#sotlc

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. 

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

They’re barely past the threshold before Astarion swings them around. Tav’s back collides with the wall adjacent to the door with a hard thud; Astarion is on her seconds later. He wastes little time jamming a thigh between her legs, brushing his knee against her sex. A soft moan escapes her as she clings to his shoulders.

“Up–stairs– Astarion–” Tav struggles to say between short breaths. It’s a poor attempt at getting Astarion back on track. Beseeching him to return some caution to where it’s rapidly fading to the wind. Astarion's hand is then on her hip, encouraging her to rock back and forth on the expanse of his leg, his other hand wound tight within her hair. 

Soft whines pour like rich wine from her mouth when Astarion flexes his thigh, creating a rigid surface of friction. Sparks shoot from the apex of her thighs and throughout her core, nearly knocking the wind clean out of her lungs. Tav feels herself clench as her hips begin to rock of their own accord, chasing more and more of the salacious pressure between her thighs.

“I believe I'm having a change of heart,” he growls against her ear. The vampire lord then dips his head into the crook of Tav’s neck, kissing languidly over his mark. “How am I ever expected to deny temptation when it calls my name so sweetly?”

The hall is quiet enough that Tav can only assume dinner service is winding down. Her moans reverberate against the high ceilings of the marble hall, every tiny gasp amplified. The candelabras have burned down to a faint glow; the corner Astarion has pushed them into is thoroughly blanketed in shadow. They wouldn't be caught immediately, should someone walk by. Yet the risk still exists.

“We're exposed, Astarion,” argues Tav, grabbing handfuls of the vampire's hair. It’s a farce, more than anything else; the thought delights her more than she cares to admit. Astarion so desperate for her that he hoists her legs over his hips, pulls her smallclothes to the side and slides himself home, down to the hilt. Tav moans, loud and wanton, as she continues riding his thigh. 

She struggles to keep her eyes open as the edges of her vision draw closer together. From the corner of her eye, blinkling tiredly, Tav catches a glimpse of the painting hanging on the wall. The one she saw when first stepping food in this manor, of the vampire and his prey. The vampire’s lifeless expression bores into her soul–she takes in the woman draped over his lap. She ponders what possibly transpired prior to that moment, trying her best not to draw comparisons between her current position.

A foul chill passes through her.

“Is that so bad?” teases Astarion, drawing her back to the present. He sucks at the flesh of her throat. “I’m the Lord of this manor, and I say we can rut wherever we damned-well please,” he growls, pulling her roughly against him.

Her head swims as she clings to him, arousal saturating her thoughts. Tav would allow him to take her here, she realizes. To fuck her against the wall, in clear view of anyone who dared to look. She'd allow them a view of how loudly her body cries out for him, the beautiful melody they both sing when joined.

“Oh, but I suppose you make a good point, love,” Astarion coos. His hand drifts to the outside of Tav’s thigh and he grips it tight, lifting it over his hip. “But that would involve us parting from our current position.” He grinds himself unabashedly against her center. “Is that what you really want?”

Tav whimpers at the thought of him peeling away from her. Losing the feeling of his body against hers. Tracing the outline of her body with his hands. Lips on hers, her neck, her breasts–him being everywhere but nowhere all at once. It's too much–she needs him now. 

Desperately. 

Tav snakes a hand between them, fishing for the button of Astarion's slacks. “Now,” she says, undoing his fastenings with lightning deftness. Deftness that he taught her. “If you have the gall to tease me like this, then you better take me now.”

She watches as his lips curl into a devious smile, showing just the slightest glint of a fang. “With pleasure,” Astarion purrs.

Rat bastard.

His cock springs free as she pulls him free from his underclothes. The heavy weight of him within her palm sends a ripple of pleasure throughout her body, heat coursing through her core. Tav wastes little time wrapping her hand around his shaft, giving a few experimental pumps. She delights in how Astarion growls low in his throat, giving her the encouragement she needs to plant soft, soothing kisses against the vampire’s lips, teasing his bottom lip between her teeth. Astarion reciprocates with starving enthusiasm while pulling moan after moan from her and into his mouth. He swallows them all greedily, as though nothing could ever quench his thirst for this. For her.

Pre-fluid weeps from the bulbous tip, aiding in the glide of her hand over his cock. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Astarion groans against her mouth. His cock twitches in her hand as she runs her thumb over his frenulum. Their eyes meet, lust sitting heavy within their shared exchange. Tav only nods her head and groans as she shuffles her small clothes enough to allow him entrance. He glides easily as she positions him between her folds. The rumble that erupts from deep within Astarion’s chest tells her just how slick she is–how much he longs to slip within her tight heat. “Tavaria…” he whines against her ear, nearly breathless. His tip teases at her entrance and she catches it, the head finally slipping in, giving way to a delicious burning stretch, and then–

“Well, I see we've skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert!”

The voice pierces through them like a shard of ice, freezing them solid. Tav clings to Astarion's shoulders out of instinct, but she feels the vampire tense beneath her. He pulls himself free of her, Tav whining softly at the loss, and he sneers over his shoulder at their unwelcome audience. Tav’s skirts fall to the floor and she drops her leg from his hip, Astarion stuffing himself back within the confines of his slacks with nimble skill.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Grace?” Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, fastening his pants.

The duke chuckles behind them and crosses his arms over his chest. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure it’s in poor taste for the host to skip out during dinner service.” Wyll gives a wry smile, looking over Astarion’s shoulder. “Though, I clearly see why, now.”

“Oh? Did you miss me, darling?” A touch of sarcasm laces Astarion’s tone as he huffs a laugh, alongside impatience. “What is it you really want, Wyll?” Tav swears the tips of his fingers are sharpening into claws as he clenches his hands into tight fists. The turquoise gem of Astarion’s ring glints in the dim firelight of the hall.

“I'm searching for a certain soldier who possesses hair resembling a roaring campfire.” Wyll lifts his brow in question. “Have you seen her?”

Arousal still clouds her mind, though through the murkiness, Tav realizes that Wyll isn't immediately aware of her presence. She's unsure if that’s a good or bad thing–mostly because Wyll believes Astarion to have stolen away for a quick romp with some random person. Or, conversely, he doesn't believe Tav to be the type to allow herself to be taken in the middle of a dimly lit hallway. A sinking feeling overtakes her stomach with each thought.

Either way, neither theory bodes well for her.

Cautiously, with her heart nearly clamoring out of her throat, Tav pokes her head out from around Astarion's form. “I'm here, Your Grace,” she says, feeling the heat of the blush currently rising to her face. To her horror, Marceline, Oscar, and Lester stand behind Wyll, their eyebrows also raised in silent question. Gods above, she thinks, embarrassment flooding her. I really couldn't have waited a bit longer?

A few heartbeats of silence pass over them. Astarion scowls heavily as Wyll looks them over, turning now to meet the young duke. Wyll’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, as though to say something, but no sound is ever produced. Oscar snickers, his cheeks still possessing the rosy color from his drinks earlier in the evening. Lester adverts his gaze, choosing to look over the decor along the walls. Respectful, as always. But it's the look Marceline gives her that tugs on Tav’s heart. 

The two women have never discussed Astarion, nor Tav’s past involvement with him. Tav only ever spoke openly with Shadowheart about him, her having laid witness to the romance unfold during its infancy. But perhaps Marceline had known, somehow, that this deeper part of her existed. Maybe in the way she carried herself, or how she avoided looking upon expressions of affection between others. Perhaps it was enough to tell Marceline, quietly, that her heart had been broken once before. Almost irreparably so, and given the well-known fact that Astarion was a prior traveling companion, Tav knows without a shadow of a doubt that her colleague is actively putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

How foolish she likely seems to Marceline, having allowed the man who wrecked her so thoroughly back into her life. To still give him so much power, so much sway over her heart. To be carrying his child. Though, that’s something none of them are aware of.

Yet. 

Tav lets out a heavy sigh. A wave of strong nausea rushes through her, prompting her to hold back the urge to empty her stomach onto the floor. Either that, or to perish within a moment’s notice. Anything to stop how mortified she feels at this moment.

“Ah,” Wyll muses, finally speaking. He clears his throat. “Well, I just wanted to wish you farewell.” His gaze shifts to Astarion, then back to Tav, mouth falling into a hard line. “I expect to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

Tav nods softly. “Of course, Your Grace.” A barely audible sound rises from the back of Astarion's throat as she addresses Wyll, his nails nearly breaking skin as he tightens his fists.

Wyll gives a slight bow of his head. “Goodnight then, my friends,” he says in jest, “Don't stay up too late!”

As the entourage exits the manor through the foyer door, Tav realizes Wyll hadn't corrected her use of a formal greeting to him. She'd said it twice–twice–and he’d failed to invite her to use his name instead. Her stomach twists again.

The door clicks shut and Tav tears herself from Astarion's hold, drawing in a deep breath. “That wasn't good,” she says aloud, unsure if it's to herself or Astarion.

“Oh, please,” Astarion says from behind her, rather cooly given the situation, “he's upset because we're having the fun he only wishes he could have! I’m sure he'll get over it.”

Tav shakes her head, turning to face him. “I wouldn't be so sure about that, Astarion. This is different. He's…” She pauses as she chews at the inside of her mouth, thoughts flooding her mind. “He doesn't approve of us.”

The vampire laughs. “Of course he doesn't! So long as I’m involved,” Astarion places a hand over his chest, “I doubt he ever will.”

“Could have fooled me by tonight's performance. You looked a touch more friendly,” Tav says.

“What can I say? I know how to play the part of a dashing rogue all too well,” he answers, a lilt to his voice. Astarion then approaches her, lifting a hand to cup Tav’s chin. He lifts her face to meet his gaze. “But I can’t help but feel as though his disapproval bothers you,” Astarion ponders. His eyes are soft, contemplative, as he looks at her.

She sits with the thought for a minute before answering. “No, it doesn't bother me.” A half truth–she doesn’t need Wyll’s approval. “But it does concern me how I'm going to continue working with him as my superior.” She shakes her head as the questions rack her brain. “Will he continue to be fair, will he hold this against me, will he–”

“He's not going to do anything,” Astarion interrupts, gruffly. “Not to you, at least. He'll settle all of his grievances with me.”

Tav blinks as her mouth hangs agape. “You?” she asks. “But you're already working with him!”

“Indeed, but it seems as though our dear, sweet Wyllyam still possesses a few heartbeats that belong,” the hand on her chin lifts, Astarion tapping the tip of her nose gently with a finger, “to you.”

Tav rolls her eyes, turning away from him. “Oh, Astarion!” she laments, marching for the stairs. “He does not!” She clutches handfuls of her skirts as she begins her ascent. Astarion quickly follows behind her.

“Is it truly so hard to believe?” he calls after her in mock question.

Tav reaches the top of the stairs and whips around, glaring heavily at Astarion. He halts his approach, leaning a hand over the stair rail. “Were he to still possess feelings, Astarion, he would have used the time you and I spent apart to his advantage.” She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes. “Don't you think?”

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line as he resumes following her up the stairs.. He stands tall over Tav upon reaching the top of the stairs. “No,” he growls, “I don't. Because the reality of the situation, my love, is that he was giving you space.”

She looks around, attempting to ascertain which direction Astarion’s bedroom is in. To the left is hers–she can only assume that it lay in the opposite direction. Her feet begin to carry her forward. “Space for what?” Tav inquires, slightly annoyed.

Before passing too far out of reach, Astarion extends a hand to grab her arm, halting her in place. “Tavaria…” His voice trails off into a whisper. “You don’t trust that I know longing when I see it?”

A heavy feeling settles within her chest, eyes drifting closed. 

Perhaps Astarion is right–maybe Wyll's kindness hasn’t been simply out of the goodness of his heart. She knew of the duke's prior feelings for her, assuming that he put them aside when she chose a path with Astarion. Her mind races through their interactions over the last few months, down to the most minute of gestures: all of the smiles, the kind words, the gentle touches.

Wyll is no stranger to her state of being after her separation from Astarion. She may have not spoken with him about how she felt, but he'd kept his eye on her. Watched patiently from afar, always making sure he was available should she need him. Wyll has been ever the gentleman; he’s never insulted her, nor raised his voice at her. Calm, cool, and collected under the most intense of pressure, always an ear open to her lead, her suggestions. Never giving her anything less than the respect he believes she deserves. 

But as Tav recalls their moments spent together, during their journey and beyond, she can now see so clearly the distinct gleam in his eyes when he holds her gaze. Hears the softness of his tone ringing in her ears, feel the ghost of his hand running delicately down the length of her arm…

A shiver runs down her back as she stares blankly at Astarion. 

As much as she hates to admit it, Astarion has a point. Wyll was allowing her time to heal. Giving her heart the space to repair itself, even if to only swoop in once patched back together. He’d never gotten over her. No, quite the opposite, really. Wyll had simply hardened his heart, choosing to bide his time. Waiting for Astarion to slip up, for their love affair to end with finality, all for a chance to play hero. And now that they’ve chosen to rekindle their flame, Wyll is forced once again to grin and bear it.

And she didn’t see it. Rather, didn’t believe herself worthy of his affections. They’d met during a strange time–Tav hardly recalled anything about who she was. She’d awoken in an Illithid dreadnought, newly tadpoled, learning she had all but a handful of days before death came to claim her for good. And when that didn’t happen, each day brought her closer to reclaiming her identity. But not without a few bloody missteps.

And then, there was Wyll. 

Precious Wyll–the son of Baldur Gate’s Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. Bred and groomed to be the perfect aristocrat to assume his father’s title. Suave, polite; even his insults were kind, albeit backhanded. He is a stunning example of the type of man you bring home to your family for dinner. Perhaps not her family, but to just about anyone else’s. Why would he want to be tangled up with her? She craved blood, murder, gore. Death. She would sooner tear her hands through his abdomen, cracking open his ribcage, just to caress his spleen. To feel its curve along her fingertips. To remember the touch of the delicate blood vessels between her hands.

She would have killed him, all in the name of her Father. There’s no way to tell if she would have, but she’s sure she would have tried to on more than one occasion. Tav would have killed him and lain within the aftermath, sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe after a feeding.

She chose Astarion, in part, to spare Wyll that fate. She may have not realized it at the time, but she understands now. Astarion was already dead–she still craved to carve him from navel to neck, but she knew his heart was cold. The urge wasn’t as strong. Wyll was young, strong, and clean. Fresh. A perfect sacrifice for her Father.

Her heart sinks. 

The love she holds for Astarion can be compared to none other she’s known throughout any point in her life. But the acknowledgment that she gave up an opportunity to be with Wyll out of self-doubt…is crushing.

There is, of course, the chance that Astarion’s concerns are merely playing into paranoid delusion, as he’s so prone to doing. Tav sighs, turning to face Astarion once more. She gives him a sullen expression as tears begin stinging at the corners of her eyes. But despite her hopeful optimism, the longer the thought sits with her, the clearer the image becomes. Astarion threads his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. Sobs bubble up within her chest, threatening to rupture.

“Oh, my sweet little love,” he whispers, inviting her into his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. “Do you now see what’s been clear to me this entire time?”

She still isn't entirely convinced, holding out the smallest bit of hope that this is all one giant fallacy, though the thought alone is enough to upset her. Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “I’m still not sure,” she says, voice wavering. Foolish as it may be, a small part of her still wishes that Wyll's kindness is of his own merit. That it isn't as Astarion claims, that he doesn't wish for something in return.

For once, she wishes someone was good–kind–because they simply wanted to be. Without expecting something in return. Astarion speaks through the lens of his past, she knows. From being forced into a life where what he could give stood as a basis for his worth for over 200 years. And she knows he speaks out of an abundance of caution for her, not wanting to see her go through any semblance of the life he knew. To protect her.

“I just…hope this is different,” Tav admits, quietly.

“Ever the optimist,” Astarion comments, peeling himself from her. The smile he gives her is disingenuous; more for her sake than his. The reds of his irises shine in the dim light of the upper level. The sharpness of his face softens from the shadows cast over it; his skin takes on an amber glow.

He truly is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Man, creature, fiend–it matters not to her what he is. It never really did. His beauty is simply an added benefit. All she’s ever cared for is his heart and soul, and his willingness to share both with her. The song he sings simply for her and no one else. She wonders if she, too, sings for him? She wonders if he can hear it. Do they sing a gentle harmony together, or are they a harsh clashing of contrasting pitches?

Tav raises a hand to hold the side of Astarion’s face. She settles her gaze on his lips, lifting to his eyes as she says, “I really don't wish for this to ruin our night.”

This time, he smiles earnestly. Astarion whisks Tav into his arms, earning a surprised yelp. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Then let us continue.”

Once she's sure she isn't going to slip from his hold, Tav allows herself to rest her head against his shoulder. The tip of her nose rests within the crook of his neck and she breathes in. It's not as strong as earlier in the evening, but his cologne still lingers. She allows her eyes to trace along the small glimpse of his collar bone, up to the scars embedded in his neck. Warmth spreads throughout her, knowing an artery lay beneath those marks–thick and plentiful with life sustaining blood.

Had she fangs, she would have supped upon him by now. A small taste, just to rejuvenate her. He'd allow it, she thinks. Why wouldn't he? Slowly she begins to lose herself to the fantasy. Swapping their blood and saliva between kisses, back and forth, until they solidified a flavor purely their own. One that none could ever replicate.

A part of her fears she may be slipping too far into him. Like a small frog in a pot of water, unaware that it’s begun to boil. But gods how she longs for this–to be so thoroughly his. For him to be so entirely hers. The sun could melt, the world plunged into eternal darkness, but none of it would matter so long as they're together.

Is she truly wrong for that? Is that not what she deserves?

Her lips find the smooth skin of Astarion's neck at the same time he leans over to open the bedroom door. A rumble of appreciation rises from his chest as he brings them both into the room, closing the door behind him. He brings her to his bed, placing her gently down on the silken duvet cover, climbing on top. Red, Tav notices from the corner of her eye. She’s resistant to relinquishing her hold on him, fearful that if she does this will all slip through her fingers. Astarion dips his head into where her neck and shoulder meet and sucks; a thin sheet of golden linen makes up the canopy draped above them.

“Astarion,” groans Tav, hooking her legs around the small of his back. She feels his hands traveling down her sides, pulling up her dress. All at once, the fabric feels too tight around her. “Help me out of this thing,” she says, more of a demand than a question, forcing herself up onto her elbows.

The vampire is silent as he complies with her urgent request. As his hands undo the zipper to her dress, his mouth lavishes attention to the other side of her neck. He peels the dress off her shoulders, Tav groaning in frustration at the brief loss of contact between them, but Astarion is quickly back on her. She pulls her slip gown over her head and pushes the emerald dress further down and over her hips, kicking it off her legs. Astarion nudges it off the side of the bed before reclaiming his place fully between her legs.

“You’ve no idea how many nights I’ve spent imaging this,” he grounds out as he travels down her chest. Tav falls back gently on the bed as smooth lips plant kisses between the valley of her breasts. He closes his mouth over the stiffened peak of one breast, kneading the other within his hand. “To have you here, like this.” He lightly rolls her nipple between his index finger and thumb. “With me.”

A moan slips past her lips as she arches into his touch and Tav dares herself to look down, just as Astarion bites the tender flesh of her breast. Not hard enough to draw blood, but she still can feel the familiar sting of his fangs over her skin. Pleasure shoots straight to her core. How could she ever go back to a mortal man after this? They could bite her, sure, but nothing would ever compare the rush of anticipation before each of his bites, knowing they may or may not pierce her skin. Leaving yet another mark on her body; a statement that it was she who nourished him.

Their eyes meet as he releases her breast from his mouth, tongue flicking over the hardened nub. There’s a blush set high on his cheeks again, eyelids heavy over pools of crimson. She lifts a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over his face. It’s warm in her palm, and Astarion turns his head into the touch, kissing the inside of her hand. Her thumb brushes briefly over the plushness of his lips, and she’s overcome by one of her strangest urges yet.

She needs him under her. More than she’s ever needed something in her life.

“I’m considered the Lady of this manor, yes?” Tav says urgently, the question coming out more as a statement.

Astarion lifts his head, brows pulling together as he ponders. He nods his head slowly in agreement. “I do recall saying as such, yes.”

Tav tilts her head, running a hand through his hair as she smiles. “Well, your Lady has a request, m’lord.” She speaks lovingly to him, thoroughly enjoying the wide-toothed grin he gives her in response. 

He chuckles; Tav catches a glimpse of white peaking just over his bottom lip. Astarion kisses her breast again as he says, “Oh? And how may I be of service, m’lady?”