Chapter Text
“Sorry, but I can’t take the job tomorrow, Vi.”
Tavya shifted her weight back and forth on the creaky floorboards of the Guildhall. While crowded as ever, the space itself had certainly seen better days. Pots and bowls dotted the floors, catching drops of rainwater leaking in from the cracking ceiling above. For such a long-standing Baldur’s Gate institution, it seemed comical for the Hall to be succumbing to something as mundane as a leaky roof.
But she and Astarion were already doing their part to contribute, and this latest negotiation for their services was growing tedious even without the dingy surroundings. She reached for Astarion's hand, turning to make for the bar.
“Are you sure? Boss says she’ll pay double.”
“I told you already. Daytime jobs are a no-go for my husband — and it’s too much for me to handle alone.”
“Well, piss off then," their Guild contact said with a smile. "You’ve done plenty enough for us this week as it is.”
“Charmed as always, Violet dear,” Astarion called over his shoulder as they walked away, settling up to their usual seats at the bar. The bartender smiled as always as he handed out their customary drinks, Tavya's mug of beer and Astarion's suspiciously opaque goblet of... well.
Astarion faced her, resting one of his hands on Tavya's knee. “You sell yourself short, love. It’s no secret that you’re the brains of our little husband-and-wife duo; I’m sure you could handle the job alone if you wanted to.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it. Besides, if I’m the brains, what does that make you, exactly?”
“The beauty, obviously,” he replied, preening.
She chuckled, and kissed him on the cheek. “Is that so?”
Astarion had once confided in Tavya that he feared life as a settled, married couple in Baldur’s Gate would eventually bore him. Fortunately, they’d been presented with plenty of opportunities to keep things interesting as assets for the Guild, reporting directly to Nine-Fingers for jobs especially suited to their larcenous skillsets and the type of high-profile connections afforded to two of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate.
He leaned in close to murmur into her ear. “Perhaps we should be getting home, if you’re in need of a reminder of how beautiful I am.”
Fortunately, it was already late enough in the day for Tavya to actually take Astarion up on the offer, as they could safely walk home in darkness. She said nothing, but maintained eye contact as she chugged the rest of her drink in reply. He laughed in surprise but insisted on pretending to be unmoved by her display, sipping his drink slowly as before. Always such a tease.
She took his arm when he finally offered it, and tried not to seem too eager as Astarion ushered her towards the exit. Truly, the man was ravenous when it came to bedding her — but then again, so was she.
They’d made it so far as to have a hand on the door when the beginnings of an argument had the whole Guild turning its attention towards the center of the hall. Tavya whirled around to see Mol, who was standing in front of the little trade stall she’d had set up, fearlessly staring up at Uktar, the Guild bursar. If it were anyone other than Mol, it would've been a funny sight: the tiny tiefling child looking defiant in the face of one of the most powerful parts of the underbelly of Baldur's Gate. Mattis, who'd joined Mol at her Guild stall as of late, seemed to have taken a sudden interest in surveying their inventory rather than join the heated conversation.
“You and that mask don’t scare me, metal man! I told you, we already gave everything we owe.”
“The others have been too lenient with you, child. You are not the first to try to hold out on your share for the Guild.”
Mattis, full of nervous energy, finally stopped pretending not to eavesdrop. “Mol, just—”
“I told you, there’s nothing more to give!” The girl crossed her arms defiantly and, with a calm gaze completely unbefitting her young age, scanned the room for allies until she found her mark. Tavya grimaced as Mol pointed a finger in her direction.
“You’re the Guild’s new favorite toy, Tavya. Tell ‘em! Tell ‘em I’ve given all I owe.”
Astarion gave her hand a tight squeeze. “Don’t—” he began to whisper, but it was too late.
“It’s alright, Uktar,” she said confidently, unlinking herself from Astarion and steering herself into the fray. “I can vouch for Mol. Business was slow for the kids this week, that’s all.”
While Uktar’s ominous mask obscured his features, his expression was easy enough to deduce from the vitriol of his tone. “Lies. You protect her. I told the Guildmaster we never should’ve—”
“Shall we go ask Nine-Fingers ourselves, and see who she sides with?” Tavya strode closer, one hand reaching vaguely in the direction of her dagger. It was enough to get the message across.
Uktar sighed contemptuously. “You may be Nine Fingers’ pet at the moment, elf—"
"Half-elf—"
"—but that won’t last forever. One day, you’ll have to pick your battles more carefully, or face the consequences. As for you two,” he said, turning back towards a fearless Mol and a pretend-fearless Mattis.
“I hear the city is finally rounding up all the dirty little urchins in this town and putting ‘em to work. I’d hate for one of my contacts at the Watch to get a tip-off as to your whereabouts — sure would be a shame if I never saw either of you again, eh?”
Mol’s eyes flashed with real fear for just long enough to it made Tavya step forward again, her heart lurching with rage.
But before she could do anything, Astarion appeared at his wife’s side, eyes narrowing. “You’ve made your point, both of you. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He practically yanked Tavya away and towards the back door.
The walk home was quiet, which came as no surprise — this particular conflict had become well-trodden ground for Tavya and Astarion as of late. It was no secret that Tavya had developed a soft spot for Mattis and Mol; she saw too much of herself in them — scrappy, smart, and stubborn as ever — that it was impossible not to mother them a little. It was also no secret that Astarion disapproved of what he saw as excessive generosity towards the two children, and now she’d gone and done it again.
She’d be lying if she said his position on the issue didn’t bother her a little.
Because it wasn’t like she even offered them anything serious to begin with — Astarion, gods help him, would probably have a fit if forced to live around children, truly — but she did hope they would eventually let her help them learn to read and write, at the least. For now, she’d be content if they’d just stop getting themselves into trouble for once.
Of course, as kids were wont to do, they shrugged off her attempts to provide them with the stability they deserved — which Astarion was always quick to remind her.
“They don’t want our parenting any more than we want to parent them, my love,” he said, finally breaking the silence at the end of their walk, as he fished in his pockets for the key to their shared home.
“I guess I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to the idea,” she lied, shrugging past the door he held open for her. “They’re just children. They deserve a place to safe place to sleep every night, and clothes without holes, and—”
Astarion sighed as he pushed the front door open. “You're right, of course. You did deserve all of those things.”
“I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about—”
“Aren’t you, though?”
"What are you—"
“—You look at them, and see yourself, dear. But giving Mol and Mattis what you didn’t have isn’t going to change the way you grew up.”
“They’re just children, they don’t know what they—”
But he silenced her protests by pulling her into a tender embrace.
“Besides, I’m not ready to share you quite yet, darling,” he cooed, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Can we leave it alone for now? They're going to be alright, and I really was so looking forward to crawling into bed together.”
Tavya nodded reluctantly, easing into Astarion’s grip. Logically, he was right. These were the same clever children who had survived Eltruel, the Shadow Curse, and the near destruction of the city by mind flayers. They definitely didn’t need her to look after them. So why did it feel like she should?
She allowed Astarion to kiss her for a moment, but ultimately pulled away, apology in her eyes. “Maybe later,” she muttered.
He looked about to speak when there was a knock on the door, and the postman yelled out his greeting before stuffing the evening mail under the door.
Tavya’s breath caught. Among the pile of letters — there it was. Gods, what timing.
The name she’d been looking out for every day since she’d mailed that letter. Ancunín.
After what felt like ages of trying to track them down, Tavya had written to Astarion's parents almost a year ago, in a missive she had penned and then revised so many times she eventually lost count of the drafts. The end result felt stuffy and formal, like something Gale would’ve written, but Tavya supposed it was better to be safe than sorry when exchanging pleasantries with one’s in-laws for the first time. Especially when said in-laws had no idea you (or their son!) even existed.
Lord Astor and Lady Corweth Ancunín:
I write to you with news regarding your son (and my husband), Astarion. I know you believe his soul to have returned to Arvandor over two centuries ago, but through a complicated series of events (that would be much better explained face-to-face), he is alive and well, just as you knew him.
So the last part was technically a lie, yes. But she hadn’t wanted them to think this was one of those Elven reincarnation situations.
Though he does not recall much of his past with your family, I know that he longs for you all to one day be reunited again. We live in Baldur’s Gate — perhaps it would be possible for us to travel to meet you, or vice-versa.
I understand this may come as a shock, and if you harbor any disbelief about the integrity of this message I’d be happy to provide more in the way of verification; although, I promise I would never raise such a delicate subject so lightly. As for why Astarion has not written you himself, I’ll simply say that the thought of your disinterest in such a reunion I fear would be too much for him to bear.
Please reply regarding your interest in such a meeting, so I may make the proper arrangements.
Sincerely,
Tavya Willowind Ancunín
Realizing she had but a short window in which to act, Tavya disentangled herself from Astarion and hastily picked up the letter, her heart racing. After a few months had passed, she’d assumed that either her lead on Astarion’s parentage was incorrect, or that they simply weren’t interested in a meeting.
It hadn’t even occurred to her to plan for Astarion being at home if and when a reply arrived — per his request, he hadn’t been involved in the task of locating his remaining family. To read it now, without any notice… was he prepared for what it might say?
There was no room to be discreet, but Tavya tried stuffing the envelope into her pocket anyway as Astarion looked on.
“What is that?”
“Nothing, my love. We can discuss it later.”
Astarion nodded and pulled her in close, and for a moment Tavya thought she’d successfully redirected his attentions. Until she felt — just a little too late — a pair of cold, slender fingers coax the paper out of her pocket. She reached for the letter, but he was faster and taller and kept it from her reach easily.
He gave a satisfied smirk as he inspected the folded-up envelope. “Well, now I’m terribly curious.”
“Astarion, I—”
“Now, let’s see what secret business my little love is getting up to,” he teased, “perhaps some kind of—”
He went silent, and Tavya watched his eyes scan the name written across the front. Once, twice, three times.
Then he looked to her, words still caught in his throat.
“I— What is this?”
Astarion had gone still as stone. She gently tugged the envelope from his grasp.
“I wrote to them. Your family. Or, well, your parents, anyway," Tavya stuttered. "I searched and searched and I finally found names and an address, but it’s been so long since I've written… I didn’t think…”
“You… found them?” he asked numbly.
“I… I think so. Do you want to read it?”
He stared off into nothing, but appeared to ponder the question for a moment. Then shook his head slowly, robotically.
“Okay,” Tavya breathed, “that’s okay. Can… can I read it?”
His eyes narrowed. Then he nodded, as stiffly as before.
She coaxed the letter out of the envelope delicately, as if any sudden movements would scare her husband away, and read it silently.
Miss Willowind,
Please accept our sincere apologies for the delay in returning your letter. You are correct in that your message has surprised us greatly, and we required time to formulate a response.
I must admit we have many questions; however, none are important until we can confirm that the man you speak of is indeed our lost son. I ask that you make haste in bringing your Astarion to our estate in Evereska so we may see him with our own eyes. I have enclosed the necessary information to find our home.
Finally, know that Lady Corweth is a delicate woman, who has never forgotten the loss of her only child. A word of warning: if this is but a ruse, expect to be repaid in kind for any cruelty.
Lord Astor Ancunín
Tavya read and re-read the words until she was sure she understood them properly. Could it be possible? They just wanted to meet? Just like that?
A terrible feeling came over her as a thousand fears came pouring in. Was it real? Had it really been this easy? This could be a heartless prank, or an elaborate con. But even if it wasn’t — if this really was his family, if they really wanted to reunite — how would they explain Astarion’s whereabouts for the past two centuries? Could they possibly accept what he had become?
And on a selfish note, she also bristled a little at the fact the man hadn't used her married name, but... they were probably still adjusting. Maybe it felt too intimate to them, sharing one's name with a stranger. There was far more pressing concerns to deal with, anyway.
She snapped out of her thoughts to see Astarion watching her. Intently. He was still frozen in place, almost doubled over himself, but his eyes were... afraid. When he finally spoke, it was almost too softly for Tavya to hear.
“What does it say?”
There was a tenderness to his voice that poked at every protective instinct she had.
“They want to meet.”
“Where?”
“Evereska.”
He laughed. “Of course.”
“Do you want to? Meet them, I mean?"
Astarion hesitated a moment, and there was a part of Tavya that felt guilty for putting him in such a vulnerable position again. He’d already been through so much, faced so many demons from his past. She wouldn't blame him for a second if he didn't want to risk his heart for long-lost strangers. And yet…
“How soon can we leave?”
…He’d always managed to surprise her.