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“You have lived a life of violence and sin. You have stolen lives, broken families, and caused immeasurable grief. Doing this will not right those wrongs. But it will be a start. You may yet be redeemed.”
Astarion brushed the words off as best he could.
Gods. The children.
He hadn’t even so much forgotten as put it out of his mind. There was no saving them, of that he was absolutely certain; he’d had two hundred miserable years to become accustomed to that fact. But Tav had that look in his eyes, that protective fury, that meant he was likely about to risk his life to try it anyways.
Gods. The children. Of course that would be a line too far.
Astarion very carefully moved to Minthara’s other side, a little further away from Tav. Jaheira was glaring at him, too— of course a druid couldn’t stand for a perversion of nature like himself dooming a few children. Minthara seemed unbothered, at least, which did make sense; Tav had already had to talk her down from mutilating an orphan pickpocket or two all on her own, without any compulsions forcing her hands.
Could he argue compulsion, with Tav? Would that be enough to dissuade his ire? Perhaps, though Astarion felt a little uncomfortable with the thought of lying to him.
Because it would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Cazador had ordered the Gur children’s capture, but that was all it had been. An order. One Astarion could have refused. He’d have been punished for doing so, of course— Cazador had recently been enjoying playing with the combination of pliers and Astarion’s fingernails, which had to be his least favourite of the master’s torture methods. But he could have refused. And if he had, Cazador would likely have missed whatever window had allowed Astarion to sneak unhindered into the camp of a group of travelling monster-hunters.
And my punishment would have been all the worse for it.
But Tav would have refused, wouldn’t he? He’d have fought an order like that one with his entire heart and soul, no matter what such a resistance would have cost him. Astarion had seen it, time and again.
For all his clear discomfort around them, Tav had a massive soft spot for children. There was little he wouldn’t do to protect them.
Did that include casting Astarion out? Probably not. Hopefully not. Tav was loyal to a fault, and glad to overlook the flaws of others if he liked them— the fact that Minthara was alive at all was testament to that fact.
But that didn’t mean Tav would forgive him for this. For all his remarkable, incomprehensible understanding, for all Tav had brushed aside the horrors Astarion had committed under Cazador’s command, there were lines even the bloodthirsty little Bhaalspawn seemed unwilling to cross.
Astarion may be able to beg understanding from Tav, for this sin of his. But forgiveness?
Well.
The Bhaalspawn in question turned, his eyes meeting Astarion’s, that rage still burning behind them, though his gaze softened at the sight of his friends.
“Go,” he said, tilting his head. “Gimme a second, I’ll catch up with you guys.”
The others chorused their assent, and Astarion tailed after them for a moment, before ducking into the shadows of the trees lining the Gur camp, slinking around the outskirts until he could see and hear Tav again.
“Ulma, right?” Tav was saying to the leader when Astarion caught up, his voice bright and friendly. “I’m Tav, by the way.”
“I don’t care,” Ulma said bluntly. “Until you and the spawn can kill Cazador Szarr and rescue our children, I have nothing more to say to you.”
“First off, don’t call him that. He’s a person, with a name,” Tav said, his voice still bright, though there was a sudden undercurrent of tension in his words, in the set of his shoulders. “And if Astarion says your children are dead, I’m very sorry, but I believe him.”
“Did he tell you about what he’d done to us, in whatever sob story he gave you?” Ulma asked.
Astarion bit back a wince, shrinking a little further back into the shadows.
“He told me plenty, don’t worry,” Tav said. “Speaking of sob stories— I am sorry about your children. They didn’t deserve that. Cazador will die for every wretched thing he’s done, and that will be one of them, don’t you fear. But I want to make something very, very clear to you.”
Astarion watched, utterly dumbfounded, as Tav took a step closer to Ulma, his voice dropping low enough that the other humans around them wouldn’t hear.
“Astarion was Cazador’s victim, first and foremost, as were all of his spawn. You’re human, yes? I don’t know how well you can actually conceptualise two centuries of torture. As far as I’m concerned, all those sins of his that you were going on about were wiped clean the moment he broke free of Cazador’s control.”
“The lives he ruined—” Ulma began.
“The lived Cazador ruined,” Tav corrected sharply. “Clearly, you and I won’t see eye to eye on this. That’s fine, I don’t need you to see reason. But I do need you to know something very important.”
Astarion blinked, leaning in a little closer.
Tav had a way of standing, speaking, carrying himself, that disguised just how dangerous he could be. He put on a charming, harmless mask, swaying each and every person he spoke to with a sweet smile or a story or a song.
But right now, all of that charm had fallen away, and— for the briefest moment— Astarion could see the dread Bhaalspawn, glaring at Ulma with murder in his eyes.
“If you or any of your people ever so much as think of coming after Astarion again… you will learn what it really means to face a monster.”
Then, so quickly Astarion was almost convinced he’d imagined it, the mask was back on, and Tav was digging through his pack.
“Cazador Szarr dies the moment we can be sure he won’t take any of us out with him, believe me. Until then, be careful.”
He pulled a couple of scrolls out of his pack, and Ulma flinched back as he held them out, just ever so slightly.
Tav kept prattling on, though Astarion couldn’t tell whether it was because he hadn’t noticed the flinch or because he didn’t care.
“These are a few scrolls of Daylight, since most everyone I travel with can cast it themselves already,” he said. “They’ll help you incapacitate any of Cazador’s spawn or thralls that come for you. Keep your guards up. Once Cazador’s been killed, and your children avenged, I’ll be back to check in.”
And then Tav was pressing the scrolls into Ulma’s limp hands and striding away, off towards the refugee camp nearby.
Astarion snuck away as well, catching up with Tav before he could reach the others and wrapping a hand around his wrist.
Tav spun, his entire body tensing, his free arm reaching for his blades, before he recognised Astarion and relaxed.
“Gods, don’t scare me like that,” he said, though there was a smile on his pretty, scarred lips. “I almost—”
Astarion kissed him, hard and hungry, pushing him back against the nearest surface— a tree, he registered distantly— so he could press himself closer, suddenly desperate to hold Tav as close as he possibly could.
Tav made a startled little noise into Astarion’s mouth, before melting into the kiss, his hands coming up to clutch at the front of his doublet. He was always so careful about touch, even before Astarion had told him about his purpose under Cazador. It was… gods, it was…
“Mmph,” Tav said after a long moment, drawing back, and pressing a hand against Astarion’s chest when he made to chase after him. “Astarion. Astarion, wait. How did we meet?”
“I held a knife to your throat, and then you tried to bite me, like the darling, reckless idiot that you are,” Astarion said immediately, before leaning in again, shutting up any follow-up questions with another bruising kiss.
Tav allowed it for a long moment, before pulling back again, panting and tilting his head away from Astarion’s, which had the side effect of baring his pretty throat and the bite marks on it, sitting proudly above Tav’s collar for the whole city to see.
Tav had defended him. Tav had chosen him, even knowing the awful things he’d done under Cazador’s command.
Gods. Astarion was almost afraid the dead heart in his chest would burst if he thought on it too long.
“Hey,” Tav said, one of his hands leaving Astarion’s doublet to cup his face instead. “Astarion? Look at me, please?”
Astarion complied, tearing his eyes away from the bite marks to meet Tav’s gaze.
He was flushed, his lips swollen and wet from their kiss, but his eyes were concerned.
“You okay?” he asked softly. “We’re going to kill him. As soon as you’re ready, as soon as we can. Regardless of if you and I are sleeping together. You know that, right?”
“I do,” Astarion said, his chest still so full he half worried his doublet would rip from the strain. “You didn’t have to do that, darling. I can look after myself.”
Tav winced. “You were listening.”
“Of course I was.” Astarion leaned in again, pressing his lips to those puncture wounds in Tav’s throat, teasing the marks lightly with his tongue.
“I— haah— m’sorry if I overstepped,” Tav said, tilting his head further to give Astarion more room. “Mm— she just— what she was saying about you, gods, it pissed me off so badly, I couldn’t—”
“You are the most remarkable creature in all the Realms,” Astarion murmured against Tav’s throat, relishing in the full-body shiver his words pulled from his bard. “I thought you were angry about the children.”
“The—? No, why would I— ah! Mm, Astarion, wait, wait a moment,” Tav said, pressing against Astarion’s chest again, and rather rudely stopping him from sucking a fresh bruise into Tav’s lovely, scarred throat.
Reluctantly, Astarion drew back enough to meet Tav’s gaze again, though he kept his bard pinned against the tree.
Luckily, Tav seemed to have no objections to that, petting his hands soothingly down Astarion’s armoured chest.
“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said, his voice so achingly sincere, though he was still flushed and breathless. “Not for that, not for any of it. I— I mean, it sucks, and I don’t like that it happened, but I don’t blame you for it. Not at all.”
“I— Tav, I wasn’t compelled to do that,” Astarion said, before he could think better of it. “It was just an order, one I could have refused.”
Tav frowned fiercely. “Could you, really? Either way, though, I don’t care. I meant it, when I said I don’t give a shit what he made you do. None of it matters, not anymore. It wasn’t your fault. And if anyone blames you for any of it, I’m happy to tell them to fuck off if you don’t want to deal with it yourself. Or I can just stand next to you and look scary while you do it, I’m pretty good at that.”
“You are,” Astarion said approvingly, biting back the urge to kiss that frown away. “But… she wasn’t wrong, darling.”
“She was,” Tav insisted. “And seeing her ranting at you about your ‘sins’, about the people Cazador forced you to— especially with how so many of them hurt you in the process, all while I was standing right there…”
Astarion blinked, taken aback. “You—?”
“If she wanted to hunt a monster, she picked the wrong one,” Tav said. “I just thought she should know that.”
Astarion just stared at Tav. How had this impossibly, incomprehensibly sweet creature come to be his?
Tav’s flush deepened even further. “I— I mean. I probably shouldn’t have, should I? If the Gur figure out what I am I can’t imagine they’ll suffer me to live. And I know you can handle yourself, I didn’t mean to interfere where— I was just angry and not thinking straight, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Astarion cut him off with another kiss, nipping at Tav’s soft lips before licking hungrily into his mouth, desperate to somehow show him just how much it had meant to hear Tav take his side, again, even when Astarion had been sure he wouldn’t.
Maybe he really would help me Ascend, if I asked.
Astarion silenced both his own thoughts and the muffled little noises Tav was making by kissing him harder.
Eventually— far too soon, in Astarion’s humble opinion— Tav drew back again, this time taking Astarion’s face in both of his warm, gentle hands and pressing their foreheads together, panting into the scant space between them.
“Hey,” he said again, his voice so low and warm and soft, slightly rough with arousal, though his mismatched eyes held nothing but concern. “You okay?”
Before he could think better of it, the words were spilling from Astarion’s lips. “I was certain you’d hate me for this. That this would be a line too far for you. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I was wrong.”
Tav blinked at him, rearing back as far as he could while still sandwiched between Astarion and the tree. “You thought I—? Why would I have—? No, I don’t hate you for this. I could never hate you, not for anything, but especially not— I— Astarion, I may not remember most of it, but I was a monster, an unrepentant murderer, for— for— for I don’t even know how long. My whole life, probably. There isn’t a damn thing Cazador could have made you do that’s worse than what I did all on my own.”
Now it was Astarion’s turn to frown. “All on your own? That’s not exactly how I remember that night.”
Tav flinched, as Astarion knew he would, at the reminder of that horrid night in the depths of the shadow-curse that he’d spent tied up in Astarion’s tent, spitting and snarling as whatever was controlling his body tried to kill Astarion.
Astarion pet his hands soothingly down Tav’s sides, though it was unlikely Tav could actually feel much of the touch through his armour— it was more about the action itself, about making sure that Tav knew Astarion didn’t mind.
How could he, when Tav had so easily and readily accepted every awful little part of him?
“What a pair we make,” Astarion said. “I do hope when the bards tell our story, they make us sound at least a little less pathetic.”
Tav snorted, that awful sorrow on his face breaking. “You’re a dick.”
“A handsome one, I hope,” Astarion said, grinning at him.
“The handsomest,” Tav said, his whole face softening, and then, of course, Astarion had to kiss him again, and again, and again.
It was several minutes later when Tav suddenly reared back, panting.
“Shit. We gotta get back to the others, before they start worrying.”
Astarion sighed, then leaned in, kissing Tav once more before he let him off the tree.
“Very well,” he said, holding his hand out. “Let’s go, darling.”
Tav threaded his fingers immediately through Astarion’s, as he always, always did, his battle-roughened hand so bewilderingly warm and gentle.
They made their way over to where Jaheira was talking to some of the tiefling refugees, and Minthara was standing somewhat awkwardly off to the side. Tav didn’t let go of Astarion’s hand as they approached, and after a moment of deliberation, neither did Astarion.
Tav had chosen him, loudly and fiercely, for the whole world to see. Astarion could return the favour.
“There you are!” Minthara snapped as they approached, stalking up to them. “I tire of standing idle while the Absolute gains more power by the moment. Did you accomplish anything of use in your absence?”
“I think so, yeah,” Tav said, squeezing Astarion’s hand once more before letting go, as Jaheira finished up her conversation and made her way over. “Did you guys find anything?”
“Apparently, the Ilmaterian monestary in town is being unusually stingy,” Jaheira said. “I expect we will find something interesting if we investigate it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tav said.
He looked over at Astarion, then. “Ready?”
“Lead on, my dear,” Astarion said, falling back into step alongside Tav as they began to walk.
Then—
“The monastery is the other way, darling,” he pointed out.
“Right! Right. I knew that,” Tav said, turning sharply on his heels, and Astarion laughed, threading his fingers through Tav’s once more to tug him in the correct direction.
“Ye gods. How did you make it this far?” Jaheira said, though she was grinning.
“Hey! I don’t see you offering to lead, grandma,” Tav said with a laugh.
“Grandma? You wound me. You are the one who decided to bring the old folks’ home out with you today,” Jaheira said.
“The old—? Excuse me?” Astarion demanded, exaggeratedly aghast, biting back his own smile when Tav dissolved into laughter again, nearly tripping over his own feet with the force of it.
The shadow of Cazador still loomed, and those of the Chosen and the Brain and all the other myriad enemies this ragtag band of idiots had managed to make on their way here. But like this, with Tav’s hand in his, his laughter ringing in Astarion’s ears and the afternoon sun shining on his face… Astarion could almost begin to believe that they might actually make it through this.