, much less move them past the pins. Tav has this pained look on her face, with her eyes squinted determinately and her jaw tense.

“There is not a lock in all of Baldur’s Gate that I cannot pick - and yet this lock has you in quite a twist. Need any assistance?”

Tav rolled her eyes. “Do I need your most humble assistance? Let me think… no, not yet. Besides, I’ve almost got it!”

With ironic timing, the lockpick shatters into pieces in her hands. The lock itself remains stoic. Astarion cannot help but giggle with a sense of fondness.

“There’s no shame in admitting defeat.”

“It’s the lock! It’s impossible,” Tav cries, growing defensive and agitated. Despite the growing tension, she stands and backs away - admitting defeat and motioning with her hand for him to step in. 

Astarion takes the opening, slowly sinking to his own knees with his own lock picking tools in hand, and without breaking eye contact with Tav until strictly necessary. 

“Nonsense. All it needs is the right touch,” Astarion starts, his voice purposefully sultry. His hand works with ease, already past half of the lock’s defences within mere seconds. “And it comes apart before your eyes.”

The lock gives, falling into his open freehand below with a soft thud. He knows without looking what expression his companions will be wearing. 

“What can I say that has not already been said. Do you believe me now that I have magic fingers?”

“Enough flirting,” Tav chastises. “Open the damned thing already.”

“I only hope the rewards we are about to reap are as satisfying as this conversation.”

Pale greedy hands find their way to the latch, flipping it up at the same time he pushes on the lid. Astarion is immediately met with a sense of crushing disappointment, his face scrunching.

“What in the sweet hells is this!”

Tav steps into his space, peering inside. It is her turn to giggle. “Well… would you look at that?”

Wyll and Lae’zel step up to view the chest as well with curious eyes. 

Wyll asks with incredulity the question on all their minds. “Who the hell locks up and buries a garden gnome ?” 

Wyll reaches inside, picking the porcelain item up from the blanket on which it has been laid upon. If nothing else, Astarion supposes they can satiate their criminal desires by stealing the blanket for use on the colder nights, though it makes for a sore consolation prize.

“ Tskva ,” Lae’zel swears. “Could it be cursed?”

“I doubt it,” Wyll counters, but he still seemingly gulps at the prospect.

Astarion huffs, rising to his feet and brushing grass and dirt from his pant leg. “Whatever it is, it is of no use to us.”

He begins to stomp away from the chest, his hopes dashed. There was a small part of him that wanted to discover something of use to his situation. While constantly discovering weapons and clothing and potions was nice - he’d yet to find something that could help him kill Cazador.

Footsteps approach him from behind, the footfall already familiar to his ears after their long travelling days. 

“Think you can do the same on the next one?” Tav asks with a smile, innocently clapping her hand on Astarion’s back, like their friendship is decades in the making instead of days. 

The contact of her hand on his back falls a touch heavier than it should, as if Tav is mistaken of her own strength. It ignites Astarion’s skin, and the scars beneath. It triggers memories, rising from his feet to his head in a hot flash-

“Don’t touch me,” Astarion bites out angrily before he can stop himself.

Tav’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. Her mouth is hanging open, searching for a reply. Purposefully lodging her hands behind her back, she takes a breath. 

“My apologies, Astarion. I will not do that again.”

Several seconds pass between them, Astarion unable to meet her eyes as he collects himself - grounds himself to the road beneath him. It feels solid under his boots. The air is crisp, a stark contrast from the musty air of Cazador’s palace. 

Her immediate apology and acceptance is appreciated, and certainly foreign to him - as is the expression of his own desires. It leaves them in an odd spot. Astarion does not yet know if she will keep her word, but she has not given him any indication that she would willingly break their developing trust. 

“Should you need my services again, you only need to ask,” Astarion confirms, slipping back into a familiar crafted composure. 

Tav nods, her expression sincere and regretful.

***** ***** *****

True to her word, Tav did not touch Astarion again. Even when passing him a goblet of wine at camp, she was careful to hold the chalice in a manner that would reduce the possibility of accidental skin brushes.

It was infuriating, much like many things about the woman. 

Travelling with Tav came with several rather annoying prices. Perhaps worst of all is that Tav seemed morally compelled to pick up every stray they found, including every noble quest asked of her. On some level, it almost came across as intrusive and meritless to Astarion. They were often meddling in these people’s lives and performing dirty work others could not seem to be bothered with. 

Tav never broke a promise to others yet - even if it meant that at their rate of travel, they might never reach the city. 

Astarion crosses his arms as they trek through the grove. There is a fight before they reach the centre, two parents threatening the guards to allow them to pass. Astarion turns to watch Tav, already sees her planning out several courses of action as they watch the situation unfold before them. 

When the parents are unsuccessful in their intimidation tactics and lack the brute force needed to rescue their daughter, Astarion groans as Tav backtracks in her paces to speak with them.

The father is distraught.“Arabella tried to steal their idol. Druids lost their damn minds about it-”

“She’s nine and a half,” the girl’s mother pleads. “We just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Astarion bites at his tongue, but finds his exasperation and resentment harder to swallow. Tav agrees without hesitation or suspicion, a selfless act Astarion cannot mirror with enthusiasm so long as he is caught contemplating how the missing girl ended up in this predicament in the first place.

The grove would make for a large search area, but the concentration of guards makes it easy to determine where the girl is being held. This is the part of the quest Astarion minds less: the sneaking around, the lock picking, the deception tactics. 

They make their way into the druid's lair.

“I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry!”

Astarion watches as Kagha stands before the child with authority. Arabella quivers before the sight of the great snake. Her whimper sends chills down Astarion’s spine. 

Tav attempts to be the voice of reason in a room of crowded opinions while Astarion braces himself. 

Despite his nature, his history, the occasional enjoyment derived from killing those deserving, and how attractive he found grand displays of power to be - Astarion stands before the situation with dread, and a hesitancy to see any child suffer at the hands of a madwoman.

Kagha looms over Arabella, casting her shadow over Arabella who squirms away from the snake that is poised to strike. Astarion had thought druids were meant to be one with nature, peaceful even. Until arriving in this grove, he had not realised how they could weaponize nature to their own gain. Kagha’s face beams with a righteousness, a sly smile at the sight of Arabella’s discomfort, relishing in the power that comes with deciding the fate of another. 

Astarion has seen this look before, painted on his own master’s face a thousand times. The comparison sickens him. 

The more Kagha attempts to explain her need to discipline rebellion with a murder sentence, the closer Astarion’s hand draws to his own sheathed blades. Astarion would feel little remorse at taking down the people in this room that are willing to let a child die for the sake of a statue - but as usual, Tav remains level headed. 

“Release her. I’ll see to it that she stays out of trouble.”

Tav normally speaks with a softness, the kind that can convince anyone she’s speaking with that they are the only person in the room. There is kindness and loyalty sitting in her tone, one that empowers and invites collaboration. 

But as she speaks at Kagha, her words lack that warmth that has become familiar. There is conviction in her directiveness, making clear that Tav’s request is undeniable without severe consequence. It is persuasive yet indisputable. 

Kagha relents and Arabella runs free. Astarion feels the discontent that was rising in his chest dissipate as he watches the situation diffuse, his primal instincts still crying out from his nervous system that violence might have been a more suitable and satisfying answer.

More conversation follows, but Astarion does not care to follow it. He stands at Tav’s side, pondering the entire situation. 

If he is to follow Tav’s leadership - he needs to know he can trust her. 

“Why not just kill Kagha?” Astarion asks Tav later that night at camp, the fire situated between them illuminating their respective faces. 

Tav slices at an apple, lifting small pieces to her mouth with the blade. “Arabella was not yet safe. Attacking Kagha could have led to a mass slaughter, one that might have included us and the girl. It was not a risk I was willing to take. I figured I would give Kagha the chance to decide her own fate.”

“Would you have killed Kagha, had she killed the girl?”

“Likely,” Tav acquiesces. Her eyebrow raises. “Would that have upset you?”

Astarion begins to pace. “On the contrary - you know I am always up for a little murderous maiming. And… I suppose it certainly would not have pleased me to see Arabella killed.”

“Awe, I did not know you cared for the girl so much,” Tav teased with a smirk, bringing another bite up to her lips. Her hands, the ones that would not touch him now, were steady and confident in the practised motion. Astarion shook his head and willed himself to stop watching her eat. “But if you do not take issue with the outcome, why are you questioning my means?”

Astarion pauses mid-stride, turning to face Tav. “How did you know for certain that Kagha was capable of sparing the child?”

Tav shrugs. “Simple. I did not know for certain that she would.”

“Are you saying you put the child’s life in danger on a leap of faith ?” Astarion sneers. “How deliciously devious of you.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not,” Tav states, chewing on the last of her dinner. “I have my beliefs, that much is certain. Not beliefs in any of the gods - but in people. I believe most people are capable of feeling. I believe most people make the right choice when the options are presented before them. I also believe that doing bad things does not make someone a bad person - nor does doing bad things mean people completely forget what the right things are.”

Her eyes seem to stare right through his own, searching for an answer to a question he cannot predict. 

She sighs heavily. “I trusted that Kagha could make a less destructive decision if she knew there were other options available to her, so I gave her one. As Wither’s says - I let fate spin, as it should.”

“Some might see that as you being too trusting.”

“And some might call you a cynic,” Tav retorted, without any real malice or offence at his original comment.

Astarion reflects on Tav’s explanation. She was different from him in many ways. Tav did not move around the world seeing situations in black-and-white, even if she did concern herself with tedious considerations for morals and righteousness. 

It was an enigma - to seek out virtuous aspirations without exacting total dominance over others. It was a foreign concept to him, but Astarion would make the effort to at least understand it. 

“If it's all the same to you, I prefer to make my own fate - whenever possible.”

Tav nods, standing and turning to her tent. “I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Astarion.”

***** ***** *****

The sigh that Tav releases is audible from across their campsite, even without his spectacular hearing. Astarion senses an opening, and moves out from his shelter to see what all the fuss is about.

Tav is at her bedroll, her favourite set of camp clothes in her grasp. It was a familiar sight, as Astarion had seen her wear them countless times, and seen her carefully dye the material one late night. 

It stood out in his mind because it was the first selfish thing Astarion had witnessed from her. For someone so selfless, using the dye had been out of character for her. He had not the slightest idea where she’d originally got them from - but he understood they held importance to Tav.

As his footsteps approach, Tav meets his eyes, holding the garment slightly upwards with a defeated tone. “It’s ruined.”

“No use crying over loose thread, dear.”

“I know, it’s just…” Tav’s eyes grow distant as they bore into the tattered fabric. “I liked this one.”

“You could always set a new trend.”

“Hah! And walk around naked when the thread completely gives away?”

Astarion smiled. “I can think of worse sights to see around camp.”

“Very funny. I think not, but…” Her voice grew small again. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up.”

Placing it aside, Tav patted at the fabric longingly. Astarion watched as the strong warrior began to curl in upon herself, looping her arms around her knees as Tav resigned the issue and began to peer into the flame before her. 

Reaching down, Astarion grabbed at the shirt. The problem was not hard to locate, the fabric ripping away from the point of the seam. It was indeed signalling the start of the end for this fabric, as further use would undoubtedly damage it beyond repair without swift intervention. 

An idea occurred to Astarion, an impulsive action that fit nicely into his master plans. “If it is truly that important to you, I suppose you could let me mend it for you.”

Tav snapped her head, looking at him anew. “You sew?”

“How many times must I remind you? I have talented hands.”

“Right,” Tav remarks. “I’m beginning to see there are many truths in such a small phrase.”

“It was a skill I picked up in Cazador’s palace,” Astarion confessed, but did not elaborate. “The rip at hand is close enough to the seam and small. If I catch it now, we might be able to salvage it.”

There were a million questions in Tav’s eyes, but he could see her decide not to pry. She was as perceptive as she was respectful - a fact he appreciated from her. 

“If you would be willing, I would very much appreciate it.”

***** ***** *****

No more than two moons passed before Astarion left the garment folded neatly near Tav’s bedroll. 

The wistful pleasure painted across her face when Tav discovered it filled Astarion with an odd sensation in his gut. She pulled the fabric close to her chest, examining his handiwork with a genuine smile.

Her eyes began to scan around the camp, likely searching for him. Astarion was at the outskirts of their campsite, preparing to leave and hunt. 

When her efforts to find him prove fruitless, her poorly hidden disappointment also lands oddly with Astarion. What should be a confirmation that she is wrapped around his finger and an active participant in his master plan only feels like a hot poker to his abdomen.

It is a feeling he does not care to explore. Though he is familiar enough with hunger pains to know it cannot be so, Astarion lies to himself and accepts the possibility. He leaves the sight of her and the camp behind, and sets his sights forward to the forest.

***** ***** *****

Tav steps ahead boldly as they traverse away from the safety of the grove, and towards the goblin camp. Astarion stays close by, aiming to keep himself within her field of view even as her breakneck pace causes the others to fall a few paces behind. The sword hoisted on her back rattles softly in its holder.

“May I ask you a personal question, Astarion?”

Astarion hums noncommittally. Tav would often start their roadside conversations this way, her inquisitiveness simultaneously pleasing and angering to him. It was dreadful to be constantly examined and expected to perform well in her estimations - but it is also nice to know she was interested.

“Consider me all pointy ears.”

“You have not yet told me about the night you were turned into a vampire.”

Astarion felt his jaw clench. His eyebrows pinched together as disgust rose. His body felt suddenly cold, his footsteps at danger of faulting under his stride.

“I believe we have already discussed many aspects of my servitude, and how I came to be this way,” Astarion assesses. “What do you actually want to know?”

Tav sighs. “I just keep finding myself caught up in the details. Specifically, how did Cazador just happen to be there?”

“That is what I was led to believe.”

Tav huffed. “Well, forgive me if I find it hard to believe. It feels too coincidental.”

“Perhaps…” Astarion falsely contemplated, putting on the start of his act. “It is difficult to remember through the memory of the pain - but he may have mentioned something…”

He did not need to burden her with the same clear memories that haunted his own mind. A callous and shrill voice in his ear, words clear as day. 

“Oh my dear young elf,” Cazador had sneered. “I have been watching you for quite some time. There is no use suffering such a wasteful fate.”

“Besides,” Astarion diverted, keeping himself grounded in the present despite the fact he could almost feel Cazador’s breath in his ear. “Let’s say he did select me with intention. What is a little stalking in comparison to everything else he’s done to me? After all, he has far worse to answer for when I find him.”

“Because Astarion,” Tav stops, her feet suddenly rooted and her eyes alight. Astarion walks a few paces forward, forced to turn back towards her when she does not follow. “When we encounter him, I want the same as you - for him to answer to everything he did to you.”

Astarion grappled for his next words, awestruck by her resoluteness. 

“Far be it for me to argue with you, but do not make promises you do not intend to keep.”

Tav resumes her pace, a sly smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “You should know by now, Astarion. I never say no to a challenge.”

***** ***** *****

Astarion smirks to himself as he packs up his camp. In all honesty, he could have taken or leaven the Tiefling party and all those in attendance. But the festivities afterwards…

…safe to say the night he shared with Tav had left a lot on his mind.

It had been some time since Astarion had indulged himself without the looming mind control of seeking out Cazador’s next conquests. Tav had approached him, her own cheeks flushed from the gifted wine, and Astarion was surprised by the lust he felt creep up his spine at the sight of her. 

The last of the tension between them had broken spectacularly the moment Astarion finally propositioned her, her enduring willpower falling away at the promises on his lips. 

It was an act of service - purely transactional, and exactly as intended.

It had even been enjoyable at the outset.

Holding Tav felt like holding porcelain, despite the ferociousness he had witnessed from her when they were engaged in battle. Her skin was impossibly soft in the spots typically hidden under her armour, yet Astarion had also encountered litanies of scars and calluses - remnants from adventures long before they’d met. A curiosity rose within him to ask, the compulsion leaving as quick as it came as she continued to try and steal his nonexistent breath. Her skin rippled with goosebumps under his ministrations, making Astarion feel like an accomplished conductor with every pass of his fingertips.

It certainly did not hurt that Tav was also beautiful, in her own way. 

Astarion contemplated what features on Tav’s face might have been more prominent in her early years, and found himself awestruck at how the start of her laughter lines were working hard to chase away her youth. Astarion had not seen himself in centuries thanks to his condition, but he knew from the skin he could see that all ageing processes were robbed from him. She wore it well, prominent features that were well set into her skin, uniquely her own in every way possible. 

Her touch was electric, yet kind. Tav was not the kind to unnecessarily mark without waiting for a nod of approval, nor did her nails dig into his flesh without an understanding passing between their eyes first. Her cautiousness was expected, but invigorating - as if Astarion were truly experiencing something new with someone new for the first time in centuries. When Tav’s fingertips ghosted over his back - an area Astarion hated both being perceived and touched - Astarion found he did not mind her heedful exploration. 

He had been surprised to learn how perceptive Tav was, how easily adaptable she was to his cues, and how she took back and gave away control. They moved together with an ease Astarion had shared with few conquests, fit together in a nearly perfect manner that dared to raise a sense of belonging within him. 

Astarion could remember the moment it changed. The moment he thought that it couldn’t possibly be…

Could it be different? 

Could Tav be different?

Such thoughts triggered a fear deep within him, his other demons clawing on at the opportunity, and Astarion felt himself dissociate against his will. The conclusion of their night time tryst is difficult for him to fully recall - a sensation Astarion is all too familiar with. 

What should have been complete chromatic memories are now incomplete - at best only repressed, at worst truly irrecoverable. 

What Astarion had not expected was for Tav to call him out for it. 

“Did I do something wrong last night?” She asks again, breaking him from the memory. 

The question is a near perfect echo from the one she had asked that morning when Tav awoke. As it was then, her voice was still just loud enough for him to hear, their companions intentionally several steps behind. 

“Not a thing,” Astarion reassures sweetly. “If anything, you were delectable .”

Her eyes are hard, as they usually are when he tries to use prettied words with her. It unsettles Astarion to think of what she sees and thinks, what it means to be translucent under her gaze. 

She won’t outright challenge him, she never does. 

They stop at a clear stream, as good of a place as any to wash the blood from their faces. The current sight of them would likely send the next strangers they encounter into a panic.

As the team spreads along the lakeshore, Tav cups her hands into the water and brings it to her face. She rubs her cheeks until they turn rosy, then uses the back of her hand to clear her forehead. 

The water clings to her features, running down her slender nose until it drips onto her strongly defined lips. Her closed eyes open, and the water on her dark lashes also begins to cascade, although a few drops attempt to linger in defiance.

Astarion only realises he’s staring when Tav’s eyes shift to him. Her mouth breaks into a sly smile as her hands pull from the back of her neck to her collarbone.

“So, how does it feel to be a hero ?”

“Excuse me?” Astarion asks, suddenly indignant – at being caught or at the question asked, he cannot yet tell.

“Oh, Astarion. You should have heard the Tiefling children at the party last night. They wouldn’t stop talking about the handsome pale elf who risked his life against the goblin army in exchange for their safe passage.”

“You lie.”

“Ha! You’ve seen me in various negotiations, you should know by now I’m not capable of such a feat,” Tav teased, an honest humour in her tone. A smile splits her face wide as she continues to wash her skin. “I’m serious though. Maybe Alfira will even write a song about you.”

To her credit, Astarion had not seen her deceive others.

“Such songs typically feature persons alive and filled with virtue - both of which are things I lost long ago, my dear.”

Tav shakes her head. “I’m sure even Volo could understand the appeal of writing about the unexpected saviour, regardless of the status of their pulse.”

Astarion can see from the glint in her eye that she enjoys the banter, but her words are slipping beneath his skin uncomfortably. The air no longer feels playful, her words landing like a lecture on his pointy ears. Was this her goal, to turn him into something he was not through means of encouragement? Whatever her game was, Astarion did not currently feel like playing it. 

“It would not be my lack of virtue that catches any Bard’s eye, but your own, Tav. Why should I feel like a hero simply because your own bleeding heart refuses to turn down any needy stranger in need of help from us? We’re a band of fools, not heroes.”

Tav stands from the river, shaking her hands off. “I think you are deflecting. The reality is that you could have left. You could have refused to help us. You could have turned on us mid-battle. You could have walked away-”

“Is there a point coming soon to this tirade?”

Tav smiles, and steps close. “My point is that you might call it foolish, but those children call it like they see it – and they saw great bravery in you.”

Astarion scowled. “I wouldn’t expect a repeat performance.”

Tav just shook her head. “I’d wager good coin that you’ll see it as I do. If not today, then someday soon.”

“And if I don’t,” Astarion countered defensively. “What if I cannot be what you want to see in me?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Tav maintained. “There’s a long journey ahead.”

Hero… as if.

***** ***** *****

They’ve returned to camp early, fruitless in their efforts to find another lead and a long stretch of road conquered behind them. To ensure their fighting efforts wouldn’t be further impeded through their own exhaustion should a foe emerge, they set camp now with the promise of an early rise.

Tav and himself had fought over the first watch, both of them too stubborn to concede. The two of them were standing at the corner entrance to their campsite, eyes scanning the darkness for threat. They are only a shoulder’s width apart, the air between them charged with anticipation. 

He cannot see her face in the dark of the night, but it's for the better. She’s certainly no ugly sight, but watching her brow furrow any tighter as she contemplates the week that lay before them and her vast amount of plans, alliances, and promises to be upheld would certainly drive him to insanity.

Astarion had assumed that was the topic on her mind, until Tav broke the silence by asking an unprompted question.

“What was it like?”

The question catches him off-guard. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, darling.”

“Being Cazador’s spawn,” Tav clarifies. Astarion wishes his body wouldn’t involuntarily tense at the sound of the name.

“Oh you know, it was the grandest of times really. Torture, screaming, and slavery – what’s not to be excited about?”

He can hear her eyes roll. “Please don’t be flippant.”

“And here I thought you knew me well enough to know that’s my default-”

“And I adore you for it,” Tav cuts him off. “But I’m trying to be serious. I want to understand what it was like.”

Her eyes bore into his own, seeking answers he cannot give. It is not often that conversations turn serious between them, but Astarion finds it difficult to hold her gaze when they do, his own falling to the ground as his shoulder creeps closer towards his ears. He raises his chest, attempting to portray a false nonchalance.

“I am quite certain you can surmise why I do not wish to linger on this topic any longer than strictly necessary.”

“I respect that – really, I do – but sometimes you disapprove of my actions when I try to do the right thing, and I feel like I’m tripping on landmines you buried without giving me a copy of the map. I’m worried I’ll hurt you further unless you tell me where they are.”

Astarion falls quiet, contemplating. She’s been nothing but genuine – there is no reason to suspect a lie, even now.

“But I won’t force you,” Tav amends. “I recognize it is not my place to ask such demands of you, but I also figured you would respect some directness. That being said, if you want to drop this conversation here and now - I won’t pry again.”

Astarion was an educated man in another lifetime. He knew the meaning of her words, but couldn’t comprehend why she was giving them to him, much less giving him the option. Without a doubt, Astarion knew if wanted this dropped - she would do so without further complaint.

He’d truly never met anyone as honest as Tav.

“No one has ever asked me what it was like. I am afraid I would not know where to start even if I tried.”

And oh, how he had tried.

But Tav always had a solution, fuelled by her endless curiosity.

“You mentioned something the first night you asked to feed. You said I was your first, that you’d never drank the blood of thinking creatures before. Why is that?”

“As good of a place as any to start I suppose,” Astarion says, and he cannot help the disdain that begins to colour his tone. “Cazador had many rules, and learning them came with even more lessons. This rule was the first of four.”

She nodded. “And the others?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would initially come. He huffed a laugh from his dry throat as the rules he knew as well as his own name failed to vocalise into the reality he’d built upon leaving. He took an unsteady but confidence raising breath. 

“The same things every maniac ever wants – obedience from their army. Unless directed, I could not leave his side or disobey.”

Tav nodded. “Makes sense. Anything else?”

“What makes you think there was more?” Astarion countered, unable to stop his defensiveness, his temper rising and looking to pick an argument – looking for an escape.

She does not give it to him - no reaction, no argument, and no escape. Tav gives him silence, and Astarion recognizes the opportunity for what it is. To continue is to freely disclose more of his own accord, to cease the conversation is also his right. The look in her eyes is soft and non-judgemental, weakening his resolve and calming his temper. 

“Thou shall know,” Astarion begins reciting, Cazador’s voice in his ear even now. “That thou art mine .”

Tav’s brow furrowed, her eyes hardening. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. She shakes her head, letting it fall downward onto her chest. 

“My apologies, Astarion… for asking, and… for the pain you endured.”

There is a sincerity in her tone that Astarion does not know what to do with. “It is all behind me now.”

“Is it?” Tav questioned. “Do you still believe any of them to be true?”

“I’ve managed to break each of those rules within mere hours of gaining my freedom – but some of his other lessons still reverberate. Cazador told me about how I chose this life over death, how I’ll never be more than a consort, how nothing comes without a price, and that the only family I have is the one he crafted. I might have drank from a thinking creature, I may have left his side, and I may be free from his influence now – but I’m undoubtedly still his.”

“In what way?”

Astarion sighed. “He’ll stop at nothing to find me and bring me back. If Cazador proves successful, I’ll spend centuries of continued servitude in unthinkable horrors – the types reserved for those who break the rules. I don’t know what he has left to torture me with, but I care not to find out.”

Tav nodded. “For what it is worth - this Astarion, the one that breaks rules and forges his own path… he is quite likeable. Dare I say it, even brave.”

“Now you take that back,” Astarion jokes lightly, dodging the compliment. “I cannot have my hard won reputation in the city coloured by your boundless optimism.”

“You and your reputation should get some rest,” Tav retorts. 

“You first.”

The two of them lock eyes under the glow of the moon, knowing neither of them will leave their post until another one of their companions comes to relieve them both. 

Astarion chuckled to himself, caught off guard by how much pleasure it brought him to interact with someone as stubborn as he was. 

***** ***** *****

Astarion stares into the camp flames, feeling anxiousness creep upon his shoulders and weigh them down.

They’ve already come across one hunter. Cazador is likely to have sent more. It is increasingly difficult to relax in the presence of such an active and familiar threat. The longer he remains free, the worse the feeling grows. Astarion knows his master is also not resting in his absence, so long as Astarion remains the loose thread unravelling his plans.

But what are those plans? What do these markings on him truly mean? Why did Cazador impose so many rules? What will their eventual and inevitable reunion look like? Is he truly prepared to face Cazador? What would happen if-

Tav shifts her head slightly from where it lays upon his lap, and Astarion is startled out of his rumination. Astarion holds a breath that he has no use for until she visibly resumes her slumber, her breathing evening out into slow and deep exhales.

“Gods,” Astarion curses silently, raking his free hand over his face and pinching at his nose.

Here he was - worrying about unknowns to the point where it became difficult to enjoy the taste of his wine, the company of a partner as beautiful as Tav, and the gifts freedom afforded. There was a time Astarion would not have been able to dream of having any of this, and he was squandering it by refusing to live in the present.

The guilt crushes, and Astarion knows why. These small hours in her company are inherently peaceful. He cannot recall ever feeling more safe, a wonder he could not have imagined in the depths of his captivity. To do anything less than embrace it was a disservice for himself, and for others. 

How many times has he truly had to appreciate time as it falls away from him? Every part of this was a gift, from watching the trees rustle, to watching the way Tav’s eyelashes rested on her cheeks.

Pushing that stubborn hair behind her ear once more, Astarion began to twirl the ends of the strand between his fingers. Like other parts of Tav, it was soft - washed earlier in the night, cleaned of the impurities that found their way into it through battle. While the texture was nice, there was something about when it was bloodstained that Astarion felt was quite appealing. She looked strong when she was bathed in it, a true warrior and protector.

“Hey fangs,” Karlach remarked, sitting on her own bedroll across the way and slicing at a pear. “I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s the deal with you and Tav?”

His eyes flickered to her, irritation rising at the question. What business was it of anyone else? Did he need to label it, spell it out with clarity, and spill it before anyone who dared question it?

Astarion did enjoy Karlach’s company. But Tav…

Tav might be the only thing making his world bearable, the only person who has ever shown him a shred of kindness and trust - but Astarion was not about to share those arising thoughts with just anyone. 

The grin he chose to display felt tight, the knot in his stomach even more so as a new fear rose within him.

“I’m not sure what you are referring to.”

“C’mon Astarion, we can’t get you to shut up half the time - and now you play coy?”

Astarion shrugged, feigning non-committance. “Tav is fine. She’s strong and reliable.”

“You sound like you're describing a fortress,” Karlach teased.

“How would you like me to describe her? Exactly what answer are you hoping will spill from these lips?” Astarion could feel himself growing defensive, his shoulders tense.

Karlach levelled him with a strong look, but Astarion was no stranger to difficult negotiations. “An honest one would be a start.”

“You are looking in the wrong place then. If you are so set on this, why not ask her yourself? I’m sure she would echo the sentiment.”

“Bullshit,” Karlach counters, pointing at him with a calloused finger. “You think she does this with everyone?”

Astarion looks down at Tav, still fast asleep upon his thigh, at peace in spite of the restless day that had occurred. His fingers had moved to tracing her jawline, ghosting over her skin as not to disturb her slumber. Astarion shakes his head, playing coy, his voice lowering.

“I am not her keeper, nor is she mine.”

Karlach looks unconvinced, and Astarion feels the gaps in his normally composed performance. His own actions are to blame. The veil is lifting, and Astarion can feel himself being exposed, laid open before Karlach and burning under her fiery gaze as if it were the sun.

“Do you want it to be different?”  

Astarion straightens his spine defensively, his tone growing harsh. “I do not know what we are, nor do I feel the need to investigate it. Above all, I’m more than certain that Tav can make her own choices. Why not ask her for yourself?”

Despite his sudden rudeness, Karlach’s eyes are soft, her smirk knowing. Grabbing at her belongings and making to leave, she speaks the truth, letting it hang between the two friends. 

“Because I’m certain, by the looks of things, she’s already made it.”

***** ***** *****

How many other vampire spawn could say that they had been to a grove of druids and tieflings, inside a githyanki creche, and infiltrated a myconid colony?

The turmoil of the prolonged path is having various impacts. Astarion can see that Tav is distressed by their progress. She’s pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes pinched shut simultaneously. When she drops her hand, her eyes are glassy. Her breathing rate is elevated, and she breathes out shakily.

While Gale and Shadowheart strike their fancy looking around the grymforge, Astarion wastes no time pulling Tav aside. There is no telling what lies before them, what she might need to keep a clear head for.

“What is it?”

“I’m clearly upset, Astarion. Another day has passed and we still have not located a healer,” Tav complains.

Astarion is shocked by her honesty, never having heard her utter a complaint yet on their journey. For Tav to allow him of all people to see her like this, to confess her stress so openly - it was a testament to their building relationship. It was a good sign, a sign that Tav trusted him enough to disclose this to him. Astarion’s master plan was, indeed, still in motion. 

Her worry is founded. The tadpole swims on, much to Tav’s disappointment and Astarion’s growing discomfort. The benefits of the parasite are undeniable and rich, but the prolonged sensation of something swimming around his cranium is tiresome, and the way it consistently tried to restore its control over him was continuously activating for his emotional state.

Would his mind ever truly be his own?

Astarion took the initiative and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, a classic move of comfort he knew would work. “Tav, we will rid ourselves of this parasite.”

Tav leaned into the touch, sighing. “After every dead end - how can you find it within yourself to be so certain?”

Astarion is learning much about Tav. By now, he knows Tav appreciates support rather than flattery. His habits of relying on charm and superficial words have proven themselves over and over to be ineffective. It leaves him limited in terms of selecting an appropriate response.

Astarion decides to return her vulnerability with his own, and settles for telling the truth. “I have certainty because a brave woman told me, not too long ago in fact, that she never says no to a challenge.”

Tav’s mouth falls open, possibly in awe at the fresh memory, or perhaps at his recall of it.

“I would be a fool to doubt her,” Astarion continues, grabbing both her hands and pulling her closer to him. “Especially when it is not in her nature, nor her vocabulary, to concede in the face of adversity.”

Tav searches his eyes, and Astarion knows she will not see any falsehoods in his gaze.

“Astarion… I-”

“Will you two please save it for later?” Shadowheart yells.

Gale echoes the sentiment, crying out. “We’ve got company!”

Tav breaks from his hold, his hand quickly feeling cold without her warmth in it. Turning on her heel, Tav holds her head high. 

Moving to join her, Astarion realises he might not be the only one who finds it easier to hide behind his role expectations. Her responsibilities are vast, the eyes of their many companions watching her every move.

He lets his certainty in her carry them through a tumultuous day - and Astarion is more convinced than ever that they could not have chosen a more capable leader.

***** ***** *****

No other willing companions and no other viable options in this shadow-cursed lands means Astarion’s back is well familiar with a preverbal wall, not a position he likes assuming. It sickens him to know that Tav must know it too, that she must have come to the same conclusion as quickly as he had. Shadows have no blood for him to feast upon, and Tav has been nothing but willing.

The large part of him inclined to suspicion is whispering loudly. It’s too easy.

The first time he had expected to be ridiculed, to be banished – hells, he had more than expected to be staked.

From the first time and every time thereafter, he had known it was a mistake. It was a foolish cascade of sin, his gluttony unbound as he continued to ask Tav for more . 

Here he was, continuing to beg for additional courtesies as if most of his grandest wishes weren’t granted the moment he fell off the Nautiloid. He had nothing, then he suddenly had everything - the gift of freedom, the gift of uncontrolled thoughts, the gift of walking in the sunlight.

He’d embraced being a rogue long ago, but perhaps he truly was a kleptomaniac. Who was he to stand before Tav despite everything and increase his demands?

Cazador’s voice bellowed in his head. These were the memories not so easily forgotten. A particular vision bites back against his brain, when he had more bones broken than whole, and had the weight of Cazador’s foot on his bloody back. Astarion can still vividly remember how it felt when the last of his resistance left his soul. 

Cazador’s voice had loomed over him: “I thought you were a quick study boy, but it seems you need to be reminded. Nothing in this world comes without a price, and you’re far too poor to afford more that what I can provide. Remember – thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures, thou shalt obey me in all things, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed, and thou shalt know that thou art mine .”

There is a familiar guilt clouding his anticipation. Astarion stands uncertain before Tav’s bedroll, thinking of a way to repay her kindness. Surely there must be some way. Astarion has never been one for planning ahead, as his next move hadn’t been dictated by his own desires and thoughts for centuries now. Despite racking his parasite-riddled brain, he never finds a suitable answer beyond the use of his own body.

Astarion shakes his head, stepping back from Tav’s bedroll, but the careless shuffle of his slippers against the rough shale is enough to wake her. Astarion bit back a curse, freezing with the fragile hope of going unnoticed.

She should look at him with annoyance, with disgust, with fear. 

But as sleep clears from Tav’s face with great haste, the corners of her mouth crinkle into a soft smile as her eyes lock with his. 

There is no malice, only trust.

The sight before him almost feels like deja-vu. In a manner no different than the first night he’d asked, Tav quickly finds herself willing and ready. The campfire casts light over her body as she begins to sit up from her bedroll.

Whether the two of them remain silent for the sake of their sleeping companion’s quality of sleep, or as an attempt to fruitlessly hide their own late night actions – Astarion cannot know for certain.

Tav’s fingertips ghost over her delicate skin as she soundlessly shifts her hair from her collarbone over her right shoulder. Her head naturally tips to the left – her neck exposed, vulnerable in ways she still cannot possibly comprehend. Astarion finds himself entranced in the slow and deliberate movement.

“I didn’t ask,” he pleads emptily, the words dying on his lips in the face of his hunger. Every inhale creates an active effort within him to keep his hands planted at his side, to keep his feet rooted in place.

This freedom still tastes foreign. He half expects this to be a test, for Cazador or his siblings to leap out at any moment and catch him in this act. The punishment he’d receive would surely be imaginative – how many of his spawn have managed to break every single unbreakable rule in so little time?

It’s easy to be distracted by darker thoughts – but her intoxicating gaze pulls his thoughts to her again. He stands like a moth basking in her flame. All Astarion can see before him is Tav, and the soft kindness refracted in her eyes.

“I know,” Tav replies, her voice barely a whisper yet booming in his ears. “I want to.”

There is no defensiveness in her tone, no false excuses for her actions in her words, no ulterior motives proclaimed.

Consent, freely given. 

How… strange, and unexpected.

His feet move of their own accord, closing the space between them slowly. They both move in synchronicity. This is a dance they’ve quickly perfected every time he’s visited her thus far with this same purpose. If he were a more romantic man, he might linger on how well they come together as his larger looming shadow quickly eclipses her silhouette, basking her shape in darkness.

The first time had been uncertain. Astarion had been in a rush, an insatiable hunger burning in his throat and hastening his movements. His feeding abilities had truly been unbeknownst to himself despite being in the second century of his condition. It had been carnal, as Astarion had used the same strategies he’d only ever utilised on dead rats. Much like squandering a rich and fine wine, Astarion had drank her precious blood carelessly.

Once Astarion knew what he had, and the debts he was accruing and had yet to repay – Astarion thought it best to make more of an effort. He was nothing if not a good showman, and Tav was nothing if not a great challenge for him. If he wanted to continue having a midnight snack from his strongest ally, then he knew the experience would need to be more mutually beneficial. Less parasitic, more symbiotic.

Lowering to meet Tav at her bedroll, Astarion supports her upper back with his hand as she slowly leans back towards her makeshift pillow. Only once she has settled does he drag his hand from her back to the top of her chest, leaning down to plant leisurely paced kisses onto Tav’s neck. A shiver courses through her, and Astarion smiles into his kiss, knowing she’ll give her consensual nod for him to continue at any moment. 

He knew better than to initiate his bite until Tav gave her ready.

He had also begun to experiment how to make the actual process more painless. Lately, he switched approaches and tried sinking his teeth into her flesh at a slower pace. He slipped his fangs under her skin barrier with caution instead of abandon. Astarion was attuned and receptive, sharply noticing how his new methodology transformed her once tense whimpers into newfound indulgent gasps.

He pulled her blood into his mouth in shorter spurts, mastering the art of drawing out the experience for their mutual benefit to savour the experience with an overall lessened intake. The control he exhibits is a remarkable talent considering his lack of experience, made easier by her continual acquiescence and his sated appetite, yet made more difficult by how delectable she tastes.

To think Cazador had deprived him of this for two centuries was maddening. 

“Astarion…” she breathes, the sound low enough that he wonders if Tav even realises she’s made it.  

And Tav’s hands… well, Astarion cannot actively recall when this pattern started. 

Astarion knew it was his task to ensure her neck was held at an optimal angle for their mutual pleasure, a quest that required both hands. There was a fine balance when it came to applying pressure, to drawing Tav closer into himself. His thumbs often brushed against her jaw as he held her close. The rest of his fingers splayed wide, pulsing as her heartbeat ran wild underneath them. 

A few feedings ago, Tav had made a habit of slowly snaking her hands upwards. They often ghosted on Astarion’s pale forearms, curling her fingers around his wrists with a light grip.

Astarion had initially taken this as a sign that she was trying to fight him off, intending to pull at his hands to free her neck from his onslaught. He knew this assessment was wrong once he’d discerned that she’d never pulled at him ever since that first night. Instead, this touch almost seemed to ground the both of them – connecting them in another way as he continued to drink from her life force.

As he retracts, Astarion cannot help but heave his breaths on Tav’s neck. Each shaky exhale lands hotly, warmed in his mouth by the heat of her blood. Astarion may have no biological need for breath, and yet he always finds himself short of it in her presence.

The both of them are panting in tandem, coming down from their respective highs, a high he can prolong for her, a high he can continue to hook her in with.

He reaches for her breeches, fingers curling around the worn fabric.

He never gets farther than this - not since the Tiefling party.

“Astarion, stop.”

Astarion stills. He can still taste her in his mouth, a taste that he focuses on to stop the shaking in his hands. Injustice rises in his chest, anger clouding his brain, her own blood running hot within him. 

“Do you want this to follow me everyday? A growing price over my head? A debt building to an impossible balance? Does it please you to shame me in this way?”

“There is no debt,” Tav states, easily but vehemently. “Even if I were cruel enough to impose one for your basic needs, I would never dream of forcing you to pay me at the cost of your own sanity.”

Astarion backs off her slowly, battling with a sense of relief mixed with disappointment. He rests his elbows on his knees, letting his arms lay limply. Tav is quick to sit up to meet him, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

“It would not please me to see you hurt,” Tav continues, speaking only for his ears. “Nor would it please me to see that distant look in your eyes.”

Astarion lets the silence be his answer, unwilling to cast further commentary.

Tav continues. “If there is a next time you lay with me – it’ll be because we both want to. Not a moment sooner, and not because of some sense of obligation to one another.”

Astarion is thankful their eyes do not meet as he rises and makes way to his tent without another word.

She had shown him kindness again tonight, in more ways than one. And what were once adherent rules from his master were now triumphs of his own autonomy. 

As Astarion let Tav’s blood settle into his own body, he contemplated what leftover lessons from his servitude might be broken next.

***** ***** *****

He was growing to appreciate many moments spent with Tav - perhaps none more than those spent fighting at each other's side. 

There was a thrill in the battle - the way her cheeks flushed with her body’s efforts, the way blood was plentiful and splattered in every direction, the way it felt good to be able to fight back instead of shut down, the way it gave him a place to be unhinged when it came to realising the full power of his dual-conditions.

From their first meeting, Astarion knew she was a skilled fighter. Tav had proven her abilities time and time again - slaying enemies twice their size and numbers with an ease few could manage.

Astarion was learning to hold his own, with her help. Tav would suggest and acknowledge his strengths and weaknesses, while also providing suggestions to enhance his own fighting style. His limitations were transformed into strengths, his skill sets as a rogue tactfully strategized to improve their odds. 

It was yet another non repayable gift Tav had bestowed to him. A renewed confidence with every fallen enemy that he was not incapable of defending himself… and defending her. 

When the two of them fought together, side-by-side, they were a force to be reckoned with. 

That unstoppable force was currently hitting an immovable object, leaving Tav and Astarion tapping their feet as they waited for their companion. The trials in the Gauntlet of Shar had already tested the limits of his patience - but Shadowheart seemed determined to shred what little remained.

Astarion sighed in exasperation. “How many are there, again?”

“As many as it takes, Astarion!” Shadowheart quips as she examines another silver bowl.

Astarion leaned towards Tav, though intentionally began talking at a volume in which all could hear. “I mean, does she really expect this one to be any different than the ones we encountered before?” 

“I could do without your commentary on the matter,” Shadowheart argues, circling the statue.

“I believe my commentary is warranted! After all, who was it that lent you an invisibility potion and disarmed several traps for you during the last trial?”

Tav shook her head fondly at her companions, and knocked her shoulder into Astarion’s playfully. “What? You want a medal, Astarion?”

“I’d settle for some long overdue gratitude and a nice glass of red .”

“Enough!” Shadowheart practically yelled, before raising the blade to her hand once more.

Astarion braced himself for the unknown. The plaque on the door had read ‘Self-Same Trial’ - whatever that was supposed to mean. These cryptic halls with their cryptic titles and their cryptic puzzles. He hated it.

The party advanced with slow footsteps, and with hands hovering and aching to pull their weapons free. Astarion liked the advantage of striking first, and hated surprises.

Not that the universe particularly cared for his preferences. 

An arrow flew towards him with unwavering and certain aim. Astarion flinched from its path, the arrowhead skinning his shoulder where his armour separated.

Tav pulled her blade before the arrow stuck itself in the wall behind him, her eyes forward in the direction of the origin of the shot.

“What the fuck ?”

Astarion peeled his eyes from the arrow to follow Tav’s exclamation.

A pale faced man gleamed at him from a short distance, his enemy clearly having the advantage of the high ground. The man bared his teeth in his sickening smile. Red eyes seemed to glow from the darkness surrounding the area. Nothing about this stranger belays a sense of comfort, as they are crouched for combat and baring their… fangs?

“Who in the hells is that?”

Tav snapped her head, her mouth suspended in shock. “Astarion… that’s you. ”

“Now is not the time for tomfoolery,” Astarion counters. 

“Astarion, look!”

From the shadows emerges more figures. The resemblance is uncanny, accurate but sinister around the edges. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Tav stand next to the white-haired stranger - weapons poised for battle.

Astarion feels his stomach drop to the floor.

Self-same trials no longer sound like a vague descriptor, when faced with the truth. A face erased in a history of two-hundred years returned to him, staring him down with a similar perplexed glance.

The other-Astarion turns his eyes onto Tav with a murderous gaze - and Astarion feels a pure fear rip through him.

“What do we do?” Karlach asks, looking to Tav for guidance. 

Tav is breathing heavily already at the prospect before them, a thousand plans forming in her eyes, but unable to turn away from their intruders. “Shadowheart, what is expected of us?”

“As far as I can tell, we have to kill the other versions of ourselves,” Shadowheart clarifies. 

Karlach huffs. “Can’t think of a challenger more suited for myself than, well, myself.”

The other-Astarion raises his bow to fire again, and all hell breaks loose.

Their counterparts are well equipped, their fighting style mirroring their models. Astarion quickly plans a route to the top of the structure to take the other version of himself out - but the arrows being fired by the other-Astarion are already cutting off his options. 

Seeking out his best path has left him vulnerable. He sees a fiery figure to his left, and forces himself to raise onto the toes of his feet and spring from his current position. 

Astarion leaps back as the impostor-Karlach swipes their axe in the direction of his torso, the blade cutting through air instead of skin thanks to his nimble and agile nature. His diversion creates the perfect distraction, allowing the real Karlach to plant her own axe into her double. 

The figure vanishes into shadows once more, leaving Astarion staring at his companion with awe.

“I had no idea I could look that angry,” Karlach confessed, one eyebrow raised to the sky.

Astarion looked above him again, expecting to see his stranger twin once more - with no avail. Astarion pinched his eyebrows together, squinting as he began to survey the area. 

Tav was engaged in an impressive sword fight with herself, the clanging of their weapons ricocheting in the otherwise empty space. From this distance, it would have been nearly impossible to tell them apart. Their footwork evenly matched, their stride length mirrored, and their sword swings emerging from the same playbook. 

Astarion’s fingers itched around his own bow, thinking of the shortsword at his hip. Regardless of the weapon, Astarion is helpless to aid his fighting partner from this distance. 

Shadowheart’s double vanishes under the use of the Blood of Lathander, and Astarion is just glad to see the cleric had the good sense to use its full capacity before her double realised it for themselves. 

The use of such a powerful weapon after enduring their previous trials nearly sends Shadowheart to her knees in a moment of recovery. 

Dread sinks into Astarion. This is the exact type of moment Astarion would seize advantage of as an attacker. 

His feet are carrying him across the battleground faster than his voice works, a glint of silver hair in a newfound corner propelling him into action. 

“Shadowheart, get down!”

Astarion lunges at her, and the two of them roll out of the line of fire in the nick of time. The two of them roll to a stop, Astarion already checking her over for signs of injury. 

“I thank your foresight, if not your tactfulness,” Shadowheart bites, rubbing her arm which must have bruised in their quick roll.

It is an act of restraint to not roll his eyes. “There’s that gratitude I was looking for.”

Tav yells in a mix of exasperation and victory, causing Astarion’s head to spin in her direction. A shadow befalls Tav’s feet as her double dissipates into nothing. 

Astarion can smell her blood from here, but her ability to remain standing is a testament to her injuries' lack of severity. The smile that breaks through Tav’s battle driven anger is one of gratitude and relief.

He need not worry. 

But he does.

Somewhere in this dark crypt, Astarion’s false double still lurks, planning his next attack. 

Astarion tries to think as he maintains his shelter with Shadowheart. If all his allies were gone, if he were previously spotted in the high ground, and if there were very little options available to him as someone both outnumbered and desperate - what would he do?

“We need to group up, now. ”

Shadowheart looks at him, her expression curious. “Why? What is the other version of you going to do?”

“I do not know for certain,” Astarion admits. “Knowing me, I bet it will be something reckless, foolish, and borderline psychotic.”

Shadowheart groans. “Only borderline, you say?”

Astarion motioned for Karlach and Tav to make a mad dash towards his own direction, positioning his own bow outward to cover them as they moved positions. 

Pulling back tightly on the arrow, Astarion scans the area poised to release his weapon at the first glimpse of trouble. His eyes naturally fall to Tav to track her progress as she nods and begins to move.

Tav takes a single step forward, just as two hands emerge from the steps behind her. 

Knowing his own abilities, Astarion knows even Tav’s veteran fighter instincts might not have heard the other-him sneaking up on her.

“Tav!”

One hand latches around the front of her body, snaking their fingers with tremendous force onto Tav’s neck. The impostor’s other hand reaches lower, snapping the wrist that was clutching her greatsword.

Astarion hears the sickening crunch of Tav’s bones as he leaps forward in her direction, careless to protect himself while his partner is in greater danger. Tav’s eyes widen in pain, and widen further when she cannot draw her next breath. 

To make matters worse, the other-Astarion begins pulling Tav closer to himself. The intent becomes clear when a pair of white fangs lunge their way towards her currently immobilised body.

Her frightened gaze meets Astarion’s own. A repulsive knowledge settles over Astarion - he has never seen Tav express fear so outwardly before. 

“Let her go!”

Astarion continues to sprint in her direction, and he can distantly hear Karlach and Shadowheart following suit. It will be three against one in close combat - something Astarion knows would otherwise be a weakness for him. Their victory is certain, but their window of time is short.

Despite the pain written on her face, Tav does not attempt to pry the false-Astarion’s hand from her neck. The effort would be futile, and she has enough training and battle experience to know that. Her choked inhale stutters around the squeezing intrusion as she prepares to move her good hand. 

Tav reaches her arm up and behind her own skull, grabbing at other-Astarion’s head. Her thumbs trace the outline of his ears, mapping his face as they search to to travel inwards - searching for his eye sockets.

Tav clearly was not above playing dirty. The other-Astarion moves to dodge her efforts, yanking his head back and away from her neck, but still holding onto her neck within a tight grasp. 

When Tav’s fingers find their intended destination, the squelch that ensues is enough to make everyone within earshot wince.

Astarion quickened his pace once more, flying up the staircase. Other-Astarion finally drops Tav to tend to his own blinding injury. Having been suddenly released, Tav begins to descend the stairs in a less than graceful manner, cradling her wrist to her chest as she rolls.

Astarion wants to check on her - to soothe her pain, wrap her wrist, to demand Shadowheart use any of the spells at her disposal, to see her eyes return to something more peaceful than the terror they now hold - but the rage is all consuming at the forefront of his brain.

He is close enough now, and has the tactical advantage now that his adversary is blinded. Astarion grabs at the collar of the other version of himself, pulling him close to whisper in its ear.

“You’ve made your fatal mistake, underestimating her. If you were truly me, you would have also known that I’ll never let harm come to her. No one touches that neck except the real me .”

Astarion makes quick work at disposing of the lookalike threat with his own shortsword. His  blade sinks into undead and replicated flesh, tearing it apart until it quickly dissipates all too quickly into a black cloud of fog.

Astarion stands tall with a huff, turning back towards his companions. Shadowheart and Karlach are helping Tav to her feet, all of them looking exhausted at the ordeal and bewildered at Astarion’s outburst.

Locking the power of his arising feelings behind a wall, Astarion awakened a placating smile and began his descent. Wiping black blood from his blade, he spoke with a long practised confidence, gesturing to his own face. “Try as some might, I think this entire ordeal has proven that you cannot replicate or improve upon perfection.”

Tav smiles at him, but her next blink seems slowed. Her feet give out from underneath her once more, a hacking cough emerging from her lungs as Karlach and Shadowheart attempt to hold her up. 

Astarion skips the last few steps in his haste to reach her, unable to keep the urgency of his pressing emotions at bay. He places two hands on either side of her face, holding it upright as she gasps for air. 

“Tav-”

“I’m fine, really,” Tav argues, the words shaking around and from the force of her cough. “I just need a moment-”

Her coughing resumes, her voice a clipped and wretched sound, followed by a gasping. There is pain in and around her eyes, regardless of whether or not she is inhaling or exhaling. 

Astarion feels as though his entire world has narrowed into the sight in front of him, his very reason for being dependent upon her respiration. He finds himself looking her over - her wrist still protectively pressed against her chest, the associated fingers pulsating and twisting in pain, the litany of small cuts across her arms, his eyes rising to the start of a bruise across her trachea in the shape of five fingers…

He immediately releases his grip on her face, sensing a rising guilt within him. Astarion’s face had sent thousands to their graves, and it almost sent Tav six feet under as well. Time had not changed who he was, nor had it changed who he just saw reflected at himself - a monster.

Astarion moves to turn away, remove himself from the agonising sight and realisation. 

Tav’s good hand releases her wrist and grabs for his own. 

“Don’t-” she pleads, before pausing to cough again. “I’m fine. Please- stay .”

No other request would have rooted his feet in place. She knew him well, so well that it left him pondering this action. Was it that Tav is seeking reassurance for herself through his presence, or Tav attempting to reassure him? He could not be certain. 

He looked at Shadowheart. “Do we have anything to help her?”

“I could only cast a lesser restoration, it might relieve some of the pain but it will not mend the break. We have more supplies and casters back at camp, but nothing we have on us currently will rid the injury or the bruises.”

Tav listens with a distant gaze, Astarion can see her shoulders and neck becoming tense. 

“Then we need to head back to camp.”

Shadowheart shakes her head. “We cannot. There are still more trials to be won.”

“Are your trials really worth more than her wellbeing?” Astarion sneers. 

“I care for her as much as you,” Shadowheart argues, and Astarion knows within himself the impossibility of the sentiment. “But if we leave now we lose our chance at completing this.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Tell me Astarion, will you expect us to turn away from you when your time of need arises? This is my mission, and I intend to finish it - with or without your help.”

Tav releases her grip on Astarion, and begins poking around at the bones surrounding her wrist. Her next few breaths are intentionally deep, even as they struggle around the blood pooling in the swelling of her throat. She swallows with effort, and Astarion can see her train of thought before the action occurs. 

“Tav, no!”

With a smooth and swift motion amongst a silent cry, Tav pulls at her hand with the intent to reset the bones herself. The resounding crack is thunderous in the party’s ears.

“Fuck,” Karlach exclaims, slightly turning her head away in dismay. “That was bold, Soldier.”

Tav grins, but it does not reach her eyes. “We can continue the trials, just… give me a minute.”

Tav releases the tension in her body and allows her head to fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Still holding her newly mended arm to herself, her breath begins to warm his skin even through his armour.

Startled by her reaction, Astarion feels his arms raise upward as he looks at Karlach and Shadowheart in alarm.

It takes him a moment to recall the moment they had shared the other night at his tent, the way she had embraced him with arms that did not seek to squeeze life from him, but to comfort him. The sensation had been unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. 

He had not known what to do at first, similar to their situation now. It only takes him another few seconds to realise she might be seeking the same comfort from him. 

Enveloping his arms around her upper shoulders, Astarion pulls her frame closer. Her head seems to grow heavier against him. It startles him to notice there is a part of him that aches in response to her pain, that a desire rises in which he begins to contemplate any other method of ceasing her discomfort. Hells, Astarion would have considered taking it all on himself if he could.

Since he cannot - Astarion settles for another compulsion, one that compels him to rub small consecular circles into her back, tucking his head downward until his chin meets the top of Tav’s head.

“Talk to me, Tav,” Astarion requests softly.

“Mmmhmm,” Tav groans.

“Use your words, darling,” he chastises. “What can I do?”

Tav shakes her head, but does not withdraw. “There is nothing more I could ask of you right now.”

“Name it, and it shall be yours.”

“I mean it. Unless you can kill that shadow twice, you’ve already taken care of everything - including me.”

Astarion sighs, not in relief or frustration, but something in-between. Not only does she once again rest her head on a creature of the night, but she trusts him to do nothing but hold her, even as his counterpart nearly took her life. In their embrace, there is a comfort as much as there is a shield from the world turned against them. 

“Even if my hair cannot grow any lighter, you could stop putting it to the test and let me take the hits every once in a while.”

Tav snorts at the prospect, an undignified yet delirious sound. “You say it like I was trying, Astarion.”

“Well, think about it. Without you - how in the hells are any of us supposed to know what to do?”

Tav finally pushes away from his hold, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “You’d manage, I’m sure. What with your brilliant and well-thought out plans and all.”

A genuine laugh pushes past his lips, even if the joke is at his expense. It was true, he was not so much for details as much as he was made for hairbrained action. 

Astarion reaches to push a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He pauses to hold the side of her face, watching as the skin blushes even at the cold of his touch. “Let’s make one thing clear. I prefer your bones in their designed sockets and your blood inside of you… or if you must waste some, at least let it be inside of me.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Tav concedes. 

***** ***** *****

The guilt rises within him as the days pass, the feeling impossible to ignore after the incident at the self-same trial, and nearly choking him when Tav tells Araj to fuck off. 

Whatever disguise he was fooling himself with is one he no longer wishes to carry. 

Astarion has a renewed admiration for Tav’s honesty, the way it carries and pushes her towards greatness. He knows he needs to do the same, to come clean and show all of his cards before her. 

To tell her anything less than the truth was to continue hiding from her, and from himself. 

Even if to admit to the plan, to the deceit and manipulation, and to his growing affection seems like an insurmountable task - he has faith Tav will receive it without judgement. 

He cannot torture himself by keeping it in any longer. 

Tav needs to know. 

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk…”

***** ***** *****

As they exit the cursed lands, dark magic begins fading from the familiar terrain and revealing the bountiful allure that was trapped beneath a curse.

It is quite the sight to be sure - but Astarion cannot help but let his gaze drift to Tav. 

Her face is prideful. Not the kind seeped in self-indulgence, but the type mixed with altruistic relief. 

Astarion knows without it needing to be said that Tav would vehemently deny the tear that escapes from the outer corner of her eye. He had heard some people experience happy tears, but it had always seemed a mythical concept.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tav asks.

Astarion considers her carefully, even as he nods his approval. 

They’d done a good thing here. 

How many times in his life has he been able to say that?

“ Breathtaking ,” Astarion admits, unable to look away from Tav, that unfamiliar feeling blooming in his chest once more.

Love…

Astarion might not yet be willing to admit it, but he also did not care to push it away. He took a deep breath, embracing it, even as it began to fill him with foreign warmth, and tug at the corners of his lips.

***** ***** *****

These streets were more than familiar to him. While some of the other companions faltered in their steps around askew bricks and cracks in the foundation, Astarion navigated using hard-built innate knowledge. Where they made wrong turns, Astarion expertly dove through shortcuts and rerouted the group back on course.

The circus was a new addition, though he supposed they should be using the city square for some use. He cannot help the roll of his eyes as Tav tries to garner access. 

Astarion was often delighted by the obscure and wild - but as a performer himself, he knew a false act when he saw it. He derived no pleasure from seeing the slaves forced into cages for being different, being corralled by their masters looking to turn a personal profit.

“I can sense your discomfort from a mile away,” Tav whispers as they wander. “You do not mean to tell me that a menacing vampire such as yourself is afraid of a few clowns?”

“Clowns? Gods no - though I do shudder to think if the red nose stays on during more frisky proclivities…”

Tav’s eyes are alight with laughter. “You think?” 

“I’m trying not to, actually.”

The brightness of her smile could rival the sun shining above them. 

“Well let’s think of something different. If you were a circus performer, what would your talent be?”

“I seem to have hypnotised you without much effort,” Astarion smirks, pulling her in at the hip towards himself. “What about you?”

“You know… I’ve never tried swallowing my sword before, but that performer over there seems to be managing that feat just fine,” Tav points, her voice incredulous. “How do they do that?”

“What a pair we would have made,” Astarion whispers, unable to keep the longing from his voice. 

What would it have been like to meet Tav under different circumstances? If they had both started from humble and safe beginnings, met in a more innocent and less chaotic manner, and then decided on something as reckless as running away with the circus together. 

There was something about reaching the city that left Astarion contemplative. What would life after confronting Cazador look like? What would life after the brain parasite hold? Would Tav want a piece of that future, however it began to take shape?

He can feel his hold on her hip tensing involuntarily, and Tav raises her head to look at him curiously. Astarion smiles at her, feeling that warmth rise in him under her perceptive gaze. 

“What do you say we get out of here?”

Tav nods, rubbing her knuckles in a circle on his breastplate. “Okay, but Karlach seems awfully interested in that ivy-covered fortune teller. Let’s go see what that’s about.”

***** ***** *****

Fury turns his cold body into flames, his nostrils flaring. 

“Why don’t you just say it?” Astarion snarls. 

“Say what?”

He wants the ritual for him, for them . 

She would always lend him an ear when he spoke of the ritual and its importance - but she had yet to grant her approval. She would stand there intently listening, even as disapproval reigned in her irises. Tav danced around the topic, asking questions of morality and reminding him what was at stake. 

As if he could forget what was certain to be the pivotal decision of his immortal life. As if he could forget the price being asked of him. As if he could forget the change that awaited. 

Astarion did not even know why he desired her approval.

Everyone else in their party devised a plan, chose their fate, and received her help. At a baseline comparison, was he really asking for any more than they did?

She came to their shared bedroom in the inn after the day's events, and Astarion knew the argument that had been brewing since they met was finally at a head, like a boiling pot overflowing.

“Do not play ignorant with me,” Astarion shouts. “You feign about as well as you lie, Tav. We both know you do not want me to complete this ritual.”

She closes her eyes and raises them to the heavens. A deep sigh pushes past her lips. “Astarion-”

“I cannot fathom what reason you might have to deny me this. How can you stand in my way when this is the only chance to be something more than what I am, something more than what Cazador made me? It infuriates me to see you judge me for wanting better for myself - for wanting better for us.”

“I will not bestow my approval and tell you what you want to hear, Astarion. Even if I could, it will not lessen the echoes crying out from your own conscience.”

“Oh please,” Astarion turns on his heel. His hands burn where they meet his hips, pressing into the flesh as if to ground himself. “I have told you before that I do not feel as you do. Those lives mean little in comparison to the power that awaits me.”

“Now who is it that cannot lie? Keep the facade if you must, but we both know that you do feel,” Tav argues, finally meeting Astarion’s temper with her own. She closes the space between them, holding his gaze without wavering. “And I also think on some level that this must terrify you. That kind of power would change anyone, just as it changed Cazador. If you become just like him then you will not have stopped him - not so long as his legacy of terror is perpetuated by another.”

Astarion finds himself at a loss, her words cutting deeper than he’d anticipated. There are arguments he could pull, but the sight of her loosening her tongue seems to have stopped his own. 

“You would be unstoppable, that much is true,” Tav admits, taking calming breaths. The sound of them as they passed heavily through her nose angered him further. He did not need her calm, or her restraint. “All we have learned amongst our travels is that power comes with a price.”

“Cazador used to say the same thing, especially when he wanted to control me.”

“I see no need to control what you are capable of deciding for yourself. But are you willing to pay this toll with your soul?”

“My soul was damned long ago, or have you conveniently forgotten what I am?” Astarion snarled, unable to restrict the venom in his tone that stemmed from years of festering hatred. “In this world there is the powerful and the powerless. If there is any justice in this world, then I figure it is my right to reach for the former!”

Tav’s voice descended low, but it boomed in his ears. “Who taught you to believe that?”

“What?”

“It is like I alluded to before… those words… they are not your own.”

“Oh please-”

“Did Cazador teach you that you are irredeemable? That the only thing you can be in this world is atop the world or beneath it?”

“Stop it,” Astarion growled. “Do not speak of him like you know who he is, and what he is capable of.”

“The Astarion I know… the Astarion I fell in love with… revenge and power is important to him, but not at the cost of his sanity and desires. You are free from him, and yet you let yourself be continuously blinded by the shackles you shed at the foot of the Nautiloid. Is it so unfathomable for you to believe I might have a stake in this? Is it unthinkable to imagine that I might care about the impact this decision is going to have on you?”

Tav sighs, a weighted breath needed to catch up with herself before she continues. “I want you to feel empowered to make your own choices, Astarion - but I want you to see all the options presented before you, so you can be informed and realise what choice is going to bring you the closure you so desperately seek.”

Astarion can feel his anger blinding him as he yells, “If the choice is mine to make, then why? Why does it matter to you so?”

Tav recoiled as if hit by an unseen force. “If you have to ask, perhaps I have been mistaken in your feelings toward me, and my own for you.”

Astarion knows he hates this. He hates the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty in her brow. He hates that they are hurling words at one another without consideration, driven by their emotional state instead of understanding. They’ve never truly fought like this before. Astarion can see the very flames they ignited together dissipating into smoke and ash, burning itself out before his eyes.

He cannot stop himself. 

“Perhaps we both were.”

Tav wipes at her eye with her thumb, and makes to leave the bedroom. “Well then… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. We leave for Cazador’s palace at sunrise.”

Astarion gives no reply as the door slams shut, sealing his sight of her to his memory only.

***** ***** *****

By the time Astarion peels himself off the ground of Cazador’s palace, he doesn’t know how to feel.

This was not how the day was supposed to go. 

He had dreamt of this moment for centuries. The vision had changed over the years as he ran through premonitions, constantly altering the plan for maximal success. Until he’d met Tav, Astarion had always pictured himself alone as he ended his master once and for all. 

Her unwavering support was at times difficult to believe, even as his reliance on it grew. Here he was, weeks of travelling alongside her, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

And drop it did. 

Cazador’s staff in his hands, the choice of his life laid out before him. He turned to Tav and saw fear reflected in her eyes. Not of the monster who had imprisoned Astarion - but of Astarion himself. 

“But if I complete the ritual, think of the power I’ll have. With me by your side, we can save the city - we can save ourselves!”

The beautiful face that always supported and validated him began to shake from side to side, her eyes haunted as she looked at Astarion pleadingly. 

“I want you to live a life you’re proud of. You can’t be proud of this.”

Despite the love he harboured for her, Astarion couldn’t help but feel the twinge of betrayal. The woman who’d stood up for him, respected his boundaries, and encouraged his passions was turning on him in his moment of need. 

It was a testament to the lesson’s he had acquired from her that he was able to choose a different path - that Astarion was able to recognize what initially felt like betrayal was actually a hard truth. 

While they may have made some questionable decisions on their journey together thus far, Astarion knew he could count on Tav to tell the truth. 

After all, there was always something about the weight of her hand in his that made him want to be a better man. It induced an insatiable yearning in Astarion - not to be in servitude, but to be worthy. 

He casted power aside. He freed the slaves. He chose to construct himself a new path, despite the one already carved before him. He chose to be better than Cazador, to rise above the hatred that had festered in him the moment his life turned into something no longer his own. 

All those choices were now made possible through Tav’s support, her conviction, and her love.

The moonlight is now casting down on them, as they lay intertwined on his gravesite. Astarion cannot bring himself to drop their conjoined hands, squeezing her own ever so often.

“If you would be receptive to hearing it, I would like to tell you that I am proud of you,” Tav whispers.

“I almost lost myself…” Astarion whispers, unable to keep a level of vulnerability from his tone.  

“But you didn’t,” Tav reinforces, squeezing their intertwined hands back. Astarion brings her hand to his lips, still not letting go. He plants a soft and slow kiss across her battle worn knuckles as she continues. “I cannot think of a more difficult choice to be made than those you made today, and you did so admirably.”

“Will you still think so if we lose the impending battle against the Absolute?”

Her nose scrunches alongside her eyebrows, drawing her face into a frown. “Whatever do you mean?”

“This may have started as some suicide mission to kill my master or die trying,” Astarion admitted, baring more of his soul than ever before. “But when I found myself beginning to seek the sound of your laughter, and enjoying being able to fight alongside you, and to feel at home in the campsite we’ve built together… I must admit that I began to see the ritual as a means of making it all last… if I had taken it, perhaps I would be able to stand my ground against these lunatics we are about to face. If I were more powerful, perhaps I would have been the ally you deserve to have fighting alongside you at a moment that could otherwise be our end.”

The silence that followed his confession was not heavy, each word a means of unburdening the final fears grabbing at his undead heart like a vice. After such a monumental day, he is shocked to find how scared the prospect makes him. To face Cazador was one thing, to face the Elder Brain was another. 

The slender fingers of her free hand ran over the skin of his chest in a nondescript pattern, the motion soothing to his frayed nerves. “No one, least of all me, is asking you to be anything more than you already are.”

Unable to help himself, Astarion felt his lips draw into a thin grin. “I cannot tell if it is stubborn bravery or borderline insanity that you are staring down what is arguably our certain defeat with such intrepidness .”

Tav smiles alongside him. “I can think of another who might describe himself in much the same way.”

“Indeed. What a pair we make,” Astarion confirms with a smile. “But be serious, if only for a moment, darling.”

Pulling at their conjoined hands, Tav plants her own kiss on his knuckles, a mirror of his own motion a moment prior. Only when she is done adorning him does she speak. “At the end of the day, all we have is hope, Astarion. My own has never felt displaced since I placed it in you.”

She shifts in his arms, turning to face him directly rather than continuing to stare at the stars. “I have no need for the strongest army when I already have the strongest allies I could ask for. I believe we have bested every enemy that has yet crossed our path because while they prioritise power, we are prioritising connection. I should not have wished to live in more interesting times - but it is that wish that brought me the greatest friends I could have asked for, and a team that I know is capable of greatness. I cannot promise if we will win this battle, but I know we stand a chance because each of us is indeed a true soul, so long as we remain true to ourselves.”

Astarion is once again swept into her optimism. He might consider himself a pessimist, but being in Tav’s presence was to be influenced by her power. 

Snaking a hand underneath her chin, Astarion grabbed at her head to pull her closer to him. Memories from centuries of mindless kisses fell away from him as if he were shedding his skin, burying the remains of his hurt and servitude beneath the earth, like the coffin they lay atop. 

Feeling like a new man in Tav’s arms, he chased these sensations of affection right down her throat. The kiss was passionate, nearly desperate as Astarion pushed into her without restraint. Tav gave as good as she got - inviting him in, seemingly needing him as much as he needed her.

Astarion lost himself in it willingly, pushing all other doubts aside. There were moments from the monumental day that felt surreal and overwhelming, and yet something about being enveloped in her embrace encouraged him to be present with her. His entire world narrowed to Tav - her grace, her breath, and her taste.

Tav has to push against him - and Astarion carelessly reminds himself that she needs to breathe. While she catches some needed air, Astarion continues to connect himself with her, kissing down her jugular vein with prowess. 

“I love you,” Astarion preens into her skin like a promise, not for the first time that night. 

Tav’s response is unwavering, eternal promises wrapped in three expressive little words. “I love you.”

His choices had been his own, and they had led him right where he wanted to be - even if at first Astarion had not seen what was possible. Tav’s courage inspired his own, allowing him to seize every opportunity. He intended to continue the pattern, and enjoy every moment before him thoroughly.