#bard!tav

Karlach:

The late afternoon sun was casting long, golden rays over the grove as Karlach wandered back to camp, her infernal engine thrumming softly in her chest. She hadn’t meant to follow you. Not exactly. It was just that you’d taken Lae’zel’s battered training dummy—something she’d been in the middle of repairing—and disappeared into the woods. That was strange enough, but Karlach had felt a familiar pull of curiosity mixed with concern. What were you up to out there?

Now, crouched behind a large oak tree, Karlach peeked around the trunk and found you standing at the edge of the clearing. A soft tune drifted through the air, your voice carrying the melody like a warm breeze.

"Oh, Y/N," she whispered aloud. "Singing to the dummy, huh? Classic you."

You swayed slightly with the rhythm of your song, your movements so fluid and natural they almost looked like a dance. But then, without warning, you stopped mid-verse. You reached out, gripping the dummy’s shoulder—and in the blink of an eye, flipped it over your hip.

Karlach’s jaw dropped.

You didn’t stop there. Before the dummy even hit the ground, you shifted your stance, your body moving with the kind of practiced grace she’d only seen in seasoned warriors. You dropped into a low sweep, pivoting on one leg to strike its base, sending it sprawling. Rising fluidly, you delivered a precise strike to the 'head,' punctuating the movement with a hum as if you hadn’t just obliterated a target.

The final flourish was almost poetic: you executed a spinning kick, your heel colliding with the dummy so hard it cracked the wooden stand beneath it. The dummy tumbled to the side, and you stood there, breathing lightly, as if the exertion hadn’t affected you in the slightest.

Karlach couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“WHAT IN THE HELLS WAS THAT?!”

Your head snapped toward her, your face flooding with color as you realized you weren’t alone.

“Karlach!” you stammered, your hands flying to smooth your tunic. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?!” Karlach stepped out from behind the tree, her arms gesturing wildly. “What are you doing? Since when do you know how to do… that?” She pointed at the now-defeated dummy, which lay pitifully on its side.

You crossed your arms defensively, cheeks still burning. “I’ve always known a little…”

“A little?!” Karlach let out a booming laugh, her tail swishing behind her. “Babe, you just took that dummy apart like it insulted your singing or something!”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting away.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… I wanted to be able to help. You all are so incredible in battle, and I’m just…”

“You’re just what?” Karlach cut in, stepping closer. “The bard who keeps us inspired and alive? The one who holds this whole ragtag crew together?”

Your blush deepened, but you met her eyes. “I just thought… if I could be stronger—physically—I wouldn’t be such a burden.”

Karlach’s expression softened immediately. She reached out, her large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks gently.

“Love,” she said, her voice low and warm, “you’re never a burden. You don’t have to break dummies in half to prove your worth to anyone. But… I gotta admit, that was really impressive.”

You blinked up at her. “You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Mad?” Karlach grinned, her sharp teeth flashing. “Are you kidding? I’m proud as hell. But I am gonna need you to teach me some of those moves. Especially that spinny one—that was badass.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your earlier embarrassment melting away.

“Maybe,” you teased, poking her chest lightly. “But only if you promise not to tell the others.”

Karlach made a zipping motion across her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me, champ. But I’m not gonna lie—I’m gonna have a hard time not bragging about my badass bard babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. Karlach pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth enveloping you completely.

“C’mon,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get back to camp before Lae’zel notices her dummy’s been… obliterated.”

You groaned, leaning into her. “We’re so dead.”

Karlach laughed, her voice echoing through the trees. “Eh, worth it.”

Minthara:

The woods beyond the camp were quiet, save for the faint notes of a melody drifting through the air. Minthara moved silently between the trees, her keen drow eyes tracking your figure at the far edge of the clearing. It was unusual for you to wander off alone, even more so to take Lae'zel’s battered training dummy with you. Curiosity piqued, Minthara decided to follow.

There you were, standing before the dummy, singing softly to yourself. Minthara paused, leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching. Singing to a training dummy wasn’t entirely out of character for you—your bardic inclinations often led to unusual displays of creativity—but she was puzzled. Why bring it all the way out here?

Her question was soon answered.

As the lilting tune fell from your lips, you suddenly shifted. Your stance became poised, your body a study in fluid motion. Without breaking the rhythm of your humming, you lunged at the dummy. Your movements were precise and graceful, your strikes flowing seamlessly into each other like a carefully choreographed dance. A swift kick sent the dummy reeling, followed by a series of rapid jabs and slaps that would have left a living opponent breathless. Then, with a pivot and a sweep of your leg, you brought the dummy crashing to the ground.

Minthara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as you continued, employing techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts. There was a particular elegance to your movements, a controlled power that belied the carefree melody you still hummed. You transitioned into a joint lock on the dummy, flipping it as though it were an actual opponent resisting your movements.

Finally, you stood over it, brushing your hands together as if dusting off invisible dirt, your song never faltering. She stepped out of the shadows, slow and deliberate.

“Well, well,” Minthara drawled, her voice low and laced with amusement. “What is this, my little songbird?”

You turned, startled to see her, but quickly recovered, flashing her a sheepish smile. “Oh, Minthara. Didn’t realize you were watching.”

Her red eyes narrowed, scanning you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“You’re full of surprises. I’ve spent this entire time believing you to be helpless in battle, reliant on your songs and meager spells for survival.” She gestured at the broken dummy. “And yet, here you are, demonstrating martial prowess that rivals even Lae'zel.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Well… it’s not something I show off much. I guess I like to keep it quiet.”

Minthara crossed her arms, her expression stern. “Quiet? Or concealed? Tell me, have you enjoyed allowing me to think of you as defenseless? A fragile thing in need of constant protection?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the accusation. “What? No, that’s not it at all—”

She cut you off, stepping closer, her tone sharp. “You’ve let me believe you were incapable of handling yourself. All this time, I’ve fought to shield you, thinking you needed me.”

You hesitated, then sighed, meeting her piercing gaze. “You do love being overprotective, Minthara. Don’t deny it.”

Her expression faltered, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “That is beside the point.”

“No, it’s exactly the point,” you retorted, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You thrive on it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much satisfaction you get out of guarding me like a dragon hoarding treasure.”

Minthara’s scowl deepened, but the corners of her lips twitched. “You are insufferable.”

“And you adore me for it,” you quipped, stepping closer to her. “Minthara, I never meant to deceive you. I just… I didn’t want to take away something that brings you joy.”

She studied you for a long moment, her golden eyes searching. Then, with a resigned sigh, she uncrossed her arms. “You are maddening, songbird.”

“And yet you love me.”

Minthara’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “I do,” she admitted, her voice softening. “Even if you insist on testing my patience.”

You grinned and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You will,” she said, her tone regaining its edge. “Starting with another demonstration. I wish to see every technique you’ve been hiding from me.”

“Now?” you asked, glancing at the ruined dummy.

“Now,” she replied, stepping back and gesturing to the clearing. “And this time, no singing.”

You laughed, shaking your head but obeying. After all, when Minthara asked, you couldn’t refuse.

Lae'zel:

The clearing at the edge of the woods was quiet, save for the faint strains of a melody drifting through the crisp evening air. Lae'zel moved silently, her movements honed by years of Githyanki discipline, her sharp gaze locked on your figure in the distance. She had been curious when she noticed you sneaking away from camp with her broken training dummy. Lae'zel didn't believe in secrets—at least not when they came from you—and her curiosity outweighed her irritation at your appropriation of her equipment.

When she arrived at the clearing, she saw you standing before the battered dummy, humming a tune, your voice soft and lilting. Lae'zel frowned. Singing to a training dummy was strange, even for you. Still, she folded her arms and leaned against a tree, watching silently.

Then you moved.

With the grace of a dancer, you shifted your stance, your feet gliding effortlessly across the ground. You launched into a fluid series of attacks, every strike precise, every movement seamless. Your legs swept low, toppling the dummy, before you flipped backward and struck again with a powerful palm thrust. Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly as you transitioned smoothly into an arm lock, flipping the dummy as though it were an opponent resisting your control.

And the whole time, you kept humming.

Lae'zel’s frown deepened into a scowl. This was no ordinary display. You were using techniques she recognized as advanced martial arts, movements that spoke of training and discipline far beyond the carefree bard she knew. Her pride prickled, and her hands twitched, itching to act.

She didn’t hesitate. Stepping forward, she called out, her voice sharp and commanding. “If you think to test yourself, bard, you shall find no better opponent than me.”

You barely had time to turn before Lae'zel lunged. Reflex took over as you dodged her initial strike, countering with a swift kick that she deflected with ease. Her blade remained sheathed, but her strikes came fast and hard, testing your mettle with every movement.

You tried to hold your ground, countering her attacks with the techniques you had been practicing. For a brief moment, you thought you might impress her—until she caught your wrist mid-strike, twisted you effortlessly, and swept your legs out from under you. You landed on your back with a thud, her knee pressing firmly against your chest, her hand gripping your wrist like iron.

Her golden eyes bore into yours, her expression a mix of fury and curiosity. “Explain yourself. Now.”

You winced, trying to catch your breath under her unrelenting weight. “I—was training.”

Her grip tightened. “Obviously. Why?”

You hesitated, your face flushing. “I wanted to… to be better. To protect you.”

Lae'zel blinked, her scowl deepening. “Protect me? You are a fool. I am the superior warrior. I do not need protecting.”

“I know,” you said quickly, your voice soft. “But I care about you, Lae'zel. I hate the thought of you facing danger alone, of not being able to help you when it matters most.”

Her expression shifted, the anger in her gaze softening into something more unreadable. She studied you for a long moment before scoffing and releasing your wrist, though her knee remained firmly in place. “You waste your time. You are no match for me, nor will you ever be.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted with a small smile. “But I can still try.”

Lae'zel huffed, rising to her feet and pulling you up with her. “You are a fool,” she repeated, but her tone was less harsh. “Your efforts are clumsy, your techniques unfinished. But your spirit…” She paused, her lips twitching into a rare, begrudging smile. “Your spirit is not without merit.”

You grinned, brushing dirt off your tunic. “Coming from you, love, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Do not misunderstand,” she said, jabbing a finger at your chest. “You will not protect me. But if you insist on training, you will do so properly. Under my instruction.”

Your smile widened. “Does that mean you’ll teach me?”

“It means you will endure,” she said, turning on her heel and gesturing for you to follow. “Now, return my dummy to camp. We begin at dawn.”

Despite her brusque tone, you couldn’t help but notice the faintest hint of pride in her eyes as she walked away. And for that, every bruise was worth it.

Shadowheart:

The edge of the clearing was quiet except for the melodic strains of your voice carrying softly on the breeze. Shadowheart stood hidden among the trees, her brows knit in mild confusion as she observed you standing before a broken training dummy that clearly belonged to Lae’zel. Singing to it wasn’t entirely out of character for you—Shadowheart had seen you serenade stranger objects—but something about your focus held her attention.

You were humming a playful tune, your voice lilting and gentle, as if you didn’t have a care in the world. Then, without breaking the rhythm of your melody, you moved.

The shift was graceful, almost hypnotic. Shadowheart’s breath caught as you launched into a series of movements that seemed more like a dance than a fight. Your steps were light, deliberate, as you circled the dummy, and then—your arm shot out in a palm strike that cracked against the wooden surface. The dummy wobbled but didn’t fall, and you followed up with a spinning kick that knocked it clean off balance. Still singing, you transitioned smoothly into a series of intricate holds and flips, mimicking the motions of grappling an invisible foe with precision and grace.

It was elegant, fluid, and completely unexpected.

Shadowheart found herself riveted, her lips parting slightly as you executed a flawless takedown, your hands locking the dummy into a chokehold before you released it and returned to your feet in one seamless motion. The contrast between the peaceful tune you hummed and the deadly precision of your strikes left her both amused and… intrigued. She felt her cheeks warm as her thoughts turned decidedly less innocent.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, she stepped out from her hiding place, her arms crossed and her smirk coy. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

Your head snapped up, your cheeks flushing immediately at the sight of her. “Shadowheart! I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“No, I imagine not.” She strolled closer, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Here I thought you were sneaking off for some peaceful alone time. Instead, I find you… dismantling Lae’zel’s dummy with techniques I didn’t know you possessed.”

You glanced down, suddenly shy, your hands twisting nervously in front of you. “I—I didn’t want anyone to see. It’s just something I’ve been working on. You know, in case I need to defend myself.”

Shadowheart arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Defend yourself? Against what, exactly? Poor unsuspecting training dummies?”

You pouted slightly, which only seemed to amuse her more. “I thought it might be useful. Everyone’s always protecting me. I just wanted to—”

“To what?” she interrupted, stepping even closer. Her voice dropped, softer, more intimate. “Prove yourself? Impress someone?” She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. “If that was the goal, you’ve certainly succeeded.”

Your blush deepened, and you looked away, trying to play off her teasing. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Oh, it’s far from nothing,” she murmured, her tone laced with both admiration and mischief. “I have to say, it’s quite… captivating. Watching you move like that.” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering just a moment too long. “And you looked so at ease. Singing while you fought. It’s rather… arousing.”

“Shadowheart!” you squeaked, your voice higher than you intended. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment, but she only laughed softly, catching your wrists and pulling them gently away.

“Don’t hide from me,” she said, her voice dipping into something low and warm. “I like this side of you. Confident, graceful, capable. Why have you been hiding it?”

You hesitated, meeting her gaze. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Everyone’s so skilled already. And… well, I kind of like when you—when you fuss over me.”

She paused, her smile softening. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always so protective. It makes me feel… cared for.”

Shadowheart’s expression shifted, her teasing melting into something more tender. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing gently across your skin. “You are cared for. Deeply.” She leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft yet lingering, a silent promise wrapped in affection.

When she pulled back, her smirk returned, though it was gentler now. “But I’ll admit, I might enjoy seeing you take down a few more dummies. Especially if you keep singing while you do it.”

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Deal. But only if you don’t tell Lae’zel I took her dummy.”

Shadowheart chuckled, threading her fingers through yours. “Your secret is safe with me, my love. For now.”

Jaheira:

The forest clearing was tranquil, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. Jaheira walked at a measured pace, her steps as silent as the breeze rustling the leaves. She had noticed your absence and decided to follow, curious as to what you might be up to. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she stopped, her brows furrowing slightly as she took in the sight before her.

There you were, standing serenely in the center of the clearing with Lae’zel’s broken training dummy. That, in itself, was not entirely unusual—Jaheira was used to your whimsical nature. You were humming a lilting tune, a faint smile on your lips, as if completely at peace. But then… you moved.

Jaheira’s eyes widened slightly as you shifted into an elegant stance. Your movements flowed like water as you began to circle the dummy, your humming never faltering. With a sharp exhale, you struck, your palm landing against the wooden frame with a resounding crack. The force of the blow was shocking, but it was the grace with which you followed through that truly caught Jaheira’s attention.

You spun on your heel, delivering a precise kick that sent the dummy teetering. Before it could recover, you swept its legs out from under it and dropped into a low stance, your hands poised as if prepared to grapple an invisible foe. Then, you transitioned into a smooth jiu-jitsu hold, manipulating the dummy’s limbs with practiced ease.

Jaheira stood frozen, equal parts impressed and bemused, as she watched you flip the dummy over your shoulder and pin it to the ground. Throughout it all, you never stopped humming, your tune as calm and unwavering as a lullaby.

When you finally stood, brushing your hands off with a satisfied sigh, Jaheira stepped forward, breaking the silence.

“I see you’ve been keeping secrets,” she said, her voice carrying just enough warmth to temper the accusation.

You jumped, spinning to face her, your cheeks flushing crimson. “Jaheira! Beloved, I—uh—it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” she replied, arching an elegant brow. “Because it looks like you’ve been hiding some very impressive skills. Care to explain?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under her discerning gaze. “It’s just… something I’ve been working on. For fun. And… well, to be a little less helpless.”

Jaheira crossed her arms, her expression softening just slightly.

“Helpless? You? Hardly. But I admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who practiced martial arts in secret.”

You glanced down, your voice barely above a mumble. “I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of it.”

Jaheira sighed, stepping closer. “You are being ridiculous.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, her tone firm but kind. “There’s no shame in honing your skills. In fact…” She gestured to the dummy. “Your form was impressive, but your follow-through could use some work. That spin was elegant, but you left yourself open.”

You blinked up at her, surprised. “You were impressed?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But there is always room for improvement.”

Your embarrassment gave way to a shy smile. “Would you… show me? How to improve, I mean.”

Jaheira chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to ask twice, my love.” She moved to stand beside you, her movements deliberate and sure. “Now, watch closely. When you step into the spin, keep your guard up like this. It will make it harder for your opponent to counter.”

As she demonstrated, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest. Jaheira’s approval meant more to you than you had realized, and her willingness to teach only deepened your admiration for her.

After a few tries, you managed to replicate her movement, earning a small nod of satisfaction from her. “Better,” she said. “Now, again.”

You laughed softly, your earlier embarrassment forgotten as you focused on her instructions. Jaheira’s steady presence, combined with her gentle encouragement, made you feel capable—stronger than you ever had before.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, glancing at her as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Jaheira met your gaze, her eyes warm. “You don’t need to thank me. Just… promise me you won’t hide your strengths again. You’re far more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said, a hint of playfulness creeping into her tone. “Now, let’s see if you can manage that spin without stumbling this time.”

This was so fun to write and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

Somehow, Cazador Szarr had once again failed to find him. For 200 years his master had ruled Astarion’s waking moments with an iron fist. And then a small, wriggling little worm had miraculously interrupted Cazador’s vampiric hold on him. Imagine, a vampire lord losing to a worm. Astarion could die, again, of laughter. Yet even here, two weeks out from The Gate, Astarion felt his Master’s phantom eyes on him. He didn’t understand it but Astarion wasn’t a fool: he knew his time was limited. It was only a matter of whether the Mindflayers or Cazador would catch up to him first. Neither option was particularly good but the choice was easy, if he had one: he’d do anything, absolutely anything, to keep from returning to the Szarr Palace.

As the camp settled in for the night Astarion pantomimed preparing for bed, a routine he knew he was fumbling clumsily through. The night had been for hunting, seducing, fucking, killing. It had never been for relaxing. For reading. For chatting idly with people he wasn’t planning on stabbing in the back. For now at least. He knew they’d have no qualms about stabbing him, should they discover his condition. Even so, he had meditated more these last few nights than he had in decades. It cleared his mind a little, but it did nothing to calm the dread he carried in his bones. Nor did it assuage his gnawing hunger.

So far, none of his companions appeared to have figured out Astarion’s little secret. He watched each one of them carefully, scouring their faces, voices, and bodies for the smallest micro-expressions of suspicion. Karlach, Hell’s Above, didn’t seem to have much going on upstairs, a genuine blessing. Lae’Zel was too focused on reaching her blasted crèche to spare him a second glance, thank the gods. She could easily skewer him if she felt like it. Shadowheart was too busy guarding her own secrets to pry into his, although she could be oddly perceptive at times. Gale only stopped talking when he had his nose in a book, but he was still the resident wizard and needed to be watched should his, alleged, considerable intellect decide to return to him. The fact that Wyll hadn’t noticed was in itself suspicious, but perhaps the famous Blade of Frontiers wasn’t half the monster hunter he thought he was. Maybe Astarion could survive this after all.

And then there was Tav. Responsible, pretty, annoying, Tav. She had become the de facto leader of this ragtag tragedy, which was perfectly fine with Astarion. He did his best work from the shadows anyway. Tav spent her days settling their squabbles and running after every single irrelevant quest they were given like a dog after a ball. She was clearly too distracted, and too tired he often saw, to notice that he was more than he let on. Perfect.

Astarion wasn’t used to going unnoticed. He had accidentally drawn Cazador’s ire numerous times by simply existing. He had tried to fade into the background countless times, but Cazador’s cruel eye was always drawn to him. “Go on boy, do the only thing you’re good for.”

Well, he wasn’t completely unnoticed. He felt the way Tav’s eyes roved over him when she thought he wasn’t looking, felt her pulse hammering in her throat when they spoke to each other. She didn’t say anything and neither did he, but it was nice to know that he was still alluring even when disgustingly unwashed.

Astarion had the patience of a centuries old predator. Despite the ache behind his fangs, he waited until he could pick out the gentle snores of each one of his companions, not moving until Lae’Zel had made her 15th loop around their camp’s perimeter, which was more than enough time for her to lose herself in the banality of the night’s watch. He’d have to be quick, but he knew what he was hunting for: he had picked up on the heartbeat of a boar hours ago. It wasn’t a sound per se, but more of a pulse he felt in his gut. He honed in on its tantalizing rhythm, allowing himself to be drawn down through the forest and up back onto the road where the beast snuffled for food along the path. Easy.

His muscles tensed. His mind went blank. He slid through the night and tackled the boar, ripping into its neck with a savage bite. The boar thrashed against him but Astarion bit down harder, tearing into the beast’s jugular with a bloody squelch. It collapsed under him and Astarion brutally pinned it to the ground. He gulped down mouthfuls of blood so big that they hurt his throat as he swallowed. As he drank, he could feel the boar’s jerks become weaker and weaker, until its death throes were merely twitches. When there was no more blood, Astarion released his jaw and rolled away, gasping in the dirt as a wave of nausea engulfed him. He thought he was going to be sick. It was the most blood he had drunk in one sitting in 200 years and it sat heavy and bloating in his stomach. He was full. Satisfied? No. But he was full.

But even the fresh spoils of victory grow bland. His palate wasn’t made for beasts. He wanted something finer, something richer. Still, a boar was leagues better than a rat. But he knew, had known for some time, that his body needed more than animal blood to be truly nourished. It needed the blood of thinking creatures.

What would happen if he grew too weak, too feeble to fight? Would this merry band of would-be heroes leave him behind, alone in the wilderness for Cazador to find, if he couldn’t keep up? He would never go back. He’d die first.

You could do it, you know, a dark inner voice whispered to him. Why don’t you have a taste of your new friends?

No. He forced that impulse down. He was a vampire spawn, but he was not a monster. Were they frustrating? Deeply. But these indifferent strangers had been kinder to him than anyone had been in centuries, kinder than anyone who had actually known him. He would not risk whatever precarious piece of safety he had for a quick meal. He’d blow his cover. They’d hate him. They’d kill him. It was the only course of action that made sense once he was discovered. Which was only a matter of time.

Despite everything, his master’s old orders still echoed dully in his mind: Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. He didn’t know if he could bite them, even if he wanted to. Cazador had forbidden it.

Astarion slipped back into his bedroll unnoticed, mission complete. He wasn’t tired, was too wired from the hunt and from the day’s fighting to truly rest, but he knew he needed to meditate if he was going to be of any use tomorrow. If he was going to continue fooling them into thinking he wasn’t a monster hiding in their midst. Rolling onto his side, he caught sight of Tav fast asleep in her tent, the flap carelessly unlatched. Tav, who had readily forgiven him after he had threatened to slit her throat. Tav, who looked but never touched. Tav, whose opinion and guidance seemed to matter the most to everyone in camp. Astarion sunk into deep reverie.

~~

“It’s dead, my friend. Are you really going to gawk at every piece of carrion you find?”

Astarion could flay himself. He hadn’t bothered to hide his kill from the other night because who seriously cared, there were dead beasts all over the forest, and of course Tav had quite literally stumbled over its exsanguinated remains. Crouching down to examine his kill, she pored over the corpse with thorough precision. He was dead. He was so dead unless he did something.

“Darling,” Astarion began, positioning himself right behind Tav, unsure what he was going to do but moving just to move. At the same moment Tav stood up and took a step backward, crashing into him. For a moment their bodies were completely flush, her back against his chest, her peachy bottom cushioned against his groin. Astarion reflexively reached out to place his hands on her hips, but Tav jolted forward and out of his grasp.

“Sorry!” She gasped, flushing a delicious rosy shade. She pointedly averted her eyes.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Astarion purred. Tav dared a glance up at him and he flashed her an easy smirk. “Are you completely satisfied?” He asked, layering the question thick with innuendo. “There are much better things we could be doing. Shall we go now?”

Somehow, Tav turned even redder. “It’s definitely odd, but a dead pig isn’t the weirdest thing we’ve seen so far,” she conceded.

“No, it’s not. It doesn’t even place in the Top 50 on this little adventure,” Astarion quipped. Tav laughed at that, a quick mirthful giggle. “I’m sorry, everyone. Let’s keep moving.” Tav hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Astarion for the briefest of moments, but she quickly continued onward, surging forward towards the head of the group. Astarion breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She had apparently noticed nothing.What a cute, malleable little idiot. ~~

The idea had occurred to him before, that second night underneath the stars. Back when he had thought that their little adventure might actually be over soon. Which had meant that Cazador’s punishments would be imminent. He had wondered aloud if their adventure may actually end the next day and Tav had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “It doesn’t have to, we could keep traveling together.” Such a sweet gesture had stirred something in him. The others hadn’t seemed keen on him, nor on each other for that matter. But Tav was kind. Giving. She was already giving him safety by letting him travel with her. What else would she give him, if he played his cards right?

Would she let him drink from her? He was ravenous. He imagined her soft and pliant underneath him, arching her neck, begging for his bite. Astarion was dizzy at the thought of such submission to him, such power over her. He tried to imagine what she would taste like but his brain couldn’t supply an answer. If Cazador had forbidden it then humanoid blood must be delicious.

But why would she help him? No one offered help for free, especially not to a vampire spawn. Even kind, giving Tav also benefited from their traveling arrangement. And his safety in this little arrangement was only tenuous at best. If he didn’t want to be staked on sight, he’d have to sweeten the deal somehow.

He knew how, but something inside of him had hesitated that night. Now, he could kick himself. How many times had he seduced and in turn allowed himself to be seduced? He was a professional, this should mean nothing to him by now. At least Tav was pretty. Flustering her had been both useful and fun. He had certainly done worse. And after today, he was beginning to suspect that Tav may actually like him, just a little.

But still. He was free for the first time in centuries. Did he really want to spend his precious moments of freedom on his back again? Was this really all he was good for?

He just needed some time to think, he would figure this out.~~

Unfortunately, the rest of his cohort were not as amenable as Tav. Today Tav had chosen himself, Lae’Zel, and Shadowheart to explore the nearby forest, which made for a particularly sullen group. Unnerved by his close call yesterday, Astarion realized that he had to acquire more allies….make friends, as it were. Gods. He hadn’t made a real, genuine friend in centuries. The last time he had tried hung heavily in his heart.

Astarion knew that he was profoundly unlikeable. He had been told so many times. There was only one good thing about him, one thing he was good at and only one thing anyone wanted from him, so naturally he would lead with that. He was already working Tav. Lae’Zel was powerful and would make an excellent ally, but Astarion decided to let her come to him. She seemed the type who liked to do the conquering. Gale was a strong option but he was still pining over his goddess and Wyll would probably want to get married first. As appealing as they both were, he needed allies now. And Karlach was literally untouchable, which derailed the entire plan. That left the mysterious Shadowheart.

Drifting to the back of the group, he began poring over the many lines he had used throughout the decades to charm and flatter his targets. Shadowheart acted cold, but Astarion could tell that she was hiding some softness underneath it all. Perhaps he could coax it out of her with the right words, if he indicated that he saw the real her beneath the facade. Adopting a pensive air, Astarion smoothly sidled up her.

“Shadowheart. Such a dark name for such a delicate flower,” he said softly. He tilted his head to a thoughtful angle, trying to catch her eye with his sad, smoldering gaze. Shadowheart shot him an icy glare.

“I heard you practicing that back there. Next time, keep your pick-up lines to yourself.”

Ahead of them, Tav choked on a laugh. “Better you than I,” Lae’Zel scoffed. “If he had tried that on me, I would have ripped his tongue from his mouth.” Astarion audibly gulped and drifted far away from his hostile companions. Tav shot him a sympathetic glance. “Yeesh, tough crowd,” she said. Astarion snorted. “Some people have no taste,” he said. Tav laughed, but Astarion still kept his hands to himself for the rest of the day.

~~

He knew it would happen, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

Cazador was here. Cazador had found him and by the gods, Cazador knew all of Astarion’s new transgressions.

“I’m sorry, Master! I was kidnapped, I had no choice!” Astarion whipped around, crying out into the darkness. The darkness said:

“Second. Thou shalt obey me in all things.”

Which he hadn’t done. He had flagrantly disobeyed. Who would obey such cruel demands unless they were forced to?

“Third. Thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.”

He hadn’t meant to, he had been abducted! He didn’t choose any of this! But Astarion knew that Cazador didn’t care about that. “Please, not again,” he begged, knowing that it didn’t matter what he said.

“Fourth. Thou shalt know that thou art mine, you pathetic little worm.”

Astarion jolted awake, tossing off his bedroll with a shout. The campfire burned steadily, casting off the shadows of night. The deep supernatural darkness of his dreams was gone. His companions lay by the fire and in their tents, somehow still asleep despite his pitiful cry.

Cazador wasn’t here. Cazador was back in Baldur’s Gate and he was in the middle of the wilderness. He wasn’t going to be flayed. Yet. But it was only a matter of time. Cazador would be furious that Asatrion had somehow slipped off of his tight little leash. And worse, Cazador would be jealous when he discovered that Astarion could walk in the sun and he could not.

It dawned on Astarion: he can walk in the sun. He can cross streams. He can enter houses without permission. The tadpole had disrupted so much of his biology already. Perhaps it had fully broken Cazador’s hold. Maybe he could disobey completely. In every way.

He had gone to bed hungry that night. The boar had been too close a call for comfort. And he hadn’t been able to secure additional protection. Astarion had starved for centuries, he thought he could keep himself in check. But the promise of feeding on what he truly craved finally made his hunger unbearable.

He scanned the camp, taking in his companions sleeping forms. So relaxed. So unsuspecting. Who would have the honor of being his first thinking meal? Almost immediately his eyes found Tav, who was curled up by the fire. The flames flickered over her fine features, her beautiful skin. Shadows danced down the length of her neck, disappearing into the valley of her breasts, their round tops peaking shyly out from her loose camp shirt. He had never seen her so accidentally exposed, so vulnerable before. He had to taste her. She would be delicious, he just knew it. His body was moving of its own accord, drawn to her. Bending down beside her, Astarion ghosted his face across her neck, instinctively finding the intoxicating pulse of her heart beat. He bared his fangs, running his tongue behind them. He would be quick, gentle. He only needed a taste, just needed a moment of her warmth. She was so-

“What are you doing?”

Astarion recoiled sharply as Tav sat up, suddenly awake. He swore audibly and withdrew, retreating back to the shadows. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he gasped. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.” Tav stared back at him, surprise and horror dawning slowly across her face. Astarion thought he saw the beginnings of disgust. “I just, I just needed-“ He had no idea what to say. There was no way out, he was caught. “Blood.” His admission hung strangely in the air between them. Then Tav began to put the pieces together, at last.

“You…are you a vampire?” She asked, incredulous.

“Not entirely. I’m a vampire spawn. But I only feed on beasts! Deer, kobolds-“

“Boars,” Tav supplied.

“…boars too.”

“I knew you were acting strangely yesterday,”

“I’ve just been so weak, so slow. If I had a bit of blood, I could think clearer, fight better.”

There’s a pulsing behind his eye and then Astarion’s mind is yanked backwards to the first time that Cazador had compelled him to eat a rat. He hadn’t wanted to, had begged Cazador not to make him do this, but while his mind resisted his body had obeyed Cazador’s sadistic order. And yet, he had been so hungry that he couldn’t be fully sure what he had done in vampiric thrall and what he had done for sheer survival. He had eaten many rats since then, but that first one had been particularly humiliating. And now Tav knew.

“You didn’t eat them by choice. You ate them because he made you.”

“Yes,” Astarion admitted bitterly. “I ate whatever vermin I was so generously allowed to eat. You’ll eat anything if you are hungry enough.” Tav’s eyes softened and Astarion saw pity shining in her gaze. His lip curled.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” She said.

“Would you have said yes?” He countered. “At best I thought you would say no. At worst, I thought you would drive a stake through my ribs.”

“I wouldn’t have done that, you’re my-“

“I’m your what, your friend?” Astarion sneered. “Vampire spawn have no friends. We’re created by monsters and the world sees us as monsters. Don’t patronize me, darling.” Astarion spat. Tav turned away, trying to hide her hurt in the flames of the campfire. Astarion regretted his outburst almost immediately. Pushing her away now could be fatal.

“And yet despite all that, I needed you to trust me.” He took a tentative step toward Tav, pitching his voice lower to a soft, seductive rumble. “And you can trust me. I swear it.”

“Strangely I do, I do trust you.” Tav’s voice was barely a breath, a whisper above the crackles of the flames. “I only meant that you’ve had numerous chances to kill me since the first attempt and you haven’t. You’ve even saved me a few times.” Astarion continued advancing.

“I’m glad, truly.” He said.

“And we still need each other.” Tav said this softly, sadly, as if she didn’t want to say it.

“We do indeed,” he agreed. “So, do you think you could trust me just a little bit further? In the spirit of needing each other?”

They were so close now. Tav turned towards him, the question in her gaze. He reached out and tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I only need a taste.” He allowed his finger tips to stray down the column of her neck. “I swear.” His mouth hovered over hers. Tav visibly shuddered underneath his ghostly touch. “Not a drop more than you need.” She said. So tough. So generous. “Of course, not one drop more.” He leaned in, his mouth above the shell of her ear. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable?” She nodded. Placing his hand on her hips, Astarion gently guided Tav downward onto her bedroll where he settled next to her, curling against her side.

“Will it hurt?” She asked. Her eyes were wide, her pupils yawning caverns. Astarion doubted that he looked any better. “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he promised. He would try. He would try for her.

“I’m ready.” Tav bared her neck and closed her eyes, turning her face away. This was really happening.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, his pelvis settling down against her own. Astarion’s hand cradled her neck tenderly, cupping her chin in his lithe fingers. And then he struck, sinking his fangs quickly and precisely into her flesh.

Fresh lifeblood flooded over his tongue in hot, sweet spurts. She wasn’t delicious, she was exquisite. He pressed his lips fervently against her neck, desperate for more of her. His tongue lapped along her throat, seeking every rivulet of blood that escaped his lips. Tav’s gentle fingers came up to trace circles against his scalp and card between his curls. A warm shiver traveled down his spine and he groaned into her neck as he swallowed her down. Astarion mindlessly ground himself against her center and he realized with a surprise that he was hard.

“Astarion,” Tav gasped, her body arching up to meet his. His hand moved to her waist and began to slip underneath her camp shirt, gliding along her exposed flesh. He took a deep pull of blood from her, the deepest one yet.

“Wait, Astarion,” Tav’s voice was growing faint. A weak hand began to press against his shoulder and he immediately grasped it and forced it back down, harshly caging her in. He couldn’t stop. He would never let her go.

“Stop, please Astarion!” He heard how weak Tav’s voice sounded now and it finally broke the spell. He released her throat with a bloody gasp, forcing his body off of her.

Tav rolled over, clutching the ruin of her neck. She looked disheveled, debauched. A feast in every way. Astarion stood abruptly, reeling.

“That was amazing,” he whispered reverently. He was filled with an unfamiliar feeling. He felt light, strong. Brimming with energy. Astarion caught a trickle of her blood as it slid down his lips with a disbelieving finger. He licked it off with a slow thick swipe of his tongue, greedy for more of her. His desire for her was beginning to scare him.

“As delicious as you were, I need to find something more filling.” He spun on his heel but stopped himself from fleeing. He needed to leave before he seriously hurt her, but he didn’t like the thought of her crumpled and alone, used and then discarded. Like he had often been. She had placed her life in his hands for his comfort. He couldn’t ever remember receiving such a kindness before. He turned back to face her, still sprawled and heaving on her bedroll.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” And then he was gone, striding confidently into the night.

~

He didn’t think he could hate Cazador more than he already did. But to finally savor such nourishing blood from a beautiful, willing source did not soothe him. It did not bring him relief to finally feel strong and healthy, to finally pierce the mental fog that had clouded his mind for as long as he could remember. Drinking from an oasis after subsisting on spoonfuls of fetid blood for centuries did not bring him peace, but only deepened the darkest pit of his rage.

~