Chapter Text
Astarion made a show of listening to Tav’s conversation with Dror Ragzlin, though he was paying closer attention to the half-elf. The hobgoblin True Soul was furious, ranting on how the mind flayer carcass in front of him had failed to give him the answers he sought – answers that were likely to implicate their little group, which was currently neck-deep in the goblin fortress.
The vampire spawn suspected that Tav had a hand in that, judging from the bard’s slightly clenched fists and how his shoulders had stiffened in a particular way, all signs that he was communing with his parasite and likely tampering with Ragzlin’s line of questioning. Hobgoblins were not all that smart, Astarion opined, but surely one like Ragzlin would have enough brains to ask the mind flayer who were its killers right away, instead of questions that merely danced around the subject.
And so the illithid carcass before them lay permanently silent in death, no longer under Ragzlin’s spell, keeping their secret safe for the moment. Though that was likely to change soon, as Tav in a seemingly innocent gesture slid his left hand behind his back and clenched it into a fist; a signal for the party to get ready to attack. Astarion slowly retreated to the back of the group, ready to move into the shadows. Lae’zel casually stepped to Tav’s left, on the pretext that she was trying to get a better look at the dead mind flayer while actually getting ready to cover the bard’s more exposed side, while Shadowheart had a familiar look of concentration on her face, readying a spell.
Tav dropped the signal to attack; Astarion had the honour and pleasure of the first strike, his thrown dagger diving deep into the chest of a very surprised goblin. By this time the four of them had learned to fight so cohesively as a team, covering for each other was instinctive. Lae’zel would directly engage the enemy in melee, Astarion would get to higher ground or make use of the shadows to dispatch foes by surprise, while both Shadowheart and Tav would heal and use offensive magic. While Tav’s spellwork repertoire was limited compared to the cleric’s, Astarion noticed that the bard had become adept at throwing things, wincing slightly in sympathy as a well-aimed wooden stool hit a goblin right in the face with a loud and sickening crack.
Astarion supposed that this was why Tav chose not to take Wyll or Karlach to the goblin camp; the two newcomers were skilled individuals, but they were still learning to fight in tandem with the others. He also knew that Tav had originally wanted to take Gale along, but as the wizard seemed to be a little out of it, the bard had changed his mind, not wanting to risk an episode where Gale would suddenly need to consume a magical artifact in the midst of a melee.
Tav’s plan had been simple; isolate the goblins in small groups and quickly dispatch them before any of them could raise the alarm. The sentries at the goblin camp entrance had been easy to deal with; once Tav had convinced them he was a True Soul with his escorts, they let their guard down. Astarion had taken great pleasure in slitting their throats.
The amount of goblins and Absolute cultists at the campfire right in front of entrance of the temple-turned-fort however, was more than just intimidating. “Ugh, it would take hours to kill them all,” Astarion had grumbled, not for the first time.
“Perhaps we should enter the fort first to seek out this Halsin,” Laezel had suggested, “we can deal with these goblins and cultists later, or find another way to leave.”
“They’re mostly drunk,” Tav had countered, “we can get them all at once if we’re smart. The ones inside will think all the noise is because the ones at this campfire just got a little rowdy.”
Astarion had coughed at that. “All at once?”
The vampire spawn had genuinely thought Tav had gone insane, until he saw the half-elf stealthily drop a vial of poison in the disgusting tub of booze the goblins were drinking from. One of them had spotted the act, but Tav easily convinced him that he was mistaken. The bard even had the cheek to gather the lot of goblins and cultists so he could make a grand, spirited toast to the Absolute. Plenty of them had instantly dropped dead upon taking a swig from the tainted booze, while the ones that did not were relatively easy pickings, having been weakened from both alcohol and poison.
“Don’t like goblins much, do you?” Astarion had asked a rather pleased-looking Tav after the hectic, bloody – all that blood, how wonderful! – skirmish. Like Tav promised, it did not take hours after all.
“Absolutely hate them.”
Obvious really, judging how Tav had impressively brained a goblin with a chair, kicked two over to burn in their own campfire, rammed his dagger in the throat of a cultist before throwing that same dagger at another goblin, all in one go. Even Lae’zel had seemed impressed, judging by the speculative look she had given the half-elf.
“How cute.”
Tav had then mockingly beamed at him.
So now they were neck-deep in the goblin fortress, making surprisingly short work of the last of the three True Souls before it was off to the cells, where the archdruid of Emerald Grove was imprisoned.
Halsin was a rather impressive-looking wood elf, towering at least a head over the rest of the party. Unfortunately for them, he did not have a cure for their parasites, but told them the next best thing; where the cure was likely located. The archdruid thanked them all for his rescue and for eliminating the cult’s leaders, before he morphed into his bear form and scrambled back to the grove.
“Ugh,” Tav groaned, “I want a bath.”
“You’re not the only one,” Shadowheart replied, grimacing at the bloodstains and grime on her armour and clothes. “I have goblin guts in my hair.”
“Agreed. While I cannot find fault with our performance in battle today, and I revel in this blow we have given to these cultists,” Lae’zel said as she removed a dagger and a pouch from one of the many corpses on the floor, “the stench of goblins is not a scent that I find appealing.”
“So, back to the grove then. For a nice, long bath, oh, and Halsin did say something about a reward. Maybe Zevlor and the tieflings will want to compensate us too,” Shadowheart said.
“Who knows? Maybe they’ll even throw us a party,” Astarion said with a shrug.
---x---x---
The tieflings did throw them a rather nice, but boring party by Astarion’s standards. Sure, there was plenty of wine and song, but not a single glass of fresh blood anywhere, nor any acts of extreme hedonistic debauchery to be found. Most of his companions however, seemed to enjoy the festivities well enough, except for Wyll, who had wandered off to sulk about his stupid horns. Honestly, horns would not have mattered when the party was filled with tieflings.
Wandering off early seemed like a good idea, especially when Astarion had much more interesting plans for later in the evening. Nevertheless, he had been thrilled, flattered and just a touch terrified when Lae’zel had later practically pounced on him in the woods, demanding for sex. He had no idea the githyanki warrior had followed him when he left the tieflings’ party, tired of pretending to be nice to a bunch of boring refugees. Apparently Lae’zel had thought the same and she wanted to celebrate their victory over the goblins and their True Soul leaders in a more carnal fashion. Once he had determined that the githyanki warrior was not going to kill him and that she was only interested in physical pleasure, why not oblige her? He had been wondering a few times what sex with a githyanki would be like.
Their coupling had been a frantic lust-filled frenzy; true to her githyanki nature, Lae’zel was in favour of taking and conquering, clawing instead of caressing, biting instead of kissing. It had been easy then for Astarion to just lie down on his back, let his mind wander and his instincts take over, his body automatically going through the motions of pleasuring her. After all, she was not the first person with more vicious impulses that he had to entertain and lure for his master in the past two hundred years. What mattered was that she was well-sated at the end. She bit him on the lip hard enough to draw blood, then whispered that he had been more than an adequate meal before she departed.
It took Astarion only moments to clear his thoughts and examine himself. There was of course the brief period of self-loathing he had always experienced after sex, but he pushed it away to the back of his mind, wishing that his damned tadpole would be useful and get rid of it permanently.
Lae’zel had left marks on him, but fortunately the small bottle of healing potion he always carried with him for emergencies would take care of that. Astarion mused on how this would not have been an issue not so long ago; while the tadpole squirming in his skull allowed him to walk in the sun, it also suppressed his preternatural healing rate. He then made a quick visit to the stream nearby for a brief rinse to wash away any obvious remaining traces of his earlier tryst. And not for the first time, he wished that he could see his reflection in the water. Why oh why, couldn’t the parasite give him this?
Astarion started to straighten his clothes, then frowned when he realised that his shirt was dirty and slightly torn. There was no time to fix it or get another; he would just have to hide it somewhere to be retrieved later. After all, the delicious treat he was really after would be coming soon, judging by the fading sounds of the party some distance away.
He had been amazed that Tav had – finally! - responded more eagerly to his flirting at the party. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the high from their impressive rampage at the goblin fort – but whatever it was, the bard agreed to his suggestion that they find some time to know each other more thoroughly later.
It did not take long for said delicious treat to make his appearance. Astarion had just finished tucking his shirt in a nearby bush when he heard the sounds of someone approaching, purposely making just enough noise to indicate his or her presence.
“Astarion?” Tav’s voice called out, a little hesitant.
“Hello, lover,” Astarion greeted the bard, stepping into the moonlit clearing, knowing well that the moonlight gave his pale complexion and perfectly sculpted body a more ethereal lustre, especially to Tav’s own keen night vision. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting ever since I set eyes on you.”
That was not really a lie; Astarion had genuinely taken a liking to the whole package, so to speak. Tav was young, attractive, surprisingly resourceful and had proven himself skillful in combat. More importantly, Tav allowed Astarion to remain in the group after his true vampiric nature was revealed and to his astonishment, even let him feed on the bard. Lately however, Astarion had begun wondering if Tav was also skillful in bed, though he doubted that the much younger half-elf had anything near his own experience. Still, Astarion imagined it would be fun to teach the bard all sorts of new, naughty little tricks.
His earlier coupling with Lae’zel had only served to fan Astarion’s desire, which made saying all his favourite, lovely little lines to the bard much easier and more... authentic. And judging from the way Tav replied to said lines and then bite his lower lip, the half-elf seemed very much convinced.
“I love you,” Astarion purred, then smiled when he saw Tav’s eyes darken and cheeks turn red in what could only be desire. The half-elf’s eyes narrowed slightly before he coyly sidled up to Astarion and put his lips close to the vampire spawn’s right ear, so close that Astarion could feel the bard’s soft breathy sigh on his skin. Tav then breathed in deeply, inhaling Astarion’s scent, making the elf shudder slightly in pleasant anticipation.
“Did you say the same thing to Lae’zel when you fucked her?” Tav whispered then pulled away, leaving a startled Astarion to stare at the bard, mouth hanging open. There was a slight tinge of mania in Tav’s eyes, while the glare the half-elf directed at Astarion was just as cold and deadly as the magical icy shards he hurled at their foes. Then the ice thawed; for the briefest of moments Astarion thought he saw tears starting to well in those blue eyes, but Tav had already turned and walked away before he could make sure.
---x---x---
“Changed your mind about that bottle?” Shadowheart asked teasingly when she saw Tav approaching her tent, but was surprised to see the obvious look of anguish on the bard’s face. “Tav, what happened?”
The bard gracelessly plopped himself next to her and drew his knees up. “Can we just get drunk?” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.
“What happened?” she repeated. “I thought you were finally going to spend a night with Astarion.”
“So did I.” He let out a long sigh. “I didn’t know that he had plans to have sex with Lae’zel first.”
“What?”
“He told me to look for him in this secluded spot in the woods when I was ready. I went there. I thought I saw her leave,” he said, then added in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, “and then I smelled her on him.”
“Tav….”
”I know what freshly-fucked looks like, Shadowheart. That’s what he looked like when he said-” Tav bit his lower lip and exhaled slowly. “Can we get drunk now, please?” he pleaded.
“There are others here who would be thrilled to share your bed tonight, you know,” she gently reminded him, even though she was quite certain he was not interested in any of them. When he shook his head, she prompted, “Halsin? I saw you talking to him earlier. And I know that he’s been stealing a few glances at you.”
Tav shook his head again. “I told him I would like to know him better, but he made it clear that he wasn’t interested. Said I should spend my time with the others instead. He probably thinks I’m too young, infatuated or something.”
“His loss.” She sighed and patted Tav gently on his arm in a gesture of comfort.
Ever since their escape from the mind flayer vessel, she had grown fond of the other half-elf. Unlike so many others she had come across, Tav simply accepted everyone as they were. Any other sane person would have given her and likely everyone else in their band of lunatics, as Astarion often referred to themselves, a very wide berth, if not a thrown dagger or three. But not Tav, who had somehow convinced and cajoled – and occasionally sulked, according to Karlach – for them to somehow work together, that Shadowheart was actually convinced that they had more than a decent chance to find a cure for their illithid infection. She had even fancied herself infatuated with him for a short while, early on in their adventure, but it was obvious by then that the bard had already set his heart on another.
Shadowheart had always favoured casual dalliances because it suited her chosen life under the Dark Lady. Distant lovers usually get lost in the end, while long-term romantic relationships were out of the question since she might not even remember them, if Shar demanded for it.
Tav, however, was the typical bard just like in the ballads; young, hopeful, a hopeless romantic, and a little stupid. Well, maybe not stupid, she hastily amended. Just sweet, and a touch naïve.
“You really like him, don’t you?” she asked. It was obvious that she was not referring to the archdruid.
Tav groaned. “Half of the time I want to smash his face in and then drive a stake between his ribs,” he admitted, “and the other half I just want him to drag me into the woods and then let him ravish me.” He covered his face with his hands then mumbled, “Gods, I don’t know which one is worse.”
“Tough choice.” It was so tempting to suggest that perhaps Tav could do both, though in reverse order, but she held her tongue. The poor thing was upset enough.
“Do tell. Now are you going to give me that bottle of wine or not?”
“Drinking yourself to oblivion might sound like a good idea now,” Shadowheart cautioned him, “but you won’t think the same thing come morning.”
Tav grabbed the offered bottle of Arabellan Dry anyway. “It’ll still hurt less.”
”I could go slit his throat,” she offered, half-joking. The other half was seriously contemplating murder.
“Tempting, but please don’t,” Tav replied, and there was almost a smile on his lips, “he’s not worth your time.” He wrinkled his nose. “Besides, he’s the only one here who’s good at picking locks.”
“Spoilsport.”
”I mean it, Shadowheart.”
”All right, only because you insist. But from now on, if we ever get into trouble, I will heal him last.”
---x---x---
The battle with the githyanki inquisitor, his aides and bodyguards at Crèche Y'llek was tiring enough to begin with, but dealing with the intimidating presence of Vlaakith and a trip to the Astral Plane was more than enough for one day, Astarion strongly opined.
But no, since they were already there, Tav had insisted on looking for the fabled treasure that the monks of Rosymorn Monastery had hidden away. After the party had rested a bit, and after some poking and kicking at statues, as well as the aid of a bottle of grease Tav had found earlier and kept ‘just in case’, they found the entrance to the treasure chamber.
Obviously such a valuable treasure would be protected by traps. Obviously there was only one person who could disarm them, so Astarion had to pick his way through the corridors and figure out how to disable the nasty surprises. And obviously because Astarion was highly skilled, the party marched into the chamber that housed The Blood of Lathander without any incidents. The legendary mace was in the centre of the large room, held aloft by magic on an altar surrounded by four strange-looking devices. More traps, Astarion thought.
Before anyone could stop him, Tav jogged up to the altar. “Oops,” the bard muttered at the loud ‘click’ when he placed the oddly-shaped crest they had found in the monastery ruins yesterday into a slot at the large metal slab.
Everyone else froze. Even Lae’zel.
“What do you mean, ‘oops’, you idiot bard?” Astarion practically shrieked. He braced himself for a flood of poisonous gas, magical lightning blasts, a plague of rats, zombies, anything.
“Nothing,” Tav said defensively.
Indeed, nothing happened. Shadowheart breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Astarion yelled. Well, technically his heart stopped beating when he had turned into a vampire spawn, but he was certain that everyone else in the chamber knew how he felt and what he meant. Too bad that he had run out of daggers to throw, for Astarion wanted to fling a few of them at the half-elf.
Tav however, had gone conveniently deaf for the moment and easily retrieved the mace from the altar.
“Shall we go? Or do you have any more ridiculous errands to do here?”
The bard made a face at him before they headed for the exit.
---x---x---
“You look terrible,” Tav told Astarion. The four adventurers had stopped about halfway back to camp for a brief respite. Their return trek from Crèche Y'llek so far had fortunately been uneventful, since none of the later githyanki patrols sent out from the crèche to find the prism Shadowheart carried in her pocket had returned.
“Well, of course I look terrible, I feel terrible. We nearly got ourselves killed by a bunch of homicidal githyanki, their very angry queen, then sent to some floating rocks in the middle of nowhere,” Astarion began his litany of complaints, his voice growing grumpier as he went on. ”I’m bruised and battered, my leg hurts and Shadowheart says she doesn’t want to waste any more healing spells on me.”
“We’re all bruised and battered. You can still walk,” the cleric heartlessly replied from where she was fussing over Lae’zel, who of course had kept her mouth shut about a broken rib until the fighting was well and truly over.
“But it hurts,” Astarion whined. And Lae’zel could still walk too, he grumbled silently.
“Cry about it.”
Tav let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I’ve run out of potions and my magic’s spent. But you can feed on me later tonight, if you want,” the bard offered.
Astarion perked. Blood, from sweet and delectable Tav?
“How could I say no?” he replied in genuine delight, then belatedly wondered if this were also some kind of peace offering from the half-elf. Tav had hardly spoken to him after the party at the grove; the few occasions he did involved both of them trading verbal barbs.
The bard was just too nice to stay angry, Astarion later decided. Lucky for him, as he had spent the last few days wracking his tadpole-infected brain trying to find a way to get in Tav’s good books again. Seduction was far, far down the list, and there was only so much mending he could do.
Much later, when they were finally back at camp – where Halsin had no qualms over healing his leg, unlike some grumpy and magic-stingy Sharran clerics – Astarion looked around for Tav. The bard was neither in his tent nor at the campfire, but Gale mentioned that he saw the half-elf exploring some ruined buildings near their campsite earlier, so off Astarion went.
Astarion found Tav dozing on a spare bedroll in a small shed that had remained mostly intact, except for a large hole in the roof. The half-elf had likely decided it was best that they had a little privacy. How thoughtful of him, Astarion noted, as the others may not be so keen on having to witness the resident vampire spawn draining the blood of their precious bard in plain sight.
He knelt down near the bard and lowered his head, ready to take a bite. That was all it took; the next thing he knew he was sent flying backwards as Tav’s eyes sprung wide open and the bard shoved him off with a strength that he had never expected from the half-elf’s slender build.
“What the hells are you doing?” Tav hissed, his voice crackling in what Astarion knew was genuine fear. The bard’s eyes were unfocused and he was trembling, like he was still caught in some nightmare and was not fully awake.
Astarion slowly got up and raised his hands, palms outward. “I’m sorry, it’s just me-”
“Never sneak up on me like that!” Tav snapped.
He took several steps back. “I-I just thought that, uh, it would be easier for us both. If you were, you know, sleeping,” he said, stammering slightly, at the same time silently berating himself for forgetting that Tav was a light sleeper. “It’s all right if you changed your mind.”
“No, I just….” Tav took a deep breath, closed his eyes then exhaled deeply. “You surprised me, that’s all.” He laid back down on his left side. “Get over here,” he mumbled, untying the laces to his collar.
Astarion did not need further encouragement. He slowly laid himself down next to the bard, who was still breathing a little faster than normal. “Relax, darling,” he said gently, “I need you to feel as comfortable as you can.” A panicky Tav would be a handful to deal with, if the half-elf suddenly decided that he did not like Astarion having another go at his neck. If a brawl broke out and everyone else came running… well, Astarion was sure everyone else liked Tav a lot more than him, so he knew very well how that would turn out.
Tav took another deep breath. “Talk to me for a bit?” The trembling had lessened, but his breathing was still a touch too fast.
Astarion nodded. “You were… restless. Nightmare?”
The bard shook his head. “No, no… just some weird dreams that don’t make sense.”
That was obviously a lie, Astarion thought, but no point in pushing things for now. He decided to change the subject. “Can I ask you something?” At Tav’s affirmative nod, he continued, “Why did you choose to go rescue Halsin first, instead of looking for the githyanki crèche? I mean, we all saw just how useless the githyanki purification machine actually was, but how did you know?”
Tav looked surprised, obviously not expecting the question. “I didn’t. I just suspected that they never had a cure for the parasites.”
“Really?”
“Lae’zel kept talking about how it was standard procedure to report in if you were infected, to be purified by that zaith’isk.”
“So?”
“She never mentioned a thing about what happens during the extraction process or about any survivors. Especially survivors. When I asked her about those, she just ignores me and keeps repeating how it was standard githyanki procedure to be purified.”
Astarion nodded. “Because she doesn’t know.”
“Right. If there were indeed survivors to the procedure, surely that would be common knowledge since it’d be good for overall morale to know a tadpole infection can easily be treated, with living proofs or records, to show that the githyanki have an edge over the mind flayers. Lae’zel would have repeated that part, along with whatever protocol drilled into her.”
“But there were never any survivors,” Astarion concluded.
“Precisely. Considering the githyanki warrior culture, where the most efficient solution to any problem is almost always elimination….” Tav left it hanging. “Why did you ask?”
“Just curious, nothing more,” Astarion replied. He had earlier wondered if Tav made decisions based on how well the bard trusted each individual member of their little group. Apparently Tav was a much more complicated person than he thought.
“Anyway, I think I’m ready now.”
Astarion gently tugged Tav’s shirt collar a little bit lower, then leaned in to place his mouth on Tav’s lower neck. The bard stiffened slightly when Astarion’s sharp canines breached the half-elf’s skin, and the vampire spawn felt rather than heard the gasp Tav gave out when he began siphoning blood from that lovely neck. He carefully listened for the changes in Tav’s pulse and forced himself to drink slowly, for he was enjoying the half-elf’s moans and sighs far too much. Somehow this act of devouring the bard felt much more sensual, more intimate than any sexual coupling. He continued to gently stroke the back of Tav’s neck, smoothing the half-elf’s silky hair, while his other hand traced soothing circles on the bard’s upper arm. Tav leaned into him, likely lost in the sensations, then let out a loud gasp when he finally pulled away from the bard’s neck.
“How do you feel?” he asked once the half-elf’s breathing had steadied.
“A little light-headed,” Tav mumbled, “but I’ll be fine after I get some sleep. Did you drink enough?”
“As delicious as you are, my sweet,” Astarion replied, “I still have to find something a bit more filling later. Maybe a deer, if I’m lucky.”
“No more bears,” Tav warned.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Astarion assured him, “I will ask all bears I come across, ‘Excuse me, are you Halsin?’ first. If he doesn’t reply, only then I’ll bite.”
Perhaps the blood loss made him a little giddy, for Tav giggled. Rather adorably too, Astarion thought, then wondered if that ridiculous, stray thought was wholly his or due to the tadpole’s influence. Or maybe he was just high from the fresh blood.
“Has anyone seen Tav?” Karlach’s voice boomed from camp. “I could’ve sworn I heard him yelling earlier.”
“He’s probably busy somewhere.” That was Shadowheart.
“Did anyone go look?” Karlach’s voice was growing louder, which meant she was getting nearer. “Fangs is gone too. Did he go off hunting already?”
“They’re both busy, Karlach,” Wyll growled over what sounded like feet being noisily dragged, several smacks being thrown around and then a loud mortified gasp, as two – or maybe three – people walked away from the shed.
“Oh no,” Tav groaned, “they’re probably thinking we’re having sex.”
“Obviously, I’m here after all, aren’t – owww!” Astarion winced and rubbed his hip, where an annoyed Tav had thumped him with a fist. “That hurt,” he whined.
“It’s supposed to, stupid,” Tav grumbled, then frowned. “Wait, is that sound what I think it is?”
Astarion hushed him, but since Tav could not stop giggling like an idiot, he clamped his hand over the half-elf’s mouth so he could actually listen. And there it was; the low, but unmistakable steady rumble of stone meeting steel.
Blessed be the keen hearing of elves and half-elves indeed.
“Lae’zel’s got her grindstone up and running to sharpen blades. In the middle of the night. Because you were so loud,” Astarion gasped, then fell into a fit of snickering.
Tav pushed his hand away, grinned, took a deep breath and then of all things, let out a loud, long and breathy moan. Astarion hastily suppressed his mirth and quickly matched it with one of his own, though louder and more lewd-sounding.
This time they heard an irritated ‘Shka'keth!’ and another person unsuccessfully trying to stifle a high-pitched laugh. The latter was probably Karlach, or even Shadowheart, since their tents were the closest to the githyanki’s.
It was all just too much for them both and they started snickering again. “Let’s wait here for about an hour or so,” Astarion announced, eyes still watering in mirth once he regained some of his composure, “I have a reputation to maintain, after all.” Tav rolled his eyes, but he ignored it. “Shall I carry you back to your tent later? Or better, mine? I need to keep up appearances.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tav hissed.
“Or you’ll what?” Astarion purred.
The bard smirked. “Shall I moan someone else’s name very loudly? Maybe Gale-”
“You wouldn’t!” Astarion gasped in genuine horror, then snorted when he saw the mischievous look on Tav’s face. “That’s not funny, you know.”
Tav started to laugh, but stopped abruptly and winced.
“Still woozy?” Astarion asked softly, at the same time gently straightening Tav’s shirt collar and then lacing it back up. As he did so, he noted that the two small wounds at the half-elf’s neck had already ceased bleeding. He had taken extra care not to gouge this time, so the scars would not be too noticeable. With time, they would fade away to tiny white pinpricks on the skin. “You do look a little paler than usual, darling,” he observed. And if that were genuine concern leaking into his voice, then so be it. After all, there was no one else in camp willing to provide him the occasional bite and the enemies they came across were never as delicious as Tav, he reminded himself.
“I’m fine, it’s just this headache. No, not because of you, it’s the parasite,” Tav explained, closing his eyes. He frowned and continued, ”I get these headaches if I strain myself too much when I use, uh, our illithid… gift. They’ve started to get worse ever since I took that second tadpole.”
To his own amazement, Astarion found himself reaching out with his fingertips to gently massage the bard’s temples. “Better?” he asked.
“Gods, don’t stop,” Tav mumbled, a little bit too loudly, perhaps for the benefit of anyone who was still awake and nosy enough to listen in on them. “You really should be like this more often,” he muttered softly some moments later.
“What, attentive? Or mischievous?” Astarion prompted.
“Nice,” the bard replied, already half-asleep, “I like it when you’re nice.”
Then Tav sleepily looked up at him and flashed one of those beautiful smiles of his, and Astarion could not help but smile back.
Astarion had been frequently told in the past two hundred years that he had a smile that would easily break hearts.
Tav’s however, was so sweet that it could mend them.
Perhaps even cold, dead ones like his.
“Yes,” Astarion whispered to himself much later, when Tav was slumbering quietly in his arms, “I think I like it too.”