Archive of Our Own

Astarion was, for once, trancing peacefully, his rest uninterrupted by nightmares or intruders.

So, of course, he only got about two hours of rest before a hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

He sat up, biting back a groan at having been awoken, to see Tav kneeling above him, his mismatched eyes wide.

Gods, he was beautiful.

“Well, hello,” Astarion said, leaning back on his arms and smirking up at Tav, though he could feel that the expression was a little out of shape, softer and less sultry than he’d intended it to be. “Looking for a cuddle?”

Then he frowned, as the last vestiges of his trance faded, and he took Tav’s appearance in more fully.

He was sweating, swaying, his hands shaking where they were still held out in front of himself. Tav usually kept his body on a tight leash, seemingly constantly aware of where each of his limbs was and what it was doing, but right now, he looked… uncontrolled.

Astarion frowned. “You don’t look entirely yourself. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“There’s no time,” Tav said. “Astarion, you’re in danger. I have to protect you.”

“I— what? What are you talking about?” Astarion asked, sitting up properly, his hand sliding to the dagger he kept under his pillow, now that he could.

“I'm going to kill the person I care most about: you. Unless you can stop me,” Tav said bluntly, his words bizarrely short and sharp.

Astarion blinked, utterly taken aback, in so many ways. The person Tav…? Kill? “How flattering. And… disturbing.”

“I’m not joking,” Tav snapped, his voice dropping lower than Astarion had ever heard it before.

Astarion frowned at him. He looked wretched, the poor thing, swaying and swooning, wan and ill. “You could have talked to me before it got murderously bad, you know,” he said. “We are technically in this together.”

“I tried,” Tav said. “I— you promised. After Alfira.”

“I suppose this does put her death into some perspective,” Astarion murmured, his mind still racing.

“Astarion, just— please, please, you— I don’t want to hurt you,” Tav said.

“All right, all right. What do you need me to do?” Astarion asked, straightening up.

“Kill me. Like you promised,” Tav said immediately.

Astarion reared back. “What? No!”

“If you don’t, I’m going to kill you, I— I won’t be able to stop myself, my Urge is going to take me over and—”

“Absolutely no one will be dying tonight,” Astarion snapped. “You’ll just have to come up with another solution.”

“Astarion, please—” Tav gasped breathlessly.

And then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

Astarion stared at him for a brief moment, shocked into stillness.

Then Tav’s words caught up with him.

“Shit.”

Astarion scrambled towards his pack, pulling out several of the lengths of rope he’d scrounged from the wreckage of the nautiloid and then carried with him since. He quickly used it to hog-tie Tav’s hands and feet together, hobbling him, before binding him to the tree Astarion had set his tent up against. He considered, briefly, waking one of the others to help, before discarding the idea— the rest of them were far less forgiving of monsters than he or Tav. Understandably, perhaps, but Astarion didn’t exactly want to risk their ire.

He’d come to Astarion with this. Perhaps because he had no other choice, perhaps just because Astarion had been his forced target— but still. Astarion wouldn’t be the one to expose this particular humiliation to the others.

Tav stirred again, seconds after Astarion had finished his tie.

Or rather, something that was very much not Tav stirred.

Astarion felt it the moment he was conscious. The air itself seemed to shift, stilling in the presence of a predator. A low rumbling filled the tent, and it took Astarion a second to realise it was coming from Tav— he’d never heard his bard make a sound like that.

Then Tav lurched forwards, jerking against his bindings. The growl sharpened, turning into something that was almost a bark as Tav yanked and thrashed, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

Astarion had seen those sorts of movements, before. He’d felt them himself.

Tav was being compelled. And he was fighting it.

Astarion carefully moved around to sit in front of Tav, watching him. Tav’s head snapped up, his gaze meeting Astarion’s, and he growled again, his thrashing growing more violent.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion murmured as his eyes met Tav’s.

There was no recognition, in that gaze. No understanding. None of the warmth or care or any of the other myriad, unutterable, painfully soft emotions that Tav’s face normally held when he looked at Astarion. None of the fear. Just pain, and hatred, and hunger.

Well. Hopefully that meant that Tav wasn’t fully there, on the other side of that unfamiliar gaze. The only thing worse than losing time to a compulsion was being present for it.

Astarion propped one knee up, leaning his arm on it as he watched Tav in the darkness of his tent, shifting alongside Tav’s movements as his struggling inched him ever so slightly back and forth.

The growling and barking went on for about an hour, and once or twice, Astarion heard the little mutt Tav had become such good friends with whining or barking back from outside the tent. Well, so much for keeping this a secret. The creature would undoubtedly tattle to one of the druids, even if Tav himself didn’t— an unlikely thing in itself. For all Tav’s remarkable skills at lying, he’d never once tried to hide what he was from their party.

Though he’d always been the most honest with Astarion.

Astarion had indeed made Tav a promise after Alfira’s death, though even at the time, he’d had no real intention of keeping it. And now, now that Tav and Astarion were… whatever it was they were, Tav couldn’t honestly believe Astarion would kill him for this. Could he?

Astarion was startled out of his thoughts by Tav’s voice, low and raspy, full of the same alien hatred as his burning stare.

“I will scoop out those watchful eyes and toss them to the dogs.”

Astarion blinked, refocusing on Tav. “Hm. I wasn’t expecting you to talk. Does that mean you’re coming back to us, my sweet?”

“I will tear open your chest and feast on your organs!” Tav snarled, thrashing against his bonds.

“Perhaps not,” Astarion murmured. “Alas. I suppose it would have been too much to hope this would be over so soon, wouldn’t it?”

“I will break all your pretty fingers off and shove them down your throat.”

Astarion eyed Tav a little more closely, then sighed.

There was more awareness in his eyes than there had been, moments before. That pain, that fear that Astarion had grown so accustomed to… it was back.

Oh, poor Tav.

“This thing won’t have you,” Astarion said, as gently as he could manage, leaning forwards to pet Tav’s hair, the way he knew his bard loved. “It won’t win.”

Tav jerked his head around, snapping his blunt little teeth at Astarion’s fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Astarion said as he drew his hand back, running his mouth to keep his mind from lingering on what he was seeing. “We ask before we bite.”

“Your blood will clot for me like liquid rubies!” Tav snarled, that hint of awareness fading again.

Astarion huffed out a laugh. “A little late, but good effort.”

Tav— not-Tav— kept thrashing, spitting and snarling his lyrical little threats of extreme violence. Tav’s fondness for metaphor clearly carried over into this form, as well, which was fairly precious, if Astarion didn’t think about it too hard.

There was something almost… sweet about the way Tav was phrasing his little threats. All of them were remarkably complimentary, and Astarion couldn’t help but be a little flattered, beneath his horror and sorrow.

“You’re cute, you know,” he said quietly, when the stream of threats fell temporarily silent as not-Tav panted for breath. “In another life, we might’ve been friends.”

Astarion wondered, ever so briefly, about whether he and Tav had ever crossed paths in Baldur’s Gate before their abductions. Tav was a rather distinctive-looking creature, so it seemed unlikely. Still, the facial scarring, at least, was clearly months old, rather than years, and his hair had been recently-shorn when they’d first met— had he encountered some previous version of Tav, before, one that would be unrecognisable now?

Would that version have been like this creature writhing and thrashing before him? Or had Tav always fought as hard as he did most days against these awful compulsions?

Would a Tav with his memories have fallen for Astarion’s old tricks? Would Astarion have fallen for his?

Astarion supposed it was probably a good thing they’d likely never met before. They would have destroyed each other.

Though—

“I will wed you with a delicate veil of blood blooming over your white curls!” not-Tav hissed suddenly, his voice raspy and choked, and Astarion startled, blinking at him.

“Wed me?” he asked. “Getting ahead of ourselves, are we? We’re not even…”

Then he trailed off, tuning out the renewed stream of threats.

The person Tav cared most about.

Odd, how the very thing that Astarion had been striving for now weighed so heavily on him. Because, well… Astarion cared for Tav, too. And, gods, that had never been part of the equation.

Tav was gentle. Careful. Sweet and soft and so easy to please, kind and loving and violent and vicious, and Astarion… liked him. A lot.

It had been a long time since he’d just liked someone.

Perhaps there was more to it than that. Perhaps there wasn’t. Tav, patient thing that he was, seemed happy to let Astarion figure it out on his own time.

But Tav himself… Astarion was looking at the wretched proof of what Tav felt for him.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Couldn’t make it real like that. But, well… this was real enough.

Not-Tav was back to growling, now. His eyes had drifted half-shut, and his thrashing and jerking were weaker, slower. He must have worn himself out with all of his snapping and snarling.

When was the last time Astarion had seen Tav sleep? Not since their first night in the shadow-curse, he was fairly certain— for almost a tenday, Tav had been awake each and every night, when Astarion had slipped into his tent to feed from him, and he’d remained so when Astarion left. Was that what had caused this? Had Tav exhausted himself until he couldn’t fight back against whatever this was any longer?

If not, then what changed? Because, wretched as the thought made him feel, Astarion knows that Tav had— had felt however he felt about him for quite some time, now.

There was a break in the growling, silence falling in the tent.

Astarion blinked, focusing on Tav once more. He’d slumped, his head lolling against the ground, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion murmured, before he could quite stop himself.

Tav’s eyes fluttered open. His jaw was working again, and suddenly, Astarion could smell blood in the air— he’d bitten his tongue.

He was fighting the compulsion, harder than Astarion had ever managed, his entire body still twitching and convulsing, but his eyes wide and round and full of all the aching, unnameable emotions that were always there whenever Tav looked at Astarion.

At the sight, Astarion reached out again, smoothing his hand through Tav’s hair.

Tav squeezed his eyes shut again, a tear slipping free to trail down his scarred nose, leaning his head into Astarion’s hand, even as his own hands twitched, clawing fruitlessly at the air. The scent of blood grew stronger as his wrists rubbed against his bindings, straining to reach out, to attack.

The words slipped out of Astarion before he could stop them, too honest and raw by far, but even still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. “Easy now, darling. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”

Tav’s eyes opened again, more tears glimmering in them. His lips moved soundlessly, forming words Astarion couldn’t quite make out, before he threw his head back and bit down on his tongue again, wrestling for control against whatever it was that was compelling him.

Astarion drew his hand back, so as not to tempt Tav’s compulsion any further, and Tav looked up at him again, wincing.

“M’sorry,” he rasped, shuddering— pain, this time, as well as the force of the compulsion, Astarion could see it in his face.

“You’d do the same for me,” Astarion said, as gently as he could manage. “Now just relax. Dawn will be here soon.”

Or whatever passed for it in this wretched place. And that would break this curse.

It had to. Astarion wouldn’t stand for anything else.

Tav snarled again, lurching forwards, gnashing his teeth as whatever was possessing him took full control once more.

In the end, Astarion kept watch over Tav for six slow, painful hours.

Tav had been lying limp— though still trembling faintly, his eyes closed and only the occasional snarl breaking the quiet— for about an hour when the rest of the camp begin to stir.

Then, suddenly, Tav twitched, his eyes squeezing shut more firmly, his entire body drawn tight and quivering.

Astarion tilted his head, eyeing Tav cautiously. If it was about to start up again, if the coming of what passed for day in this wretched curse hadn’t ended this—

But no. Tav wasn’t fighting against his bindings, or trying to threaten or attack him. He was— he was crying, his shoulders shuddering with tears.

Suddenly, Astarion realised just how thick the scent of blood was in the air. Tav’s blood, not his own, but a mortal likely wouldn’t be able to tell by scent alone.

“Oh, my sweet,” Astarion murmured before he could quite stop himself.

Tav’s eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head, looking suddenly near-frantic.

“Astarion,” he said, and there was blood in his mouth— right, he’d bitten his tongue too, the poor thing. “Fuck, are you—?”

“I’m all right,” Astarion said. “Your lovely little alter ego never got close to me.”

Tav slumped, all the tension bleeding from him in an instant. He was still contorted in his binds, his head drooping awkwardly against the cold dirt of the tent floor— he’d managed to wriggle his way off of Astarion’s bedroll a couple hours ago, and Astarion hadn’t been able to get close enough to put it back.

“Let’s get you out of those ropes, shall we?” Astarion asked, grabbing his knife and reaching for Tav’s bonds.

Tav cringed away from him, sucking in a sharp breath, terror writ across his face.

Astarion had to bite back a small pang of hurt at the sight. At least, he did until Tav started to speak.

“Don’t,” Tav rasped, his voice rough and broken from his awful night. “Don’t, Astarion, it isn’t safe, I could—”

“I can’t just leave you tied up here forever,” Astarion said, a little more sharply than he’d meant to. “I sincerely doubt that Wyll would tolerate that.”

“Not— not that,” Tav said, shaking his head hard, and then wincing. “You— you promised. After Alfira, you promised you would—”

Oh, Astarion did not want to hear this.

“Ah, yes. You know, I felt for the bard, seeing you like that,” he interrupted, moving around behind Tav. “Poor Alfira never stood a chance, did she?”

Tav flinched again. “Astarion—”

Astarion cut away Tav’s bonds before he could protest any further, helping him to sit up. His hands were cold and slightly discoloured from the compression of the ropes, his wrists and ankles chafed and bloodied from his struggling, and Astarion’s chest ached at the sight.

He set his hands on Tav’s shoulders, gently, as gently as he knew how. “May I?”

Tav swallowed audibly, before asking in a low, shaky voice, “Do you… want to?”

“Yes,” Astarion said, shocking himself a little with how much he meant it. “I do.”

Tav nodded, and Astarion began to move, massaging Tav’s stiff and undoubtedly sore muscles to ease the ache of having been bound for so long. He’d picked up a few tricks at this, over the centuries, ways to keep the lingering aches and bruises from too-tight ropes at bay.

They were a lot easier to execute on someone else than on himself, as it turned out.

Once some of the awful tension had bled from Tav’s shoulders, Astarion moved to his front instead, repeating his massage on Tav’s legs, carefully focusing on his work so as not to force Tav into eye contact.

“Now that you’re back with us,” Astarion said softly, “we need to have a talk.”

“I’ve been trying to warn you,” Tav said immediately. “All of you. This thing inside me, my awful Dark Urge—” he pronounced the words like a title— “wants me to kill and kill and never stop. It hungers for death. You, our friends, our allies, every single soul we come across. The only thing I can think of every time I meet someone is how desperately I want to—”

He cut himself off, shuddering, and Astarion glanced briefly up at his face, to see tears in his pretty, mismatched eyes.

“I wanted to kill Alfira so, so badly, from the moment I met her. And then, that night, when I fell asleep… all I remember is flashes of blood and gore, and her terrified face. The night after, something came to me. A creature who called himself my butler. He said he knew me from before, and told me I’d find my way back to what I used to be. He gave me a tithe— that cloak I gave to you. I— I couldn’t bear to—”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion murmured.

“I thought I had it under control. I thought— I thought the fighting we were doing would be enough, I thought I could resist it. But then we got to the shadow curse. Our second night here, my butler came back, and demanded that I kill Isobel, and said he would give me another wretched tithe for doing so.”

Astarion blinked. The second night in the shadow curse… he and Tav had argued, that day, over the stupid pixie in the stupid lantern. Astarion had slipped into Tav’s tent in their camp by the shore of Last Light, had tried to make peace the only way he really knew how. And Tav had turned him down, fear etched into every line of his face.

Astarion hadn’t believed his own eyes at the time. He’d thought it was anger. He’d been so afraid himself, so worried that Tav would lose interest in him, would have no reason to protect him if he couldn’t find some way to keep him satisfied. He’d fled Tav’s tent in a snit, and been an arse to him for the entire next day, when he’d come back from Moonrise bloodied and shaken and saying, again and again, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone…

Gods, Astarion was such an idiot.

Tav was still talking. “I thought I had it under control. I thought I could stop myself. I figured, as long as I didn’t sleep, I’d have control. There— I’ve had… moments, while I was awake— the squirrel, the cat— but they’ve been brief. Seconds, not hours. I thought as long as I stayed awake, I could— but I was wrong. He came back again tonight— Sceleritas, I mean. My butler. And he… he told me that someone was disappointed in me, for not killing Isobel. And that, as punishment, I-I’d have to kill you, instead.” Tav’s voice broke on a poorly-stifled sob. “Astarion, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Oh, stop that,” Astarion said, looking up again. There were tears streaming down Tav’s face, now, which was puffy and flushed as he wiped furiously at his eyes, blinking and sniffling as though he was trying to stop himself from crying.

Gods, Astarion felt useless.

What would someone who knew how to handle these sorts of emotions do? What would Halsin do, or Karlach?

Well. That was easy enough.

Astarion held his arms out, and Tav collapsed into him, crumpling into Astarion’s chest as sobs wracked his trembling body. He smelled like blood, as he always tended to, and the acid stink of fear-sweat, but beneath that were the warm scents of musk and the wood varnish Tav used on his lute. Astarion hadn’t realised just how accustomed he’d grown to that particular combination of smells. Just how much he’d come to like it.

“You’re all right, my sweet,” he said, petting gently down Tav’s shuddering back, and Tav whined and curled closer to him in response.

“I’m sorry,” Tav said again, his voice choked and broken. “I’m sorry, Astarion, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Hush,” Astarion murmured, as soothingly as he could manage, carefully rearranging the awkward tangle of their limbs into something a little more comfortable. “No more apologies, hm? Deep breaths, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Tav sobbed again, clutching at Astarion almost desperately, and Astarion held him in return, lost for anything else he could possibly do.

Eventually, Tav’s tears tapered off, and he sat back, wiping at his face once more with the bloodied cuff of his sleeve.

“Oh, stop that, you’re just making it worse,” Astarion chided gently, fetching one of his spare kerchiefs and using it to wipe away the mess on Tav’s face.

“M’sorry,” Tav mumbled again. “For everything, Astarion. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Astarion said. “You’re not alone in this, you know— none of us are. We can even compare notes, if you like.”

Tav flinched again, his eyes going wide. “Astarion— fuck, I’m—”

“If you apologise again, sweetheart, I’m going to drain you until you can’t talk anymore.”

Tav huffed out a heavy breath that, under other circumstances, might have been a laugh. “I don’t think that’s as discouraging as you meant it to be.”

Astarion snorted, setting the kerchief aside to wash later. “Impossible thing.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

Then Tav said, slowly, “Why… why didn’t you do what I asked? Why didn’t you kill me, when I lost control?”

Astarion blinked at him, blindsided by the utter stupidity of the question. “Why didn’t I—? You must be joking.”

“I’m not,” Tav said.

Astarion had thought he liked how devastatingly sincere Tav could be when he wanted to. Now, seeing that same earnest sincerity applied to Tav’s request for Astarion to kill him, all he felt was sick to his stomach.

“I can’t control it. Obviously. I tried—” Tav’s voice caught, before he forced himself steady again. “I’ve killed so many people. You should just end me, end all of this, here and now.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “How many people have you killed, dozens? I must have brought Cazador a thousand souls.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t try to tell me it isn’t the same. I know compulsions, darling. I know what I saw last night,” Astarion interrupted, before softening again, reaching out and taking Tav’s hands in his.

“Astarion, I don’t— you’re allowed to hate me for this,” Tav said, still so horrifyingly earnest.

Astarion sighed. “I don’t hate you. Because this was not you.”

“It was!” Tav said. “That, what I— that’s the real me. All of this, this is temporary. An illusion, masks on masks, and I’m not— I’m not strong enough to keep it up forever. This is going to end. Some day, sooner or later, that version of me is going to come back, and I won’t be able to hold it off anymore, and I’ll turn back into what I used to be and—”

“Stop,” Astarion interrupted sharply, squeezing Tav’s hands a little too hard. “Stop that. I’m not going to kill you. And you aren’t going to give up.”

“Astarion—”

“I’m not going to let this thing take you, Tav,” Astarion said. “Because, make no mistake, that was a thing. It may have been informed by you, it may have used your mouth and hands and even your mind, but it wasn’t you.”

“It—”

Astarion ignored him. “I’m not exaggerating, when I say I brought Cazador at least a thousand souls over the centuries. I knew exactly what would happen to them, and still, I pursued them. Lured them to him, to feed his awful hunger. I couldn’t resist— if I tried, he would punish me, painfully, and then force my body to move without my say to find him his next victims anyways.” He pulled his hands free of Tav’s to trail his fingers up to his bard’s bloodied wrists, instead, his next words coming out quieter than he’d meant them to. “I know how it feels, to lose control of your own body. I mean it, when I say I don’t blame you for this. I blame whatever is controlling you, whatever is hurting you. And I will see you free of it.”

When he looked up again, meeting Tav’s mismatched eyes, they were full of tears once more.

Astarion’s chest ached at the sight, and he reached up, cupping Tav’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the heavy bags under his eyes, wiping his tears away as they began to fall.

“Astarion… thank you,” Tav said, his voice a little bit choked.

“Oh, hush,” Astarion admonished heatlessly.

He paused for a moment, considering, then leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Tav’s forehead.

Tav’s breath hissed in sharply, his entire body drawing up tight, and Astarion drew back, panic flaring in his chest, scanning his face.

Tav looked… desperate. Almost frightened. What was wrong? What—?

“You don’t have to,” Tav whispered. “Even if— even if you aren’t mad at me, I know I’m— if you don’t want to— I don’t want you to feel like you have to be with me, even with this, I don’t want you to feel trapped, I—”

Oh. Oh, poor Tav.

Astarion leaned in again, this time kissing Tav on the mouth, gently but firmly. Tav stiffened even further, just for the briefest second, before he melted into the kiss as he always did, opening up for Astarion immediately. His still-bloodied hands fluttered up, before hesitating, as though he was still afraid to actually touch Astarion after all that had happened. Astarion pressed closer, partly to encourage him, and partly to better lick the near-overpowering sweetness of Tav’s blood out of his mouth.

Finally, Tav’s hands landed on Astarion’s chest, so warm through the fabric of his shirt. Tav was always so gentle, when he touched Astarion, no matter what else was happening, so careful not to grip too tight or let his nails slip.

It was… well. It was nice. It was very Tav.

Having that gentle touch back made Astarion all the more certain that last night was a horror he and Tav could overcome.

Gods, this band of heroes was threatening to turn him into some sort of optimist. Disgusting.

Eventually, long after the flavour of Tav’s blood had faded from their kiss, Astarion drew back, eyeing Tav’s soft, swollen mouth and his mussed hair and the way his shoulders shuddered as he panted for breath.

He still looked tired, still looked wan and beaten, but he seemed in better spirits now than he had been.

“There you are,” Astarion murmured, brushing his thumb along Tav’s cheek. “Better, my sweet?”

“Yeah,” Tav rasped, closing his eyes and leaning into Astarion’s touch.

They sat there in silence for a moment more. Outside of Astarion’s tent, the rest of the camp was rising; Astarion could hear the crackling of the cookfire, and Karlach’s voice.

“What do you want to tell the others?” Astarion asked eventually.

Tav winced, opening his eyes again. “I— I have to be honest with them. I have to—”

“No, you don’t,” Astarion said. “You don’t have to say a damned thing you don’t want to. I’m happy to tell them whatever you need to cover for you.”

“No,” Tav said. “They— I— they deserve better. You deserve better. If this happens again, if I— if I don’t wake up in time, if I can’t— the others need to know. For their safety, and for yours.”

“And what about your safety?” Astarion demanded, before thinking better of it. “No, don’t answer that. If you really thought I would kill you for this, I don’t want to know what you’re hoping the rest of them might do.”

“They won’t even think of that. Well, Minthara might, but the rest of them won’t. They’ll want to— to fix this. All of them.”

“And you thought I wouldn’t?” Astarion demanded, a little offended now. “Tav, we’re…”

“I thought— you did promise,” Tav breathed. “And I thought you’d get that… I don’t know if this can be fixed. None of them get it. None of them understand. They don’t… they haven’t…”

Astarion sighed. “But I have. I know.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologise.”

Tav shivered. “I— I’m pretty sure I didn’t fight my Urge, before. That much, I’ve figured out by now. And… and I don’t— I don’t know how much longer I can keep holding it off this time around. I won’t let you be hurt because of me. Any of you, but, gods, Astarion… you deserve so much better than a life of fear and pain and death.”

Astarion blinked, oddly struck by the words, still stroking his thumbs along Tav’s cheeks.

Eventually, he said, “I have spent two hundred years living in fear. Quite frankly, I-I still am. But, Tav… I am not afraid of you.”

Tav flinched like he’d been struck, squeezing his eyes shut. “You— why not? You should be, I— gods, Astarion, I’m so worried for you—”

“Believe me, I’m worried for me, too,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “But somehow, I find myself more worried about you.” He paused, bracing himself, then added, “You give me something to care for, and that’s worth the peril.”

Tav’s eyes snapped open again, wide and wondering.

“Astarion… can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Astarion laughed and leaned in again, kissing Tav once more, more gently this time— the simple press of lips against lips, just a gentle assurance to them both that they were here, and now.

They weren’t safe. Perhaps Tav was right, and they never would be; between the looming threat of Cazador and the new drama of Tav’s Urge, Astarion had his own doubts. But they were together, and for now… for now, that was enough.

Tav didn’t taste like blood anymore, and Astarion found himself a little bit surprised by just how relieved he was by that fact.

When he drew back again, the last, lingering tension in Tav’s shoulders had finally faded, and his mouth and eyes had gone soft and sweet, the panic that had gripped him since he’d woken Astarion up all those awful hours ago melted away at long last.

Astarion couldn’t help but preen a little at the sight, pressing one last kiss to Tav’s forehead before finally letting go of him.

“I do have to tell the others,” Tav said. “It isn’t fair to them to hide it.”

Astarion sighed. “Ugh, if you insist.” Then he forced a grin he didn’t quite feel. “Just so long as you don’t go to any of them instead, the next time you need to be tied up.”

Tav snorted, the awful, heavy sorrow on his face finally, finally breaking. Gods, it was worth all of this to see the way Tav’s face lit up when he smiled.

Perhaps, whispered a tiny, traitorous voice in the back of Astarion’s mind, maybe, eternal darkness wouldn’t be quite so bad with a smile like that beside me.

Astarion shoved that voice aside, standing instead and stretching languorously before offering a hand to Tav, pulling him to his feet. He didn’t let go, afterwards, and neither did Tav, though the bard did pause for a moment when Astarion reached for the flaps of his tent.

“Are you all right?” Astarion asked softly.

Tav nodded, a little shakily. “Yeah. I— yeah.”

Astarion squeezed his hand, as gently as he could manage. “You will get through this. And I’ll be here to make sure that you do.”

Tav blinked, meeting his eyes. “Astarion—”

Astarion turned away from the look on Tav’s face, pressing on to hide the way the overly-honest admission made his face heat with the blood he’d drunk from Tav before bed last night. “Besides. It’s a new day. I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.”

Tav snorted again, an inelegant, startled sound, and Astarion bit back his own smile.

They stepped out together, still holding tight to one another’s hands, even as the others’ eyes landed on them.

Tav would get through this. Regardless of what the others, or the tadpoles, or the Absolute, or the very gods themselves thought on the matter.

Astarion would make sure of it.