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blissfulstarsfics · 27 days ago

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Black and White Chapter 12

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Chapter Rating: M

Summary: Death and terror reign in Baldur's Gate as Astarion is kept from Tav. Meanwhile, she is putting on the performance of a lifetime to convince her captors of compliance.

As summer faded into autumn, so did the once content atmosphere of Baldur’s Gate fade into one of dread. They conducted another massacre last night, this time in the Outer City. Skewered bodies appeared in the outskirts, giving the most destitute of Baldurians a gruesome start to their already bleak day. The sounds of adults weeping and children screaming were the perfect morning lullaby for Astarion’s spawn.

Rest was not in the cards for him, however. Not that he had any desire for it. Laying in bed without Elia in his arms felt empty. Astarion drifted through the palace aimlessly. Around this time she would be making preparations to entertain other noble ladies.

It was Fifthday. She hosted afternoon tea on Fifthdays. He liked Fifthdays. It was the day she subtly extracted all sorts of tidbits from her guests. Whether it be salacious gossip, a scandal, potential leverage, or the name of an up and coming artisan, she would share it all with him over a bottle of wine. Tav had a way of getting people to talk, and bored highborn ladies loved to talk when given just the right nudges.

Alas, he was a patriar, he had responsibilities. There was no time to obsess over her absence. Construction was well underway in the Lower City, now he must look over the candidates who wish to set up shop in his new buildings. To see who would serve his network best. Then, parliament would be meeting in the afternoon. With news spreading quickly of yet another mass murder, it would be prudent of him to make an appearance.

High Hall was a short ride away from the Crimson Palace. As expected, the grand chamber was at capacity. A crowd had gathered outside, demanding answers from their governing body. Everyone was troubled, noble and peasant alike. Good. If Astarion had to spend his nights uneased, so should the cattle.

Ulder Ravengard approached the dais with dark circles under his eyes. When he spoke, he couldn’t conceal his tiredness. These crimes were taking their toll on him. Astarion smirked, imagining the effect this must be having on dear little Wyll.

In the two months since the Festival of Blood began, he had orchestrated three additional slaughters. Astarion thought carefully about the targets, asking himself how Elia would have done it. She would have told him to keep the butchery random and to target less than savory types.

Randomness would throw the Fists off and the guards would be less inclined to investigate the deaths of those who were already a thorn in their sides. Plus, a thorn in their side could always become a thorn in his side. He would have order in his city.

He was particularly proud of the second massacre. The spawn had hidden the corpses of a band of criminals inside the walls of an abandoned building close to Jaheira’s home. They went undiscovered until they were too ripe to ignore. It was an odious, or rather odorous day in the Lower City. The look on the High Harper’s face was absolutely precious.

The Grand Duke’s speech did little to allay the fears of the people. A lot was spoken with little of it being substantial. No one left the room hopeful. Astarion had no desire to stay for chitchat. As he was about to enter his carriage to return home, a lady called out to him.

“Pardon the intrusion, Lord Astarion, but I wanted to know if there was any headway on Lady Tav’s whereabouts?” Ah, now he recognized her. She occasionally attended Elia’s tea parties, usually when she needed advice.

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” The lady slumped at his answer.

“I’m so sorry, my lord. You don’t,” she lowered her voice, “think the savages terrorizing the city took her, do you?” A man waltzed over, smug and pompous, giving the lady’s hand a kiss.

“Worry not, my dear. If Lord Astarion’s fling wished to be found, she would have by now. Alive or dead.” The vampire did a double take.

“Fling?!? How dare you,” he growled through his teeth.

“Well, that’s what she is, isn’t she? Come now, I wouldn’t expect a man with a reputation such as yours to show embarrassment over having a house guest of her nature,” the corner of his mouth upturned, “Now that she’s gone you can focus your all on your precious projects in the Lower City. Why, you’ll be too busy for dalliances.”

Of course. There is nothing more amusing to the petty aristocracy than watching one of their own suffer misfortune after a great success. This man was jealous of his recent gains, and wanted to rub salt in his wounds.

However, his words did have an effect on Astarion. What kind of slander was being spread about Elia now that she was gone? Was she being labeled a loose woman, a common whore? A gold digger? He would not suffer it.

“My lady was taken by-”

“Lady? She is no lady. And she’s gone. Moved onto another.” As the man laughed, Astarion could see the faces of a few other patriars with similar expressions. They were laughing at him. Thinking he got played by a random hussy. Worse, they were laughing at her. He studied their faces, burned them into his memory.

Should he make them the next attraction in his Festival of Blood? If Elia were here, she would tell him it was too soon. That the incident could be traced back to their grudge. It may take years or decades, but he would have their blood for treating his lady like a floozy.

A finely dressed woman with a stoic presence approached him after the encounter, “Do not listen to that buffoon. He’s upset that his lady doesn’t know when he comes or goes.”

“I never!” The man took his snickering lady’s hand and stomped off.

“We will be delighted when Tav is safely returned. She is sorely missed in our social circles. Although, he is right about one thing. She isn’t a proper lady,” she tapped his arm with the tip of her umbrella, “yet.” She curtsied and left.

At last, he could leave. Astarion’s already boiling blood was now a raging inferno. He needed to tear into something, someone, anything. The desire to kill was threatening to overcome him. As the carriage rocked back and forth, he remembered how she taught him to meditate. He steadied his breathing, calming the tempest in his mind.

The carriage came to a halt outside the Crimson Palace. While his mood was still foul, he no longer felt like he was about to replace his staff due to the current set having an “unfortunate accident.” Stepping out, he groaned.

Astarion had an unexpected and unwanted visitor.

~~~~~

Breakfast was a peaceful affair on the patio. Tav ate a prepared bowl of porridge and berries with her new family, listening to a distant wind chime compose a new song in the breeze. The great prophet declared that dawn was the time when the gateway to the feywild was thinnest, therefore consuming meals at this hour filled the body with the realm’s energies which could then be offered to Corellon Larathian in prayer.

The serenity of the moment was broken when Carvalur abruptly stood up, arms outstretched to the morning sun. He was receiving a vision from the other plane. This one was shorter than most, with it lasting only a few minutes. Tav felt relieved for her new older brother. A few dawns ago, he had been entranced for almost an hour. It was a frightening experience, with him locked in place until the fey saw fit to let his consciousness go.

“The gods have spoken. Today you are permitted to speak, Tav.” Carvalur proudly hugged his sister, as did Raf and Jhoie. This marked a significant turning point in her recovery. For the gods to have granted her speaking privileges meant they had recognized the departure of Astarion from her mind and heart. The taint of the undead had been purified, and she was one step closer to full entry into the Circle.

The great prophet dispelled the silencing magics and for the first time in over two months she heard her own voice again. A praise to Corellon and his wise sage were the first words uttered in thanks for this gift. She joined her brothers and sister in morning devotions, praying with her whole being for light and life. Renewed in spirit, she ended the session with a whimsical dance and an out of tune hymn. It would take a bit of time to recondition her vocal cords.

“The gods must be telling us to take you to the shrine of Hanali Celanil,” the great one nodded, “Today starts your initiation, Tav. You are now on the path to enlightenment. You shall apprentice with other members of the Circle. They will tell you the truths of the gods, the world, and our place as elves in the shaping of all creation.”

Weeping with joy, Tav hastily got dressed. For two months she had been confined to the small house. This would be her first day exploring the city. To be out and about was going to feel like a miracle. Then he placed bracelets on her wrist.

“We must keep you close at all times, little sister, and shielded from the false Weave.” Carvalur patted her head lovingly. Tav had learned to listen to his words unflinchingly, like Raf and Jhoie. They donned their cloaks and their Harper personas. Elvenkind wasn’t ready for the truth of the world, so the Great Prophet and his followers needed to maintain acceptable facades.

Outside at last, Tav followed the family through the winding paths, passing all sorts of stalls, shops, and studios dedicated to the people’s culture. After so long in confinement, Tav discovered her stamina had been greatly reduced. The short jaunt was already tiring her out.

The statue to the goddess of beauty was a sight to behold. Meters tall and expertly crafted, it was a testament not only to goddess’s grace, but to elven artistry. An open air temple stood close by, adorned by lush gardens, crystal statues, golden hearts, and flowing fountains. Carvalur guided them to the back of the temple to a spot familiar to Tav. Her heart leaped when he pointed to a dark haired, fair skinned old elf playing the harp.

“That’s brother Dorneiros Alua. He is one of our newer initiates. I think it will be good for his growth to help foster our new sister,” the prophet put his arm around Tav’s shoulder, “I will leave you with him for the day. Be not afraid, he is a most trusted ally.” She swallowed nervously and nodded.

Brother Dorneiros greeted Carvalur in a manner befitting a messenger of the gods. Without saying anything, the prophet strapped his bracelet onto the elder elf’s.

“This is Tav. You are permitted to share your knowledge with her. Do not let her use the false Weave. We will retrieve her later.” Carvalur’s face was intense and his words were short. He didn’t wait for a reply and began walking away.

Dorneiros took Tav’s hand, keeping one eye on the retreating trio, “Greetings, little sister, and welcome to-” they were gone, “You’ve been playing along nicely. I taught you well.” Smirking, he nodded in approval. First, Tav found a place to sit down. Her heart was still racing and her head dizzy from the light exertion.

“It’s good to see you too, Dorn.” Her old mentor. The initial plan was to get to the temple and wander about like a good little sycophant until she ran into him. Fate seemed to be on her side. Through heavy breaths, she whispered, “He is a madman! He thinks Corellon Larethian left Arvandor for the Feywild!”

“Mad enough that he caught the Hill Elders’ attention. Hence why I’m here,” he grinned. Dorn felt her cold, sweaty forehead, “You’re unwell.”

“They had me under house arrest since I got here. It doesn’t help that Jhoie and Raf are the worst cooks I’ve ever encountered. They haven’t prepared a single meal that has sat well in a month. But, enough about me, tell me what’s going on.” The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly more concerned with his former student’s wellbeing.

“There is only so much I can tell you. Classified information and all that. Before he joined the Harpers, Carvalur was an exceptionally gifted mage. At some point, we believe he grew arrogant and dabbled into the Shadow Weave.”

“He worships Shar?” Tav thought of Shadowheart.

“No. And because of that, he’s lost his mind. He believes all sorts of distorted things about the nature of the world, the gods, elven supremacy,” he raised a finger, “and of the Weave.”

“So, his false weave is Mystra’s Weave?” she asked. “But, he uses the Weave.”

“Rules for thee, but not for me. He’s the gods’ chosen one, remember?” he scoffed, “My primary mission is to investigate his use of the Shadow Weave. Infiltrating his Circle was surprisingly easy. Collecting evidence has been slow, especially when he had a grand vision of needing to travel. Some crazy talk of needing to understand the “lesser races” of Toril.”

“That might be how he came under Jaheira’s command. She had been requesting aid for the restoration of Baldur’s Gate. Harpers had been coming from all over Faerun.”

“A safe assumption. Furthermore,” he lifted her left wrist, “I may have the evidence we need. The trinket on your right leashes you like a dog, this one nullifies your magic. It’s faint, but this doesn’t feel natural.”

Tav didn’t like the idea of being touched by the Shadow Weave, “What do we do?”

“We wait. I will contact my Waterdhavian allies in the meantime. Now, little one,” he patted her knee, “Tell me what you’ve been doing while you were away.”

“Where to start?” She took a deep breath, “I traveled the Sword Coast for a while until I was abducted by mindflayers, infected with one of their tadpoles, destroyed a cult bent on world domination, went to Avernus to save a dying friend, then settled down with my lover in Baldur’s Gate.” Dorneiros blinked his eyes a few times. It was a bit to take in.

“That’s, uh, quite the tale. That cult, was it the Absolute?” When she nodded, he continued, “Excellent. But…” he leaned in close, “Did I hear you correctly? You have a lover? My little Tav who swore off romance found a special someone?” At the end of the day, Dorneiros was still a bard. Saving the world from a would-be god was far less interesting than matters of the heart. No doubt he was already composing some grand ballad in his head.

She gazed up at Hanali Celanil’s face. Was he somewhere in Baldur’s Gate sitting under the same sunlit sky? Or, was he in a dark chamber in the mansion wallowing in sorrow? Her throat choked up, “I miss him. I’m so lonely without him.” Tav had done her best to not think of Astarion during her captivity. If she gave Carvalur even the slightest hint that she was longing for him, she would be forced to sit in lecture or prayer.

“Tell me about him.” Dorn put an arm around her.

“He’s an elf, like us. The most beautiful elf I’ve ever seen,” she nudged him with her shoulder, giggling, “He’s a patriar of Baldur’s Gate. Cunning, bold, spoils me rotten, oh and-” Suddenly, he cut her off.

“Poor little gem. The gods will forgive you. The Great Prophet’s kindness is boundless. Do not think he will hold your past misdeeds against you.” Behind her, she could hear the shuffling of feet. Time to perform.

“I was terrible! Am I worthy of being in the Circle?” A comforting hand rested on her shoulder. The family was smiling warmly. They helped her up and pulled her in for a group hug.

Dorn bowed low, “Apologies, Prophet. The girl was overcome with grief and I had no chance for education. If it pleases you, I would like another opportunity tomorrow.” The great one nodded, showing no sign of discontent. Hand in hand, Tav departed with her family. The visit with Dorneiros may have been short, but it was quite fruitful. Soon, she hoped, she would be back in Astarion’s arms. Safe, protected, loved.

Still exhausted, she tried to push through the walk home, but her body refused to cooperate. A few steps from the temple’s exit, she fell to her knees.

~~~~~

Next to his front door, a silver haired half-elf stood with her arms crossed. What she wanted or why she was here was of no concern to him. He wanted her gone. Now. Astarion straightened his clothes and put on a demeanor fitting a nobleman.

“Shadowheart, my dear, how wonderful to see you. Do come inside.” He swept his hand toward the mansion, but the cleric remained in place.

“No thank you. I won’t be long. Besides, I’d rather be in public view. You’re more likely to keep your fangs stowed with witnesses nearby.” Cautious, as always. Years under Sharran tutelage will do that to a person. She held up a badly damaged letter, “I owe you an apology and since I’m the bigger person, I’ll give it to you.”

Astarion took the letter, examining it front to back. Sword Coast Couriers were notoriously awful at their job, but this was remarkably bad. The address looked like it had been scraped off and the return address had almost faded from sun exposure. This was the infamous letter Shadowheart claimed he kept from Elia.

“Well, I’m not in a forgiving mood.” He stared her down with his ruby eyes, yet she did not waver. Astarion always respected how Shadowheart was able to stand her ground.

“I didn’t think you would be. But, Astarion,” her brow furrowed, “You have to stop this senselessness. Killing all those people will not bring her back any faster.”

“Maybe, maybe not. However, it does make me feel an awful lot better. And, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. The people we removed from the city were all smugglers, traffickers, thieves, followers of the Dead Three, or some other sort of ne'er do well. You should be thanking me.” Astarion wouldn’t blame her for not knowing the true nature of his victims. The Fists weren’t exactly forthcoming with that knowledge.

“They were?” She looked surprised. Everyone thought they were random innocents who happened to be in the wrong places at the wrong time. Regardless, she shook her head, “It doesn’t matter. You cannot keep doing this!”

A flash of light and a loud whoosh came from behind the vampire.

“Ah, good. You’re here. Saves me time. Most excellent!”

Astarion shot around to see the arrogant mug of an old acquaintance, “Gale?!? Why in the hells are you here?”

“I’m curious as well,” Shadowheart added.

“And you should be!” Gale placed a hand on each of their backs, guiding them inside the palace, “I’ll speak, Astarion you make preparations. We’re going to Evereska.” The wizard spoke with gusto, as if he was about to take the ascendant on a vacation.

“What? Why?”

“Because that’s where Tav is.” Gale’s grin widened. Now he had Astarion’s attention, “I received a request for assistance in quelling a small cult of Shadow Weave users. Somehow, our musically inclined friend got mixed up with them. So, Astarion, are you going to sit here, sulking, and burning the city you intend to rule to ash or will you help me rescue your lady love?”

Shadowheart and Astarion both couldn’t believe what they were hearing. After months of searching, they finally had a lead. Evereska. No wonder they weren’t able to find her. Who would have expected her to be halfway across the realm?

“How soon can we leave?” Astarion cared not about preparations. He wanted to bring her home.

“I’m coming with you,” Shadowheart announced, giving the vampire a distrustful glance.

“Gods below, do you still think I would harm her?” He came within an inch of her face. Hands on hips, she glared back at him.

“You have before. What’s to stop you from doing it again?” She jammed a finger into his chest. Taken aback, he wondered what in the hells she was talking about. When did he ever harm her? Did she mean when he fed on her? That was entirely consensual. Astarion tried to make a snide comment, but no words came out. Shadowheart did the same, only to be met with similar silence. In their frustration, they shot a look at the smiling wizard and mouthed, “Gale!”

“All right, children, are we ready to act like grown ups?” Funny being called children by the youngest in the room. “You two can bicker all you like when we’re finished. For now, I suggest setting your differences aside. My colleague tells me she is a bit worse for wear. Tav, ” he emphasized her name as a means of convincing Astarion, “may benefit from Shadowheart’s clerical magic.”

Very well. He could swallow his pride this one time. The half elf also agreed. Gale nodded, “Good. Now, to fill you in. Evereska has requested that the Chosen of Mystra,” he motioned to himself, “investigate a matter concerning use of the Shadow Weave. You two are officially coming along as my assistants. We will go in, secure Tav, and then we’ll play it by ear.” He spun Astarion around, “Now, get ready. When you’re finished, I will teleport us back to Waterdeep. We will rest at my tower tonight and in the morning take a portal to elven city.”

What to bring? There was no telling how long this little trip would be. A pair of daggers was a given. Gold as well; they would be staying in a large city. Anything else could be purchased on site. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a set of magicked trinkets he and Elia found in the Shadow Cursed lands. A gut feeling told him they might be useful as well.

Upon returning, Gale and Shadowheart were absent. “If they left without me…” he growled. Sighing, he buried his annoyance in order to give them the benefit of the doubt. Shadowheart’s scent still lingered in the air. Or rather, the scents of her many animal companions. Following it led him straight to the library.

Bursting through the door, he found them settled in with a glass of wine each, “Make yourselves at home, why don’t you.” Not even half an hour and Gale was a quarter through a large tome. The man truly had a knack for sniffing out books.

“Thank you, we will,” Shadowheart raised her glass, “You have good taste in wine, Astarion.” He picked up the bottle. Smiling, he ran his fingers over the label.

“This is her favorite.” Realizing Shadowheart was watching him stare tenderhearted at the wine, he set it down and cleared his throat. Gale was lost in the text, his mouth silently forming the words as he read them. He snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm.

“You mind if I borrow this one?”

“Yes, yes, fine, take whatever you want, can we go?” Exacerbated, he waved his hands to the door.

“We probably should. Tara will be angry if I’m away for too long. Gather around me,” he beckoned. In a flash they were transported from Astarion’s library to a tower overlooking the Waterdhavian coast. It was a sight to behold. He thought to himself that once this was over, he should stay here with Elia for a month. They could take a stroll down the boardwalk, sample the cuisine, or they could lock themselves in a room somewhere. Whatever she wanted, as long as he was with her.

Behind him, he could hear Shadowheart in bright conversation with another woman. Gale had an arm around a dark skinned beauty with flowing locks. Her smile seemed to light up the room, yet she exuded a strength that told him she was not to be trifled with. In some ways, she reminded him of Elia. Kind, but lethal.

“Astarion, this is my fiance Gemma.” Gale was beaming ear to ear.

“Oh my gods, you said yes?” Shadowheart squealed.

“I did!” The ladies held hands, jumping up and down like school children. Astarion was utterly confused. Then it hit him. All those nights when Elia was reading Gale’s letters, laughing, smiling, it was all about this Gemma person. All those nights of jealousy, thinking the wizard was trying something, and she was playing him for the fool. If she were here, he imagined her pointing and laughing at her private joke reaching its punchline. Well played, darling, well played, he thought, chagrined.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he bowed, “Oh, and don’t worry, Gale. I’ll try not to outshine you on your wedding day.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re invited,” Gale quipped. As if he would invite Elia and not him. He wouldn’t, right? Astarion left them to their lively conversation. He turned back to the window, losing his thoughts in watching the everyday goings on of the people below.

Hold on, my love. I’m coming.

~~~~~

Despite her insistence that she only needed a short rest, the family scooped her up and rushed her to a nearby clinic. Tav had been scanned, poked, and prodded by the clerics running the small hospital. It was embarrassing. The once formidable warrior who saved Baldur’s Gate, now in a bed because of a little fatigue.

The family refused to leave her side, much to her dismay yet not unexpected. Outside of the room, they could hear the clerics talking. A face familiar to her entered the room; one of Dorneiros’s daughters. He must have sent her when he saw her fall. It gave her a small measure of relief.

“Hello friends, my name is Qina and I will be overseeing the lady’s care,” she sat on a stool next to the bed, “My dear you have quite the iron deficiency. Not to worry, it’s quite common with your condition,” she winked, “I will, however, be keeping you here for the next few days until things are stable.” Tav understood the hidden meaning behind the words. Dorn was having Qina keep her in a safe location until his mission was complete.

“What’s my condition? How can I prevent this from happening again?” She may as well play along. Shifting her performance from doddering apostle to bed bound patient might be fun.

“You do not know?” Qina’s face joyfully shined.

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