#sotlc

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself. 

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free. 

A life regained, a future unwritten. 

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.” 

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself. 

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show. 

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands. 

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun. 

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay. 

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become  allies. 

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk. 

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much. 

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try. 

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle. 

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air. 

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window. 

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time. 

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door. 

Shit. 

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly. 

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him. 

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face. 

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip. 

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face. 

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart. 

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.” 

Silence blankets them both. 

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question. 

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death. 

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener. 

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists. 

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past. 

The innocent maidens. 

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time. 

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair. 

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark. 

Astarion continues to drink.

----------------------------------

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

[cursedhaglette]

more doodle practice during meetings with the hot girl group chat OCs hehe

thank you for letting me borrow and love on your gals! Liv - @fangswbenefits / The Arrangement Tavara - @brain-rot-central / Sonnet of the Last Cardinal Jaz - @olivedrop / Made For This

[brain-rot-central]

Idk what this is but it came into my mind. I went, "ohhhhhhhhhhhhh" audibly and decided it needed to happen.

[brain-rot-central]

Eating muff - ✅

Speaking your native tongue while doing so because your ex has a thing for it - ✅✅✅✅✅

[brain-rot-central]

omg thank you SO MUCH for the review and promo!! i giggled like a schoolgirl and chair danced reading this lmao. i'm so glad you're enjoying the story, and i appreciate that you're still on this journey with me!! <33

📚What I'm Reading These Days📚

A to Zenith by @allofthebarks (Solas x Female Lavellan): For my fellow Solavellan hell-dwellers, my bestie has refused to let the end of Solas and Lavellan's story get in the way of her delivering sweet, sexy angst and pining over a decade later. HELL YEAH. She's going to fuck us up emotionally 26 times, and I am ✨here✨ for it. Our friendship was built on a foundation of jointly authoring unhinged InuYasha fanfic when we were 14, she was my maid of honour, and our FFXIV characters are married, so I can very personally vouch for the quality of her work.

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal by @brain-rot-central (Ascended Astarion x Female Durge): Set post BG3. I've been absolutely entranced by this beautiful Dead Dove all year. It's so breathtakingly fucked up and disturbing. The chilling, deeply seated tension that the writer is capable of cobbling together in your gut with each chapter is nothing short of impressive. This isn't in-your-face, no punches pulled sort of depravity: it's slow burning nightmare fuel tempered with absolutely gorgeous angst, evocative characterization, and the never-ending feeling that something absolutely fucking terrible is about to happen.

Herbarium by @emmg (Emmrich Volkarin x Female Rook): COME AND GET IT EMMROOK FANS - I literally can't even with this. Somehow @emmg manages to capture the Gentleman Necromancer in all of his dorky, yapping glory, making me laugh my absolute ass off and then like... three lines later dives into the fucked up inner workings of his brain and all of it's trauma soaked angst and self-loathing and self-denial in a way that actually boggles my mind. Like it's sooooo fucking good. Rook is a fucking turbo-babe and I love her. The smut is absolutely top notch, and if you're not reading this, you're missing out, so do yourself a favour and make it happen.

Indelible Imprints by @preciouslittlebhaalbae (Astarion x Female Tav): Isekai fics are usually a tough sell for me, but @preciouslittlebhaalbae pulls it off so well with her OC, Erin, and I'm so glad I finally got a chance to get caught up on Chapter 14 recently. This is a really lovely, wholesome Astarion-centric romance with softness, pining, sweetness, spiciness and hilarity in equal measure. We're not afraid to get dark either, which really does it for me. Definitely check this out - it's amazingly written, and seeing Erin's dynamic develop with all of the Tadfools is so thoughtfully and pragmatically done. Writer also has impeccable music taste. 11/10, no notes.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 10

A/N: HI. SURPRISE CHAPTER RELEASE, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! If you're still here, I love you and kiss you passionately with tongue. Or hug you. Whichever you prefer.

Rating: Mature Word count: 6.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, a lot of fucking angst, anxiety depictions, blood mention, some tame descriptions of sexual acts Summary: Having been retrieved from the courtyard by Astarion, Tav and Astarion have a long, overdue discussion.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

Her heart hammers in her chest as they tear through the crowd, barely missing a step. Astarion sets the pace, his hand gripped tightly over her forearm. It’s all her feet can do to keep up lest she trip and ruin her gown further.

Tav’s mind races as she mulls over her conversation with Gale. As far as the wizard is concerned, Astarion has a right to know about her delicate condition. Fear strikes deep at the thought – she’d rather curl up and perish than face a reality where Astarion finds out.

Bleeding black lines of mascara brand her cheeks, makeup half removed after the events in the courtyard. Eyes linger over them as Astarion drags her through the ballroom, a few guests dipping their heads to chatter quietly to one another. Tav meets Marceline's questioning gaze for a moment, though their interaction is brief as Astarion catches on. He roughly jerks Tav’s arm forward, urging her to move faster.

“H-hey!” Tav shouts in protest, “I’m not an animal, Astarion! Easy!” She rips her arm from his hold, earning her an annoyed groan from Astarion. The delicate skin of her forearm tears on one of Astarion's nails and she winces. Blood blooms on the surface of the tiny wound and Tav is quick to put it to her mouth before the scent reaches Astarion's nose. “Where are you taking me, anyhow?” she asks, eyes fluttering as the blood reaches her tongue. Tav practically moans into her arm at the taste; it may be her own blood, but it still tastes exquisite.

“The office,” growls the vampire, void of much emotion.

Ah. The office. Where he fucked then nearly killed her a couple nights ago. Perhaps tonight will be when he finishes the job? Make her well and truly his? Her stomach churns at the idea.

“Why?” Tav inquires with a huff, still trying to match Astarion's immortal pace. “Why can't we just speak here?” The office is too secluded. Should Astarion try anything, she'd much prefer there to be witnesses.

The vampire lord stops without warning, Tav almost crashing into his back. He turns slowly; Tav instinctively takes a step back. Leaning toward her, Astarion says, “Do you need a play-by-play of every single thought running through my mind, dearest?” His face is wound tight with tension, muscles quivering over his jaw. Tav can see he's fighting the urge to bare his fangs at her. When Astarion realizes how unsettled she is, he softens his expression. “I’d like our conversation to be private.” He lifts his head then to survey the room. “Away from prying ears.”

Tav raises a brow in question. Following the vampire's line of sight, she catches Wyll's gaze upon them from across the ballroom. Concern is written plainly across the Duke's face. The thought of giving him a signal for help crosses her mind, but Tav only gives him a reassuring smile and a nod of her head. 

It’s Wyll that concerns Astarion. Perhaps he fears that the Duke will intervene, should they remain here? He wouldn't be wrong – if Wyll were to witness any cruelty by Astarion’s hand, he wouldn’t hesitate to step forward. Tav has no doubts regarding that. But as she turns her attention to Astarion again, she finds him scowling deeply at her. As if he'd been privy to her own private thoughts.

Despite Astarion's visage, a strange feeling of comfort consoles her. At least someone will know her last whereabouts should things go awry.

“I see,” Tav manages to say. “Let’s be on our way, then.” It's taking everything she has not to turn and run from Astarion. The urge is tearing into her gut as she resumes her trail behind him. Astarion says nothing. Tav wonders if she's just given the green light to resume her own personal death march. 

They cross the threshold into the foyer and Astarion stops again near the foot of the grand staircase. Lifting a hand, he rests it atop the newel post. The foyer is vacant save for the servants, rushing in and out of the ballroom, who are likely too preoccupied to notice their presence. Astarion turns again in Tav’s direction, furrowing his brow. Heat crawls up Tav’s neck as he studies her intently. 

“Do you fear me, now?” the vampire asks. His voice is soft–barely above a whisper. He almost sounds… concerned?

Her mind blanks. “I…” A chill shoots down the length of her spine. Glass clinks in the background. All Tav can do is blink absently in response. Can he hear her thoughts? 

Astarion tilts his head slightly to the left, eyes still glued to her form. 

Impossible, she thinks. There's no way he's in my head.

…Is he?

Astarion suddenly pulls back. “I'll take your silence as a, ‘yes,’” he infers with a quick chuckle. He turns back in the direction toward the office. “Wonderful,” he sneers. Tav sprints behind to catch up, shaking her head. 

Unsure as to exactly why, she finds herself mulling over Astarion’s question. Does she fear him? Why would he ever ask her something like that? Would the answer even matter? All good points to make, but the one thing that baffles her most is just how much she finds herself caring.

“You barely gave me enough time to give you an answer!” declares Tav. She looks down to her arm and brings the small cut to her mouth again. She needs something – anything – to help distract her from the rapid beating of her heart. From the edges now cut into the corners of her vision. Her body is preparing itself for a fight, to run. Pressure builds in her chest; the taste of blood on her tongue again is a soothing balm to her overexcited nerves.

“Well, you had to think about it!” the vampire exclaims. Astarion deftly grabs for the handles of the heavy office doors. Their latches disengage with a distinct click. “That's an answer in and of itself.”

Tav halts a few paces behind. She looks around the dimly lit foyer – they're still the only two occupants. “Must you jump to such catastrophic conclusions?” she asks, lowering her arm back to her side. As her attention returns to Astarion, she can't help but notice how the flickering light of the candelabras acts like shimmering waves over his platinum hair. Like the light of the moon over a restless sea.

“Are they catastrophic if they happen to be true?” questions Astarion, throwing the wooden doors open. He steps through the threshold and into the office. “Besides,” he says over his shoulder, “that's the most effective way to learn how to weather all the shit life throws at you.”

Tav scowls before following him inside. She closes the doors gently behind them. “Forever anticipating the end? Sounds horribly exhausting, to me.” She watches Astarion make his way to the small bar cart located to the left of his desk. On her own, Tav decides to follow.

“Such is life, darling,” he says wistfully, picking up a decanter filled with wine. Astarion pulls off the glass stopper and pours a generous amount into a glass, putting it to his lips near immediately.

“Your life, perhaps,” Tav chides. A craft of water stands next to the wine, and she pours some into a glass. She then dips a corner of a napkin into the glass, sweeping it under her eyes. “That's not reality for everyone else, Astarion.” Tav scowls as she inspects the black smeared into the napkin, performing the same act again until no mascara remains.

A roll of Astarion's eyes is all the answer she gets as he takes a long sip of wine. Tav then gracefully pulls the wine glass out of the vampire’s hand, firmly placing it on the bar cart. She looks at him as she lifts her head. “It doesn't have to be yours anymore, either,” says Tav, softly.

His eyes shift quickly between hers and the wine glass, his now vacant hand dropping unceremoniously to his side. “What are you doing?” Astarion asks, slightly annoyed.

“You drink more than you used to.” She speaks plain, neutral; careful not to impose bias of any sort.

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line. “Oh? And does that bother you, mother dearest?” There's venom laced in his words – a clear indication that Tav has touched upon a particularly sensitive nerve. Offending him was something she wished to avoid, but she soon recognizes this as the perfect opportunity to push forward.

“I'm not going to sit back and watch you turn into some miserable wino.”

Astarion scoffs. “Oh, my sweet, I appreciate the concern. But I'd have to drink an entire cellar for any of this to even touch me.” In sheer defiance, he picks up the glass, bringing it again to his lips. “What does it matter, anyhow?” he says with a feigned lit, “Perhaps it'll make me less terrifying!”

At this point, Tav knows he's trying to goad her into a reactionary response. To give him anything that gives him higher ground. Shows him she's just as bothered by all of this as he is. “If we're going to have any sort of serious conversation, I need you here, Astarion,” she responds, calmly. She refuses to fall into his trap. They will speak plainly about this, even if she has to demand it.

“Darling,” says Astarion, his lips turning into a smirk, “have you been touched by fever? I'm standing right in front of you.”

Stubborn. He's so godsdamned stubborn.

Anger cuts through her core like a hot knife; her patience wears thin. “Do you want me to leave? Or will you finally agree to cut the bullshit?”

“Fine, fine,” Astarion sneers in defiance, tipping his head back as he downs the remainder of his wine. He slams the empty glass down on the bar cart. “I'll behave.”

Tav draws in a breath and lets a moment pass between them. Silence. Only the sound of their breathing fills the office. Tav's eyes wander to Astarion's hands as he begins playing with the ring on his left hand. Her gaze shifts to the wooden desk in the middle of the room. The ring case that was present days ago is missing.

It hits her then, that the ring Astarion fidgets with is the very same she gave him – True Love's Caress – his half of the lovers’ rings she found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. A declaration of the vow she swore to protect him, always. 

Astarion knows the weight that ring holds just as well as she does. Her stomach drops to the floor. “Wyll.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, though she knows Astarion can still hear. “You had Wyll reveal the truth? Are you trying to push me into his arms?”

His eyes dart instantly to her, ears twitching. Astarion's face contorts. Tav thinks she hears the rumble of a growl rise from the back of his throat, but as quickly as his anger rises, it fades. The only audible noise to come from him is a simple laugh. The vampire then treks to the other side of the room, taking a seat upon the chaise lounge. The sun has fully set by now – nothing but black is beyond the large frosted window behind him.

“Have you ever confessed your sins to someone you care about?” Astarion speaks to the floor, as if too ashamed to look at her. “I couldn't bear to see the look of disappointment on your face. Of disgust.” He rolls the ring again around his finger, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. His ruby eyes gleam in the dim light of the office. “I'd already lost you once. Can you blame me for not wanting to risk it again?”

Frustrated, Tav yells, “You had a chance to be honest with me!” Despite the tension that now hangs heavy in the air, Astarion’s admission isn’t lost on her. Losing her is what he fears. What lies at the heart of his dishonesty, and he's all but admitted doing whatever it takes to prevent that. Is it the declaration of love she’s been hoping for? Not quite, but it’s evidence that the shell is cracking, allowing for a look within. And if she continues pressing him, perhaps she’ll uncover even more. “You had a chance to be honest, and yet you still chose yourself. Your image, above us!”

The vampire abruptly throws up his hands. He lets out a laugh of disbelief, elbows coming to rest on the tops of his knees as he leans forward. His head hangs in his hands. “What else am I to do, Tavaria?” Astarion asks, muffled by the position of his hands over his mouth. A rhetorical question born of frustration, by the sound of it.

“So, that’s it? This is what you are now?” She weighs the weight of her next statement carefully, ultimately deciding to continue. “A coward?”

To the Hells with it. If there’s a chance she will die tonight, she may as well go out on her terms.

Astarion stands. “I beg your pardon?” he says, stalking toward her. He's practically growling, now. Rage simmers hot beneath his cool countenance. 

Tavaria stares the vampire lord dead in the face. “You’re a coward, Astarion Ancunín,” she states. There's hardly any inflection to her voice; confidence saturates her tone. As he stops before her, she notices how much taller he is. How he seems to tower over her. Tav lifts her face and catches his jaw working, clenching tight. Astarion sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “It seems you have lost your manners,” he sneers.

Tav is quick to shoot back, “Have I? Or have I seen through you?” She knows him too well – how he adores playing with the truth.

Astarion’s fists clench rapidly at his sides. Yet, instead of erupting… he laughs. Quietly at first, gradually growing louder. Tav raises a brow, confused and also concerned by the scene unfolding before her, but stays silent.

“What am I doing?” Astarion ponders aloud. He lifts his hands to his face and rubs, digging his palms into his eyes. “The Gods must be having a field day seeing what I've been reduced to.”

“Reduced to what, exactly?” Tav asks with a slight tilt of her head. A handful of emotions wash over her – anger, confusion, fear, doubt. She isn’t sure which one she should listen to first. She isn’t sure if she should listen to any of them. “I'm not quite sure I appreciate your tone, Astarion.”

Astarion lifts his head near immediately, shouting, “A blabbering, lovesick fool!” He gestures wildly before her. “Look at me, Tavaria! I'm too godsdamned afraid to speak to you unless I have a few drinks in me!” He runs a slender hand through the silver locks atop his head, grabbing a fist full of curls as he pulls forward. “I'm a fucking mess!” the vampire admits with nervous laughter.

She stares blankly at him, an audible gasp falling from her lips. “Love..?” She reiterates, quietly. The word nearly saps all moisture from her mouth. She knows she heard him, but her brain is too shaken to properly receive the message. “You didn't tell me because you're lovesick?”

“Gods, Tavaria, again with this? We've already had this discussion!” Astarion yells back. “You can’t possibly be this obtuse.” 

Deflection again. One of his favorite tactics. 

The layers he's built around himself are quickly melting away. Astarion is grasping for control. Trying to push her out so as to not see his shame. His vulnerability. His heart. But Tav has already planted one foot within his walls, unwilling to give up the ground she's gained. She remains resilient.

“Is that what I’m to do, Astarion? Piece everything together and just assume how you feel? Like a dog that waits patiently for scraps at the dinner table?” She hardly recognizes her own voice. The ground feels unstable beneath her, as if it’ll crack and she’ll fall right through. She continues pushing forward in defiance. “This is the first inkling of a confession I’ve gotten from you in months–” Tav leans in toward Astarion, “–months! Do you realize that? Of course we're going to talk about this!”

The vampire growls, low and gruff within his chest. He places his hands over his hips and taps one foot against the ground. “What do you think all of this is, then?” Astarion then hums in question. “Do you think it's a game to me?”

“I don't know what you think it is,” Tav shoots back almost immediately. “I hardly even know who you are, at this point.”

“I really wish you would stop fucking saying that,” Astarion sneers. He places his hands over his hips, shifting his weight to one side.

“Should I take a page out of your book then, and lie to your face?” Tav realizes she's playing with fire the more she pushes, but she can't help herself. The smell of raw, open wounds fills her; she finally has him cornered. “Would you rather I fall to my knees and swear fealty to you, all while brandishing a dagger behind my back? Is that in more of a language you understand?”

Silence befalls the room. Astarion's gaze sits heavy on her, but Tav stands still. She watches as he shudders, turning away from her. Pain grips her chest.

For a brief moment, she questions if she's perhaps gone too far.

“I'm not going to harm you, Astarion,” Tav says, breaking the silence. She feels her heart sink further as Astarion drags a hand over his face. The vampire then pulls in a shaky breath. 

“You already have.” 

His words are an instant punch to the gut. Tav chokes.

“But so have I,” continues Astarion. “The first time I ever lay with you… It was under false pretenses.” The hand on his face raises to his hair, combing through. Astarion lifts his face with a half-empty smile. “We’ve been hurting one another, haven't we?”

That's it. The horrid realization of what their relationship boils down to. Tit for tat, bit by bit. Two steps forward and three back. Both too afraid to show their real faces. Pulling themselves back before they ever truly begin. The rare moments of a lull is where their love resides. When the masks finally slip off. The beautiful garden they ignore until it sets aflame. Drowning it in water, they have no choice but to hope for the best. Hoping they survive.

That is the reality of their love. That has been their love. Neither too eager to maintain it out of fear of being seen by the other. But when they do manage to put those feelings aside, their garden thrives.

“Do you love me?”

The question echoes within the depths of her mind, chilling her body to its core. She can hardly believe she asked it – and so boldly – but it doesn't make the inquiry any less honest. For once, she allows herself to speak from her heart.

“If you truly want to end this game between us, Astarion,” Tav states sternly, “then I ask you again: Do you love me?” He has no place to hide, this time. Nowhere to run, and she will use this to her full advantage. “Because if you don't, I will leave.” With growing confidence, she dares to stand before him. “Forever.”

And there it is–her ultimatum. Her declaration of being through with this charade. That she will take no more from him. And despite how her heart crumbles at the thought, Tav knows it would ultimately be for the best. She needs this from him, and she refuses to continue going with less than what she deserves.

Astarion's silver tongue moves along the inside of his cheek as he stares her down. A tongue so saturated in deceit, unhesitating to strike even her, should he demand it. His eyes narrow into thin slits and he draws a deep breath through his nose. “Do I desire you?” Astarion asks, tauntingly. He snickers as he leans forward, mouth hovering over hers. “Every corner of my mind is consumed by thoughts of you. Of us.” Astarion's eyes drop to her lips. “Thoughts of you in my arms. The smell of your hair filling my senses.” He lifts his gaze, eyes hooded. “The warmth of your body against mine.”

The air suddenly evaporates from her lungs, and Tav nearly chokes.

“Everything I do… I do it with us in mind. Because I love you,” he grounds out. “That's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it?”

A shiver passes over her. “Not if it isn't true,” Tav says, weakly. Her head is spinning. Is he really saying this? Is this another one of his tricks?

Astarion reaches for her face and Tav flinches, still not used to his body heat. “Well, that's really too bad, because it is. And it nearly drives me out of my mind how much I love you. How often I think of you.” Tears threaten the corners of his eyes. She hasn't seen him cry since the night he learned the true nature of the poem carved into his back.

Tav goes slack within his embrace and her eyes flit closed. An odd sense of calm washes over her the panic gripping her heart seems to fade, replaced by warmth and longing. Desire, she realizes. True, unbridled desire for him. Another feeling she's tried to stifle out of shame, out of fear of being unrequited. And as she opens her eyes, she meets the shimmering ruby red of Astarion's irises. A lone tear streaks down his porcelain skin.

Tav throws her arms over the vampire's shoulders, settling closer to him. Astarion's arms then drop to her waist. He pulls her close, burying his face within the crook of her neck. She pants gently against the side of his face as his lips connect with the tender flesh of her neck, weaving her fingers through his hair.

“I love you, too. So much that I hate this,” Tav admits breathlessly. She feels Astarion freeze under her, but he doesn't pull away. “I have craved this for so long, Astarion. To be like this with you.” Her heart thuds loudly within her chest, ready to punch through the confines of her ribcage. “And I hate that you've made me wait this long for it.”

The arms around her waist tighten, one moving up to splay across her back. “You've any idea how nervous I was when I sought you out again?” Astarion says, voice quivering. “I was so sure you'd tell me to leave and never come back.”

Tav sucks in a sharp breath. Truth be told, she wanted to. Had convinced herself that she should have, and has been looking through that perspective ever since. But a deep, deep part of her was still hopelessly bonded to Astarion. The man she knew he was – not the creature that had replaced him. And when he laid her down so gently the first night of his return, carrying her into the bath after, it was reassurance enough that the same man was still in there. That this was still worth fighting for.

Tav’s stomach clenches as Astarion's hand continues to travel up, settling on the back of her neck. Heat pools within her lower belly as she melts further into his form. “Astarion,” she moans, the vampire now nipping at the shell of her ear. There’s a pulling sensation below her navel and her hand flies instinctively to her stomach. Gale's words suddenly echo within her mind; she sighs. There is no better time to tell him than now.

“I wish to tell you something,” Tav says, breathless.

Astarion simply hums his reply, not bothering to lift his face. His fingers dance along the small hairs at the base of her neck before cradling her head.

Tav peels herself gently from him, a shiver running through her. “Astarion,” she calls again to him. He finally meets her eyes. Curiosity colors his expression, but he watches patiently as Tav removes his hand from the small of her back, placing it over her abdomen. “Feel,” she instructs. Her heart hammers in her chest.

Astarion lifts a brow, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “What exactly am I feeling for, love?” he laughs, “If you mean to tell me you're hungry, we can have–”

Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. Color drains from his face as he slowly turns his head, looking down at his hand. Astarion then kneels before her, placing his ear against her stomach. A near-silent gasp falls from the vampire’s lips. Tav grasps for his shoulders as the room around her spins. She feels faint, as if there isn't enough oxygen to breathe anywhere in Faerûn, let alone this room. That there is no corner of the world she can go to in order to escape this feeling.

Doubt creeps in. This was a mistake, she thinks. Selfish and impulsive. What was she thinking? How could she ever think this was a good idea? He wasn't supposed to find out, she should have never–

“Tavaria…” Astarion’s face settles into a scowl as he rises to his feet. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The world snaps back into focus. She suddenly realizes that she is alone with the most powerful vampire lord to have ever existed, who now thinks her greatest vulnerability is a crude trick. Her worst fear nearly confirmed. Tav’s stomach falls to the floor. The small hairs on her arms raise. Bile burns at the back of her throat.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, desperately.

“You get me to a point where I let you see my heart–” Astarion pauses, screwing his eyes shut, but continues, “I give you my back, only for you to do this?”

Anger. So much anger bleeds from him. Hurt, betrayal. Tav can hardly piece together all she's hearing. Her body begins shaking violently; adrenaline kicking in as she readies herself to flee, should need be. “I don't understand,” she manages to tell him. The truth, really. She hasn't a clue where he's going with this line of questioning.

The vampire scoffs, turning his head away from her. He shifts his weight to one side as his hands settle on his hips. “Do you really take me for that much of a fool?” accuses Astarion. “That I would accept you passing off someone else's child as ours?”

Her head spins as her mind quickly works through the events of the last three months. “There has only ever been you, Astarion,” Tav declares, fiercely. She should be the one asking him that same question. Is this how little he thinks of her? Even if she had a rotating parade of lovers each night in her bed, what business of his is that? They've made no promises to one another. No bond, no vows. Tav balls her hands into fists. How dare he insult her in such a way.

As if sensing her offense, Astarion sighs. “Forgive my skepticism, love, but I'm having a hard time believing this is true.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I feel like this would have happened already.” He snickers before adding, “We weren't exactly celibate, back then.”

The tension in her chest begins to unfurl. She realizes he has a point – not unlike the same conclusion she initially came to upon finding out. “I thought the same,” she admits. “I never thought twice about laying with you for that reason. I’m still not certain of how this happened, but I know this as truth, Astarion.”

Astarion shakes his head. “‘All the appetites of man will be returned to you,’” he recites, giving a short chuckle. “I guess that also extends to other things.” He raises his hands to hold hers, grimacing at how Tav flinches at the contact. “I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to paint you as ill-willed. I've done enough horrid things to you, including this. Had I known… I would have been more careful. I hope you don't believe I was planning this.”

Tav snickers. “You? Plan?” Despite her light tone, the urge to make him suffer tugs at her. She should be madder, demand more from him, make him feel even a sliver of the pain and anguish she's felt for weeks, now. Force him down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, to worship her, to vow never to betray her again. Her bones sing for it, blood clawing at the need for revenge. To make right all he's wronged against her.

But he's not that different from her, is he? Lost in his own darkness. A slave, no longer by physical means, but now to his own selfish desires. The new body he inhabits, the quickened mind; every thought and feeling amplified. It doesn't excuse his cruelty, but it gives strong reason. And she can tell he's beginning to understand the line between the two. He's trying rather than excusing his actions. That surely implies insight, does it not?

Tav decides that this will suffice, swallowing her own darkness back down. She will help bear the torch to aid him on his journey toward understanding. A way to pay him back for his patience during their quest against the Absolute. She'd nearly killed him, more than once, yet still he returned to her tent night after night to hold her through every breakdown. Every rotten urge that dared to swallow her whole. He gave her the unwavering support she needed, even if it wasn't what she deserved. And he never so much as asked for anything aside from her love in return.

The raw vulnerability Astarion is finally presenting to her… This is all she's wanted from the beginning. 

Him.

The side of him that was and is hers. The man she fell in love with. And as if coming to a clearing in the middle of a lush meadow, he finally, finally, stands before her. Tav can't help but smile.

“I’ve been known to have some good ideas,” Astarion says in jest, returning her smile. A few moments pass before he gathers her hands within his, bringing each to his mouth. “So… what comes now?” He kisses over her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss between her brows. Tav gives him a puzzled look, and he quickly clarifies, “Vampiric children are rare, but I would completely understand if this isn't what you want.”

Choice. He's giving her choice.

Tav’s eyes widen with surprise. “Oh, no, I'm…” Her voice trails off as her gaze falls to the side. She can feel the faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I'm almost beyond that point, now. I think.” Numbers fly through her mind. Just how long has it been, she wonders? Perhaps another visit to Jaheira wouldn't hurt.

“So you're keeping it?” Astarion asks, raising a brow.

Tav is quick to nod. “Y-yes,” she stammers, “I don't expect anything from you.” She dares herself to meet his gaze. “Unless you want to.” Her heart is lodged in her throat as she waits for his reply. It’s only fair that she gives him, too, the chance to choose.

Astarion's eyes wander over her face. He's still holding her hands, but he moves now to intertwine their fingers. “Do you?”

A searing pain shoots through her chest. He's deflecting? Why? “That's not what I asked you, Astarion.” Tav’s voice trembles as she blinks at him. She feels herself fading. Splitting from herself. She begins to shake again, fear bubbling over. 

It was stupid to think he'd want this. He hates children; do you not remember his first reaction to Yenna? The disgust? Why would your child be any different? This is a mistake, this is wrong, you ignorant little–

“I want to,” Astarion declares, wrapping his arms around her waist. He speaks against her ear, “So, tell me, darling: Do you?”

She returns to herself at the first sound of his reply, and Tav nods her head wildly in agreement. Her throat tightens suddenly, heat curling up her face. The familiar sting of tears prickle the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she states emphatically, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses the side of his face. “Yes, Astarion!”

“Then it’s settled,” says the vampire lord. He pulls his head back from her to observe her face, a smile tugging on his mouth. “We… are expecting.”

She's overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions that wash over her. Happiness, frustration, relief. Happy and relieved by this outcome, but also frustrated that it’s taken so long to get here. It’s easy for her to identify those feelings, but there's another whose identity is foreign to her. It nags at her subconscious, itching to be let out of its cage. It lashes wildly against her mental restraints.

Their eyes meet. Tavaria’s gaze shifts momentarily to his lips and then back again. Astarion does the same. He lingers over her mouth a bit too long before lazily dragging his eyes back up her face. Heat dances under her skin. The room suddenly feels too warm. Scorching.

“Love,” Astarion whispers quietly against her lips. He drops his forehead against hers, hands settling on the curve of her hips. They lightly fist the fabric of her emerald gown.

Her head spins as her senses are flooded. The thick smell of food trailing down the hall and the faintest hint of pipe smoke that clings to his clothes, mixing with his cologne. The delightful pressure of Astarion’s hands on her body. The warmth radiating off his body, so close to hers.

Safe.

She feels safe within his embrace.

A rhythmic pulsing starts at the apex of her thighs, desire pooling low in her belly. Astarion's chest rises and falls in shorter intervals. The scent of his cologne sits heavy within her nose, a smell so entirely him, and her eyes fall closed, instinctively rolling back into her head. The flames of arousal lick pleasantly over her core.

“Tavaria…”

And as quickly as her name drops from his lips, she ignites.

She rushes forward, capturing Astarion’s lips in a searing kiss. He groans in surprise against her mouth, a hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. Tav’s jaw goes slack and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She winds her hands through his hair, grabbing desperately at fistfuls of silver as Astarion nips at her lower lip. Pulling her closer, Tav hisses as she feels the outline of him stirring to life against her center. She sneaks a hand down between them to cup him through his clothes.

Astarion groans, pulling her head roughly to the side before delving into the nape of her neck. He traces the faint scars along her skin with his tongue before closing his mouth over them, sucking hard. “Mine,” he hisses against her neck, the hand still on her hip tightening.

She wants to reply, to tell him yes, she’s his, has always been his, but all she manages is a wanton moan as he sucks feverishly at her neck again. Tav scrambles for the zipper on the back of her dress, desperate for the touch of his hands along her heated flesh.

“No,” Astarion grumbles, holding her hands steady.

“Astarion, please,” Tav begs.

“Not here.”

The sting of rejection ghosts along her heart. Tav pulls back from him as she gives him a questioning glance, panting heavily. The room around them comes back into focus, the fire of her arousal being doused.

As if sensing her hurt, Astarion says, “Upstairs. I would like to do this properly.” A blush sits across the vampire’s face, his eyes glazed over with lust. His chest heaves. He means not to reject her; he wants to take her to bed.

Her heart swells once again. “Take me,” Tav coos, resting her head against his. Her eyes fall closed as she kisses him. Every fiber of her being sings to him. Calls to him, wants him to devour her. She craves the feel of strong hands along her sore breasts, like a soothing balm. Those hands then diving down to explore the ripening expanse of her stomach. Further still, until those fingers delve deep, deep within her. Tav aches for him, she realizes. Stronger than ever before. “Please,” she begs, near silently. The fire within her burns near out of control. If he doesn’t act soon, she will be lost. 

Astarion pulls away again, groaning at the loss of contact. Tav can hardly keep herself from looking between his legs. His cock strains heavily against the confines of his trousers and she bites her lower lip in anticipation. Astarion laughs as he catches her gaze, but he grabs her hand and leads them both toward the exit. “Come then, my love,” he coos as he throws open the door, leading them both out into the foyer.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 9

A/N: *YELLS "GOOD LUCK, BABE!" FROM THE ROOFTOPS*

WE MADE IT TO THE GALA, HOLY SHIT

Thank you to every single person that has liked, commented, sent anons, or showed any kind of support in any form for this silly little story. These last two months have been some of the shittiest of my life and I'm so happy be here with ya'll. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 9.9k (I love you guys SO MUCH I'M SORRY) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, pregnancy, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD themes, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship, death mention, depictions of murder and gore

Summary: It's the night of Wyll's charity event. Will Tav receive the answers she seeks from the Duke, or will more present themselves?

♥ Next Chapter ♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They descend the master staircase, Tav drawing in a shallow breath as she hits the final step. As they turn the corner, arm in arm, she realizes how unsettled she is. Astarion was so close to saying it. Admitting to what they both know to be true, only to tear himself away at the last moment.

Her throat feels tight as she tries to swallow. Should he have said it, there's no doubt in her mind as to how the night would end up. Possessed by the urge to say it back, over and over, spending half the evening wrapped in each other's arms, making up for lost time. She'd guide his hands to her stomach, foreheads pressed together, and speak softly against his lips of what lay within. Of what will be, soon enough.

None of that will happen, now.

The thick aroma of the hors d’oeuvres being served wafts through the air, pulling Tav from her thoughts. The subtle sweetness of wine is complementary, surely free-flowing like waterfalls into the mouths and bellies of those gathered within the grand hall. She can hear muffled chatter from within the ballroom, along with the occasional clinking of glasses. Drawing in a breath, Tav dares herself to stare ahead.

Astarion turns to her, and she catches him from the corner of her eye. But as Tav raises her head to meet him, he quickly adverts his gaze. He’s silent for some time beside her, save for a conveniently timed clearing of his throat. Finally, he asks, “Are you ready, my dear?” Although he continues facing forward, Tav catches stolen glances from his periphery. 

She's still so very raw from their earlier bout, and the booming depth of Astarion's voice causes a shiver to run down her spine. Despite its seriousness, Tav can hear the concern laced within his tone. Her body jerks involuntarily as her nerves alight. “Yes,” Tav replies, forcing a smile to materialize on her face. She now dares herself to look upon him.

Astarion simply grunts in acknowledgement, refusing to meet her. He can't even look at me, now? she ponders to herself. A pit forms in her stomach, alongside a sharp cramp that leaves her wincing. She rests her free hand over her lower abdomen, closing her eyes as she draws another breath through her nose. Pursing her lips together, Tav breathes out. The tension pitted high within her chest unravels as the breath leaves her lungs.

But when she looks at Astarion again, she's awash with emotion once more. His jaw is taught with tension, threatening to snap. There’s a sheen over the reds of his irises, highlighted by the dull light of the candelabras lining the hallway. Tav knows this look. And as much as she'd like to blame the drink that lay heavy on his breath, she knows that isn't the only cause. 

He looks far away. 

Astarion only wears a distant expression when he's desperate to remove himself from the current. When his mind is elsewhere, shielding him. Protecting him until it’s safe to come back out. As if a switch has been flipped – the mask of the entertainer, the people pleaser, is falling into place. The actor is almost stage ready. To give the people what they came here to see.

The dissociation is taking root.

He's uncomfortable. Tav’s entire body shakes from the realization. What's worse is that he's forcing himself to do this. Putting himself on display for everyone, strutting around like some proud peacock for all to fawn over. Astarion once told her that a handsomely crafted face can open any number of doors. She wonders how many times he’s been forced into opening those doors. What prizes lay behind them.

Tav shutters again at the thought of all he's been made to endure. A deep ache settles within her chest, her gaze falling to the floor in front of her.

It's obvious now that Astarion was hoping for a better outcome to their earlier discussion. Perhaps a kiss or two, maybe even something more. Anything to help soothe the ache within him, knowing he was sending himself out to perform. Instead, he got the complete opposite – Tav backing him into a corner, pushing him to admit something he clearly isn't ready to share. 

Doubt begins to rear its ugly head within Tav’s heart.

Maybe she should have gone easier on him. His history is complicated. Of that, she knows. There are things Astarion doesn't understand due to two centuries of indentured servitude, like emotion, and how to coexist alongside another. Perhaps she should have been more patient with him. Perhaps she shouldn't be so demanding of him. He’s trying, afterall. Isn’t he?

Her heart skips heavy in her chest – a defiant thud, then a pause before resuming its normal rhythm. Pressure mounts once more and she suddenly finds herself choking back tears as her vision clouds.

No, Tav reassures herself, screwing her eyes shut. 

Astarion isn’t an innocent child needing protection behind her skirts. He’s taken lives – many, to be frank. He, himself, has died. He understands the delicate balance between the life before and thereafter, better than any mortal being could ever dream to. When Tav reopens her eyes, she lifts her head and looks straight in the direction of the ballroom. All sound drowns out from her ears. She clenches her jaw.

I deserve more. He should be more.

It's been a process, learning to give herself the grace to truly feel. Tavaria has taken the lives of so many people without second thought. Faces that are no more than blurs behind her mind’s eye, barely able to decipher one from the other. All she recalls is the incessant chanting within her mind. Scleteras’s shrill voice echoing, encouraging her to kill, kill, kill. The voices only grew louder when she found the others. Daydreams of what pretty corpses they'd make.

Especially Astarion. 

She'd gotten close, one night. Did her best to warn him before the urge took her completely. All Tav remembers is writhing against her restraints as Astarion looked on. Concern clouded his visage, mixed with the smallest drop of fear. Visions danced behind her eyes, of how beautiful his flesh would look laid out within the palm of her hand as she fileted it clean off his bones. How delicious his blood would taste on her tongue. Would it run hot, she wondered? Smell of rot and decay? She'd bathe herself with his entrails, feeling impossibly close to him, but not before successfully copulating with him. A high offering to her Father, securing the next generation of cursed Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal must be furious, looking upon her now.

But that was all months ago, and she rejected her birthright. Refused to be her Father’s vessel of chaos and murder. The day she turned her back on him is the day Tavaria chose life. And to her surprise, the chanting stopped. The urge stopped. She could breathe for the first time in what was likely years.

Since then, Tav has tried her best to walk the path of redemption. She can never bring back those who have fallen victim to her sins. The young tielfing bard’s face haunts her daily, smashed beyond recognition. But she's vowed to do better with however much life she has left. To be kinder. Show the compassion she was never given to others.

She’s chosen to be a good person. That should be reason enough as to why she deserves to hear him say it. To hear from his own mouth that he loves her and not have it be a figment of her imagination. 

And it's perfectly fine that she does. There's no reason to feel guilt for wanting what you deserve.

At this very moment, Tav stands next to a man that feels more like a stranger to her than ever before, all while their child grows within her. A man who wears the same face of the one she loves, yet acts so foreign to her.

She deserves to be loved in a way that is befitting of her, and she will not settle for anything less than what she deserves.

Without so much as another word, Astarion steps forward. Tav follows almost seamlessly, their arms still interlocked. They cross the threshold into the ballroom and are immediately greeted by copious pairs of prying eyes, all focused on them. Music swells from the band as they travel to the middle of the room, neither of them missing a step. 

As Tav looks out into the crowd, she recognizes a few faces from her short tenure in the City Watch – noblemen and ladies all dressed in their evening best. Their silk dresses and velvet frock coats are dyed in various elaborate colors and patterns. Jewelry adorned with precious gems hangs plentiful from their ears and necks. She nods and smiles as she passes, catching more than a few people ducking their heads after making brief eye contact. Their lips move in silent chatter to one another, but Tav can imagine their conversations: one of Baldur Gate's most eligible bachelors arriving arm-in-arm with the city's hero. The same hero who left him at the moment of their triumph.

How terribly poetic.

The band suddenly cuts out as they reach the middle of the room. Astarion retrieves his arm from around hers rather swiftly, and Tav steps back. The vampire takes a quick breath, wiping his head up. Applause rings out as he then turns to address the crowd. Astarion bows repeatedly, each time in a new direction, the reception growing louder. Tav again surveys all in attendance and decides to clap in tandem, all the while retaining her best face. 

The vampire lord then raises a hand – a gesture to signal the quieting of the crowd – and the applause slowly dies off. A smile is etched across his face, but it isn't his usual smile. Not the one he reserves for her. Tav shivers.

“Thank you all for such a warm introduction!” Astarion exclaims, boisterously. His open-mouthed smile stretches now across his face from ear to ear, the tips of his fangs gleaming in the light. 

Do they know of his true nature? Tav wonders as his teeth catch her eye. It's a question that hasn't dawned on her before this moment. He’s not necessarily trying to hide it. Many in the city knew of Cazador, but only as an aristocrat, bred from a long line of wealth. If they do know the truth about Astarion, it doesn't seem to bother anyone much. 

Tavaria again looks out among the crowd, studying them intently. Many of the ladies have fans covering their faces, though the ones who do not, Tav easily catches the barest glint of a blush sitting upon their cheeks as they watch Astarion swish about the floor. A single thread of what must be jealousy pulls tightly within her. It fades as quickly as it comes, dissolving into vapor as she releases the breath she’s holding.

Signs of Astarion's vampirism are so obvious to her, now that she's looking at him. Pointed fangs just peeking over his bottom lip as he smiles, ruby red eyes that glimmer in the light of the chandeliers, Cazador's bite scarred into the column of his throat. His complexion used to be ghastly, like that of one raised from the dead. But since the ritual, he's as pink as any mortal being. He blushes, even. 

And, gods, is he handsome. More so than any other man in existence. The sharp lines of his face, the subtle bump along the bridge of his nose. Tavaria understands all too well why the women, and even some of the men in attendance, look upon Astarion with such hungered stares.

Astarion clasps his hands together. He turns again to the crowd and says, “I'm sure we all know why we're here tonight, yes?” He gives them a moment to murmur an audible response before continuing, “And, no, unfortunately it's not just for my handsome face.” The room erupts into laughter. The vampire then raises a sharp brow, mouth curling into a sly smirk.

A horrid realization comes over Tav: These people could easily be sacrificial lambs, ripe for Astarion's picking. And he knows it. Worse yet, loves it. Loves having fools wrapped around his finger.

This is Vampire Lord Astarion, the entertainer. The socialite. The deceitful. Pulling from his past life as an at-will aristocrat; as many times as his master made him perform. It's such a well-practiced act that Tav can hardly tell when her Astarion ceased and this version took over. The transition occurred seamlessly right before her eyes. And if she didn’t know him better, she’d be thoroughly convinced that this is what he truly consists of. Tav watches in awe as Astarion flits across the floor, continuing to address all before him. Not a drop of worry remains present on his face, his countenance bright and inviting. 

It makes her gravely uneasy.

He lets the room swell for a moment, continuing his speech once it dies back again. “My dearest Lords and Ladies,” Astarion’s tone sends another shock wave down Tav’s spine. He speaks with the same sweetened vitriol as when they first met. Bile builds near the back of her throat, her mouth turning bitter.

“We come together tonight to celebrate one man who surely gets the job done,” the vampire continues. Astarion looks out into the crowd, lifting a hand to wave one finger. Tav follows his eyes. “One man, who puts honor and duty before all else.” Suddenly, he halts, having found his intended target, and he extends his hand. And as Tav traces his arm, she finds the man in question on the other end.

“Esteemed guests,” Astarion boasts, “it is with great honor that I introduce our man of the hour.” Astarion hesitates for a moment, the room eerily silent. He glances toward Tav; her breath hitches. She can see the contempt within his eyes, but he continues, loud and prideful. “Wyllyam Ravengard, your Grand Duke!”

Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd. Wyll, surrounded by the other members of the Watch, tilts his head politely in acknowledgement, giving several small bows. Servants then descend upon the guests, holding silver trays lined with glasses of sparkling liquid.

“And as such,” Astarion says, choosing a glass off the tray a servant presents to him, “may I propose a toast to our young Duke, who does oh so very much for his belovéd city.” 

Tav retrieves a glass from a servant, giving the contents a quick whiff. Champagne, and a damned good one, too. Astarion then holds out his glass, those in attendance following suit. Silence befalls the ballroom – the only audible sound being the fizzling of champagne. All eyes are on Wyll, who stands with his own glass, ready to receive his due.

“To Wyll,” begins Astarion, “for I could have not asked for a better traveling companion during our plight against the Absolute.” His eyes are thin slits as he speaks, expression forcibly strained.

He's lying. And so brazenly.

Astarion despised Wyll during their journey. Teased him about being the golden boy, only agreeing to be a dog for Mizora due to a subconscious desire to bed the she-devil. Some, if not all in part, influenced by Tav and Wyll’s short-lived romance. Astarion’s quips escalated in intensity not soon after, and remained sour right up until the end of their adventure together.

It's unsettling to her just how easily Astarion can slip into the mask of a perfect gentleman. Play any hand to his advantage, win over even the most suspicious of individuals. Is that what he's been doing to her this entire time, she wonders? Playing a game? Is there even still a line between what's real and what's for show?

Who is this man that wears the liar’s grin so unashamedly? He wears her lover's face, but this is not him.

Unless… their dynamic has changed? 

Tav finds that difficult to believe, but perhaps they've come to an understanding. Perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to judge their relationship. The men are partners now, after all. That demands some level of mutual respect.

…Right?

Raising the glass to his lips, Astarion drinks his champagne. The other occupants of the ballroom soon follow suit, as if following orders from a leader. Placing the glass to her lips, Tav tips it back just enough to make contact with her mouth before bringing it back down. She quickly scans the room – hardly anyone is looking at her. Likely no one has realized she didn't truly drink, and she sighs in relief.

Wyll then steps forward, glass still half full. He wears a white satin full suit with golden trim. His long locs are pulled back behind his shoulder in a low ponytail. A rapier sits upon his hip, swishing gently as he steps forward. “My sincerest gratitude, Lord Ancunín,” he says, taking his place by Astarion's side. The ballroom is silent again as the men stand eye-to-eye. Only the occasional sound of someone clearing their throat travels through the air. 

“Truth be told, I had my doubts about Astarion when we first met.” Wyll then turns toward the crowd before continuing, “but now, through his gracious donations towards the restoration of the Lower City, I can tell his heart lies in the exact same place mine does.” He begins nodding his head, as if agreeing with himself. “The abundance of love he has for this city and her people rivals my own.”

The patrons begin clapping and Tav furrows her brow. Idiots, she sneers to herself. Astarion would sooner watch this city burn than save it, especially if it meant protecting himself. How can Wyll not see that? How can they not see it?

“And so I also propose a toast,” Wyll exclaims, holding his drink up in the air. “To Lord Astarion Ancunín, the rogue-turned-hero. An undeniable asset to this city, and someone I am grateful to call a true ‘friend.’” His face is tightly guarded, wearing a well-practiced expression. Diplomatic in nature.

The room tips their glasses once more to their lips, and Tav does the same. Again she only allows the liquid to grace her lips for a moment before bringing it back down. Her stomach lurches as she watches the two men then embrace one another. 

The discontent on Astarion's face is clear to her: He wishes for nothing to do with Wyll and this entire affair. And then Wyll – precious, gracious Wyll who makes the best out of every situation – smiles brightly, genuinely welcoming of the vampire's embrace. If Wyll has any reservations surrounding their current situation, they're well hidden.

The men separate, eyes locked to one another, and Astarion raises a hand to Wyll’s shoulder. He gives it a pat, and then the two men turn toward the crowd. Applause rings out again and Astarion speaks, “I say it's about time we start this thing!”

Wyll nods, taking a quick sip from his glass. “Agreed, friend.” Their voices are loud and echo throughout the room. “Everyone!” Wyll states, “Please, enjoy the festivities! This is a night for all! Thank you!”

Astarion's hand then slips from Wyll's shoulder and he departs, but not before managing to squeeze out another smile. The band resumes playing, chatter resuming within the ballroom. Tav loses sight of the silver-haired vampire as he blends within the crowd. She bites at the inside of her cheek – Astarion is unhappy. But she can't worry entirely about him, at the moment.

Her eyes find Wyll as he crosses the room, back to the small gathering of people he was initially with: Marceline, a half-elven paladin of Lathander; Oliver, a human fighter like herself; and Lester, a high-elf who is a cross between a fighter and a mage. Together, they make up Wyll’s personal division of the City Watch.

Admittedly, Tav had found Lester’s skill quite peculiar. ‘I'm somewhat of a battle mage,’ she recalls him saying. Tav had initially laughed at the insinuation, though she soon found it to be true. One afternoon, Lester used his magic to hold his enemies in place, and then proceeded to bring his mace down hard over them. Needless to say, Tav found a new respect for the man, after that.

Tav places her still-full glass of champagne on a tray held by a servant, then smooths out her dress. Astarion had suggested speaking to Wyll, should she wish to know more about their arrangement. And as she makes her approach toward Wyll, Marceline is the first to notice.

“Tavaria!” the half-elf exclaims. She bolts over to Tav, raven hair lifting off her shoulders from the momentum. Marceline hugs her, warm and tight, nuzzling her face against her hair. Tav returns the hug, raising her arms to encircle the woman. As Marceline steps back, she says, “Gods, we were all so worried about you!”

Tav raises a brow, allowing Marceline to take her by the hand and lead her back toward the group. “What ever do you mean, Marceline?” she asks, curiously.

Marceline stops, as does Tav. As she looks at her, Tav can see the slight pull in her bottom lip. “...You didn't show up for work yesterday, Tavaria.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide with surprise. “I… I what?”

“We were going to send a patrol to your flat,” Marceline explains, resuming her initial course, “but Wyll refused to grant it.”

Tav feels herself being brought closer to Wyll; watches as his eyes land on her. Though, her mind is a million realms away. Has she really been so preoccupied that she forgot her duty?

…Has she forgotten herself?

“Ah, there she is!” Wyll states jovially, a smile stretched across his face. His demeanor is warm and welcoming. It hints nothing of him being cross with Tavaria, despite her most recent transgression.

“Your Grace,” Tavaria says with a bow. “I am so–”

“Oh, Tavaria, please,” Wyll interjects, huffing out a laugh. “We know one another far too well for formalities. Please, speak to me as you would a friend.” He brings the champagne glass to his lips. “That is what we are, yes?”

A calm falls over Tav. One would think she'd grown used to it by now, but Wyll's patience and understanding always surprises her. “Of course, Wyll,” she agrees, giving him a smile of her own. “But I am still so very sorry for abandoning my post yesterday.” She shakes her head. “I fear that I don't know what's come over me, as of late.” Not necessarily a lie.

“You ’n this fancy lord fella have history, don't ya?” asks Oliver, outwardly. He's a stoutly man, bald and fills out his dark blue suit with hardly an inch of give. His words are slurred, his cheeks red and flushed. The tone he uses is somewhat accusatory, though Tav knows him well enough to be certain he means no harm.

Despite herself, Tav cocks a questioning brow in his direction. “We do… but how do you know about that?”

“Aye, Tav,” Oliver answers with a haughty laugh, “there are sonnets written ‘bout the two of ya.” He points his glass in her direction. “Down in the brothels, the bards sing of a young woman fallin’ in love wit’ an evil prince.” Oliver nods his head. “Pre’ty sure that’s you ‘n lover boy, no?”

A scowl settles on Tav’s face. She can feel the anger rising within her. It's on the tip of her tongue to inform the man that Wyll was once the closest thing to an actual devil, though she manages to hold off. No reason to throw him under the table. “Oliver, they've sung for ages about that,” Tav bites back. “I doubt it's just Lord Ancunín and myself they refer to.” 

Lester then snickers quietly, turning away as he brings a hand to his mouth. The blond is a man of few words, a stark contrast to Gale and other mages she's met. Yet when he does speak, his words carry heavy meaning. He and Tav share a sly grin. It's obvious to both that Oliver is full of drink and hardly worth the argument currently mounting.

“It's more than fine, Tav” says Wyll, finding an opportunity to break the tension. “I figured you needed a day off. You haven’t been yourself, as of late.” Wyll takes another sip from his glass. “But what I didn't expect,” he says, lowering his glass as he tips his face up toward Tav, “was to find you here.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Gooseflesh breaks out over her arms, quickly glazing around the room. This isn't a conversation she wants to have out in the open, especially with Astarion lurking about. Tav dips her head and asks quietly, “Wyll, may we speak privately?”

The group exchanges glances, their expressions flat. They then nod to one another, and soon Marceline, Oliver, and Lester depart toward the refreshment table at the far side of the room, each giving Tav an uptick of their head as they walk past.

“Why are you here, Tavaria?” Wyll asks sternly once the others are out of earshot. He turns his whole body toward her. “I can only assume this means you're both–”

“It's complicated,” Tav answers, quickly. Wyll’s face then falls, an exasperated sigh escaping him. She feels her stomach nearly drop through the floor. She should have expected slack from Wyll about this. Or, really… from anyone.

“I see,” he remarks, placing a hand on his hip. Wyll chokes back the rest of his champagne just as a servant passes by, and he places the glass upon their silver tray. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks Tav, nodding politely to the servant as they depart. “Should I remind you of what he's done?”

Tav meets the questioning gaze of the servant looking back, and they quickly duck their head. Astarion has eyes and ears throughout the entire manor – not a detail she's forgotten. Though, she screws her eyes shut and draws a deep breath in. 

Wyll speaks of the ascension. 

The moment Astarion, the rogue, fell and Astarion, the vampire lord, took his place. Tav still hears them, even now – the shrieking of over 7000 souls perishing from this realm, banished to the depths of the Hells.

She remembers the fire behind Astarion's ruby red eyes as he rose, as if born anew. The manic laughter that tumbled forward from his chest as he confronted Ulma, slitting her throat. The pulsing artery of her carotid bathing him in blood, flowing freely into his mouth. 

She remembers the moan he let out as the woman's blood hit his tongue. The gurgling noises arising from her throat as she grew limp, falling into his arms. His body rocking in time with her twitching form as he finally sealed his lips over the wound, drawing more and more blood into his mouth.

And within moments, it was over. Ulma grew still, and Astarion dropped her to the floor in an unceremonious heap, completely lifeless. Astarion stood still for what felt like ages. The Gur who arrived with her soon fled when Astarion finally lifted his head, vowing to return with stronger numbers. And all the vampire lord did was laugh.

In the immediate aftermath, Tavaria and the others were horrified. The chance of Astarion turning on them next ran through each of their minds. Wyll vowed to stake him through the heart should he draw closer; Gale promised to cast spells to hold Astarion in place. Tav had never feared Astarion up until that point. Even with his fangs seated deep within her neck, she still trusted him to take just enough. Though, as he turned to face her, blood smeared across his face, dripping down his chin… A chill ran through her heart.

His smile is what did it. Wide, almost goofy. It was as if he expected her to be as proud as he was. Finally, after two centuries of horror, he was now the cat who got the clotted cream. And, by the gods, did it feel good.

“I remember well enough what he's done,” Tav remarks solemnly, opening her eyes. She shifts her gaze away from Wyll. “And all he continues to do.”

Wyll cocks his head upward, narrowing his eyes. “So you know?” he probes, cautiously.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tav confirms, moving her head in agreement. “In fact, that's the entire reason I stand before you now. Astarion suggested I speak with you about what happened.”

Wyll is stoic for a moment, unwavering. Tav questions for a moment if she somehow misread the situation, but Wyll bursts into a sudden fit of laughter, placing a hand on his chest. The duke then shakes his head. “At least he's still a character,” he says, continuing to laugh. His arms fall back down to his hips. “But petty, no less. The man doesn't even have the common decency to wear a suit.” He then gestures toward Tav, hand waving up and down. “Though, he made sure you look the part.”

Heat floods her face. “H-how do you know I didn't choose this myself?” Tav argues. How embarrassing, she thinks, for it be so obvious that Astarion clothed her. Like his personal doll.

Though, much to her relief, Wyll only chuckles. “Tavaria, you are capable of many things,” the Duke says, reassuringly. “But this?” He waves his hand up and down her form again. “I don't think you'd ever choose this for yourself.” And just as Tav's heart begins to sink, Wyll adds, “It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Wyllyam!” she scolds through gritted teeth. Tav then scans the room, silently praying no one is eavesdropping on their conversation. “Mind yourself, please!” She can feel how brightly her cheeks now burn, and before she turns back to Wyll, Tav catches Astarion's scowling at them from across the ballroom. “I-I’m your subordinate, Wyll,” Tav states within a hushed tone. A cold chill passes over her, and she finally meets the Duke's gaze once more.

Curse Astarion's attuned hearing. He's likely heard everything they've said.

“Of course, of course,” Wyll agrees. “My apologies; I may be a bit deeper in the drink than I realize.” He shakes his head. “Right. You're here to talk about my agreement with my lovely friend, Astarion.”

A jolt of pain shoots through her chest as she feels her cheeks flush. Their performance earlier was exactly that – an act. There's still no love lost between the two men. However, it sounds even more strained, now.

Tav gives Wyll a sullen glance. “I'm sorry, Wyll. When I found those men laying in the crypts below, I demanded answers from him.” She clasps her hands over her stomach, looking down. “But he refused to tell me everything.”

“Of course he did,” Wyll is quick to remark. He shifts his weight onto one hip. “Because your opinion of him is the only one he cares for, just as it's always been. Wouldn't want to sully that, now, would he?”

Tav raises her head to meet Wyll. How much of what Astarion told her is the truth? Perhaps she knows nothing at all. Would that be so out of the realm of possibility? “Wyll, what happened that night?” she asks, plainly. “Why was Astarion even with those men?”

Wyll sighs, casting his gaze to the floor before looking back up. He clicks his tongue, placing his arms over his chest. “When I became Grand Duke, I knew one of the first things I had to do was keep an eye on Astarion.” He wags a finger in the air. “The Szarr family has been around for centuries, and is considered one of the wealthiest in all of Baldur's Gate. For Astarion, in all of his unpredictability, to inherit such an estate, alongside boundless physical powers…” Wyll seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues, “...It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Tav nods in silent agreement. She knows he isn't wrong to assume as such. Only minutes after ascending did he test the boundaries of these new abilities, much to everyone else's horror. Mere hours after the ritual is when he demanded her mortal life be given to him. Wyll was absolutely correct to not trust Astarion. A fact that's difficult to argue against.

“So,” Wyll explains further, “I invited him to Wyrm’s Crossing one afternoon and proposed an agreement: Astarion aid me in cleaning up Cazador's morally questionable affairs, and I give Astarion his privacy. No meddling in his records, nor his personal business. And he agreed.” Wyll then smiles. “But only after I made good on my promise to position patrols outside of the palace, ready to move in should I give the word.”

Tav’s eyes widen in shock. “You would have laid siege upon him?” she asks, voice quivering.

“Without question,” Wyll answers, sternly. “Tav, I know of your history with him. I can only imagine how complicated it is now.” He leans in closer to Tav, nearly face to face. “But heed my words – the man is a devil masquerading as a man.” There's a sharp bite to his words that sends a shockwave shooting down her spine. Wyll shakes his head again. “He is not the Astarion we knew. Not even close.”

“...How can you be so sure?” Tav’s lips pull into a quirk. Astarion can't be all that horrid… Could he? Surely, she would know by now.

Wyll draws a deep breath in, releasing it with forced effort. “Cazador's depravity ran deeper than I thought. I knew the man would be involved in terrible business, but never did I think it would include the trafficking of humanoid creatures.” The Duke swallows, taking a moment of respite before adding, “I used this as leverage to broker a deal with Astarion. He'd continue business as usual, gathering sensitive information to help me build a case. And I stay out of his other affairs.”

“You used him?!” Tav exclaims, worriedly. “And with slavers, no less? Wyll, that's low! Even for you.”

“Is it crueler than Astarion forcibly taking half the city as his spawn?” responds Wyll, coldly. “I needed an in, Tav. Surely you can understand why.”

Just then, the leader of the band speaks, welcoming all to gather for their next song. Tav meets Wyll’s eyes, and he gestures toward the dance floor, holding out his hand for her. Reluctantly, Tav accepts, and they both head toward the floor.

They stand before one another, one set of hands interlocked adjacent to their waists. Tav's free hand rests atop Wyll’s shoulder, while he places his on her hip. The band then kicks in – a slow, melodic song – and the two begin to sway. Tav remembers the night they danced around the campfire together. A soft smile comes to her face, but it’s short lived. 

“I'm the reason Astarion was present that evening,” Wyll continues. “But I never instructed him on how to act.” The two part as Wyll stretches out their conjoined hands, and Tav twirls under both of their arms. She returns to him, and the two spin as they glide across the floor, the hem of her skirts swaying as they go.

“He told me he had no choice but to kill them,” says Tav within a broken breath. “That they would have gotten him first.”

Wyll then chuckles, throwing his head back. “And I'm sure he's expecting me to tell you the same. But that would be too far from the truth.” Wyll then separates from her again, releasing their hands to lay his palm flat against hers. Tav then follows his lead, moving so their bodies are parallel to one another, and they walk in a circle together. “You're a smart woman, Tav. I know that as fact,” Wyll states, confidently. “Do you really think the vampire ascendant is so defenseless? That he’d find himself trapped?”

Wyll then drops his hand, holding up the opposite, and Tav does the same. They mirror their previous formation, circling now in the opposite direction. “He had every chance of escaping, had he any desire to do so,” Wyll continues, facing Tav.

Tav meets his eyes, her body almost on autopilot. A chill runs down her spine as her mind makes sense of Wyll's inference. “Wyll, are you implying–”

“That he murdered those men on purpose?” Wyll interrupts, almost emphatically. The band then slows, music winding down, and Wyll comes to stand before her. “Yes, Tavaria. That is exactly what I'm implying. Because that's exactly what happened.”

Applause rings out around them as the music cuts out, but Tav can hardly hear it over the sound of her heart hammering away in her ears. Her blood runs cold. 

Wyll speaks sense; Astarion always had control of the situation. His life was never in danger. He killed those men for no reason other than he could. 

A game. A way to test his new powers.

The smell of iron dancing beneath her nose pulls her violently from her thoughts. Saliva pools thickly in her mouth as she scans the room, desperately searching for the source. She gasps aloud when she finally finds it.

There, in the far corner of the ballroom, stands Astarion. His eyes are fixed on her as he raises a silver goblet to his mouth. They share a glance long enough for Tav to watch the goblet then fall away, a small bead of crimson liquid dripping down his stained lips. Astarion is quick to snatch it up with the side of a finger, bringing it to his mouth.

The smell is intoxicating, and Tav’s vision grows fuzzy. She's suddenly hungry, starved for something she knows not what. It's what happened to her at the butcher shop, but it’s worse. So much more intense now than it was then.

Astarion's tongue darts from his mouth to envelop the digit, swiping the liquid from his finger. His eyes have yet to leave hers, and Tav feels an enigmatic pull overtake her.

Is that… blood?

The urge to lick the essence from his lips swells within her. To bury her tongue as deeply as possible within his mouth, savoring every last drop of blood. To swap their tainted saliva back and forth, until the taste all but fades into nothing.

Astarion then smiles, as if privy to her thoughts. Her mouth falls open with sudden realization.

…Has she grown a hunger for blood?

“Tavaria!”

Her concentration is broken as Wyll’s voice bellows in her ears. She whips her head in his direction, staring wildly. “I'm sorry,” Tav says, rushed. She sucks in a sharp breath and screws her eyes tightly. “My mind was elsewhere.”

Wyll’s gaze shifts to the far corner of the ballroom, where Astarion stands. The two men exchange deep scowls. “I don't want to get between whatever business you have with him, Tavaria,” he says, shifting his eyes back to her. “But if I were you, I’d run.”

Tav huffs out a laugh. She then looks to Astarion and finds that despite the women who have now joined him, he's still focused entirely on them. “What do you mean?” Tav asks innocently, turning her head to Wyll. “I don't think Astarion would ever harm me.”

“You have no idea who Astarion is anymore. None of us do.” Wyll states with finality. “And I'm deeply concerned by what may become of you should you stay.” He lifts his hands then to Tav’s shoulders, and she shudders under his touch. “There will come a time when he grows bored of this game.” Wyll tightens his grip. “I don't think I have to tell you what happens next.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide.

It's… a game. Their entire dynamic is a game of cat and mouse – who can outsmart the other first. How could she have been so blind? There's no love in this. No, this is about possession. Control. Deep down, a part of her always knew that. But she didn't think it was evident to anyone else.

“Your neck, Tav – I see it.” Wyll's eyes draw tightly together, his voice dropping an octave as he tilts his head. “He's already marked you.”

Bile pools in the back of her throat again as a sudden wave of nausea rushes forward. A hand flies to her neck, covering the remnants of Astarion's bite. 

Tav wants to vomit. She wants to run, scream, forget she ever let Astarion back into her life.

The realization dawns over her that Wyll is right: Astarion will inevitably force her hand, should she stay long enough. He will never let her live out a mortal life. Tav will become his puppet, his trophy. His most prized possession, completely dependent on him for sustenance. Astarion will keep her sealed tightly within this palace, never to see the light of day again. She will be expected to lay with him as he commands, satisfy him as he commands… To become completely subservient to all his desires.

She was right, and has been right this entire time. Astarion has only given her the illusion of choice, hoping that she gives into him willingly.

She feels hollow.

Tav stares blankly at Wyll, placing both of her hands over her lower belly. Her mouth struggles to form the words racing through her mind, unable to grasp them. She wants to tell Wyll everything. About her and Astarion, about the baby. He could hide her, far away from Astarion's reach. So that he could never find her or their child ever again. She knows he would.

But the aroma of a certain spiced cologne distracts her, and as Tav turns her head toward that particular corner of the ballroom again, she sees Astarion drawing closer.

Panic grips her throat, and almost instinctively she's ripping herself away from Wyll. “I–I need some air!” she shouts in his direction, briefly looking back. Wyll moves to speak, but Tav is beyond earshot. 

The urge to run consumes her, but to where? She scans the room desperately, tunnel vision beginning to set in. Finally, she finds large window pane doors leading out into the garden.

Tav dares to look back and finds Astarion now chatting with Wyll. Their expressions are taut, strained – she can see Astarion's fangs under the curling of his upper lip. Her heart skips strongly within her chest, and she looks again to the French doors.

It may be futile, as Astarion can simply sniff her out should he choose, but anything is better than staying here. She may as well try. With that logic in mind, Tav makes a desperate dash towards the doors. 

—----------------------------------------

Bursting out into the courtyard, Tav barrels down the stone steps. She runs into the hedges, stopping just short of a rose bush. The sound of tearing fabric rings in her ears, but she doesn't care. All that matters is keeping away from him right now. 

Fearfully, she dares herself to look back to the top of the stairs. Astarion soon comes into view, surveying the garden. Though, he makes no effort to follow her. Instead, he turns, wine glass in hand, and heads back into the ballroom.

A choked sob then escapes Tav's throat. Her body is overcome by violent shaking as she drops to her knees, clutching herself. How could she have been so blind? Was she charmed? Has Astarion been whittling away at her subconscious this entire time?

Just as she feels her resolve begin to shatter entirely, Tav catches the silhouette of another standing where Astarion just was. Brown hair tied into a high bun atop the man's head, the rest flowing down his shoulders. Mauve and midnight blue evening dress, complete with a vest and jacket. He seems to be searching for something.

“Gale?” Tav questions tentatively, poking her head from beyond the bushes. “Is that really you?”

The wizard looks out into the garden, his face lighting up as he finds her. “Tav!” he exclaims, running down the steps to meet her. “I knew I saw you talking to Wyll earlier! Though, I must ask…” Gale then extends a hand to her. “...are you hiding?”

Tav pouts as she takes his hand, letting Gale pull her up. “It's a long story,” she deflects, patting herself down. There's a small tear in the dress just below her left breast, and she scowls. “I'm surprised to see you here. I wouldn't think of Astarion inviting you.”

“Well, fortunately for you, the guest list wasn't his to command.” The magician places his hands on his hips, staring intently at Tav. “But really, why are you out here? You all but ran from Wyll.” Gale then searches her up and down, bending forward and sideways. “Are you hurt? Did he say something unkind?”

Tav sighs and shakes her head. “No, no. It's nothing Wyll said.”

A blatant lie – it's everything Wyll said.

“I just needed some fresh air, that's all.” She tries her best to put on a smile, but she knows Gale doesn't buy it.

“Tav,” he states, sternly. “What's wrong? You look beautiful, yes, but I can also see that you're shaken.” He dips his head to stare up at her from under his brow. “I'm your friend, Tav. You can talk to me.”

She looks at him. Emotion swirls within her chest, and she begins to heave with heavy breath. Tears well up within her eyes, and it's not long before Tav rushes forward, throwing her arms tightly around Gale’s neck. She sobs, heavily, messily, into his shoulder.

It's cathartic – like a dam finally giving way after keeping a rushing river at bay for far longer than ever intended. She feels arms encircle her and realizes they're Gale's, prompting another rush of tears to flow down her cheeks. For the first time in months, she feels safe. She hadn’t realized she'd forgotten what this feels like, until now.

By the time Tav lifts her face, the shoulder of Gale's jacket is horribly stained. She must look like a child's painting right now, make-up askew. But Gale simply gives her a reassuring look, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a handkerchief. “Here,” he says while holding it out for her. 

And for a moment, Tav wishes she could have fallen in love with him instead.

Tav accepts his offer, muttering her thanks as she lifts the kerchief to her eyes. “I'm sorry for not having answered your most recent letters.” She then blots the skin over her cheeks, scowling as her foundation stains the cloth. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Gale. So much has happened in such a short period of time, and I've no time to process it.”

“I'm here now,” Gale states triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips. “No better time to start than the present.”

She gives a soft laugh, sniffling before she says, “I suppose you're right.” She swipes the handkerchief under her nose. “Well, for one… I'm pregnant.”

Gale doesn't answer. Instead, he cocks his head slowly to the side, eyes growing wide with surprise. “...Whoa,” he musters. “Well… That's… certainly one way to start.” He then rights his posture, shifting his weight to one side. “I… wasn't aware you were with anyone.”

“That’s because I'm not.” Tav stares at the ground, sticking out a foot to run her shoe mindlessly over the small stones that make up the garden’s pathway. “At least not officially.”

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest. “I see. Is it someone that you know?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Tav answers quickly. “We both know him quite well.” She then pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, adding, “Or, we did.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand,” says Gale with a snicker. “I can see how tensions may run high in your line of work.” Tav quirks a brow but remains silent, curious as to where Gale is taking the conversation. “And how your superior may seem like the best person to relieve them with.”

And then her mouth hangs open for a moment, dumbfounded, though she quickly gathers her thoughts to argue. “Gale, I don't think you–”

“You know,” he continues, sticking up a hand to wave a finger, “when I was at the academy, I had a professor who–”

“Gale!” Tav shouts. Heat floods to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Gods, no! It's not Wyll!” Placing her face in her hands, Tav begins to pace back and forth. A groan escapes her as she drags both hands across her face, further smearing her make-up. “Why does everyone assume I'm still infatuated with Wyll?”

Gale shrugs his shoulders. “I don't think he's that hard on the eyes.”

“He isn't!” Tav shouts again. “But, sweet Hells, he's my boss!”

“Alright, alright,” Gale holds up his hands in defeat, then crosses them over his chest. “So, if not him, then who?”

Tav sucks in a breath through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth. Her heart pounds against her chest as Astarion's name dances across her mind. She wants to say his name, but her mouth won't cooperate. Instead, she slowly lifts her hair, turning her head to expose the healing bite mark on her neck to Gale's curious eyes.

“That… looks like a recent bite wound,” comments the wizard, pupils dilating.

“And you would be correct,” Tav confirms, flatly.

His squints, leaning closer to Tav, then stands upright. “Judging by the spacing of the marks…” Gale says, hesitantly, “...I would say that's the bite of a vampire.”

Tav nods, lips drawing into a thin line. “Right again.”

“Huh,” huffs Gale. “But, there's only one vampire we both know.”

Her heart is pounding again, so loud it's drowning out any sound in her ears. “Indeed,” Tav agrees, willing herself to continue despite her discomfort. “And we happen to be standing in his garden.”

She watches Gale's face as it contorts, the phases of acknowledgement written clearly for Tav to see. The magician's face ranges from confusion, to shock, to acceptance, back to shock again. “Oh, Nine Hells,” Gale mutters. “...How? When?!”

Tav throws up her arms, laughing to herself. “Not sure, Gale! Because if I did, I certainly wouldn't be in this mess!” 

Shame settles in. Tav’s face burns again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Hearing these words said with her own voice somehow makes this real. Makes the empty hole within her chest ache, once occupied by Astarion. The desperate desire to be held by him, to disappear into the night and fall in love all over again.

“Gods, Tavaria… I don't even know what to say.” Gale lowers his arms to his sides, holding one hand to his hip. “How did he react when you told him?”

The air is knocked from her lungs, and Tav sucks in a desperate breath. “...I haven't,” she says, quietly.

“What?!” exclaims Gale. “Tav, you have to tell him!”

She glares at him, balling her hands into fists, shame quickly warping into anger. “Gale, if I tell him, you can kiss ever seeing me again goodbye.” She's shaking now, emotions boiling over.. “I will be his, forever, whether I want to be or not! I will no longer have a choice!”

“Oh, poppycock,” says Gale with a wave of his hand. “If there's one thing we both know about Astarion, it's that he'd never let any harm come to you. Especially by his doing.” Gale moves closer to Tav, voice dropping in decibel. His gaze remains glued to her. “Is this what you were discussing with Wyll? You know how he feels about Astarion, Tav,” says the wizard.

Tav swallows thickly. Her jaw is clenched tightly, teeth grinding against one another. “Gale, he's not the man either of us think he is,” she states, boldly. “Not anymore.”

Gale leans back with a laugh. “I somehow doubt that,” he argues, raising a hand, then both. “Sure, he's grown to be a bit of a recluse over these last few months.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Gale adds, “And the Gods only know how familiar I am with such a state. But it doesn't seem his heart has changed, when you're concerned.”

“What are you talking about?” Tav retorts in frustration. Does he mean to mock her? It's unlikely, but still infuriating how wrong he is at this moment. “Gale, he had fucking bodies in the crypts, what are you–”

“Did you ever think that perhaps Astarion sought you out again because he knew he was losing control?”

Tav’s eyes grow wide, shocked by the wizard’s declaration. “...What?” The whispered sound that escapes her throat is foreign to her. “I don't…” She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You're the only one he's ever felt safe with, Tavaria,” explains Gale.  “Astarion never spoke to us the way he spoke to you. You two had a language all your own.” 

…He’s right. Tav’s gaze wanders off toward the French doors of the ballroom. Astarion confided in her like no other. Spoke to her in a tone that was reserved strictly for her. His hardened edges gave way to a soft, pale underbelly after a time. And never to another.

The panic in his eyes as Cazador rendered him utterly helpless, entrapped within an enchantment. Desperate pleas to free him ripping through his throat. Astarion shook violently within her arms as she broke the spell, his body collapsing against hers. His nails nearly pierced the thick leather of her armor from how tightly he gripped her, and when it came time for them to separate, Astarion refused to let go.

‘Please,’ he cries softly, pupils blown wide. He's shaking something fierce, as if reliving the worst moment of his life on repeat. He clings to her forearm as she tries to stand. ‘Please, I can't, he's going to, to you, he's going to–’

‘Hush now, Astarion,’ Tav coos, trying to soothe him. She runs a hand gently through his hair and kisses his sweat-soaked brow. ‘We’re here. He can't harm you.’

Astarion turns to her. He lifts a trembling hand to her face, cupping her jaw. ‘...I don't care about what happens to me,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I don't want him to have you.’ His jaw cinches tight, spitting through gritted teeth, ‘He has no right.’

The magician sucks in a deep breath and brings a hand to his face, exhaling as he begins stroking his beard. “Look, if Astarion wanted to harm you, he would have done so already.” He then tosses his hand to the air, lips molding into a soft pout. “I think he's asking for help in the only way he knows how.”

Heat crawls across her skin, and suddenly the air is too hot. Tav draws in a deep breath, fanning herself with her hands. Her eyes sting from the threat of fresh tears and she once again begins to pace back and forth.

“I never wanted any of this,” she admits to Gale, looking up at him each time she passes. “Gods, sometimes I wish I chose my Father.” Tav chokes back a sob. “At least then I would never have to think or feel again.”

A moment passes before Gale says solemnly, “Pain, happiness, sorrow, bliss – emotions remind us that we're alive, Tavaria.” He shakes his head. “To deny them is to deny life itself.”

“I don't wish to argue that,” Tav replies. “I just mean–”

The words die in her throat as her eyes catch a glimpse of someone standing by the French doors. 

At the top of the marble stairs is Astarion, glass of wine in hand. As he descends the steps, Tav swears there's an additional button undone on the crimson dress shirt he wears. The fabric ripples across the pale plane of his chest, moonlight glinting off the golden amulet hanging around his neck. He reaches the bottom step and takes a swig of wine before sauntering over.

“The Wizard of Waterdeep!” Astarion bellows, almost mockingly. “Fancy seeing you here.” As he comes to stand next to Gale, Tav can smell the alcohol on his breath and notes that his eyes are slightly glazed over. He fidgets to find a comfortable pose, inevitably settling on leaning to one side with his free hand on his hip.

He's… drunk. Reminiscent of the night he helped himself to a cave bear within the Underdark.

“Astarion,” Gale replies with a nod of his head. “Good to see you, too. Love what you've done with the place. It feels so much more–” Gale rolls his wrists, as if to stimulate a response, “–alive, than it did before.”

The vampire gives a soft grunt before saying, “Well, yes. That was the entire point, no?” His eyes then land on Tav, and she feels the small hairs on her arms and neck stand on end. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?” Astarion inquires with a grin. 

The ruby red of his irises burn into her despite their sheen. “Not at all,” Tav manages to reply, turning her head to Gale. “Gale and I were just catching up. I've admittedly been a poor friend,m neglecting to answer his letters.” She makes sure to give a laugh after her sentence; Astarion is studying her.

The magician’s gaze flits momentarily between Astarion and Tav before settling on Tav. “Oh, no, of course you're not,” Gale says with a chuckle, “it's no issue, really. Just happy to know you're doing well.” Tav gives him a small nod of her head, thanking him for having taken her lead. Gale returns the gesture.

“Splendid,” Astarion states flatly, albeit sarcastically. “Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I borrowed this lovely lady?” He brings his glass again to his mouth, throwing the rest of the wine back. As the cup drops from his face, Astarion meets her eyes again, brow drawn tightly together. “I’ve been looking for her.”

Again Tav and Gale share a look, and Tav nods approvingly. “N-no, of course not,” Gale stammers. “I think we're sufficiently caught up.”

“Indeed we are,” Tav comments, moving closer to Astarion. “It was a pleasure to see you, Gale. I'll do my best to be better about answering your correspondence.” She then slips her arm around the vampire's, only to feel Astarion flinch against her. “Shall we?” she then asks Astarion, giving his forearm a pat. He's tense alongside her, though he returns her gaze.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Gale,” Astarion says to Gale, turning toward the palace. His voice edges on bitter, but there's still enough pleasantry about it to be considered cordial. 

Tav waves to the wizard, then follows Astarion's lead back toward the ballroom. Her stomach is in a mess of nerves and her heart is practically in her throat. Drawing a deep breath in, she manages to blink away any hint of tears forming within her eyes. The signature scent of Astarion's cologne envelops her and she clings tighter to his arm as they ascend the stairs.

Before entering the ballroom, Astarion gives Gale one final glance as he ushers Tav beyond the French doors. He then follows swiftly behind her.

“Huh,” is all Gale can mutter to himself.

[brain-rot-central]

I like AA best when he's lovesick tbh

[brain-rot-central]

I cannot even begin to express my honor and my thanks for this. To see Tavaria in this scene, knowing how much I struggled with this chapter on a personal level... I'm at a loss for words.

I love everything about this. Her expression, her hair, the nightdress, the fang marks in her neck with a hint of a bruise around them. Her tiny belly. God, I am so honored that you took the time to draw this.

Everyone, please go through @ghostfire's art tag. Her work is amazing and her OC Ottilenne is an absolute doll.

Thank you so so much for bringing my girl to life. What a lovely way to start the week! 🫂❤️

I cannot recommend @brain-rot-central 's Ascended Astarion fic, Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, enough. It's dark. It's thoughtful. Please mind the warnings before you dive in.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 8

A/N: *Dead Dove: Do Not Eat* I probably should have added that tag a while ago. I apologize for not having done so up until this point. Major tw: depictions/references of alcoholism, trauma, abuse, PTSD, panic attacks. This chapter is a mess. I'm so sorry. It's like I bet myself how much darker can I get with each chapter, lmao. Proceed with caution.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship Summary: Astarion readies himself for the ball, then heads to retrieve Tav. A tumultuous heart-to-heart ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

‘She’s voicing doubts, my lord. How shall I proceed?’

He impatiently taps his nails against the wood of the dresser. With his other hand, Astarion brings a glass of wine to his lips. He’s chosen a mellow red for this evening; smooth going down with just the slightest bite at the back of the tongue.

‘Push forward and ignore them,’ he responds through the telepathic bond. ‘Continue getting her ready.’

There’s a brief pause before Magdalena’s response comes through.

‘As you wish, Lord Ancunín.’

Astarion severs the connection abruptly.

Taking a quick sip of wine, he places the glass on top of the dresser and sighs. Warmth blooms within his chest as crimson liquid travels down his esophagus. It's almost reminiscent of blood he's supped upon:

Her blood. The sweetest substance to have ever graced his poisoned tongue.

Astarion lifts the sleeves of his shirt and picks up a bottle of cologne on the dresser, uncorking its stopper. He tilts the bottle and dabs it gently on his left wrist. Placing the bottle back down on the bureau, Astarion rubs his wrists one over the other, spreading the scent evenly. It's his signature blend for over two centuries, the recipe little changed. He taps the mouth of the bottle lightly with the pads of his fingers, then brings them to the delicate skin behind his ears.

There's one thing that’s undeniable, even to him. He's nervous. Terribly, terribly nervous. He hasn't felt this out of control in months. Tav’s proximity is impacting him in ways he hadn't anticipated. It's intoxicating, suffocating. She's all he can think about.

How to keep her happy, wanting. To stay within her good graces.

She’s seen too much far too soon. Perhaps Astarion would have revealed everything to her in time, but certainly not at this point. Not when everything is still so fresh between them. And now that she's voicing doubts, he wants nothing more than to perform as much damage control as possible.

Her departure is simply not an option. Unless it's on agreeable terms.

Astarion is a horrid planner. It's a miracle he's stuck to this current one, though having to adjust his plan so early is distressing. It feels as though he's grasping at straws. Barely keeping his head above water. That isn't a place he enjoys being.

Tav will speak with Wyll tonight, and he's nervous. So terribly nervous of how Wyll will try souring his name. Slip a slow, creeping venom into Tav's mind, poisoning her thoughts. Astarion is nervous that all he's put into repairing the frayed bond he and Tav share will be undone by this single conversation.

He pulls down his sleeves and shrugs his shoulders, giving himself a look in the mirror. He's chosen a loose maroon dress shirt for the evening, a few buttons undone at the top and the hem tucked in. A pair of black dress slacks held fast by a black belt with a silver buckle, and brown leather shoes complete his ensemble. He draws a deep breath in, exhaling with a slight shake of his head.

It dawns on him that he isn't exactly sure what his end goal is. To charm Tav back into his arms, yes. But what else? Does he wish for more, or to keep this casual?

No.

The nonchalance of this affair stopped after the third night. 

When she held his face to hers–their foreheads pressed together as they shared the same air–Astarion knew. The shopkeeper below Tav's loft banged viciously on the ceiling, shouting muffled expletives through the floor. But Astarion was beyond caring. He sang as loud as Tav did, greedily drinking her moans as though the centuries-long hunger still consumed him.

This is very much a thing. A very real thing.

Feelings he'd hoped to have lost are involved, left over from before the ascension. He’s not happy to admit it, but it would be foolish to deny their existence.

The remnants of him. 

The sad, pitiful spawn. Groveling in the dirt, forced onto his back by the whim of another. How truly misguided his trust had been at the hour of his death. Astarion shakes his head free of the thought before it can warp further.

Yet, a sinking reality sets in.

That's who she wants, though… isn't it? 

The man he was? There's little chance Tav feels for him now. She may never again, not after all she's seen. 

This provokes another thought to come forward.

Did she ever want him beyond what his body could offer? He's almost sure of it, but most importantly…

Why does he care now?

There are times when he looks into her eyes that Astarion almost sees it. The classic look she gives only to him. The one that makes his knees falter and his heart race. The longing laced within her gaze. It makes him wish he could sequester her back to his chamber and have her sing his name, his praises, until the sun comes up.

Astarion would willingly be her protector. The fulfiller of all her wishes. He would make it abundantly clear how none of what he has could have been possible without her. How he wishes to share all of this with her. He will do anything, everything, to prove that to her.

Everything, aside from admitting one small thing. And as he gazes into the mirror, Astarion rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Love.

What a foolish concept.

He picks up a silver chain necklace from the bureau and fastens it around his neck. Rubies adorn the solid silver pendant of the necklace and Astarion adjusts it to hang between the open lapels of his shirt, against his bare chest. The metal is cool as it lays against his skin. It's only then that he realizes how flushed he is. 

How his heart jumps in his throat.

Astarion reaches for the glass of wine once more, stealing another sip. The sting on the back of his tongue soothes the ache. For now.

His dagger, Rhapsody, is the last item to prepare. Originally owned by a corrupt master, but taken as a spoil of war. It's dull now and essentially for show, but he cares not. Astarion stows a separate sharpened blade on his outer ankle at all times, hidden by the length of his trousers; a habit left over from his past life. He secures the dagger's holster around his left thigh, attaching it to his belt, then slips the blade within.

Tav will be on his right arm when they make their entrance. That's at least what he has planned.

Brushing a few stray hairs into place, Astarion gives himself a final look in the mirror. Satisfied, he chokes back the remainder of the wine he's been nursing all evening, slamming the glass down hard onto the dresser. 

A glimmer of light jumps in his periphery as his fist connects with the wood and Astarion looks. A golden ring with a turquoise gemstone sits within a clear case, nestled within a bed of velvet.

True Love’s Caress. 

The ring Tav gave to him, so long ago.

Astarion quickly opens the case, slipping the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand, and heads out into the hall. As he walks down the long corridor toward Tav’s room, he nods absently at those he sees along the way.

His chest begins to burn, his mind growing clouded.

Why does he care if she stays? Does he really need her? Ultimately, no. But…

Astarion has unlimited wealth and resources. A plethora of lords and ladies would all but collapse at his feet for an opportunity to become his betrothed. Throw in the chance of eternal life, and that list is bound to grow exponentially.

He doesn't notice the speed in which he's barreling down the hall until he almost walks face first into a silver tray holding freshly cut fruit, carried by an unsuspecting servant. “M-my apologies, my lord!” the young woman gasps, clamoring for control over the tray as it sways in her hands.

Astarion doesn't recall ever seeing this one before. Magdalena is responsible for the staffing of the palace. Regardless, he raises a hand and gives the young woman a short bow in apology, continuing on his way.

His vision sways as the wine finally takes hold.

No, he doesn't necessarily need Tavaria. He’d go about his time just fine without her. But… would he enjoy it? Would he be satisfied?

Astarion stops dead in his tracks, clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to bite into the skin of his palms.

…Does he want for this?

No, he couldn't possibly. He's the vampire ascendant! The most powerful vampire lord to have ever lived. The waking dream of all his kind. He wants for nothing. Has no need of groveling in the dirt. The world is his playground, and he will take whatever it is he desires. It's what he's owed after two hundred years of shit.

Pure shit.

The gods turned their backs on him during his most desperate hour of need. They'll have little choice but to acknowledge him now.

No, Tav should be thanking him for being so generous as to give her a second chance. Another opportunity of having every decadence life has to offer handed to her. Wealth, power, pleasure. So much pleasure that she needn’t ask for it ever again. Astarion would see to that personally.

If she chooses wisely.

He straightens his posture and gives his head a quick shake, strengthening his resolve.

She will. One way or another, she will fall back into his arms.

Astarion knows she's afflicted with the same sickness he has. Tav’s heart gallops when he draws near. Her blood sings, her breath halts. He can almost hear the way her skin calls for the icy pierce of his fangs. Smell the desire that burns deep within her to be well and truly his.

She will succumb to his song. 

She will be his consort. 

They will spend eternity in each other's arms.

Though his resolve fades quickly as his feet finally bring him before Tav’s door. Nervous energy surges through him again. It fights for dominance against the sedating alcohol coursing through his body. And for a passing moment, he feels faint. 

Astarion clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, giving a quick surveillance of his surroundings. 

No one else is within this end of the manor. It’s only them.

With some trepidation, Astarion lifts a hand, placing three soft raps against the wooden door with the back of his knuckle, the ring around his finger catching his eye. 

And he waits.

His elven ears then pick up the faint sound of shuffling from behind the door. “Is that you, Magdalena?” comes Tav’s muffled voice.

“No, it's only me, darling,” Astarion replies with as much composure as he can muster. When he hears rustling within the bedroom, he quickly adds, “Take your time. There's no rush.” 

As he awaits for her to open the door, thoughts from earlier begin to resurface. 

Should she refuse his offer still, despite all he's done… What, then? What more is there to do? Not much, he feels. 

And at that point, when all other options have been exhausted…

Well… she’d be forcing his hand, then.

Wouldn't she?

The door suddenly opens, and the sight of her makes his breath grow cold within his chest. Tav is wearing the emerald dress he'd commissioned for her and the pair of golden shoes he'd sent. Her long, auburn hair cascades down her sun-freckled shoulders in loose, wavy ringlets. But what makes Astarion’s breath cease lay across her forehead.

Her soft, sweeping bangs have transported him back to the crash site of the Nautiloid, to when they first met. And every night thereafter, when she'd inevitably slink her way over to his tent to steal a word. Or several. 

How she'd style them differently day after day. Play with them if they were to broach an uncomfortable subject. The way she'd dip her head to hide behind them in an effort to play coy.

Astarion remembers how they'd cling to her sweat-soaked brow as she called his name over and over again from below him, rendering him completely and utterly helpless to resist her. How he'd brush them to the side to rest his head directly against hers. Placed gentle kisses to the top of her brow after they finished.

“Rather bold to cut your hair the night of an event, eh?” he remarks with a chuckle.

Tav shrugs in response. “Just felt like something I needed to do.” Her expression is flat as she steps out of the doorway, ushering him in.

As he steps into the bedroom, Astarion gives her a small smile, nervous energy peaking once more. He notices the tennis necklace he sent her clutched in her hand, and he winces. “Have you found everything to your liking?” he asks, curiously.

Tav shuts the bedroom door behind them, then walks to the vanity. Her back is to him as she says, “Oh, yes, everything is absolutely beautiful.” There's a small crack in her voice. 

Something is troubling her.

Astarion sighs, anticipating the turn the conversation is taking. “I get the feeling there's a ‘but’ coming, here,” he states exasperatedly.

Tav shakes her head, now turning toward him. “No, it's not that.” She looks at her hands, running the necklace between her fingers. “I… I wanted to talk candidly about what happened in the crypts.”

“I don't understand what more of a discussion could be had,” Astarion spits, defensively. He did what she asked. What more is there to say?

Her bottom lip trembles as she pulls it between her teeth. Tav places the bracelet down on the counter and draws in a deep breath. She then lifts her head to face him.

Astarion does not like where this is going.

“When I encouraged you to show those men mercy…” her voice trails off. She's seemingly lost in thought for moment before she continues, “...you killed them.” Tav shakes her head in disbelief, eyes blinking rapidly. “You killed them, Astarion.”

He furrows his brow in question. “Were you hoping for a different outcome?”

“No,” Tav says with another shake of her head. “No, I knew that's what you'd do.” Tav meets his eyes again with an intense gaze. “But I didn't quite understand why until after.”

…Oh. 

She caught that, did she? 

He shouldn't be so surprised. Tav always pieces together everything he doesn't wish to say. It's maddening, how he can never hide from her. Though, in a way… It's comforting. To have someone see him. 

The real him.

“Do you…” her voice fades again, but she takes a deep breath and pushes forward. “Do you still feel that way?” Tav asks, voice small. “About yourself?”

Astarion draws a large breath through his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he doesn't speak. His mind scrambles for the appropriate words, alongside a fitting delivery. 

Once he finds it, Astarion says, “Not anymore, no. That feeling died when Cazador did.” The name feels like a shard of ice through his chest as it tumbles forward, but it's a momentary pain that fades as quickly as it comes.

An awkward silence hangs like thick fog about the air. They're still looking at one another, and Astarion notices a glossy sheen to Tav’s eyes.

“...What replaced it?” Tav asks in a voice still barely above a whisper.

He knows what replaced that feeling, but it's not something she needs to know right now.

Bitterness.

Bitterness is what replaced the feeling of hopelessness Astarion carried for two centuries. All of his anger. Spite. Unrest, for the poor card life had given him for so many years. How he screamed, and screamed, and screamed for someone, anyone to hear him. To pull him from his waking nightmare.

No one ever did.

Until her.

Tavaria was the only one who extended a hand to him. The only one who found him worth saving. Who listened to him. Gave even a sliver of a shit to see him.

And it dawns on him then that she truly did care for him. Found more worth to him beyond what his body could give her.

But it terrifies him to know that she sees everything. Astarion will never be able to hide for long, if they're together. She knows him too well–understands things about him that he doesn't quite get himself. He will never have full control of their dynamic. She will always be a step ahead of him, and he'll be dashing behind her to catch up. 

It will be a nightmare for him.

But, gods… How his heart still aches for her. Longs for her to hold him within her embrace.

“I'm not quite sure, my dear,” is Astarion's crafted reply. He speaks with ease, shifting his weight to the opposite hip. “I tend not to dwell on it much, these days.”

It's a lie, but one small enough to hopefully get her off his back. And it seems to work, at least for now. Tav grows quiet, dropping her eyes to the floor. Her hands work quickly again, fingers rubbing over one another.

Gesturing to the necklace on the vanity with a wave of his hand, Astarion says, “May I help you with that?” He outstretches a hand in her direction–an invitation for her to place the tennis necklace within his palm.

Tav blinks up at him. With a nod, she picks up the necklace and hands it to Astarion. She turns around to face the mirror, clasping her hands together over her abdomen.

He unhooks the necklace and steps behind her swiftly. Astarion gently sweeps her hair free off her shoulder, Tav reaching up to hold it out of the way for him. As her hair lifts, the smell of lavender and pine wafts about the air: two of the scents he had crafted just for her. Reminiscent of their first night together in the clearing within the forest.

Astarion's arms come up above her head, falling feather-light to lay the jewelry across her chest. He steals a glance of them both in the mirror. Light from a candle reflects off the diamond studded earrings he's given her.

And then, it suddenly hits him.

He does want this. Yearns for more. There's a twist deep within his chest as he fastens the jewelry around the column of her throat, reaching up to move her hair back in place. The backs of his hands glide smoothly against her shoulders as he drops his hands. Astarion moves his face to the softness of her hair and plants a kiss, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. The scent of her overwhelms his senses. His head spins as he closes his eyes, finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“...Astarion...”

He opens his eyes and finds Tav’s face again within the mirror, full with worry. With one hand she plays with the necklace, twisting it between her fingertips. “...Did you ever love me?” she asks, voice quivering.

The sound of her heart pounds in his ears. The rush of her blood is a quartet cascading toward a triumphant crescendo. It's so quick it can almost be mistaken for two distinct heartbeats as he beats against his eardrums. Astarion's heart then pounds in tandem with hers, head growing light. Heat creeps under his skin and his vision narrows.

Love.

He positively loathes the word. The feeling. The sentiment.

It makes his skin crawl. Hands claw at his neck. A knife carving deep into his back. The room grows silent and then he's slipping, far back into the recesses of his mind.

‘I write this poem of love for you, my son. For all my children.’

A high pitched scream rings loudly against the stone walls of the kennels. Godey stands watch, bones rattling as he comes forward to reinforce the shackles around Astarion's arms and legs.

Rhapsody drags across his back, slicing into delicate porcelain skin. Astarion feels rivulets of cool liquid running down his back, and when the scent of iron reaches his nose, he realizes it's his blood pouring onto the mattress below.

Cazador raises the blood-soaked blade to his face, swiping his tongue against the flat edge. He groans in satisfaction as the crimson essence fills his mouth, then sets the dagger to work once more.

Astarion screams as his flesh parts again, a new rune being carved.

‘With this, we will forever be connected,’ Cazador explains. ‘You will always be mine.’

Astarion steps back, dragging a hand across his face. He feels the ever-present demon that sleeps within threatening to surface. An overwhelming sense of dread grips him tight. “...You know how I feel about that word,” he insists, hoping desperately that she'll drop this conversation before it's too late.

Tav meets his gaze through the mirror. Astarion watches the movement of her throat as she swallows. “But did you?” She then turns her whole body to meet him directly. “Did he?”

He. Him. The man he used to be. Not the man who stands before her, now.

Astarion's lips curl into a dangerous smile, a snicker rumbling through his chest. “There it is,” he remarks with sarcasm. He raises a hand and points a single finger into the air, wagging it back and forth. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring him up again.” He's beginning to feel more like himself again; further from tipping over the edge.

Tav’s expression sours and she shrugs her shoulders. “Can you blame me, Astarion? At least I knew where I stood with him.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You feel akin to a stranger, now.”

Pain grips him as her words split wide through his chest, plunging him back down the path of what seems to be an inevitable crash. “I certainly am not, my dear, ” Astarion says. His voice is even despite the storm raging within. “I haven't been for quite some time.”

Then, he sees them: the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. 

Shit, he curses to himself. This is not what he wants–not what he needs. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, please don't cry–

“Then why do you seem so different?” Tav squeaks, trying to stave off her sobs. “Why can I no longer feel the warmth of your heart?”

Then, they fall. Hard. And the walls he's fought so hard to keep up collapse inward.

…Fuck.

Astarion can hardly stomach the thought of having hurt her, let alone see physical proof. Her makeup is ruined. Mascara runs down her cheeks. Tears cut streaks through her foundation. Tav covers her face with her hands and briskly turns away, choosing to stand near the door leading out onto the balcony.

Each choked sob from Tav sends a jolt of electric shooting across his chest. “Tavaria…” Astarion whispers. He approaches gently from behind, maintaining distance. “Come now, darling; you know that's not true. I’m right here, as I've always been.”

Control. He must regain control of this situation.

She plants her palms flat against the glass door and she sucks in a gasp. Her head hangs down between her shoulders. “You're not,” Tav argues. “This is not the man I know.” Astarion observes as she shakes her head. Turning to him, she dabs her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is not the man I fell in love with. Who loved me.”

“Tav–”

“This is a man who fears love. Operates off of obsession. Who is jealous,” she remarks angrily, voice rising. “You give me the illusion of freedom, Astarion, but this is hardly freedom.” Tav raises a hand and sweeps it across the room. “You've given me nothing but a gilded cage to fly about in!”

The sharp edge of her tongue cuts deep once more. But this time, a sudden flare of rage rises within and he rushes forward. “Do you think I would do this for anyone else?” Astarion stands face to face with her, nostrils flaring with heavy breath. “Share all of this with a common fool off the street?!”

“Then say it!” Tav roars back, entire body shaking. Tears still fall from her eyes, but Astarion can tell they're more from frustration than pain. “Fucking hells, Astarion. Just fucking say it already!”

Drawing in a breath, Astarion blinks, stepping back slightly. He's suddenly warm. Very, very warm. But a chil thenl shoots up his spine.

He… does love her. Loves this. 

Wants to hold her forever in this room, suspended in this moment for the rest of eternity. She's beautiful–so godsdamned beautiful–as she stares at him, bewildered. 

But he can't touch her. Not more than he already has. Anything more is sacrilege, tainted. He'll ruin it. Ruin her. Ruin everything.

Though… this is what she's asking of him…

Right?

And truth be told, Astarion wants to delve deeper. He longs to dig through her chest and curl alongside her heart, forever. Tav made her home so long ago within his. 

He wants her to come home–come back to him.

Astarion swallows thickly as he asks, “...What do you think we are?” He's doing his best to keep his voice even, despite feeling like his heart is in his mouth. If this is his chance to win her back, he'll take it. He'll finally show her his heart.

“Gods, Astarion; I don't know,” Tav answers, flustered. She throws her hands up. “Lovers, perhaps?”

A sharp pain grips his chest accompanied by a head rush. Astarion becomes acutely aware of just how fast his heart is beating. “And what do you want us to be?” he asks in a hushed tone.

Tav holds his gaze for a moment, then drops her focus to the floor. “Astarion…” She rests a hand over the emerald fabric of the dress, rubbing circular patterns into her stomach. “I… Gods, this is pointless,” Tav states abruptly, dashing toward the washroom door.

But as Tav passes, Astarion reaches swiftly to clasp a hand around her upper arm. The grip isn't tight enough to leave an impression, though it prevents her from continuing forward. 

“What do you want us to be, Tavaria?” Astarion reiterates, sternly. “I'm not letting go without an answer.” 

The adrenaline is setting in and his vision begins to narrow. Sound slowly fades from his ears, replaced by thunderous clashes of his heart against his ribcage. Tav lifts her face to address him. Astarion meets her gaze and his breath runs cold.

“...I want him,” Tav confesses. Her green eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill over again, and there's a flush to her entire face. “Gods, I miss us, Astarion.”

Finally, the dam gives way again, alongside the last shreds of his resolve.

Astarion laughs haughtily, throwing his head back with a howl. She sheds tears for the sniveling coward he once was, and none for the man who stands beside her.

How silly of him to think he could bare anything to her.

“Tch,” Astarion scoffs, releasing his hold on her arm, “Of course you'd prefer the version of me that had no choice but to lay on his back should his master command it.”

Tav narrows her gaze and takes a few steps away from Astarion, wiping her tears once more with the back of a hand. “I don’t want to control you, Astarion,” she sniffles. “What have I done that proves I mean you harm?”

He then laughs again.

Enraged, Astarion surges forward. “Oh, my dear, you're guilty of the ultimate betrayal!” he chides. “You left me,” The words are gruff as they fall from his mouth, spoken through clenched teeth. He watches as Tav recoils further from him. 

“You wanted to kill me,” argues Tav with a tilt of her head. “We’ve already had his discussion, Astarion.”

Astarion scowls. “No, darling. I told you I only wished to deliver you unto undeath.” The storm begins to quell and he reaches out, holding her hands within his own. “And as I've stated before, I was only trying to give you what you wanted,” he says, voice dropping an octave.

‘Isn’t that what you want?’ Astarion recalls telling her. ‘To be mine? Forever?’

Turning her is the only way he can guarantee that they’ll be together forever. Make good on his promise to protect her. That he’ll never have to suffer the crushing loss of her.

Astarion's breath comes in quick, short pants as they exchange heated glances between the silence stretched before them.

Tav shakes her head, pulling her hands free from his grasp. “He would have never asked me to do that,” she infers. 

A heavy weight sits on Astarion’s chest and he sighs in disappointment. “You're wrong.”

He would have.

Then, and now still, he would. The moment he realized his skin smelled of her soaps more often than not is when this hunger took root. But he was too weak. Too fearful of what his attachment meant for her. 

She became all Astarion thought about: how his proximity to her made her a target, should Cazador come for him. How useless he would be without the tadpole if attacked in broad daylight. Her smile, her hair, the feeling of her pulse thrumming under his tongue while seated in his lap. He remembers how his chest ached when considering a path without her, as if his heart still beat.

Keeping her close to him, forever, is all he's ever longed for…

“He just lacked the ability to do so,” Astarion explains. “Lucky for us, he's no longer here.”

“He loved me,” Tav blurts out. “And that's more than I can say of you now.”

…but she still doesn't see it.

“Are you even capable of that now?” she asks in a contemptuous tone. “Or is this all I’ll ever get?”

“You are worth so much,” sneers Astarion. His face hovers above hers as he searches her eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

“Then tell me, Astarion.” Tav moves forward; Astarion instinctively backs away. “Tell me how much I mean to you.” His back hits the bedroom door and she pauses, leaving barely an inch of space between them. “Tell me how much you love me, Astarion. Please,” she pleads, voice breaking.

Astarion's chest heaves, and the demon creeps forward. The word is tainted, so heavily defiled. It's a strong poison that Astarion will never be able to suck out. It will leech into every part of what they have and slowly, surely, kill everything.

“I… I–” he stammers. Astarion wants to say it. It's right on the tip of his tongue, but it catches in his throat. His mind is loud, thoughts racing so quickly he can barely keep up with what they're saying. She's staring at him expectantly, and he has nothing to deliver.

He feels lost, as though his body is no longer his own. The scars on his back sting like they're freshly carved. There are shackles around his ankles and a hand around his neck. 

He's back in the kennels, oh gods he's back in the kennels, Godey maniacal laughter rings in his ears, he's trapped, he's trapped, he's trapped–

‘I do this out of love…’

Astarion can't breathe. 

He's being flayed, he's being impaled. He feels his control slipping as his thoughts become louder, shouting at him full-forced. The demon creeps forward and he can see its face. Astarion feels himself beginning to slip away. 

He can't say it. She can never know. But he has to fix this. He can fix this. How can he fix this?

…Oh.

Then suddenly, it comes to him: the urge to fuck it into her instead. 

Pick her up and whisk her onto the bed, because that's the language he knows. A language he trusts. He can thrust, and thrust and thrust until she cries his name, his praises into the night. 

Yes, everything would be better if he did just that.

He can show her how he feels. He won't have to say it. He can still stay safe, she'll never have to know. She doesn't need to know. He could just fuck her, over and over, as long as she wants. Forever, and ever, and ever–

But not right now. 

Later. 

Later he'll give himself to her, after he's had more to drink. That always makes this easier.

“The party is about to begin,” he manages to say. Astarion reaches behind himself to find the handle of the door. He clears his throat, then says, “We really should get going.”

Tav blinks, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, soberly. She gazes a moment too long at him before eventually moving away to the mirror, taking a quick glance at herself. She wipes a finger under each eye, ridding herself of the smeared mascara. “Give me a few moments and I'll be right out.”

There's a soft tremor in her voice and Astarion knows she's unhappy with him, but at this moment, all he cares about is avoiding this topic. They will eventually have this discussion again–he knows it’s inevitable. Yet for now, he can breathe again.

Astarion nods, giving a quick dip of his head in acknowledgement toward Tav. He twists the handle of the bedroom door just as she enters the washroom and steps outside, the door closing behind him with a soft ‘click.’ 

A muffled sob can then be heard from the opposite end of the door, and a pang of guilt grips his chest. 

Tavaria is crying. Again. All because he couldn't say three bloody words to her.

Astarion raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's said them before in jest–way before she meant anything significant to him. It isn't like he's incapable… nor would he be lying, should he say them again. 

His head throbs behind his eyes–the drink from before beginning to fade–and he digs his fingers harder into his skin.

Even if he is upset over it, Astarion knows why she left him. He doesn't even truly disagree with it, because had he been told the reality of what being a vampire spawn was like, he may have just chosen actual death itself. But he would never subject her to even a fraction of what he endured. He would make the experience so pleasant for her, so very enjoyable.

And she's here now, isn't she? She hasn't run yet, despite all she's seen. Has invited him into her bed countless times over these last few months. She's never told him to leave.

Right now, Astarion hates himself. Hates the chokehold just thinking about love has over him. She deserves to be told how he feels. To hear him say it. She isn't Cazador. No, she's quite the opposite of him, actually.

The opening of the bedroom door pulls Astarion from his thoughts, and he steps away from the doorway. Tav appears as the door swings fully open, her makeup redone and her eyes somewhat puffy, but she puts on her best smile and she steps through the threshold.

Astarion's chest aches as he looks at her face. It's all for show, and he knows it. Returning her smile, Astarion then holds a folded arm out toward Tav. She graciously accepts his offering by slipping her arm within his, and they head toward the ballroom.

They look every bit like the perfect couple as they walk through the hall, but his chest feels hollow. They reach the top of the stairs and Astarion steps down first, offering his hand to Tav. He sees the trepidation in her eyes, but eventually she smiles and accepts his offer.

And when her hand slots perfectly into his, light gleaming off the turquoise gemstone of True Love’s Caress, the knife twists so deeply within his chest that it knocks the air clean from his lungs.

He truly is a godsdamned fool.

[brain-rot-central]

cw: dubcon (if you squint), pregnancy mention

lmao, hi. 🫠🫠🫠

[brain-rot-central]

Hi, they're fighting

[hello--darling]

Iconic as always

The Arrangement (15) - Acquaintances

Summary: Astarion meets a friend of old and quickly realises it might have just cost him something very dear to him.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma and abuse. Mentions of abuse.

Note: This post on reddit shed some light on Cazador, so I definitely giving it a read!

Word count: 3.3k

Series masterlist . Ao3

In times past, Astarion would have found momentary solace in the person standing right before him. After all, silence and whatever could be called normalcy were hard to come by in Cazador's palace.

The servants had been the very embodiment of the life he had long lost. In fact, they had been the only life that roamed the vast halls. All had accepted  being there willingly and under the foolish illusion that Cazador would one day grant them the gift of immortality. 

If you could actually call it a gift…

And even though they were loyal to the vampire lord to a fault, they were, for the most part, quite amicable to his spawn as well. Some would even tend to the vast and deep wounds inflicted by Cazador after he had spent his wrath.

Astarion had been quite fortunate to be on the receiving end of their mercy on numerous occasions, when his field of vision was nothing but a pool of blood – a sore reminder that crossing Cazador Szarr was not to be taken lightly.

Eyla?

He did remember her name and her kindness and gentle touch amidst his wails of pain.

“Surprised to see me?”

The slim figure took a few sure steps in his direction as he cradled your limp form in his arms, still overrun with shock.

Astarion tried to talk, but no words left his mouth.

“I suppose your silence is a novelty,” she said, coming to a halt as she pushed the hood down, revealing her pleasant face. “After all, you were always the loud and troublesome one.”

For better or for worse, navigating through undeath and the unpredictability of his circumstances ever since he was snatched from Baldur's gate, had taught him a thing or two about being prepared and always on guard.

The dagger tightly strapped to his thigh was proof of it. He would only need to move his hand slightly under you to reach the hilt.

“What have you done to her?”

The woman's lips were pressed into a fine line for a long while, as if examining his question.

His patience was running thin, and he tried hard to keep her engaged enough so he could find a way to incapacitate her.

“Do not fret – she will be fine,” she said with a sigh, drawing even closer. “Not that it wouldn't give me great pleasure to put an end to the so-called hero of Baldur's Gate and her role in what you did to the master.”

Ah.

He should have known that this had something to do with Cazador. It seemed that he was destined to have him haunt him even in true death.

The sudden realisation hit him so hard he held you even closer to his body, shifting along the bench as if that would create a safe distance from Eyla.

Surprised was soon drowned out by the ever-growing anger that took root within him. He was known for his temper and outbursts, and clearly not the most sensible man when cornered.

But this was something else entirely.

Astarion had over two hundred years of having the worst atrocities being inflicted upon his body and mind. As far as he was concerned, he had managed to find useful ways to deal with imminent threats to him.

But he wasn't so lenient when it came to you.

You were off limits to anyone.

And he wasn't going to allow any harm to befall you.

“You'd be wise to undo this right now, or this conversation will be rather short.”

She had the nerve to snicker, eyes flickering under the moonlight. “Freedom has made you even more insufferable and entitled. Godey ought to have been harsher to you back then. I reckon one hundred more lashings would have made a difference each time you crossed the master.”

Rage swirled throughout his body like poisonous fumes, and he found it hard to stay put through the taunting.

But she was a fool to think she could best him in his natural element. After all, he had a tongue sharp enough to rival the blade of his dagger.

“Well, darling,” he started, slipping nearly effortlessly into his usual demeanour, “Godey is now nothing but a pile of dust, so unless you intend on joining him for a tea party in the afterlife, I'd make sure to tread lightly.”

And like clockwork, the first cracks began to show.

Her face dropped ever so slightly and he figured he had one - maybe two if the gods above even cared to bestow him any grace - sneer remark left before she lashed out at him.

“You insolent and ungrateful brat,” Eyla spat out through gritted teeth, both fists clenched at her sides, allowing him to infer 

Well, he had clearly exhausted her patience already, hadn't he?

No bother.

His right hand now gripped the handle of the dagger firmly, as he readied himself for an imminent physical confrontation.

But something made him freeze almost instantly, and his gaze dropped briefly to your face.

Maybe, just maybe, it was merely his mind playing tricks on him and feeding off his desperation, but he could swear he felt you shift slightly against him.

And then he saw your face tense.

A sudden wave of relief washed down on him, his free hand giving you a reassuring squeeze.

Good girl.

It was in moments like this that he vaguely wished – much to his utter disgust – that the wriggling worm was still a . He would have made good use of them right now.

More than relief, he felt pride.

He had yet to meet someone quite as resilient as you. Whatever incantation had been cast on you surely wasn't enough to contain the tempest within you.

You had been shaped by the elements and woven into a sorcerer whose magic wasn't so easily put out. He had been foolish to think a mere vampire lord servant could ever be a match against your mind.

“Isn't it enough that you turned on your master and betrayed him?”

Oh, what a bloody nuisance. He had no patience to entertain speeches of heartbroken servants whose wet dream had been crushed.

However…

You shifted again, but no sound came from your parting lips.

Astarion knew then he had to play the waiting game. There was no denying you were slowly but surely coming to your senses, but he couldn't draw attention to it.

More than friends, you two had grown to become teammates, taking in on each other's queues to know when to make the right move.

He knew you needed time, and time he would give you.

Meeting her eyes with defiance, he took on the challenge. “What Cazador sold you was naught but a fantasy.”

Your hand shifted next.

Mentioning his name so blatantly made her visibly shudder. “How dare you? You utter his name with no regard that he saved you from certain death.”

He leaned back with a roll of his eyes, further reeling her into his trap. “Oh, please. And what would he save you from, exactly? Idiocy? I am afraid it would take more than a vampire bite to fix such ailment, dear Eyla. Eternal life can only do so much.”

Warmth began spreading under his palm, letting him know that you were returning to him.

Still, you needed more time.

“Your words might work on the weak, but not on me.”

“And yet… you managed to serve a vampire lord who had no intention to ever deliver his promises.”

Eyla was young and naive, so he couldn't truly fault her for being so passionate and loyal. Cazador's grasp reached far and viciously. Astarion had once fallen for his 

“That does not make me weak.”

A crooked grin curled his lips. “Just an idiot, then.”

He tugged on his dagger slowly, allowing his fingers to glide down across the blade, knowing that, sooner or later, he would have to make use of it.

Eyla scoffed, crossing her arms, apparently unaware that you were no longer unconscious.

Come on… you're almost there, darling, he urged sweetly in his head as if his words could ever reach you.

“The others warned me that you had become rather insufferable.”

Others?

“Oh, how very interesting,” he said, trying his best to ignore your hand clawing at his shirt. “Ava?”

Were they… friends? In on this together?

Her brows furrowed. “The monster hunter whore you befriended? Don't insult me.”

Clearly not.

Well… 

“Does this rendezvous even have a purpose?” Astarion said with a forced yawn. “Are we to swap snarky remarks until one of us perishes? I had more engaging plans for this evening.”

The serenity in her face had given her away. 

She wasn't alone and he was a master of shadows.

Even in the poorly lit area, he could see silhouettes drawing near right behind her. That was certainly yet another nuisance he would have to deal with.

“Astarion…”

Your voice snapped him out of his bloodbath scheming right away.

For a brief moment, he let his guard down by meeting your hazy eyes.

“There you are.”

His voice was almost shaky from relief, but it would come at a cost.

It had been an unfortunate distraction.

He wasn't sure how he managed to tap so quickly into his reflexes, but he soon felt the warm and familiar splatter of blood hit his face, making him wince from bloodlust.

In the midst of chaos and footsteps and hisses surrounding him, he was able to spot the man he had hurled his dagger at, slicing clean through the pulsing artery in his neck. The obscene gush of blood that ensued as he hit the ground was enough to drive any vampire mad.

And he was not immune to it.

He hadn't fed in days and he could use this to his advantage. In fact, he reckoned it would be the only way out.

Droplets streamed down his face, hitting his lips, and he wasn't strong enough to deny himself of an added burst of power. As such, his tongue darted out and a rumbling groan tore through him as the liquid progressively took over his senses. One by one.

Blood was blood.

He would have preferred yours, but he was far too hungry to be picky.

He had pushed you right behind him as he leapt from the bench, determined to take on anyone who dared to come close.

By the time he had managed to retrieve his dagger, Eyla had a smile dancing on her lips. One that had his eyes wide.

Astarion was fast and agile, but he was also severely outnumbered.

Two other men had rushed to his side, and he flinched as something began poking at his lower abdomen, as they looped strong arms around his own, immobilising him in place.

Wooden stakes.

“Astarion…”

Your voice was still void of the life it usually held. It was evident that you were still weak and in no condition to fight.

And, in truth, he wasn't even sure he wanted you to.

“Drop the dagger.”

It wasn't a request.

It was a command and he wasn't sure how to dodge this one. He usually carried knives and other daggers on him just to be on the safe side, but he didn't think he would need those tonight.

Fucking idiot…

No amount of self-deprecation would get him out of this one.

They wanted to kill him for what he had done to Cazador. They wanted revenge and he wasn't sure how his wits and snarky replies would talk him out of this one.

He groaned as one man drove the stake harsher against him, from under his shirt. Still, the pressure wasn't enough to break skin. Not yet, at least.

As a reflex, he immediately let go of the dagger, hearing it land with a muffled thump on the grass.

Eyla's spirit had been renewed and she took measured steps towards him. 

He heard grunts from his side as you struggled to sit down on the bench, flickering snaps of lightning emerging from your hands.

That almost made him smile.

You were a fighter through and through, and he wouldn't mind parting this world in these terms. Knowing you had been enough to ease the pain of centuries of hurt. He had been given a second chance at life when he met you and not when he was made immortal. 

He had never felt more alive than in the moments he had spent with you and he would wish to have more, but he couldn't wish for that at your expense. After all, you had your whole life ahead of you. 

He had had his fill. 

He was ready to meet whatever fate awaited him, as long as you were kept safe.

“You're coming with us.”

His brows furrowed, caught by surprise.

“Do not harm her.”

Eyla was so close he could feel her hot breath on his skin, fanning the blood on his face that had begun to dry into sticky patches.

“We are not harming anyone,” she said viciously. “But we've had enough of you running around unscathed after what you've done.”

He wished he could tear his eyes from you, but it was like a force field. Your arms trembled as you tried your best to rein in the elements inside you. Lighting and fire swirled erratically from your hands. 

Yours was wild magic.

Hard to harness and bend to your will.

Even harder when thrown off balance unexpectedly.

“Look at me, Astarion.”

The two men pressed the stakes harder and he had no choice but to comply, meeting her eyes again.

“Did you really think we were going to allow you to have your happily ever after? That you could off into the sunset with her once you found a way to not burn to ashes?”

She was mocking him… goading him, knowing he was rendered immobile.

“Have you been the ones sabotaging this all along?”

A surge of outrage nearly burst from deep within as her silence answered his question. 

“Surprised?”

That would be an understatement. He couldn't even begin to describe the turmoil that gripped him from the inside out.

“Why…” His voice faltered momentarily, “why not just kill me right when you had the chance?”

At this, Eyla laughed. “Is there a bigger punishment than the illusion of freedom? Killing you would have been the kinder way out for you,” she went on, each word dripping with poison. “No. No, Astarion. You were a fool to hope. You were a fool to hope your misery was over.”

A part of him was still in shock at the revelation, and he had no smart jabs that could possibly help him right now.

But the truth was that, the rest of him, had begun to accept that. He had been a fool indeed to think he could have had any other ending than this.

That he could have had a semblance of happiness with you.

“But I think that we are tired of playing this game. Maybe it's finally time to kill you.”

Just like a punch to his gut, he was quickly overtaken with dread as he heard a faint whimper from you.. “If you're going to kill me, don't do it in front of her.”

“You are in no position to make demands.”

“Please.”

He was running out of time. 

He thought he had bought enough for you to recover, but you couldn't even bring yourself to sit upright, let alone save him from whatever awaited him.

Most importantly, he was running out of ways to ensure you weren't scarred for life for witnessing him being destroyed.

“Oh, you're going to beg? The way you used to beg Cazador to stop carving the scars you carry on you, hmm?” Eyla said, visibly satisfied with the effect her words had on him. “Get on your knees and beg, then.”

“No… fuck…” you said in between groans. 

He'd rather you had lost consciousness once again, for each word from you was as a dagger that was carved into him.

“Astarion. Do not kneel…”

The two men holding him tight chuckled darkly as his knees began to cave in, but before he could go through with it, Eyla raised one hand, halting him.

“What if we kill her instead?” she chirped, making her way to you. “I think we should. Astarion would have an eternity to suffer for having killed the only person he has ever truly loved.”

Blinded by anguish, Astarion lurched forward, feeling both men struggling to keep him in place. He felt the sharp tips of the wooden stakes break skin just enough to draw blood, but he powered through the fear that loomed over him.

“I will fucking kill you if you touch her!”

With a click of her tongue, Eyla sat next to you, one hand caressing your head as you spilled curses at her, still drained from whatever magic had been cast on you.

“You'd be staked before you could even reach me, silly boy,” she said, revealing a knife from under her sleeve. “Now that I think about it, killing her seems the most reasonable choice here.”

You tried to flinch away from her grasp, and Astarion felt himself go mad from the sight in front of him.

He was about to scream when they muffled him with a piece of cloth, robbing him of his voice.

Reflexively, he tried to break free once more, but he was far too weak to put up a fight.

He knew it was futile, but he had abandoned all reason. Even though he had savoured blood, he was still too weak to break through the hold they had on him. Each pull from him and each attempt to break free were quickly met with an immovable force.

When his eyes met yours, he saw you mouth something.

And it broke him.

He didn't need to hear it.

He knew what you were attempting to say.

Thank you.

He doubted any torture Cazador had ever inflected on him could ever match the pain he was currently experiencing.

Eyla suddenly grabbed a vial from her robes, spilling the clear liquid along the sharp blade.

“Isn't it poetic justice that you are a master of poisons, and she gets to die at your hand?”

He recognised the vial as his.

It was his poison.

He couldn't tell which one, but it hardly mattered. Each poison he concocted was terrible through and through. They were designed to hurt and, ultimately, kill.

Soon, you began to sob, swirls of fire engulfing your hands as frustration gripped you. You were unable to get your magic under control and you were going to die.

For him.

Because of him.

Eyla threw him a final glance, positioning the top of the knife right across your neck. You stilled immediately, knowing any sudden movement could have the blade slice right through.

He tried to speak again, but all his words came out unintelligible. 

“If you scream, they'll stake you.”

Eagerly, he nodded, and they swiftly removed the cloth from in between his teeth.

“Please. Don't!” Astarion said in sheer despair. “I will do whatever you want!”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “You have nothing to offer us.”

He had to try.

He had to try to buy himself more time in the hopes that someone had heard him and might 

“You want eternal life, don't you?”

Silence. Dreadful and agonising silence.

“I can find a way to help you. There are other true vampires out there.”

Eyla tapped the side of her blade to your skin as she pondered his words. She then exchanged looks with both men.

“Should we take his offer?”

Had he made it? Had he managed to bluff his way out of this one? To possibly get you somewhere safe?

Hope.

Eyla lifted the poisonous blade and Astarion felt a crushing weight being lifted from him.

She locked eyes with him for what seemed like a lifetime.

Please. Please. Please. 

Eyla clicked her tongue with a pout. “I don't think so.”

And he watched in horror as she moved her hand to swiftly bury the knife into your abdomen.

“NO!”

Astarion felt his body go limp as his field of vision got flooded with a golden and warm beam that tore through the night sky akin to how the sun breaks the dawn. 

Next chapter: When All Things End

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 7

A/N: *Full warning: we have depictions of nail picking and a panic attack in this chapter.* Alright everyone, we gettin' into it now. This chapter is how Tav feels about Astarion and the entire situation, thus far. She also pieces together a lot about what's going on and starts planning ahead. Happy reading! Rating: Mature Word count: 3.6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, nail picking, panic attacks, unhealthy relationship Summary: Tav returns to her room to begin preparing for the evening's event with Magdalena waiting for her at her door. Tav quickly realizes that not everything is quite as it seems.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

It's late afternoon by the time the tailor finishes the dress. He heeds Tav’s request to keep extra fabric around the waist and with the dress in hand, she returns to her room to prepare for the ball. 

As she rounds the corner, Tav is surprised to see Magdalena waiting for her by the door. The woman holds two boxes within her hands: a velvet jewelry box and a shoebox. Somewhat unsettled, Tav gives the woman a warm greeting as she ushers her inside, closing the door behind them.

As Tav rests the dress over the back of a chair, Magdalena suddenly rushes to her. “Oh, I simply adore the color!” she exclaims. Magdalena places the boxes atop the vanity and picks up the dress, holding it out before her. Light dances over the rich green hue of the satin fabric, and Magdalena is simply in awe. “It matches your eyes, my lady,” she adds, looking over her shoulder.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giving a soft chuckle. “Yes,” Tav agrees shyly, “so I've been told. Astarion insisted on the color for that reason.”

“Well, the young Master has always had a keen sense of fashion. This dress will pair wonderfully with the accessories he’s chosen,” declares Magdalena with a confident nod of her head.

Raising her hands to her head, Tav gives the older woman a questioning glance. Auburn locks cascade down Tav’s shoulders as she unravels her hair tie. She takes a moment to run a hand through her hair, shaking it between her fingers. Tav tosses her hair to the other side of her face as she meets Magdalena’s eyes. “More gifts from Astarion?” she inquires, tilting her head in the direction of the boxes.

“Indeed they are,” Magdalena says, carefully laying the dress on the back of the chair. She gathers the accessory boxes and makes her way to Tav, who is now sitting on the bed. “Earrings with a matching necklace,” she explains jovially, “and a pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.”

Tav stares at the boxes and her mouth turns upwards. He means to doll me up further? she relents, mood deflating. 

Astarion knows how much she dislikes this type of thing, so why bother? The gaudy, flashy jewelry. The clothing, shoes, handbags, hats… She'd feel more at ease in a suit of armor, pulling a sword off her back. 

That's probably not the most appropriate attire for a gala, however. 

She prays Magdalena hasn't brought makeup – Tav simply loathes the feeling of her skin suffocating under layers of concealer and powder. She bites her inner lip as she continues gazing at the accessories, contemplating. 

Well, perhaps a little mascara wouldn't hurt, she concedes. Eyeliner, too. So long as her freckles remain visible, she's satisfied. 

They pepper the tops of her shoulders and her breasts, as well as stretch across the bridge of her nose. A compliment to the permanent summer tan of her complexion, and it often leaves Tav pondering her origins. Though, the thought usually fades as fast as it forms.

Astarion noticed them not long after they started their affair. The nights they'd spend in his tent often left one, or both of them, shirtless and bare from the waist down.

He traces a pattern into her back with a single digit. The pressure isn't too much, really. Yet, it's enough to draw her out of her concentration from the journal in her lap. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, coarsely. Curse her short temper; Tav has no reason to anger at this situation, yet she feels the embers being stoked from below.

Astarion sits behind her, having just recently fed. There's a bloodstained rag laying next to his pile of throw pillows, and a throb deep in her neck.

‘Your skin, dear,’ Astarion says while dragging a finger across her bare shoulder, ‘is entirely covered with freckles.’

Tav quirks her brow, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘You have them too, you know. Across your face. And a little on your shoulders.’ Her neck protests the movement, but she'll live.

‘So I've been told,’ he agrees, ‘but you have enough to trace patterns with.’

She doesn't answer. Tav simply chuckles and resumes writing in her journal, adjusting her posture slightly. The violent urges are subsiding. She finds comfort in the fact that he means only to appreciate her form, not turn it into a spectacle.

After a moment, Astarion asks, ‘Would you like me to stop?’

‘Of course not,’ she answers, affectionately. ‘It feels good, actually.’

Astarion smiles and resumes his tracing, now with two fingers instead of one.

Tav never realizes what he etched into her skin until much, much later. She'd already lost him, by then. As she closes her eyes, she feels the ghost of his fingers passing over her shoulder even now.

I love you.

She stands in the bedroom, lost in thought. The fingers of one hand find a hangnail on the other.

Pick.

Would he have resisted, had she realized his feelings sooner? Would she have been stronger in her efforts to stop him? Could she have saved him? 

The far-from-innocent but budding man he was becoming, just starting to see how much light there is in the world. Only to end up swallowed whole by the depths of his own despair, his own lust for power blinding him. His fear, his desire for control.

Tav begins to chew the inside of her cheek.

Pick, pick.

Ultimately… she failed him. Stood there, frozen, watching helplessly as he let himself be consumed by all he fought so hard to escape.

I'm doing this for us, too, you know, Astarion had told her. 

He destroyed himself for them. For her.

The intensity of her finger picking increases, succeeding in ripping the hangnail out from the bed. The faint scent of blood fills her nostrils and she looks down, watching a small well of crimson pools within her cuticle.

Tav should have stopped him. Should have extended a hand to him sooner. She should have been more aware of his internal struggle. Because if she did, she could have pulled him back from the edge. Told him how much she cared for the man he was. If she did, they wouldn't be in this situation. Things wouldn't be like this, and they'd be happy. They'd be together, in love, and rejoicing over becoming parents, and–

“Lady Tavaria?”

The voice is Magdalena's, and suddenly the world snaps back into focus. She doesn't remember when she veered off, but she's thankful for the redirection. 

“I'm sorry,” Tav offers as she gathers herself. She sucks the bloodied finger against her mouth, extending her opposite hand toward the woman. “May I see the jewelry box, please?” she asks.

Magdalena hesitates as though to ask a question, but places the velvet box in Tav’s hand without further discussion. Tav opens the long, rectangular box; a gasp escapes her as she looks inside.

A diamond gold tennis necklace, with a pair of matching diamond earrings, lies within. Tav rotates the box, watching intently as the gems shimmer against the candlelight. Solid white reflects off the diamonds.

They're real.

Not only are they real, but their quality is about the highest one could find.

“He… He can't expect me to wear these, can he?” Tav asks, lifting her head to Magdalena. “These cost tens of thousands of gold!” Her chest burns; an uneasiness begins to take root within her. Something feels wrong about this, but she can't quite place her finger on why.

“I believe he does,” answers Magdalena, seemingly unbothered. She places the shoebox next to Tav, removing the lid. “I had a peak at everything before coming in,” she admits with a short laugh. “Lord Ancunín truly has such wonderful taste.”

The shoes are golden in color with a slight sparkle. Not too blinding, but it's noticeable when held up to the light. There are no elaborate straps or designs; they're a simple pair of slip-on dress shoes with a modest heel, no higher than two inches.

“Doesn't want me to be taller than him, does he?” Tav remarks between a chuckle of her own, desperate to hide some of the building tension. Both her and Magdalena exchange a strained smile as Tav reaches into the shoebox, grabbing a single shoe. She then takes the jewelry box with her opposite hand and heads to the mirror over the vanity.

The uneasiness in her chest is beginning to make sense. Why all of this seems… tainted. Almost soul-less. This should bring her insurmountable amounts of joy, to have someone treat her so well. But as she opens the jewelry box and pulls out the tennis necklace, placing it to her chest, she understands.

‘He's trying to buy my affections.’

Instead of having the difficult conversation about what happened the evening before, Astarion means to express all he cannot say through lavish gifts. It all feels rather… cheap, to Tav. A cop-out. Disrespectful, even, that she isn't worth the effort of having such a heavy conversation.

However, it dawns on her that Astarion may not be capable of having that discussion with her. That he lacks the emotional competency to navigate those feelings appropriately. So, instead, he places those feelings into gifts or actions, constantly skirting around vulnerability of any kind.

Her heart falls a bit deeper in her chest, and she rests the jewelry and the shoe on the vanity before turning to Magdalena. “They're all rather lovely,” Tav remarks, painting her best smile widely across her face.

The servant smirks and narrows her gaze. She clasps her hands over her lower abdomen, and says, “Yet something still troubles you?”

The metaphorical weight on her chest is crushing, and Tav contemplates expressing all in that very moment. Yet, a quick flash of her memory reminds her of Astarion's influence over the woman. 

“These past few days have given me much to consider,” Tav expresses, modestly. She longs for the ability to speak plainly, but knows better than to do so here. Not when Astarion has such strong influence over this woman.

Almost as expected, Magdalena's eyes glow, signaling her communing with Astarion. The light fades just as quickly as it appeared, and Magdalena then walks toward the washroom. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with Lord Ancunín,” she offers in acknowledgement. Yet, she’s unphased by Tav’s admission, quickly brushing it off as she says, “But right now, we absolutely must get you ready!”

The woman's aloofness is baffling to Tav. It's inconsistent with her prior behavior. But as Tav settles her gaze on Magdalena’s face, she finds the maid’s signature smile on display. 

And like the spark of a flame igniting, the puzzle pieces finally come together. Her stomach sinks. Her heart races.

He instructed Magdalena to drop the matter. 

He directed Magdalena to continue getting her ready.

Magdalena's kindness is a veil, subject to Astarion's whims. She will be as cold or as warm as Astarion commands. None of this is honest. As long as she stays within the manor, Tav will never be free. She will always be under Astarion's watchful gaze, directly or through surrogate means.

He will always know everything.

The gears in her head begin turning, almost on pure instinct. As if searching through an archive, Tav finally settles on something to challenge her current mindset.

‘But what is his greatest weakness?’ she asks herself.

“Of course,” Tav answers, sullenly, “though if you don't mind, I'd like to prepare on my own.” She looks intently at Magdalena.

‘His fear.’

Fear of the unknown, of lack of control. Fear that she will leave, reject him, despite all he's done thus far.

Tav knows Astarion; understands his heart as if it's a mirror image of her own. Fear drives almost everything he does, including his current treatment of her. It's an overcompensation for all he cannot do. Words he can never express.

The maid pauses for a brief moment, contemplating Tav’s request. Tav expects Magdalena's eyes to glow once again, but to her surprise, they never do. If Magdalena did speak with Astarion again, it was so subtle that she missed it. Her face only holds the stain of disappointment.

“As you wish, Lady Tavaria,” Magdalena says with a hint of uncertainty. “I'll be here to assist, have you any need of me.” She looks back toward Tav, taking a small bow, then exits the small bedroom.

As soon as Tav hears the door click shut, she sighs, clasping a hand over her chest. Her heart beats wildly against her ribcage, the adrenaline finally taking over. She can only remain stoic for so long before the panic sets in.

The cracks in her foundation are starting to grow, wider and fatter. The countdown to the collapse has begun.

Tav isn't being dishonest. These last few days have given her too much to consider. In fact, it's more like the last few weeks that have her head spinning. Months, even.

Astarion returning was enough to throw her off-kilter. All the effort she put in trying to right herself after the end of their relationship. The gaping wound it left within her chest, the scar still aching even now. 

But a few months of passion softened that scar and she found herself letting him back in, against her better judgment. She became accustomed to being deceitful when asked about her love life in order to hide her shame, only to fall pregnant with a child that could spell the ruin of all of Faerûn, if her Father demands it.

Tav rushes to the washroom, her throat tightening. Heat creeps up her face and her vision narrows. She sparks the flame to the oil lamp above the mirror and immediately opens the faucet. Gathering cold water in her palms, Tav splashes the flushed skin of her face. The water acts as a soothing balm, her mouth hanging open as she drags a hand down the front of her face.

It's not like her to play the fool for anyone. She’s usually the one with answers to everything. She's the fearless leader. She's in command.

Icy cold water drips from her brows, rolling down her cheeks, and she shuts off the water. As it drips onto her chest, she feels her heartbeat slowing.

But Astarion is different. She can hold him, but like a feral alley cat, he's skittish. Never staying in one place for too long. Divulging only choice pieces of a story to spin the type of narrative he wants to put forth. He wears so many different faces that it's hard to ascertain which is truly his. And it has her dipping her hands into the pot deeper each time, desperate to reach the bottom she knows exists.

Especially now.

Tav stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back. Bags sit heavy under her eyes; a testament to her exhaustion. The bruise on her neck is better, though still visible up close. 

There was a time before all of this when she could easily admit to her beauty. Probably not winning any pageants, but she could hold her own just fine. Use it to her advantage, if the situation called for it. 

Tav doesn't remember much from before the Nautiloid, but she does see the drastic difference in her appearance now. Her hair is longer. Her bangs have grown out, the ringlets not as tight. Tav leans toward the mirror and tilts her head, wincing. She watches as crow's feet appear within the creases of her eyes.

She looks… older. Almost unrecognizable.

The Illithid War either aged her, or the child in her belly isn't shying away from having their fill. Which, given their paternity, is highly likely.

Tav stands straight, raising her hands to her head. She sections a part of her hair in the front and folds it over her forehead, replicating the bangs she had when they'd all first met. She sighs.

There's very little she can do about the passage of time. She's human, and is bound to show signs of aging at this point in her life. If asked, Tav would say she's in her late twenties, or perhaps even her early thirties. That part of her memory hasn't fully returned to her, though she can say with certainty that she's somewhere around that age.

The funny thing about time, she's learned, is that time marches ever forward to the beat of its own drum. There's little point in fighting it. All anyone can ever do is try their best to keep up.

Letting her hair fall back into place, Tav opens the cabinet behind the mirror. It's filled with various small dropper bottles, but on the middle shelf lay a pair of steel scissors. Her mouth shifts into a curious pout as she contemplates the shears. Tav closes the medicine cabinet, once again sectioning her hair and observing herself in the mirror.

In a split decision, she agrees to cut her hair. 

It's a risk, being so close to the event. But she cares not – she hears the direction as clear as someone's voice in her ear. And she follows the compulsion.

Tav dips her head into the sink basin and turns on the spout again. She wets the front of her hair, then parts it down the middle. Turning off the faucet, Tav then retrieves the scissors from the cabinet, slowly bringing them to her hair.

And with a breath, she begins to cut.

Strands of hair fall freely into the sink basin. She cuts perpendicular, creating a curtain-like effect. As she descends, Tav blends the bangs into the rest of her hair with face-framing layers.

She's suddenly met with a familiar face, of a woman she's seen before. One that she’s come to know very well. The lone warrior who faced countless foes without question, putting them to the sword and wearing their blood as ritualistic war paint.

The wicked child of Bhaal; a harbinger of murder.

A woman who fears no one.

Shaking out her hair, Tav smiles. A simple haircut isn’t enough to rid her of the deep ache in her chest, but it certainly soothes the burn. She lifts her face again, focusing her attention to her neck. The mark left by Astarion is fading, though it still screams loudly. Still boasts ownership, possession, of her.

Her stomach twists at the sight.

Concealer and foundation have their places, too, she realizes and she's ever grateful for their existence, at this moment.

She turns to the tub and opens the valve. Clean water flows endlessly into the basin and almost instantly, she's mesmerized. 

The palace hosts riches, plumbing, and an endless supply of fresh food. Servants who wait on you hand and foot, and is home to one of the most handsome bachelors in Baldur's Gate.

She could have everything, should she choose to stay here. She would never have to work again, never do a single thing for herself ever again.

But at what price? How much of a blind eye would she need to turn? 

Would it be expected of her to be seen and never heard? Is she to stand as a trophy on Astarion's arm, never to speak her mind again? Does he seek to extinguish her flame so he shines brightest?

The sound of water pounds loudly in her ears.

She would have everything, yes… but nothing that she wants. Her choices would be dictated solely by Astarion, as they are for Magdalena. As they are for every servant of the manor.

Exactly as he wants it.

She regains focus, shaking her head some, and reaches to shut off the tub’s valve. 

Astarion has changed, she realizes. He boasts an air of confidence, of a debonair. But within, he's frail. He now relies on the faux control that comes from the bottom of a wine bottle, forever a drink in hand. Without it, he's unstable. Out of place. She saw proof of it down in the crypts as his body began to warp before her eyes.

Awkward and struggling. He's desperate to hide that side of him – how the ascension may have done more than grant him insurmountable power. Of all that lay behind the mask he wears.

Quickly stripping herself of her garments, Tav steps into the tub. She lowers herself gently into the water and leans against the wall of the tub. Her hands rest over her stomach, rubbing up and down over the soft bump that grows with each passing day. The tension bleeds from her muscles as she gives into the warm embrace of the water.

Tav knows what needs to be done. 

She'll play along this evening. Act the part of the trophy wife, the bed warmer, the painted doll. She'll be as alluring as possible; even fuck him, if that's what he wants. Though, it’d be dishonest to say she doesn't want that, too.

Yet… she could always just leave. Avoid this entire ordeal. 

Astarion isn't keeping her here. In fact, he's left that as an option knowing she'd be less likely to entertain it, should he give it to her freely. It's a display of reverse psychology. An illusion of choice.

Once she speaks with Wyll, she'll be more confident in her decision. Tav knows the likely outcome is to leave, but perhaps her conversation with Wyll tonight reveals information she can use toward confronting Astarion directly. Hopefully she can drive some sense into that dastardly head of his.

And perhaps, depending on how their conversation goes… she’ll finally tell him about their child.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 6

A/N: Alright, here's the deal: I wrote the next 3 parts of Sonnet all together (including this one), but have decided to split them up for flow purposes. Which, hopefully means more frequent updates, because they're already written lmao. I apologize for this being a shorter chapter, but the next two will be from Tav's POV and then Astarion's. We're doing character building, ya'll. Happy reading!!

Rating: M/Soft E Word count: 2k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, body worship, post-breakup, unhealthy relationship Summary: In preparation for the upcoming gala, Astarion commissions a hand-tailored dress for Tav.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

A small gathering has commenced within Astarion's office.

Tav stands on an upturned wooden crate with her arms outstretched, facing a mirror. A tailor is at her side, wrapping measuring tape around her chest. He scratches something into his notepad, then slips the tape down to her waist. He cinches it tight, causing Tav to gasp.

“Ah, excuse me, may I request something?” she asks, putting up a finger in protest. The man looks up at her through the thick lenses of his glasses.

He's a meek older man; human, likely in his seventies. His glasses sit heavy across the bridge of his nose, and he speaks with a voice that begs for some type of nasal lavage. He nods at Tav.

 “Perhaps leave some extra fabric around the waist?” Tav suggests, sweetly.

She’s wearing an emerald green satin dress. Astarion picked the color – part of their agreement to have her attend tonight's event – as it matches her eyes. The dress is modest, overall. Off the shoulder sleeves with a horizontal ruffle across her chest. The neckline dips slightly into her cleavage, but it's mostly obscured by the bunched fabric. It cinches around her midsection, opening into a wide skirt down the legs. The same ruffle across her chest is present around the bottom hem of the dress.

It truly is a magnificent dress.

…If she enjoyed wearing them.

Astarion looks on from across the room, languidly sipping a glass of wine. He's sifting through various documents strewn across his desk as he chimes in, “You have such a darling figure, my dear. Why hide it?”

With a huff, Tav argues, “I've grown softer in these last few months.” She looks off to the side pensively, chewing the inside of her lip. She knows what he's going to say. It's never been about what she looks like, though hearing him call her a vision always does wonders for her self-esteem.

No, Astarion has always wanted her. Was drawn to her heart, as twisted and warped as it was. Despite that, he managed to find the small beacon of light still shining within. And slowly, ever so carefully, pulled it from the depths.

“And? I hardly see the issue,” Astarion challenges with a slight tilt of his head.

“Astarion!” she shouts, giving a quick stomp of her feet. Heat rises to her cheeks. “Please, Astarion – I would feel more comfortable about wearing this… thing,” Tav says while pulling at the dress, “if it weren't so form-fitting.”

Astarion takes another drink of wine, walking around the desk to lean against its edge. He and Tav exchange glances. When he finds her pouting, he sighs. “I guess it doesn't matter, really,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. His lips then curl into a devilish smile. “It's only going to end up on the floor, come nightfall.”

Tav shoots a bewildered glare toward Astarion, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. The bastard has the nerve to be smiling so smugly after a comment like that, because he knows. There's no way Astarion doesn't know the impact his words have on her. 

It's another game he plays, but truth be told, Tav likes this one. A lot. It’s rare for him to not make good on those honeyed words. And when he does, gods, does he do it well.

Preventing her mind from becoming awash with lust, Tav shakes her head. She stomps her feet again and huffs out an audible breath in Astarion’s direction. It's a warning for him to ease up on the flirtation, lest she blow a gasket.

His smile deepens.

Of course he'd want to see that.

The poor tailor, caught between their questionable spat, clears his throat. “I-If it's alright, my lord, I'm more than willing to comply with your Lady’s request.” 

Astarion brings the glass of wine again to his lips, looking at Tav from over the rim. She mouths a ‘please’ in his direction; he pushes himself away from the desk’s edge.

“Of course,” he agrees in a posh tone. “Whatever my Lady desires.” Astarion then abandons his glass on the desk, moving toward Tav. 

A shiver runs down her spine as Tav watches his reflection appear in the mirror behind her. She knows he’s handsome, but seeing his form within the glass leaves her speechless.

It grounds her in a way she doesn't expect. Makes this entire situation real. 

She may never get used to it.

“However,” Astarion continues, “I would ask that you please leave the room.” He turns his head to the tailor. “If only for a few minutes.”

“Of c-course, Lord Ancunín,” says the elderly man with a bow. He gathers a few materials scattered from around the room and quickly heads out into the foyer. The door to the office clicks shut behind him.

Astarion then offers Tav a hand in stepping down from the wooden crate. She accepts and stands before the mirror. She takes a quick moment to study her reflection. 

Her hair is being held up in a loose bun. As she tilts her head, Tav can see the scars on her neck through the fallen strands of hair. Yet, she's happy to find that the bruise Astarion sucked into her neck is starting to fade.

“Now tell me truthfully, darling– Why hide this beautiful body of yours?” Astarion asks from behind her. He slips his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne, mixed with the sweetness of the alcohol on his breath, floods Tav’s senses. She finds herself quickly growing lax under him, slipping further into his embrace. 

“Unless… you're saving it all for me?” he asks, coyly. He slots his face into the nape of her neck and inhales, leading a trail of kisses up the side of her neck, stopping just behind her ear. “How very modest of you,” Astarion teases.

He sways her gently within his arms and Tav wraps her hands around his forearms, fighting to keep herself upright. “I think a better topic for discussion, Astarion,” she deflects, “is how you almost killed me the other night.” She gives a brief pause before adding, “Again.”

“Oh, but my darling, I didn't,” is his sultry reply. Astarion sucks another kiss into Tav’s neck. The sensation has her knees buckling, but she quickly recovers, squeezing his forearms tighter.

He worries over the scars on her neck and Tav whimpers softly, raising her hand to thread through silver locks. “That's hardly the point, Astarion,” she retorts. Her voice is barely audible, more air than sound.

Astarion slides his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts through the gown, eyes fixated on their reflection in the mirror. “I would say that's precisely the point, my dear,” he suggests, accentuating his argument with a gentle squeeze of her breasts. “You asked me not to turn you – I didn't. I respected your wishes.” He rests his cheek against hers, rocking them gently again as he stares into the mirror. “In my defense, I'm used to taking a bit more from you. It seems you've lost some of your resilience in our time apart.”

Tav scoffs, offended, though allows Astarion to continue swaying her within his arms. “Are you really trying to imply that it's somehow my fault for almost dying again?”

“On the contrary, actually.” Astarion moves his hands again to her waist, wrapping them tightly around her. His voice drops an octave as he says, “We've spent far too much time away from one another.” He kisses her cheek. “And we should perhaps fix that.”

Tav turns to face him. “What do you mean?” she asks, panicked. “We've been seeing one another for the last three months. This is certainly all… something.” She's suddenly on edge, but she's unsure why. Does she fear him rejecting her?

…Since when does she care about that, again?

“Exactly,” Astarion agrees with a husky growl. He drops his face, resting his forehead against hers. “It's something. But what if it were more? Would it truly be so terrible?”

They stand together within the quiet office. And as Tav looks into his eyes, she almost forgets the events of the night before. 

How she essentially aided him in ending the lives of two men. How he hid them within the depths of the manor. That he probably would have never told her, had she not found out. 

This man will keep secret after secret from her, if it means staying within her good graces. He will never risk tarnishing her opinion of him. Tav will have to fight, tooth and nail, to pull each and every truth from him.

Being with him will be work, and will likely end horribly.

But now, as she looks at his face, illuminated by the soft glow of the morning sun breaking through the windows, she feels that maybe…

Maybe…

She's been wrong about him.

Would spending eternity with Astarion be all that bad? He would put her in the very best of everything, never letting her go without. Tav knows he would protect her, always, until his dying breath. Hells, she would never have to lift a finger ever again. She would never be lonely; Astarion would make sure of that. She would never want for anything.

Tav plants a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, giving Astarion a genuine smile. “We should really let the tailor finish working, Astarion,” she scolds, playfully.

‘Maybe,’ she thinks…

‘It's worth trying again.’

With a groan, Astarion rolls his eyes. “That's terribly boring,” he replies with feigned annoyance. “I have a better idea in mind.” He kisses his way up the side of her neck again, and Tav becomes a puddle of girlish laughter in his arms. “We should throw the dress to the floor now, no?” he suggests. “Nightfall is just so very far away...”

As Astarion's hands wander down the length of her back, Tav lets a moan slip past her lips when he cups her arse. “Let the man finish his job, Astarion,” she insists, “or I won't have anything to wear at all.”

He draws back from her, studying her face. Confusion strikes her as she looks back at him, unable to read his expression. The corners of his mouth then curl into a sly smile, and suddenly, she understands. 

“Again,” he says in a velvet tone, “I hardly see the problem.” Astarion accentuates his point by pulling her to him. Tav gasps as their centers collide, and that's when she feels it. The length of him, stiff and proud, rubbing up against her. Heat rushes to her cheeks in embarrassment – he would take her here in the office, knowing damned well the tailor is just beyond the office doors. 

The same doors that happen to be unlocked.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she states, tapping Astarion's chest while peeling herself free of his embrace. “Now, please; I would appreciate if you quit being so fresh and let the man finish.” Her breath comes in labored pants, her cheeks flushed. Her mind begins to clear.

With a playful scoff, Astarion throws up his hands in defeat. He steals a quick kiss to her cheek, snaking a hand down the front of his trousers. Astarion flips himself up into the waistband of his undergarments, pulling out his shirt to cover himself. Tav gives a quick giggle, Astarion shooting back with a smirk, and he finally heads to the office doors. He invites the tailor back into the office with a bow. “My apologies,” Astarion says with a well-practiced smile, “and thank you for your patience. Please, resume your work.”

The tailor lifts his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose as he walks back into the office, clutching his measurement tape to his chest. He gives a quick bow to Astarion, then helps Tav back up onto the wooden crate. Astarion resumes shifting through documents on his desk, though catches Tav staring at him through the reflection of the mirror.

When their eyes meet, they give one another a knowing smile.

[brain-rot-central]

Anyone wanna take a wild guess as to what he wrote into her shoulder 🫠