so fickle is the heart - Chapter 1 - Dexery (2024)

Chapter Text

Astarion had always yearned for freedom. The manner in which it was offered to him was in no way ideal, but still, beggars couldn't be choosers. So he was diseased, but free, and most of all, miles from Cazador's clutches for the first time in years.

They all awoke along the same river, equally clueless and adrift. A verbose wizard, a surly cleric, a cold-blooded githiyanki, an ambitious warlock, a red hot tiefling straight from Avernus, and then Tav. A druid, one part drow and the other part unknown.

“Half-drow,” was all he said when Gale eventually asked him about his heritage. And then nothing more. Fine. Astarion guessed that he was of the reserved kind. Nothing wrong with that, seeing as they were an odd group brought together by fate alone.

Tav looked like a drow, just a few shades lighter, with a youthful face and a quiet disposition. Astarion had met a few drow in his lifetime, but few of them druids. Actually, none. He would describe Tav as fairly level-headed, a little unpredictable. As they made their hesitant way around the forest, it was hard to predict which route he’d take in any given situation. He defended the helpless, much to Karlach’s and Gale’s delight, but didn't hesitate to threaten and intimidate his way through other encounters in a cruel fashion that left them wrinkling their noses. And still, despite his duality, he managed to befriend almost the entirety of camp.

Why? It was very simple.

Tav listened.

And people just loved to be listened to, didn't they?

At camp, Tav asked the right questions at the right moments, enough to uncover the most guarded secrets in due time. Gale’s fateful affair with Mystra, Karlach’s unstable engine-dilemma, Wyll’s untimely devil-pact, Lae'zel's and Shadowheart’s near-fanatic worship of their respective goddesses. Astarion observed them as they came undone, while still keeping his own troubled past under wraps for the time being. Best not to reveal too much.

They all met under the strangest of circ*mstance,s and then just…stuck together. Honestly, Tav was the one who helped them all get along, and so he fell into the role of leader quite naturally. Astarion had his doubts regarding their survival, but traveling with this band of mismatched vagabonds certainly beat braving the elements alone.

The journey led them into Emerald Grove fairly quickly. It became apparent that they weren't the only group left vulnerable and astray. Much to Karlach's dismay, a herd of tieflings were facing immenent threat from many sides. Zevlor, the tiefling leader, found it challenging to drop his guard at first, but once he realized that Tav wasn’t a shadow-sworn druid or bloodthirsty drow, he welcomed the visitors with open arms.

“Forgive the suspicious looks,“ he said after explaining their conundrum. “We are just finding it rather difficult to trust drow. A band of goblins camp up west, and one of their leaders, a drow, is organizing an attack on this grove as we speak. Meanwhile the druids of these lands are trying to evict us too, they’re planning a rite that will shut off the grove. Where will we go? We are no fighters and we fear that the goblins will catch us in an ambush.”

Tav took no offense to the initial hostility. On the contrary - he seemed to have a soft spot for underdogs.

“It's alright. I do understand the caution, but I really wish to help. What can we do for you?”

How wholesome. Tav was absolutely hellbent on helping the tieflings. Whywas unclear, to Astarion, at least, but he supposed he just had to make peace with the fact that Tav was of the helping kind. He considered it an unnecessary detour, since they had their own urgent matters to tend to - like, handling the imminent threat of metamorphosis, for example. Tav assured them that they could juggle both matters. And so, the tieflings had little choice but to lay their fragile fate into their hands.

They headed to camp in a secluded spot by the river after an exhausting day of adventuring. Astarion's and Tav’s relationship was frosty, at first. After all, Astarion had kind of threatened Tav with a dagger to his throat within minutes of meeting him.

Details.

But they leveled up from silence to the occasional chit chat within days, and Astarion obviously made sure to make himself sound more important than he was. A noble elf, working in Baldur's gate as a magistrate, a very esteemed position for someone so ambitious, oh. What he failed to mention was what happened after all that, but it was all part of the grand plan. And Tav seemed partial to him.

Maybe?

A little smile here, a witty comment there. There was something between them. A spark, an energy, a seed that could grow into a beautiful flower.

Tav was a hard one to figure out, but Astarion might just give it his best attempt nonetheless.

The best thing, by far, about Astarion’s currently tadpoled existence was sunlight. Suddenly it was everywhere. Warm, bright, making him jerk in fear at first due to instinct alone. When he realized he could walk around without being barbequed, other things became tempting too.

For one, Cazador never let him feed on humans. Feeding on a human would be the ultimate proof that Astarion was, at least temporarily, freed from his influence.

He should definitely not attempt to sneak up on anyone while they were soundly asleep at camp. No, what an insane idea. A most abhorrent idea that would certainly lead to his demise. But could he resist it?

Of course bloody not.

Clear-headed he wouldn't have risked it, no way. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He felt so weak, and so, so hungry. And Tav looked so appetizing where he lay on his bedroll, his delicate neck all exposed to the world. Before Astarion really knew what came over him he found himself leaning over Tav’s sleeping form, fangs bared, approaching the most prominent vein in his neck.

Bon appetit.

And then, obviously, Tav woke up, because why the hell wouldn’t he?

sh*t, double sh*t and f*ck.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Astarion removed his fangs from the crime scene as fast as possible. What an idiot. Tav was newly-awkened, pissed off, and explanations were in order.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear -”

“No? It looks very alarming, and it’s not a great look for you, to be honest.”

“I know, but I just needed, well…blood.”

They backed away from each other. Astarion’s arms were raised like a shield, ready to parry any incoming daggers. He recounted the story rather quickly. Vampire, no, not vampire - spawn. Feel very weak, crave blood, the works. Once the shock settled, Tav’s expression softened somewhat and Astarion received something he hadn't expected at all.

Empathy. A bit of a lecture, but definitely empathy too.

“You’re a vampire spawn? Gods, why didn't you tell us? Don’t you think that’s kind of worth mentioning?”

“Yes, but isn’t it blatantly obvious why? You’d kick me out of the group at best, but more likely, ram a stake through my heart.”

Tav’s eyes narrowed to springs at this questionable logic.

“So you were too scared of my reaction to tell me, but somehow sneaking up on me in the middle of the night to suck my blood seemed like a preferable option?”

“Yeah, okay, fair point,” Astarion muttered. He figured this had all gone to sh*t, but next he received something even more wildly unexpected. Some of Tav’s precious blood, against all odds.

He stretched out on his back, still dubious, but apparently Astarion’s little sob story had pulled on his heartstrings.

“Don’t overdo it,” he warned. Astarion swore on his unlife to honor that request.

“Just a taste, I swear.”

It was near impossible to stop, but he managed. They parted ways thereafter and camp was at rest. The morning after, Tav looked just as cool and collected as always. The only signs of something unusual taking place were the two bite marks that adorned his purple neck, displayed for everyone to see. They did prompt questions eventually.

“A vampire in our camp,” Shadowheart stated dramatically. “Well, of course there is. Anyone else who wishes to reveal some dark secrets while we’re at it?”

“I trust him,” Tav said firmly. Gods almighty. Astarion pretended to be unfazed, but inwardly he seethed. Despite the trust that had been bestowed upon him he couldn’t believe his blunder. Anyone, he could have gone after anyone else, a goblin, some stray harpy, but no. It just had to be Tav in the flesh, and now the entirety of camp knew he was a vampire.

Just perfect.

“Just keep away from my neck, Astarion,” Gale warned jokingly, but he did mean business. “I will have you know that my blood tastes absolutely vile.”

Astarion humbly agreed, but he was certain they would turn on him eventually. He even entertained the thought of making a swift exit. But it just didn’t feel tempting to roam the wilderness alone. The camp didn’t start plotting against him, however, not yet at least.

A few days later they found themselves wandering into the swamp in search of a hag’s house. Some girl needed rescuing, Astarion wasn’t entirely sure about the details. All he knew was that it sounded like unnecessary work again. This lot just had to play hero while they were at it, and on the way there they crossed paths with a hunter. Not just any hunter, mind you. A Gur, called Gandrel. The first words he uttered instantly tied Astarion’s stomach into knots.

“I’m hunting a vampire,” the Gur told the oblivious bunch. “Well, vampire spawn to be exact. Much less impressive than the hag that lives here. I'm hoping to flush him out, if I can afford her blood price.”

Well, wasn’t this just lovely.

Astarion quickly considered his options while the man kept harping on about abducted children this and scum of the earth that. So he must know about the misdeeds back in Baldur’s gate, that much was certain. This was it. The crossroads, the opportune moment to surrender Astarion back to Cazador. He wouldn't be able to fight all of them, no way. But while his brain was in overdrive, Tav’s eyes just glimmered with mischief.

“I see. But really, how much of a threat could a vampire spawn be? Not like he’s a real vampire.”

It was clear that he was about to enjoy this conversation immensely. Astarion tried his best to destroy Tav with a sinister glance, but unsuccessfully so. All he could do was wheeze those same sinister warnings through his teeth instead.

“I’m sure he could still rip your throat out.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Gandrel confirmed, unaware of the charged atmosphere between them. “They are only weak compared to their masters.”

Their masters. These statements didn’t exactly alleviate the situation. Astarion was coiled like a spring, the entire party gathered around him, fingers anxiously wrapped around their weapons in case a fight was about to erupt.

“I think we should do something about this threat,” Astarion said coldly.

He was three seconds from going ballistic. He could knock them down and flee, even though the chances of success were close to zero. But then, he felt fingers gently nudge his, transferring a wordless message. Trust me, idiot.

Tav turned to the man, beckoning his immediate attention.

“Actually - good sir. Now that I recall, I saw a rather undead-looking individual yesterday. Yes, now that I come to think of it, and he almost looked to be…on the prowl.”

Gandrel perked up at once, latching onto every word with renewed vigor.

“You did?”

“Oh yes,” Tav lied with immaculate precision. “Tall, Handsome, possibly the owner of a pair of pointy teeth. I remember now. He headed north towards Serpent Hills. All you’ll find here are goblins and the odd tiefling, I’m afraid. We have scoured the area in several rounds the past few days, no sign of any vampire spawns.”

Gandrel put that information through its paces. The lie was apparently credible enough, because he soon started gathering his belongings with haste.

“Well I best get moving then, I want to hunt down the beast as fast as possible. Thank you very much for the tip.”

He hurried off and into the swamp, leaving only a slowly dying fire in his wake. Astarion visibly relaxed once the coast was clear. So, that happened.

His solution would have been annihilation, but Tav, semi-upstanding citizen as he was, would obviously never allow that. And the diplomatic route was actually smarter. Sending the Gur hunting a false lead, as far from Astarion as humanly possible. Hopefully he would get lost in the marsh and never, ever return.

Now that the bomb was diffused, Gale gave Astrarion a playful shove.

“You were a bit scared that Tav would sell you out for a moment there, weren't you, Astarion? I could practically hear your thoughts racing into infinity.”

Astarion chose not to comment on that. Gale must not know how accurate of an estimate that was. He glanced over at Tav, who shrugged in return.

“I would never do that.”

It sounded quite sincere. And it was at that moment that something occurred to Astarion.

Actually, two things.

1. Tav wasn’t just as unpredictable as he had thought, he was actually more unpredictable.
2. He was under the protection of this band of misfits, at least for now.

Tav clearly wanted to protect him, and maybe the reason was pure practicality. Having a vamp in the party may prove beneficial, but even so.

When was the last time someone made an effort to protect Astarion, for any reason, really?

An idea spawned in the spawn's head. The idea of taking it…just a little further. Doing what he did best. Enchant and seduce in order to guarantee that he stayed on Tav’s good side, because let's face it. Tav just seemed like a good individual to have wrapped around his finger. Cunning and resourceful, and partial to Astarion for some reason. Being rejected was a possibility, of course. But Astarion was willing to risk it, and what was the worst that could happen, other than rejection?

Well, okay, a plethora of gruesome things, come to think of it.

Death.

And things worse than death.

Captured and returned to Cazador.

The prospect made him nearly weep and tremble in terror. But if Tav wanted to splinter the vampire's heart or betray him, he could have done so ages ago. If he could read the situation right, they had progressed from acquaintances to friendly. Oh yes. That twinkling forest green gaze and sly smirk did not lie. If it did then Astarion was a bullywug trumpet. All he had to do now was make a move.

And so he did.

It was commonplace that Tav stopped by Astarion’s tent for small talk at the end of the day. Engage in some banter, exhange tales of woe and triumph. Because what else were they to do than talk while they kept searching for a cure to their problem, when everything looked bleak and hopeless? Not much.

One such night, Astarion thought that it was about time to amp his charms up to max.

“Well hello there.”

And Tav noticed.

“What's that look?”

“What look?”

“You're up to something.”

“Am I?”

“For sure. You look like someone who’s up to something."

“Me? I would never.” Astarion raised his chin, his voice now a few octaves huskier. “I was just thinking.”

He stepped a little closer. Tav didn’t recoil, instead, a little intrigued smile played on his lips. Oh, this would be easy as pie.

“Heavens. Thinking. And what could you possibly be thinking about?”

“Well…you.”

Astarion successfully rendered him silent, which was unusual.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel could be heard arguing about something in the distance, but they could do so amongst themselves. Astarion was busy elsewhere. His fingers rested on Tav’s waist for a split second, and then, brushed across his palm. Small, fleeting gestures - invites.

“I’m growing to like the whole package,” he said. “And you clearly like me too, and the times we dined together, so...”

Tav gave him a calculating stare.

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, you know. I let you feast on me to help you out.”

“Alright, alright. Pardon my lack of restraint, but I have this feeling I’m right. You were, but you enjoyed it a little. Your body already gave you away.”

Astarion blinked alluringly, and Tav didn't say yay or nay to that, but he didn’t have to. Astarion, with his super-hearing and excellent observational skills picked up on every little hitching breath and straying eye. He made sure to make his offer sound as tempting as possible.

“To be blunt, but we waited long enough. And this predicament we find ourselves in is simply ghastly. I see no reason not to enjoy ourselves while we can, before we turn into mindless thralls, robbed of everything life has to offer.” He shivered at the mere thought. A very real possibility, unfortunately.

“We could take a night to ourselves,” he continued. “Slip away somewhere, you and I. I know a place where we can…indulge in each other. Undisturbed.”

The offer hung in the air, waiting for Tav's signature. All he had to do was accept, and surely he wanted to?

“We'll see,” was his cryptic answer to that.

Alright then.

An indigo sky draped over the lands, and camp was idle. Astarion left his bedroll as the night settled. A nearby grove framed by trees was the perfect location for a rendezvous, and he intended to play this boy like a fiddle, well, if he bothered showing up.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. The summer breeze felt good, sensual even, against Astarion’s skin. The majestic cedar trees and the occasional squirrel kept him company for now, but he just may have to resort to spending the night alone.

Bummer.

But then there was movement. Tav came wandering the tall grass, looking a little apprehensive, but expectant.

“You’re…here,” Astarion said as they intersected under the lush canopy of leaves. “Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

“I did.”

They halted a few feet from each other. Now that there wasn't any interference, Astarion could admire Tav fully. His skin had a purple or gray undertone depending on the weather; overcast or bright, but by far, his most unusual feature were dark freckles dotted all over his body like intricate star constellations. The 1-AM light favored his bare form, and Astarion was curious about where exactly they led.

“Your skin tone is quite extravagant,” he noted. “I haven’t seen many like it.”

He could feel Tav growing suspicious, eyes narrowing as if asking, do you really mean that? Of course he meant that. He said so, sincerely, and the tense lines around Tav’s eyes loosened. A few moments passed in silence. Tav’s eyes hovered around chest-level a little too long before he caught himself staring. He looked down, bashful, but Astarion welcomed the attention with open arms.

“Do feast your eyes, why don't you.“

“You're gorgeous,” Tav said earnestly. But it didn't reek of beer breath or sound shallow, like when Astarion heard it in the past. Not like mindless worship, just like an observation or a statement, like saying that the sun is warm, or water is wet.

He liked it.

And how Tav's smile flickered before him as he got comfortable, appearing and disappearing sporadically. It was a bright thing, rare, and that made it so much more special.

“Says you.” Astarion took the liberty of stepping closer. “May I?”

His hands were on the hem of Tav’s shirt, elevating the fabric slightly. A pause, then a nod. Astarion slipped the garment off with ease, revealing unblemished, freckled skin, but also that which had stayed hidden thus far. There were faint scars scattered over Tav’s ribcage, stretching all the way to his back like long, white tiger stripes.

“What are these?”

“Just leftovers from a different time,” Tav said avoidantly, a protective arm shielding the thickest one of the markings.

Astarion dropped the subject. It wasn't his place to pry.

“I’ve been wanting you for a long time,” he said instead. His thumb wandered up Tav’s jawline, cupping his cheek. Hands on his waist, slowly applying pressure, but noticed the slightest hint of resistance. And so, naturally, he slammed on the brakes.

He tilted Tav’s chin up with his thumb and index finger.

“Is this what you want, darling?”

“Yes,” Tav said with conviction, the stiff arms falling to his sides. His voice was whisper-quiet and broken as their lips came closer and closer to touching.

“I just…haven’t done this in a while.”

Astarion had time to think during the pause that followed. It was hard to believe an individual like this didn’t have suitors galore.

“Is that so? Well. Then it’s even more special of an occasion.”

He extended his hands, slotting them together with small tugs on Tav’s waist.

“You have nothing to worry about, I will take good care of you. But do remember that I am an absolute beast . Gandrel’s words.”

Tav let out a tiny chuckle at the recollection. He should have known that Astarion would remember that little statement and paint it in a new light.

Their lips met at last. Lightly at first like the wind around them, nibbling and exploring, then with hunger until they were strangers no longer. No words were needed. Tav let Astarion kiss the long pillars of his neck, twine his fingers into the strands of his hair. His muscles tensed and shivered as Astarion's fingers traced every corner they could, exploring bare flesh, lips dropping kisses here and there as Tav grew hard under him.

Actually, he might enjoy this more than he had foreseen.

It was a strange sensation, being able to sunbathe when one was used to almost two centuries worth of darkness. Astarion didn’t want to waste a second. He rose early the next morning, unable to resist the wind in his hair and the slick rays in his neck, caressing his silver curls. May it never end.

“What are those scars on your back?”

He whirled around on tho spot. Tav had awoken sooner than expected.

“It’s a poem.”

“Why is it written in infernal?”

“Infernal?”

Tav gave a confirming nod. He was propped up on his palms, streaks of sweat criss-crossing his chest. He was more well-read than Astarion gave him credit for.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod. Astarion didn’t expect to be quizzed about his scars, but then again, neither had he expected himself to divulge his own troubled past so soon. It's just that Tav asked, and then it just…poured out. Such a sordid tale. Master Cazador who liked to carve artworks into his skin, but that wasn't even the worst he could do, not by a long shot.

Tav digested the information with creased brows and palpable sadness.

“So what do you think it means?”.

“Hell, who knows. Most likely nothing. A deranged vampire lord has a lot of interests, one more macabre than the other. It was what he considered a relaxing pastime, surely.”

“Surely,” Tav mumbled.

Astarion made sure to wrap this conversation up. Now was not the time to delve into trauma, so he extended a hand for the boy to take instead.

“We best head back and seize the day and all that nonsense. If you can walk, that is.”

Gentlemanly as he was, he had obviously kept his promise of the ultimate caretaking. But it was still fun to tease Tav a bit. And oh, it worked.

“Oh, please,” he said, obviously vexed. “You're so proud of yourself, aren't you?”

“For successfully conjuring those noises out of you last night? Well, yes I am.”

It was almost indiscernible against his purple cheeks, but Tav blushed. They both knew exactly what lewd noises Astarion was referring to, some of them loud enough to traumatize the wildlife around them for centuries to come.

“I'm dandy,” Tav said with an indifferent flutter of his lashes.

“Delightful. Just making sure. We still have about three million enemies to slay, and you need your strength so you can turn into an owlbear later and go scorched Earth on them.”

His fingers still rested in the air where he’d left them. Tav bit his lip, leaning back, but made no move to grab them.

“I might feel even better after a cuddle.”

Bruises decorated his neck where Astarion had bit him last night, deeper purples flowering against the pale shade of his skin. They needed to get back, but who the hell could resist him?

“Well, I guess you earned it, for being so good and absolutely irresistible for me.”

He gave in to the promises of more intimacy, taking a seat on the soft grass once more and inviting Tav into his embrace. Tav’s hand snuck around his back, absently tracing the outline of the infernal artwork. A brief respite before they had to return to the bloodshed.

As the days passed, Tav turned into more and more of an enigma.

Druids, great protectors of nature and guardians of life, were known to detest the undead. That included vampires and their spawn. It was only logical. The state of being undead directly interfered with the natural order of the world; birth, life, death.

But not this druid. Not Tav. Why?

Maybe there was an unusually empathetic streak within him, or alternatively, an unusually sad*stic streak. Maybe he was just stalking his prey while he cooked up a grand plan to end Astarion. And wouldn’t that be splendid. But there was no knowing, so Astarion just hoped to dodge imminent death if it stared him in the eye anytime soon.

This druid was…atypical.

Moreover, it occurred to Astarion, that Tav was exactly the type of bright-eyed and delicate-necked plaything that Cazador would have loved. If they met under different circ*mstances, there was a good chance that Tav - street-smart but easily influenced - would have walked right into his trap. A rare treat to bring back for a decadent feast. Actually, chances were that Cazador may even have wished to keep Tav as a spawn, always ready at his convenience.

The thought was quite heart-wrenching, and thus Astarion found it best not to dwell on it for too long. Thank goodness that they hadn’t met sooner.

They gave themselves to the night for the second time instead. He and Tav, far away from Cazador’s claws, shielded by trees, on the soft grass and witnessed only by a perfect glowing half-moon, Tav on his back, splayed out and giving Astarion ample room to explore his body, what made him tick and tingle.

Tav was of the compliant, attentive but quiet kind. Even when he was present there was at least a chunk of him that seemed to retreat into some place of his own. Astarion didn't mind. Silence, he thought, was as much of a welcome change as it was unsettling.

Back in Baldur’s gate Astarion’s conquests were usually loud-mouthed. Obnoxious even, malevolent criminals who often deserved their fate. Not Tav.

Astarion enjoyed every second. Tav, lost in the void, twitching in Astarion's arms as he stumbled towards his end. But he didn't say much now, communicating only in heightened breaths and whimpers that rolled off his lips as his fingers kept digging into the raised symbols in Astarion’s back.

It was something special, alright. Astarion didn’t feel drained and depleted of all will to live like he usually did after an encounter, the opposite.

“Are you sated?”

“Absolutely beat,” Tav said in a long exhale, his eyelids growing heavy. Astarion had wrecked him in the best of ways. “You?”

“I am, my dear. You were exquisite.”

Astarion dropped lazy kisses wherever he could reach, feeling their tummies mold into one another as they caught their breaths, heat still flowing between them.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” he said. And meant it, at least for now.

Afterwards, Tav lay on his side, facing away. His fingers caressed the petals of the little wildflowers surrounding them. Whatever occupied his mind he wouldn’t disclose, not on this particular night, so Astarion just settled for silent observations.

The sound of the still-sizzling fire filtered in from afar. Astarion reached out his fingertip to touch a freckle right beneath Tav’s shoulder blade. A deep blue dot.

“What's on your mind?”

He registered the smallest shudder at the contact, but Tav remained unmoving, his gaze locked onto something in the treetops.

”I was thinking about those bluebirds that nest over there. That they seem hungry. I should bring them some leftover bread.”

“I’m sure they would adore you for that,” Astarion commented. “Oh, great protector of nature, they already adore you.”

“Not all of them. Some of the animals around these fear me because of my complexion. Drow, and all that.”

“Well, they will warm up to you, how could they not? Shall we head back?”

Astarion finally willed his lax body into motion and heaved himself up onto his elbows. Nature was lovely and all, but he missed the comfort of his bedroll. Perhaps a cheeky glass of wine, and then a peaceful slumber until they had to throw themselves into the crossfire again.

“Go right on,” Tav said, muffled since he was leaning his chin into his elbow. “I’ll linger for a while.”

Alright then. Astarion struggled to his feet, preparing for departure.

He wasn’t sure what made him bend down and press a kiss onto the Tav’s cheekbone where he lay. But so he did. Most uncharacteristic.

“Don’t linger for too long,” Astarion said. “You need your rest if you’re going to keep slaying enemies tomorrow.”

Tav's head moved at a slow bob. Astarion couldn’t help but look back as he began walking back to camp. Tav had sat up at last. He remained there, cross-legged, the center in a cloud of fireflies.

What was he thinking about?

Well, Astarion might just never know.

The time came for one of their trickiest missions thus far. Preventing the attack on Emerald Grove, out of the kindness of Tav’s, and Gale’s, and Wyll’s and Karlach’s bleeding hearts.

They cooked up quite the elaborate scam. And mind you, Astarion absolutely adored elaborate scams.

It all started with the goblin Sazza. Tav realized early that freeing her from her prison at the grove would be a good idea. That she may be useful down the road, and he was quite right.

After careful planning, the moment came to begin the operation. Infiltrate Goblin camp, rescue Halsin, defeat the goblin leaders. The sun shone its bright rays upon them on this particular day, but dark clouds of uncertainty hung heavy over their collective heads.

“Are you sure this will work?”

Gale remained most skeptical. There were only six of them, and hordes of goblins. Even as an capable (but artifact-addicted) archmage powered by the weave, it was clear that he felt out of place. Far away from the comfort of Waterdeep, surrounded by chanting and pounding war drums. It was a lot to take in.

“No,” Tav said, hunching down to check for any signs of Sazza.

“Lovely, quite reassuring indeed,” Gale commented then, nervously stroking his beard into submission. Karlach barked at him to pull it together. If he was such a distinguished wizard as he claimed, he shouldn’t be cowering in fear behind a thorn brush.

“That’s not what we want to hear. Face the enemy headfirst. No fear!”

“Headfirst?” Gale gave her another one of his famed skeptical looks. “That seems like a recipe for disaster. I understand you prefer to ride in with your guns blazing, but we must approach this matter with finesse.”

Karlach’s flames sizzled threateningly. Excuse her, but her approach was proven to be effective. 100% kill rate, no exceptions. The growing agitation threw her and Gale into a bit of a mumbled squabble.

“Afraid to get your silk robes dirty, Gale? Missing your comfy little tower in the city of pomp and circ*mstance?”

“Shut it, or I’ll zap your other horn off.”

Wyll commanded them to keep it down, which they didn’t. Karlach’s flames immediately tripled at the mention of her precious horn.

“You wouldn’t dare. Did you actually remember to consume your magical breakfast today? You seem a bit cranky.”

“I did, a pair of very tasty and expensive sandals. No, Shovel, come back here!”

Their quasit sidekick was about to rush in prematurely. Gale caught her tail at the last second, forcing her back. She immediately began wailing like a broken siren.

“Shovel is bored! Less talking, more murderising! The goblins are much more fun company than you old wrinkly pieces of garbage!”

“Would you mind controlling the creature, please,” Astarion requested. Shovel did not like that. The spew of vulgarities soon redirected towards the poor elf.

“Shut your trap, ugly freak, you’re next! Your inside will be shoveled off the ground when Shovel is done with you!”

“Charming.”

Astarion looked down at the quasit as she tried to claw at his kneecaps. Not only did the creature sound like a broken siren, but she was daft too. Him, a freak, sure.

But ugly?

Not in this universe.

Shadowheart zoned in on the blockade while Gale calmed the outburst. The beasts waiting in the distance were cause for concern.

“Those worgs look starved. Completely ready to feast on my slender yet appetizing form.”

“They would look good with my sword lodged in their brain,” Lae’zel concluded. “And Shovel is right. Less talking, more murderising. What are we waiting for, tentacles to sprout, the grass to grow? Let’s go.”

“Just trust me, and let me do the talking,” Tav urged them. He quickly gestured to them to not to barge in with swords swinging. “Lae’zel, no. You’ll get your carnage, but we have to be smart about this.”

Lae’zel gave a disapproving hiss. But Tav hadn’t let them down thus far, so they bided their time until the opportune moment presented itself, and Sazza with it. A short arm waved at them from across the bridge. Bingo.

“Oi! Over here!”

Having a half-drow in the party had proved useful once again. It was almost laughable how easy it was. Sazza led them straight past the guards and the worgs, no need to engage in a goblin massacre just yet.

“This one here helped me escape that ratchet tiefling prison,” she notified the nonplussed companion. “The drow leader will want to meet him.”

They entered the lion's den with a clear goal. The plan went as follows; pose as a True Soul of the Absolute, fool everyone and their mom, rescue the druid. But there were a few additions along the way; the unlucky and brazen bard Volo, who obviously had been captured by the goblins despite Tav’s warning. What else did he expect? And lastly the poor, now-orphaned Owlbear cub that Tav helped free from the goblins clutches.

The road led them into the heart of the Shattered Sanctum. It was a fairly easy quest to infiltrate the place with the help of Sazza, who treated Tav as if he was the savior they had all been waiting for. Oh, the poor, clueless thing. Since the place was a maze of dimly lit corridors and wrong turns they soon encountered a roadblock. A scantily clad man with an impressive collection of torture implements - a disciple of Loviatar, the goddess of pain.

Screams could be heard next door. The goblins were busy interrogating a prisoner, but this man took an immediate and keen interest in Tav.

“What…have we here. What a marvelous surprise, an elf of the shadows.”

The party reluctantly came to a halt. The man - Abdirak - was a walking mannequin of gore, covered in scars and lesions in various stages of healing. There was something about him, something serpent-like in his movements and in his speech that unsettled even Astarion. Gale urged them to continue, but Tav couldn't help but show a reluctant but curious interest in the man.

“Forgive me, but…that look in your eyes,” Abdirak continued ominously. “Something terrible has happened to you.”

If the deduction shook Tav, he didn’t show it. He just calmly crossed his arms and waited for the continuation.

“Clever man.”

“A disciple of Loviatar always knows. Child, allow me to alleviate this pain.” Abdirak slowly turned to the row of implements on the table, fingers stroking along the edges of the first one. A mace. “My work can grant peace and serenity, the likes of which few experience. It will be absolutely worth it. I promise.”

“Oh, this I have to see,” Astarion exclaimed. He gave Tav a little shove forward. “Yes, terrible things indeed. So much sin in this one, it must all be cleansed.” He lifted a warning brow. “Don't you dare say no.”

Actually, he half-joked when he suggested that Tav should agree to a beating. As if Astarion would pass on an opportunity to witness such a delicious spectacle? Hells no. But what he didn’t expect was that Tav would agree with a curt nod.

Hold on. What?

Wyll quickly launched himself between Tav and the trigger-happy man. This didn't seem safe, or sane, if you asked him.

“Are you sure about this?”

“It's alright, Wyll,” Tav assured, gently brushing him off. It was quite alright, and it would be worth the inconvenience. Wyll stepped aside, still torn, and Abdirak made sure to make an addition as he assumed a firm grip of the mace. He motioned to the dirty wall with the implement.

“Dearest one, should you delight the goddess, you will most assuredly receive her gracious blessing. Simply face the wall, and we can begin.”

Tav did as commanded before anyone else could stop.him. A verbal display of anguish was absolutely vital, he was aware. The blows started minutely. Abdirak’s manic screams echoed in the chamber as his hand rose to deliver the blows, and it was all a bit disturbing, really, even for Astarion’s tastes.

“That’s it, dear one, let Loviatar hear you!”

Abdirak’s chanting rose in both intensity and volume, and Lae'zel and Shadowheart spectated with interest. They were no foreigners to pain. Pain was a part of life as far as they were concerned, but Gale could be heard muttering something about awfully uncivilized in the background. A distinguished wizard of Waterdeep would never.

Then, it was all over. The disciple only had eyes for Tav, his entire being oozing admiration for the panting half-drow.

“That was simply sublime. Loviatar herself found your performance…inspiring. She has deemed you worthy of her blessing.”

A blood-red sprinkling of dust. Loviatar’s blessing fell upon the chosen one. Well worth it. They could proceed, but Astarion had questions, so, so many of them.

He pulled Tav aside by the arm, ignoring the distant but questioning looks from their companions.

“Why did you do that?”

A pair of puzzled eyes met him. One watery blue, one forest green. Tav tried to yank his limb back but met resistance at the other end.

“I thought you wanted me to? Actually, you absolutely insisted that I accept.”

“Well, I wasn’t serious, to be honest. I didn't think you'd willingly submit yourself to such a thing, I expected you to punch me, kick Loviatar’s bitch in the groin, and march off.”

“I spot a non-believer,” Tav joked. “Don't let Loviatar hear you, she will flog you into submission.”

“I'm serious.”

Astarion’s voice crashed through the gloomy corridor like a tornado.They stared at each other for a few moments until Tav retrieved the arm he still held hostage .

“What’s the problem? Rather willingly than unwillingly.”

Astarion agreed wholeheartedly. The times he unwillingly had to subject himself to torture at Cazadors whims were too many to count. And still, this didn’t make sense to him.

“Completely agree. But…why?”

“I knew it would benefit me in the end,” Tav said simply.

True. But not everyone would be so ready to accept a thorough serving of pain just to gain the upper hand. The subject was dropped, and the marks on Tav’s back would heal. But there was something uncomfortable about his attitude, something that gnawed at Astarion long thereafter.

After rescuing Volo, they made it to the very heart of the goblin’s hideout. Priestess Gut was ambushed before she knew what hit her. Halsin was rescued, the goblin leaders' guts splattered all over the walls. Minthara made a lucky escape, but they could live with that fact. It almost felt too easy. Surely, this wouldn’t earn “True Soul” Tav a very good reputation when word of his insolence got around, but that was a concern for another day.

The grove was saved. All was well in the lands, at least temporarily. The occasion called for a party.

Exactly whose idea that was, Astarion wasn’t sure - Zevlor, perhaps, the poster boy of wholesomeness. He only listened with one ear as the tieflings absolutely showered Tav with gratitude. Festivities…who had time for them? But apparently they did. And since Astarion was an inhabitant of this camp he found himself right in the very center of the celebrations.

The only positive aspect of this night was that a certain someone seemed unable to stay away from him. A magnetic pull willed Tav closer and closer to his tent, no matter how much he pretended to be busy mingling with the rest. First, there were glances. Then there were steps. Then he started walking in circles, awkwardly chewing on his lower lip and getting a refill of wine. Then he gravitated closer and closer until he simply decided to drop the act and walk over with brisk steps.

Astarion hid a self-congratulatory smile. Who knew he had such an effect on their leader?

“How is your evening?”

“Splendid,” Astarion replied chipperly. “This wine tastes like sour grapes and crushed dreams.”

If he could read the situation correctly, there were sparks. Sparks with the potential to develop into fireworks. A good opportunity to throw out a net. But he had barely formed a word before Wyll had to come and insert his handsome horned self into the conversation.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“Wine, and how it tastes like crushed dreams,” Tav said and held out a friendly hand to beckon him closer.

“Ah, but comrades, let’s not take these riches for granted. We live to see another day and indulge in bad wine.”

Wyll turned the chalice upside down, sending the serving down to join the bread and cheese in his tummy. It was already a known fact that his tolerance was sky-high. The little gathering lured more participants over. Lae’zel joined them, a tight-lipped and wordless presence, and Karlach, who matched Wyll’s undying positivity with ease.

“Cheer up, Astarion,” the tiefling told the vampire the second she arrived. The creases in Astarion’s forehead just depended further until he resembled a prune.

“I am cheerful. This is my cheerful face. Can’t you tell?”

Karlach just laughed at his antics. She would not let the sarcasm dull her spirits.

“I for one am happy about many things. Firstly that I'm not dead, thanks to Tav, for disarming that little…situation…between me and Wyll. Teaches you to ask questions first and draw your sword later.”

“I passionately disagree,” Lae’zel chipped in to no one’s surprise. Karlach just continued relishing in their recent honorable escapades and sprinkling heartwarming sentiments over the congregation.

“And isn't it wonderful that we managed to help someone out in the process. Look at all these tieflings. It was about time that someone assisted the small folk.“

“Excuse me while I shed a tear,” Astarion said and raised his glass. Karlach gave him a scolding glance and started doing her little trademark twirly dance instead.

“Please do, and I’m just happy to be alive, and impatience may be manifesting in my limbs. Restless legs syndrome. And maybe a touch of ADHD on top of that.”

Her legs started performing a jig next. “And life is just more fun when you’re dancing through it. No?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Will agreed. Tav found himself unable to resist the Karlach-effect, even though he very much doubted his own dancing abilities.

“Well. I like it.”

He indulged her by joining in the acrobatics, much to her delight. Astarion declined the invitation and settled for observing from the sideline instead. The little chuckles of excitement, the echoes of laughter in the night. He had some faint memory of being partial to dancing, once. But a waltz suited his tastes better. This display of camaraderie and undying positivity, it was all so very…cute.

And by cute he meant appalling.

The others departed to convene with the tieflings, but Tav stayed put. An opportune moment arose to spin more threads in the web of seduction.

“I never thought myself as a hero,” he said in a moment of insight. “Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here, well…I hate it. This is awful.”

Tav wasn't irritated, moreso entertained, by the twist. The fact that Astarion acted like the constant bane of their existence didn't seem to faze him.

“Think of all the goblins you killed,” he said nonchalantly. Astarion pondered that for a second as he flipped through the mental imagery of slaughtered goblins with severed heads. Ah, the joys of casual bloodletting.

“You’re right. That was fun. Ambushing them like no one’s business, an impressive feat."

They found a common melody despite their differences. And Astarion appreciated the freedom he was given to air his grievances in Tav’s company without being the receiver of shocked gasps (Karlach), or a lecture on rights and wrongs (Wyll). Tav just stood there, rosy-cheeked and very alluring as the fire danced in his dark hair.

“Look at you,” Astarion said, blinking. “My sweet treat with his cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?”

But the reaction to the overflow of sap was lukewarm at best. Tav simply regarded Astarion as if he was dirt under his shoe and helped himself to the rest of his wine.

“That’s all you got?”

”Oh, you need some enticing, hm? It would be my pleasure.”

Astarion was more than happy to oblige. This was his other area of expertise. Life in the Cazador house could be rather stale, mind you, and thus he had spent a lot of time reading and cultivating a catalog of pudding-sweet one liners. But once he had cycled through them, one more nauseating than the previous, Tav still remained infuriatingly unimpressed.

“You’re quite the poet. Is that all you’ve got, clichés?”

“Hard one to please, are you? They’re clichés for a reason. Well…how about I said these words, everyone’s favorite.”

Theatrical break. Astarion made sure to make his voice sound deep as the ocean and sweet like honey before release.

“I love you.”

Something seemed to change then, within a fraction of a second. Or did it? A shadow crossed Tav’s face and he averted his eyes, or perhaps it was Astarion's imagination playing tricks on him. He still sounded amused when he retorted.

“Are you having fun?”

“Hard not to with you,” Astarion remarked. “It can be true, if only for tonight.”

Tav weighed back and forth on his heel, rotating his head to scan their surroundings. It could? A short internal battle ensued, not that Astarion was aware. At last, a hint of a smile spawned on his wine-stained lips, and he nodded.

“I guess it can.”

By the time the music and celebrations faded into silence they were already far away, searching for midnight thrills.

Everything ended. It was only a matter of when.

The rest of the camp’s inhabitants ooh’d and aah’d at his and Tav’s blossoming relationship, without really knowing the specifics. As far as they were concerned, the pair of them were just two star-struck individuals enjoying each other’s company.

He and Tav had a good arrangement, if you asked Astarion. Mutually beneficial, no attachment Everything went according to plan, until it didn't.

There had been a strange subdued atmosphere between him and Tav that night after the party. It was still good, because how could it not be? But Tav hardly uttered a word, and that was saying a lot, since he was the silent type to begin with. Morning came, crisp and bringing new horrors.They woke entangled and Tav walked back to camp.

Nothing unusual there, but then it felt like he never really returned.

A barrier rose to separate them. The next time Astarion propositioned him, everything fell apart. It was during their usual post-battle chat.

And it went something like this:

Astarion and his tantalizing smile and flood of appealing (surely) suggestions. He figured he'd bagged the prize. The futile search for a cure was taking its toll on them, tensions were high, and Astarion’s lap was warm (ish).

Who could resist it?

No one.

Except Tav.

He cleared his throat, wincing loudly as he nudged a particularly nasty bruise around his hipbone.

“Perhaps another time. I feel mangled to pieces.”

Astarion felt something inside himself crack and wither then. The budding flower, turning to glass. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. But it was easy to hide the disappointment. He simply slapped a palm to his chest, feigning shock.

“Darling, you wound me. I could kiss your mangled body better, you know. But no matter.”

He did indeed feel a tiny urge to kiss Tav all better, but alas. During the seconds that followed, his attention drifted to the other side of camp. Gale and Shadowheart were engaged in lively discussion about something (most likely the intricacies of unhealthy deity worship) and looked quite wind-swept and passionate in doing so.

“Did perhaps…someone else catch your eye? I’ve seen how you look at Shadowheart. And Karlach. And Gale. And Wyll.”

That hardly meant anything, since Tav looked at everyone as if they were the best thing to ever happen to Faerun. But still.

“It’s alright, perhaps we can all share,” he suggested innocently enough, but Tav didn’t even humor him this time.

“They’re all lovely. We’ve become friends, I would like to think, we’re all in this together, sharing this tadpole-dilemma. But no, it's not what you think.”

“Alright, alright. Keep your secrets.”

Astarion let the subject drop. He wasn't one to bend over backwards in search of the truth. Tav excused himself, limped away, and left him to his own merry company.

It was probably Gale. Gale and his purple robes and his tressym and…his luscious beard.

It struck Astarion that he could have used the parasite in his brain to gain some insight into the matter, just a tiny peek into the caves of Tav’s mind to find out what exactly happened here.

How tempting.

But that notion quickly died before it had a chance to grow arms and legs. Normally he would have jumped at the opportunity, but for once he didn’t want to intrude - or, maybe, he just didn’t want to find out the answer.

And so it happened, that the atypical druid had become weary of him. Of course.

What could Astarion offer, other than the fleeting pleasures of the flesh?

Absolutely nothing.

The Underdark was a thing of fascinating otherworldly beauty, but still wet, murky, and absolutely crawling with dangers. Firstly, it was dark, and thus, Astarion started missing the sun as soon as they entered. Secondly there were strange plants that wanted to eat them (or emit poisonous gas to thus provide them an even more agonizing death). Add a healthy serving of various more or less lethal creatures, and the quest became even more tricky. Soon the group were bound for Grymforge, and then the Shadow-cursed lands. A long-winding and perilous road to walk indeed.

During the following days, Astarion caught Tav looking at him on more than one occasion. But always from a secure distance and always discreetly (so he thought). Their secret meetings had lessened, only to cease altogether.

And did Astarion care? Certainly not.

If Tav wanted to end their little saga before it even had a chance to begin properly, so be it.

The hunt for a cure led them up rocky trails and into smelly caves and unmapped tunnels. They returned to camp bone-tired one night, beaten and absolutely aching for some rest and a hearty meal.

“I’m covered in goo,” Gale announced without fanfare. Bibberbangs were one thing, but they had encountered one of the aforementioned peculiar plants on the way. Before they had time to move a single toe it had bestowed upon them a generous cascade of yellow slime.

“Nice little shower,” Karlach commented. Surprisingly enough she didn’t seem to mind her currently slime-drenched existence. Gale left a trail of goo behind as he waddled over to get a fresh pair of robes.

“Let me guess, being sprayed by slime makes you feel so very alive.”

Karlach sparkled with joy. The wizard was finally starting to get the gist of her.

“You know me so well, Gale. Hells yeah. We are so alive.”

“At least for the time being,” Lae’zel cut in. “Don't get used to it, stay ever-vigilant. Every breath could be your last.”

The gith unsheathed her slime-covered sword to demonstrate said vigilance, but alas, Karlach’s enthusiasm could not be diluted.

“She's such a ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

Shadowheart came trudging into camp with some delay. Her tidy persona looked a little less glamorous than when she left camp this morning, and she found no joy in the fact.

“I could use a bath, or seven. This look does not become a future justiciar.”

“I think you have slime in your hair,” Karlach said upon closer examination. Shadowheart gave a little horrified yelp. Karlach found it safest to assist her in the process of cleaning the meticulously braided locks. They were all busy doing the same. Getting changed, cleaned up and warm, discounting only one of the camp’s occupants. One of them was still very inert where he stood by the fire in a pool of yellow plant mucus.

“Tav? Tav. Tav.”

Tav jerked out of his stupor after Gal's repeated calls of his name. Any attempts at communication arrived with about half a minute’s delay.

“Yes?”

Gale intersected his path, his arms crossing in a most critical display of disbelief. It was more important, now more than ever, that they all remained sharp.

“Okay, what’s going on? Is something bothering you? You've been acting strange and aloof ever since we entered the Underdark.”

Oh, so Astarion wasn’t the only one to notice. Perhaps Tav was turning into a zombie, or something far worse, slipping into psychosis after consuming the tadpole he found loitering around. One could never be too sure.

“Sorry,” Tav said and started shaking his boot free of slime. “What were you saying?”

“I asked, do you think it's worth gathering the ingredients that Omeelum needed for the potion? Or will it be too much of a detour?”

“It’s worth a shot. We need to exhaust all our options, really.”

“So we head to the Arcane tower tomorrow then,” Gale decided with finality and made a mental note of keeping an eye on the distant party member. “Now, onto other matters. Wyll will assist me with dinner, and we shall prepare the most mouth-watering stew known to man, and it shall not contain moldy potatoes like last time. Won’t you, Wyll?”

“Don't have to ask me twice,” Wyll seconded with a chipper smile.

They convened shortly to start digging through the bags of edibles. Tav just hmm’d and lingered on the spot, utterly lost to them. He spent the rest of the evening in solitude, and no one was any wiser.

Later, the camp was at rest in a cradle of sussur flowers and speckled mushrooms. Owlbear and Scratch dozed side by side next to Astarion’s tent. They were the epitome of serene sleepers, but the same could not be said for everyone. Lae’zel’s snored at a thousand miles per hour. She claimed that she didn't snore, and threatened to behead anyone who dared suggest otherwise - yeah, right.

Astarion wouldn’t have noticed that anything was awry this evening unless he happened to rise from his bed for this very reason. On the way back, he did notice that something was amiss. Tav wasn’t in his bed.

That was curious.

So maybe he just went to stretch his legs. Hopefully he had fallen into a crevice and broken every dumb bone in his dumb, freckled body. What a shame.

Astarion returned to his own bunk. Crossed his arms behind his head and shut his eyes tightly to block out the ethereal light. He would certainly not go looking for the escape artist, what an utterly ridiculous notion.

Gods damn it.

Five minutes later, Astarion walked out of camp. The intention was just to check his immediate surroundings, nothing more. A quick check. But there was no Tav anywhere. The damp air in the Underdark seeped through fabric all the way to the bone, and no one should spend the night out in the open.

He should return to bed and let the runaway return on his own accord, since Tav could handle himself, wherever he snuck off to.

Could he not?

Astarion would certainly not bend over backwards looking for him.

Ten minutes later he found himself in the middle of nowhere, definitely nowhere close to camp. The air was even damper out here, making the fine hairs on his arms stand in attention. Oh, gods below. Everything was dark, and eerily quiet, but there was activity further down the road.

A pair of Kuo-Toa stood loitered on the path next to a cliffside, engaged in mumbled conversation. It was a long shot, but Astarion couldn't fumble around this maze forever.

“Hello, excuse me, but have you seen a dark elf wandering around here, by any chance?”

Two pairs of bulging amber eyes turned to him. The Kuo-Toa eyed him as if he were a three course meal, so Astarion considered it wisest to just state his business quickly.

“About this tall...slim, purple-ish pale skin, shoulder-length dark hair?”

He made sure to gesticulate broadly so that the daft creatures would understand. They kept their glassy eyes trained on him, their ocean blue scales gleaming in the glow of the sussur blooms.

“We have not seen any dark elves,” the fatter one of the Kuo-ta croaked in its strange, reverberating fashion. “Dark elves reside up North, in the city of spiders.”

A whiff of seaweed assaulted Astarion’s nostrils as it spoke. The slimmer companion seemed much more interested in his physique (alarmingly so).

“The rite is about to start. Booal demands a sacrifice. Will you be our sacrifice?”

“Make a fine sacrifice, this one.” The fat Kuo-Toa leapt forward, sticking out a blue thumb to poke Astarion in the thigh. “Young, virile, meaty.”

“Um, no, I would make an awful sacrifice,” Astarion said, unsure if he should feel flattered or offended. "I’m a vampire.”

“Vampire or not, Booal likes them all. Young, fresh meat for Booal!”

“No, no, I'm not even a virgin, you see.”

The pair of aquatic creatures didn’t seem to consider this a hindrance. They could make an exception, they chanted. Astarion found it best to start backing away and remove himself from this situation as fast as vampirically possible.

“I’m tainted, and so old, no god would accept me. Thank you so much for your help, good night to you!”

“HALT, ELF! BOOAL DEMANDS A SACRIFICE!”

Time to dash. Thankfully, Astarion’s legs were long and nimble, contrary to the fish-men’s slimy stumps. He left them to their insanity, but the search for Tav was equally fruitless as it had been five minutes ago.

He was just about to give up and return the way he came, when something moved in his field of vision. A someone, actually. A lone adventurer standing next to a dirt mound in his white night shirt. This someone was busy digging into the soft ground with haste. But it wasn’t just any old adventurer, it was Tav.

What in the hells?

Tav didn't notice Astarion as he approached, not until he brashly announced his presence.

“Excuse me.”

Tav nearly fell into the little hole he had managed to dig. He swung upright, his staff drawn, only to exhale in relief when he saw who it was.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Astarion said pointedly. “You were supposed to sleep, and here you are, putting yourself at risk instead.”

“Are you stalking me?”

Astarion placed his hand on his hip. The nerve. Had he really followed Tav out of the goodness of his cold unbeating heart, only to receive snark in return?

“Oh, dearest. You’re not that interesting. I just noticed that your bed was lacking something, specifically, its inhabitant.”

The last word was uttered with vampiric bite. Tav’s eyes kept straying to the hole he’d dug, the shovel now discarded on the ground. Suspicious. Before he even opened his mouth, Astarion knew for sure that whatever came out next would be a fat lie.

“I couldn’t sleep, that damn dream visitor is all up in my business again. He's so demanding. Can’t get a moment’s peace, so I just went for a refreshing walk.”

“A…refreshing…walk.”

Astarion repeated the words blankly. Yes, nothing beat a refreshing walk in this godforsaken wasteland.

Tav spun his staff in his hand a few laps and motioned up the hill.

“So shall we go back?”

“I find my meetings with my dream visitor to be most pleasant,” Astarion reported.

“Ah, lovely.”

“Indeed.”

“It delights me that you are enjoying your meetings.”

“I’m sure it does. He's a very handsome high elf, like yours truly, with a soothing voice.”

Tav looked at Astarion with Bibberbang-servings of poison. It was clear the part about high elf irritated him. Actually, Astarion’s dream visitor looked a little like Tav, all purple and mysterious, but that needn’t be stated out loud. The grilling continued.

“But in any case, something tells me you’re lying,” he said, causing the muscle around Tav’s mouth to twitch. So awful.

“Really. And what might that be?”

“I can just tell. You're very bad at lying when you're nervous and cornered, like now.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Tav’s gaze darkened a few shades then. He could look rather threatening when he was shoved into a corner, like now.

“Oh, please. Do you think you know me that well, Astarion?”

“No, Tav,” Astarion said dryly. “You’re just that bad.”

A sigh. The escapee turned to march down the winding, rocky promenade, leaving only a few muttered words in his wake.

“Let’s just go back.”

But a deafening growl made them both freeze in their tracks. And another. And a third. That didn’t bode well, especially not in a place like this. They turned in slow-motion, ready to face the nightmare of their lives. It was kind of what they expected. Astarion’s voice jumped in pitch until he sounded like an opera singer.

“What in the nine flaming hells is that?”

A scaly, dragonlike toad sat perched on a nearby rock, having emerged from the shadows while they were occupied in conversation. It opened its jaws, sending the rotting stench of the underworld their way. Another guttural growl, and a torrent of green bile catapulted onto the path between them.

More slime. Astarion’s stomach lurched at the smell. How absolutely wonderful.

It was clear that the creatue wasn't of the peaceful kind or open to bargaining. It rose onto its hind legs as it prepared to attack, and Tav reacted with a slight delay, surprised as he was. A flurry of rays successfully fried some of the scales off the creature’s back, but not enough to slow it down. Another counter-attack, and another. The monster charged in, forcing them both to duck at the very last moment and knocking Tav’s staff out of his unsuspecting hand.

“Tav!”

Astarion poured all of his fear into an ear-splitting scream. Tav would be toast unless his reflexes functioned as intended. The creature’s jaws opened again, teeth exposed, ready to hack him to bits. Astarion knew he needed to act fast - find the weak spot.

He zeroed in on the beast's limbs, scanning, scanning, scanning, until he realized that some of the scaly protective armor was missing just around its belly.

Bullseye.

Dagger in hand, he slid across the gravelly road. There was only a few second's window of opportunity. Without hesitation, he shoved the blade into the monster’s flank with as much force as he could muster, and smirked in victory. The metal punctured the creature’s heart at the exact right angle.

A blood-curdling shriek, and then it was all over. The abomination tipped onto its side, spasming a few seconds before finally going still as the night around them. Gods almighty.

This was a little more action than they both bargained for

Tav remained on all fours, eyes glazed behind the long hair that draped around his cheekbones. Astarion let his palm rest on the small of his back while he searched for injuries.

“Are you alright?”

“I think so…you?”

“Somehow, I am. Good thing I followed you, cause that slimy nightmare of a frog would have ripped you in half.”

“I had it under control,” Tav claimed. Astarion blinked profusely and seized the contact, thinking he misheard. But nope. His ears worked as intended.

“Oh, clearly. You’d be an ex-half-drow, and even though I wouldn't mind, it would be a waste of a perfectly good neck .”

Tav just snorted rather derisively at that and walked back to retrieve his staff. He muttered something about fine on my own , but Astarion was right behind him. They weren't done yet.

“Now, tell me why you were really out here?”

Demands had no effect. Even after being rescued from certain death, Tav still couldn’t help but sprout thorns.

“Taking - a - walk.”

“Oh, I’m sure, we walked all day so that sounds totally believable. Tell me the truth.”

“What's it to you?”

Oh, fluff it.

Astarion collected himself, finger-combing his silver locks into perfection again.

“If you want to keep your secrets, a simple thanks for saving you will do.”

They stared each other down for what seemed like a decade, but one of them folded eventually. And it wasn't Astarion.

“Thank you,” Tav said as neutrally as he could manage. “Let’s head back, I don’t want the others to go looking for us.”

And with that he was gone, kicking up dirt and gravel with his boots as he started walking down the trail. Astarion had no other choice but to follow. And that was that. He returned to bed, his mind swirling with brand new questions.He considered himself a reader of minds, mastering the art of human nature and its specifics, but now? His expertise failed him.

Tav was acting all kinds of weird. But so what?

There were lots of people to recruit. He would find a replacement. He did not have to waste his time trying to decipher this strange one, no, thank you very much.

And still, hours later, he couldn't kick Tav out of his thoughts, not for the love of him. The purple menace kept squirming back inside, much like a persistent little worm.