Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was free. Or rather, as free as Astarion had ever been in the past 200 years. Even if Cazador loomed like some dark specter over the horizon, there was nothing his old master could do to him while he walked in sunlight. If Cazador wanted him, he would have to resort to servants or hirelings to even get close. 

That wasn't to say such peons didn't pose a formidable threat in their own right. Astarion was a vampire spawn and the world would never forgive him for it. On his own, his survival depended on his ability to hide in plain sight, a strategy that became untenable if he was being hunted. The only thing Cazador’s lackeys had to do was expose him for the monster he was and the mob would turn against him.

It should have frightened him. Just a few days ago, the distress would have sent him fleeing blindly into their nets. After all, people didn't trust monsters, they annihilated them. If the creature was deemed murderous and strange, then it was a threat to be poked, and burned, and hated. That is to say, most people hated monsters. It just so happened that he was lucky enough to find a band of weirdos that didn't seem to mind his catty attitude, nor did they notice his unique dietary requirements.

For the first time in centuries, Astarion did not stand alone and he found there was safety in numbers.

As long as he could stay in his party’s good graces; as long as they didn't realize he was a magnet for danger, Cazador's claws would never again seize him. He was going to feed on whatever he wished, go wherever he wished, do whatever he wanted. To hell with the old bat’s rules! His pathetic, self absorbed commandments could never reach him here.

“Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.”

He couldn’t remember a time when the command wasn’t imprinted into his very being. Decades of pain and torment left the order seared into his mind, but that did not stop the rebellious thoughts from drifting around the psionic brand over and over again. With the tadpoles, the command felt different. The words no longer restrained him as well as they should. Yes, there were still the lingering anxious echoes in the corners of his thoughts but there was no will behind them. Should Cazador discover his betrayal there was no doubt in Astarion’s mind that the punishment would be swift and cruel, and yet, at no point did he feel his body lock in place or freeze at the sight of sentient blood.

In spite of the bravado he felt under the cleansing sunlight, the dusk brought endless nightmares and restless energy. But he had to contend with more than just the terrors in the dark. Alone and without a constant supply of blood, his hunger gnawed at his insides, draining his strength.

He could bite someone, anyone really. Once they were all asleep, no one would know. It should be easy to do so now that he was free of Cazador’s control. If nothing else, the spite alone should have been motivation enough. Still he hesitated. Even now he froze and withdrew from any decision that might cause a perceived slight against the old restrictions. 

He was a hound off his chain, still cowering around his kennel unable to leave it. The night passed and melted into dawn. Another opportunity wasted. Another day left to subsist off of whatever carrion or rodents he could catch. Another day, living as an animal.

Nothing had changed. How he hated his weakness.

He didn’t know what put him in a fouler mood. It could have been the sharp ache in his empty belly, or the need to prove himself as something other than an obedient slave and consistently failing. He may have simply been bitter after witnessing the feast Gale had prepared. How unfair was it that everyone else got to gorge themselves on roasted pork and honeyed baked apples, while he had to appease his growling stomach with little more than self-pity and sour wine.

No one else is going to give a damn. No one has sympathy for the devil except the devil himself.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t made an effort. He had tried to ingratiate himself to the others, always seeking a foothold to exploit, but nothing was working. The more he interacted with these people the more he felt his charms were only effective in a dark tavern when his intended target was three drinks deep. Shadowheart and Lae'zel had regarded him as though he were something they'd scraped off the bottom of their boots when he was simply attempting to be civil. Gale awkwardly sidestepped any attempt at conversation, and -if Astarion were being honest- he was having a hard time not taking the wizard’s dismissal personally. Meanwhile Wyll… 

Ugh, where to start.

Wyll exuded charisma. It all came to him so naturally, so damn effortlessly. When he fawned over Lae'zel, Astarion swore he had seen the githyanki smile. It wasn’t lost on him how Shadowheart's conversations with Wyll lacked the usual sharp barbs reserved for everyone else. Even when turning him down, the cleric was more amused than anything else, and just the night before he heard Gale's inane chatter as he stood by Wyll’s tent and shared something long-winded and boring. As though Astarion couldn’t have feigned just as much interest in whatever idiotic thing the mage was going on about! 

Something about the Blade's tone, demeanor, his very existence set the others at ease and stood in stark contrast to Astarion's fumbled attempts. The man was a bloody warlock! Astarion should be running circles around him, not feeling like an idiot novice still stumbling through a basic conversation.

How pathetic he must look, an old, tired whore failing to seduce the most trivial of marks. Wyll exposed Astarion’s entire skill set for what it truly was: an opportunistic grift on the drunk and lonely. It was certainly not the sort of thing someone sober would fall for in broad daylight.

And that left him with Tav.

Tav is… well, it’s difficult to say.

He hadn’t made much of a first impression by holding her at knife point but she didn’t seem to have given it much thought afterwards. If anything she had been downright chatty, asking about him with all the tact of a child encountering a potential new friend. He didn’t care for it any more than he cared for her habit of randomly picking up strays and rescuing every down-on-their-luck peasant that crossed their path. Her altruism bordered on madness or at the very least, it was maddening to Astarion. 

Perhaps the most annoying aspect of all of this was that Tav’s interactions always felt so damned earnest. Lae’zel threatened her with dismemberment every five minutes for wasting her time with idle talk. Shadowheart blatantly mocked her attempts at bonding. Even Gale had called her sorcery an “crude use of the weave” and cheerfully informed Tav that her opinions unsuitable for any real academic discourse. Still, she persisted. Couldn’t she tell they all thought her dull? Wasn’t it obvious she was being told to shut up and go away? Why did she still give them soft smiles and glossed over their sharp dismissive words? It was as though she were…

Stupid. The word I’m looking for is stupid.

Perhaps that was why she was the only one who bothered to talk to him. Silly little noble, with a head full of air and a bleeding heart. Clearly the silver spoon lodged in her mouth had blocked out the view of all the misery outside her patriar’s estate. Even if it made her easier to manipulate, her mawkish sentiment would eventually get them all killed.

Tav would have him believe in the inherent goodness of people but her words did little more than fill him with an irrational rage. There were moments when, try as he might, Astarion felt nothing but pure disdain for her. He had experienced the so-called inherent goodness of people for the past 200 years. Unlike this spoiled child, he had a full view of the world and knew exactly how much kindness was given to the weak. Their mercy was carved into his flesh. How he hated her condescending words, and honeyed mannerisms. How he wished that she felt an inkling of the crippling loss he had been forced to endure and then he would see if she still smiled.

How could someone go through life without knowing, without understanding the rules of the game? There was no kindness without gain. There was no sympathy without expectation of reward. Even among the nobility, every smile and gentle word was wielded with the same precision of a dagger! How sheltered did Tav have to be not to understand this basic law of survival? Just how much money did her family have that they could shield her from reality for so long?

Astarion could have easily justified biting her if only to teach her a lesson on cruelty. 

He could have…

There was nothing stopping him…

He could do anything…

In the end he never did, and it left him all the more vulnerable for it.

Even in sleep, he found no respite. The ache in the pit of his stomach meant he was too weak to properly trance and his rest inevitably slipped past his grasp and into the darker edges of his thoughts. And who would be found amidst those shadows other than his old master.

Dread clawed the insides of his chest before bursting into sheer terror. Gone was the newfound defiance he had brandished amidst the daylight. Gone were all thoughts of fighting for his autonomy. In Cazador’s presence, any treasonous words of freedom withered and died. It wasn’t real, of course, it was all a dream and yet Astarion felt as though Cazador’s will constricted around him. When forced to confront even this mere illusion, his bravery proved to be a frail, brittle thing. It cracked and splintered revealing who he really was underneath it all: a runaway slave cowering in fear of his master.

Astarion jolted awake and the terror in his chest dissipated leaving a cold shame in its wake. Dawn seemed so far away and wretchedly cruel for making him hope he would ever stop being a slave. His empty stomach twisted with a burning pain and he stood up determined to shake off the darkness of the dream. 

Astarion felt the weight of his bindings too keenly, but he also felt the void of the unknown stretch out before him like an open maw. What was he without his chains? As irrational as it was, he felt as though he might crumble into dust without them.

Round and round his thoughts went spinning like a top balanced precariously on the culmination of all his fears. 

He needed to prove to himself that he could break his chains or it would never stop. If he couldn’t defy Cazador out here beyond the shadow of Baldur’s Gate, what hope did he have of breaking free? His burning gaze then settled on Tav’s sleeping form.

“Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.”

The command felt like a thorn against his skin, mocking his helplessness. In that moment, anger was more palatable than shame and he used it as a crutch to fuel his boldness. Better to act now before his better judgment caught up with him. He would use impulse to override his dread. Slowly he stood up and approached Tav’s bedroll by the fire.

He took care to be quiet. Startling a sorcerer in the middle of the night, even a stupid one, bordered on the suicidal. If he was caught, she’d have every right to kill him. Any sensible person would stake him on the spot. And who could ever blame her? Who would care about one less monster in the world? The others barely tolerated him and there would be no tears shed over his death. All the more reason to be quick about it.

It was, he would later admit, not his finest moment, but no one ever said freedom came with an instruction manual or a moral compass. Besides, who could keep their wits about them after fasting for three days straight?

“Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.”

The words echoed around him once again as he closed the distance between them. Crimson eyes remained fixed on her sleeping form. A smattering of golden scales glittered along her brow and cheekbones as they reflected the firelight, but his gaze was locked on to her throat. He could hear her pulse, its rhythm slow and hypnotic. All other sounds faded into the backdrop as he heard the thrum of her heartbeat. That sound meant relief, it meant warmth, it meant life.

His fangs were sharp, she probably wouldn’t feel it at all. If he was quiet enough, if he was quick enough, he could take what he needed and then retreat before anyone was the wiser. Traces of blood lingered on her skin, the small nicks and cuts that had long since scabbed over but they lured him closer nonetheless. If he had been losing his resolve, these small temptations made him fall to one knee. Anger gave way to the terrible hunger that constantly hounded his steps.

He wasn’t going to hurt her, he was just going to feed. Surely, if she had such a bleeding heart, she wouldn’t mind bleeding in other ways as well. He bared his fangs ready to pierce her skin…

…and then Tav’s eyes snapped open. She stared at him and it startled him enough that he took a step back.

“Shit.” 

The realization of what he had done, of what this meant came crashing down over him. For all her supposed dim-wittedness, Tav was surprisingly quick to identify him as a threat and she immediately got to her feet. The raw fear that seized his cold, dead heart shattered what little resolve he had and for the second time that night, his bravery evaporated into mist. She was going to cut him down, or perhaps scream and have the others do it for her. He was going to die, swiftly, perhaps screaming, but he was almost certain it would hurt. His only saving grace was that she hadn’t done anything yet.

Honesty, she values honesty, doesn’t she? 

The truth poured out of him like wine from a broken vessel all stammering words and trembling lips. There was no skillful eloquence in his tale and he hadn’t the presence of mind to embellish any part of it. He was cornered by someone stronger, faster, more powerful than him and he defaulted to what had worked for the past two centuries.

Astarion groveled for his life.

He tried to make himself smaller and less threatening as though that would keep him from looking like a starving beast eyeing…

…Cattle.

The word rippled though his mind with all of its ugly connotations as Tav seemed to consider his words for a moment before finally breaking her silence. 

“We found your boar.”

It was not an accusation nor an absolution. It was merely a statement of fact, but he saw it, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. Clearly this was a surprise, yes, but she didn’t scream, or attack, or cast him out in disgust. If anything, Tav appeared to be rather calm as he’d stumbled through his pitiful explanation. Her patient response in the face of his attempted attack settled his nerves and gave him time to gather his wits. 

Perhaps his charms were paying off. Perhaps she found him pleasing enough to stay. Perhaps his manipulations had worked after all. Perhaps he was lying to himself to make the rest of it more tolerable.

“It’s not what you think,” he continued to plead, holding his hands up as though to stave off her wrath. More truths were pried from his lips and an all too familiar feeling settled like a weight over his shoulders. He was being judged by someone else’s unfathomable standard to see if he was worthy. If he did well, if she was merciful, if she could simply forgive this one mistake…

I won’t do it again, I swear.

A wave of psionic energy intervened and he felt his thoughts pried open and placed on display. The tadpole had taken it upon itself to reveal his secrets as though it reveled in humiliating him further. Tav waved her hand in annoyance and dispelled the illithid’s influence. Astarion noted the motion and his eyes darted over her face as though it would reveal her motives. She could have taken whatever she wanted directly from his thoughts but she’d refused. Tav wanted to hear it from him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in that same impassive tone and he instinctively knew lying would end poorly for him. Then again, she could be trying to determine whether to grant him a quick death or a creative one. 

Even so, Astarion didn’t dare defy her. He rambled on, airing his fears for her to use against him.

“I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me,” he finished looking up at her hoping he had done well enough to pass her unspoken test. 

Once more, Tav was quiet as she parsed his words but he did not for one moment mistake her silence for idiocy. Her violet eyes, usually so warm and gentle, seemed downright reptilian as they focused on him. There was a strangeness to that gaze that unnerved him. It was as though Tav considered him to be a particularly fascinating specimen. He found himself unable to maintain eye-contact under such scrutiny and looked away submissively.

“I do trust you. I believe you, Astarion,” she said in a kinder tone.

Astarion faltered the moment the words were out of her mouth. He slumped a bit like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She trusted him. What an odd concept, trust! Later he might be ashamed by the pure exhilaration he felt, but for now he felt his place at her side had become more secure. 

Tav knew his secret. Tav accepted him, fangs and all. No, she did more than just accept, Tav trusted him. How magnificently reckless of her. Didn’t she know what an utterly ludicrous idea it was? He couldn’t ask for a better victim! After all, if his actions had been stupid, her decision to trust him bordered on the imbecilic. 

Nevertheless, the relief that flooded through him was real. Tav had been merciful, she had forgiven his mistake and allowed him to stay. He wasn’t meeting a gruesome end. He wasn’t being cast out into the unforgiving wilds. He wasn’t being left at the mercy of monster hunters or Cazador’s pawns. He was, for the time being, safe.

His stomach rumbled and the fleeting moment of accomplishment was quickly overshadowed by another sharp stab of hunger.

Astarion hesitated to ask for more but if she claimed to trust him surely he could push his luck this one time. In the momentary burst of courage her mercy granted him -and in clear defiance of Cazador’s laws- he asked for her blood. The thrill of his dissent contained a spark of triumph. He had taken a hesitant step out of his broken cage. He spins it, of course. No matter how understanding she might be, he sincerely doubts Tav will allow him to feed without reason.

I can be better for you, stronger, faster. I can fight better if you’d only let me.

“You need me strong. Please. Only a taste, I swear…” he softened his voice into the meek echo that Cazador always found pleasing.

At his request, Tav once again held that inscrutable expression on her face. It made him feel as though he were laid bare before her but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. Clearly he had pushed her boundaries too far. There was absolutely no way she would ever agree to it. It had been a good effort on his part, a show of defiance to prove he was not bound by Cazador’s rules, but ultimately he was no closer to actually breaking them. Still he tried, and that would have to be enough for now.

He wondered if perhaps that was why he asked. It was the comfort of a leash, painted in the illusion of freedom. It was never going to happen, but he had done the unruly thing and asked.

“Oh fine,” Tav sighed, “but not a drop more than what you need.”

And once again, the world took three steps to the right and left him floundering. Just as he had resigned himself to another night of starving in the darkness, Tav acquiesced. He wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly. He knew for a fact that for all his efforts that night, his words had jumbled all together. There had been little to no thought put behind them and he was certain he’d made a fool of himself, but she had said yes. 

“What, really?” On top of forgiving his mistake, Tav was allowing him this not-so-small mercy. He quickly agreed before she took it back.

He didn’t have the confidence to tell her he had never done this before. The idea of explaining that he had never once indulged in this was mortifying enough without also giving her an excuse to back out of it. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t read about it or fantasized about it himself. First things first, the victim was always asleep or otherwise bedridden. Yes, that part had to be right.

He gave her what he hoped was a confident smile. “Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”

Tav responded with a smile of her own. Perhaps she found him charming, or amusing. Either way, she did as he asked and lay back down onto her bedroll. His victim now in place, the next step was to charm or otherwise enchant her. Some of the flowery prose he’d encountered mentioned a siren song and mist?

No, no absolutely not. He was on thin ice as it was. If he tried to pull any sort of nonsense that would be the end of him.

“Thou shalt not…” 

Oh fuck off.

Astarion bit down on Tav’s throat before he lost his nerve. It was a clumsy and awkward motion but to her credit the only response she gave was a slight flinch. Having her on the ground meant that he had to crouch and hover over her at an uncomfortable angle. He couldn’t see much other than the texture of the bedroll beneath them. It didn’t feel like it was described in the stories. There was no swell of music, no burst of color. It felt like… nothing.

Was he so unequivocally useless that he couldn’t even get this right? He couldn’t even tell he had pierced her vein correctly since he couldn’t taste anything. When hunting animals he simply tore out their throats and drained them dry. It was meant to be different with sentients, it was supposed to be more civilized, elegant even. This was supposed to be handled with finesse, and here he was botching it again.

Was his bite too shallow? Should he go deeper? Would she even allow that? For gods’ sake it’s called a vampire bite, not a vampire gnaw. Maybe he should reposition himself. No wait, he couldn’t let go now lest she think he’d had enough.

Fuck.

So here he was, a complete dumbass with a mouth full of elf sorceress and nothing to dull the ache in his belly. All the while he felt stupid for believing that something magical might happen. Good things didn’t happen to him, and if she found out that he had no idea what he was doing…

“It’s alright, Astarion. It doesn’t hurt,” she murmured and her hand rested on the back of his neck.

He could have laughed were he not currently latched on to her throat. Of course she thought he was being careful because of her and not because he had absolutely no idea how this was meant to go. Oddly enough the thought that she didn’t think he was an utter prat calmed him. The tension left his body and the motion caused his fangs to pull away from the puncture marks finally allowing the blood to flow. He shivered as the first drops hit the tip of his tongue.

The rats always had a harsh metallic tang to their blood. Insects simply tasted foul. They were a means to stay alive, not a meal to be savored. Tav’s blood didn’t just keep starvation at bay, it revived him. It was sweet and somehow indescribable at the same time. To his warped senses it tasted of damson wine and berry jam blended with a cozy autumn day. It pooled in his stomach with a pleasant warmth he had long since forgotten was possible. An emotion overtook him as he latched on, mindless of everything except taking more of that addicting warmth into himself. It was like drinking a bright orange sunset with undertones of ginger and mulled wine. Blood had no business tasting so delightful.

Later he would realize the emotion silencing his thoughts was bliss.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, drinking from her and completely losing sense of himself. He might have just as easily drained her dry were it not for that hand at the nape of his neck.

“That’s enough.”

There was power in those words and they snapped him out of his reverie. She didn’t have to repeat herself and he obediently let go. He couldn’t help but smile as the taste of her blood lingered on his tongue. His fingertips caught some of what had spilled from the corner of his mouth and only his impeccable manners kept him from licking them clean.

“That- That was amazing,” he breathed, and they were the first sincere words he had ever spoken to Tav. He was panting as though having undergone great exertion but he couldn’t stop smiling. That insatiable thirst that had plagued him for the better part of two centuries was gone. It was as though a great weight had lifted from him and he could breathe again. Pure unadulterated joy bubbled inside him. 

Bleeding hells, the moon really is brighter now.

He attempted to stand but Tav’s hand seized his wrist stopping him. He looked at her quizzically marveling at his newfound ability to see how her amethyst eyes refracted light. He noted her left eye was a darker shade than the other. How had he not noticed before?

“The next time you need to feed, come to me or ask before you take a bite,” her words were gentle but firm, “you will not drink from someone without my permission. Not everyone is as open minded as I am.”

The next time? There is going to be a next time?

Astarion was not used to so much euphoria in a single night. Ordinarily he would balk at the idea of anyone giving him commands, but this time it felt different. Tav favored him. Tav had chosen to keep him by her side and out of the reach of Cazador’s hunters. Tav freed him from what he had believed to be an existence doomed to eternal hunger. 

And she had every intention of doing it again!

It was all happening so fast he didn’t dare risk his good fortune over something as insignificant as defiance. It certainly wouldn’t do to come off as greedy when she was being so forgiving and absurdly generous.

“Of course. For you, darling, I shall be the very paragon of virtue,” he gave her a lop-sided smile and bowed his head in agreement. 

“I would settle for a close approximation of decency,” she responded before releasing him.

“I will grant you that and more!” he said before taking a deep breath, “I can finally think properly. I feel strong enough to take on a troll.”

“Now that I’d love to see,” she quipped as she propped herself up on her elbows but otherwise made no move to stand.

“I hear tell that patience is a virtue. Though you might not need it. There are so many people getting in our way. So many people eager to die,” he gave a manic sort of giggle as stood and he flexed his fingers in wonder.

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized his hands had stopped hurting. For so long he believed they ached because of his desperate attempts at digging himself out of a crypt when in reality, they were just cold. He stared at them in awe all the while identifying the new warmth as Tav’s blood coursing through his veins. A shiver ran through him and his smile dimmed. 

How long had he been cold without noticing it?

How long would he have remained in the dark without Tav’s compassion?

She didn’t have to do this. Idiot or not, Tav did not have to give him anything. In his experience, ignorant people were all the crueler for it, but even a clever man wouldn’t have reacted as she did. Had their situations been reversed, he certainly wouldn’t have been so generous. He would have been ruthless and put her down like a sick dog before she could utter a word. His darker thoughts sent a twinge of gratitude through him. While he would have preferred to simply walk away, he hesitated and turned to face his benefactor.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” Astarion did not want to be beholden to her, but it felt crass not to at least acknowledge what Tav had done. She had given so much in exchange for a single condition. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you were invigorating but I need something a bit more filling.”

He turned to face the dark forest feeling like an apex predator for the first time in his life. There was no doubt in his mind he would be satiated before dawn. Still, Tav’s words echoed in his mind.

“You will not drink from someone without my permission.”

It was an entirely reasonable request when compared to all he had gained. Astarion was confident that given time, it would become a non-issue. She already found him intriguing, if he played his cards right he’d soon have Tav wrapped around his little finger. Next time, he would ask politely. No, better yet, he’d wait her out. If he could ingratiate himself to her, she’d offer to feed him willingly. 

Until then, he would keep her command.