Chapter Text
“Finally. Fucking hells,” a caravaner exclaimed loudly.
Tav noticed the twilight lights of Baldur's Gate waking up in the distance. The caravaners he was escorting spurred the oxen on to no great result. They were attacked earlier but Tav's contract did not stipulate any bonus for heroic defence. He could feel the dry blood sticking to his skin, slithered through the cracks of his plate armour, chafing uncomfortably in what some whimsical holy men called their innermost sanctum.
Tav could already picture it. On the morrow, lounging in the sun. His large body would somehow fit in a red velvet armchair, and he’d drag through empty mornings at the harbour's terraces, coffee and water pipes, with screeching seabirds slowly circling overhead.
He sighed deeply. Miles still separated him from his fantasy, and hours stood between him and the sun.
Since the brain fell, time for Tav had seemed to drag on and race by simultaneously. Months had passed on the paladin's path. Staying idle was foreign to Tav's nature : as his companions had scattered, licking their wounds, Tav had jumped head first back into the fray. He paid for it cruelly now, exhausted to the point of mindlessness. He had not planned to stop long in the Gate but the break imposed itself in his mind, inflexible, as he walked his last mile in silence.
Later they reached the gates in Wyrm’s Crossing, and he collected his gold at the caravan stations. Ox shit and sweat permeated the air, and clean, perfumed couriers took on the letters and parcels headed to the marble splendours of the upper town. A belfry rang eleven. Who has need of a letter at such late hours, Tav pondered in all his countryside innocence, before heading into town. The bridge was still buzzing with activity, the sun down but the air warm, lively.
"Hey Paladin, hungry?" beckon, echoed, the voices of many street food sellers. Tav is not hard to miss, towering over most people, and wide as a bull. "I ain't never seen a drow that fucking large, mate" the meat griller says, "Want some roast? You look like you can empty my stand. I'll go get you a fresh pig or two if it ends that way".
"Half-drow," Tav spits, never not resenting his wretched blood. "The best part of me was as huge as I am. Now get me that pork shoulder and tell those wretched street kids around to stop fluttering around my purse, lest you -and them- fancy to see the Chiontar’s bed from closer." Raising his voice, the kids all scuttle away.
The seller just laughs and hands him a hollowed bowl of potatoes and another of meat. Roasted shoulder. Some beer sauce, dark and syrupy. Tav could verily weep at the sight and the smell.
"You'd throw those poor orphans off the bridge, paladin?"
"Absolutely. I'm as big as a Steelwatcher and twice as mean," Tav says, giving greasy pieces of potatoes to a particularly miserable child that chose to sit next to him. The others gawked from afar.
*
Tav pushes the tavern's heavy door, bending his head at the threshold and bracing for the curious looks he always gets. His weary full plate, blood stained hair, heavy travel bag slung over the shoulder and the flail on his back rattling and screeching as he sways: it all paints a very fearsome image. The kindness he knows resides in him doesn't shine through his sombre eyes.
As many eyes turn on him, he walks straight and loud to the counter, thinking, rehearsing: the strongest pint you have my friend, and a room to rest my bones.
"Tav, my dear? Over here!"
Sitting perched on a bar stool, an elbow nonchalantly resting on the beer-sticky countertop, is the familiar figure of Astarion, beckoning him over, a wide smile splitting his usually cruel face, eyes shining.
With him are two dark-clad figures, Tiefling women, and Astarion's white skin sticks out like a patch of snow in spring, surrounded by grime. A feathered hat, tall laced boots with a heel of perfectly androgynous height, a stiff and colourful striped bodysuit. Over it he wears a most peculiar leather jacket tailored with a cropped cut, stopping over his ribs, and padded shoulders, making the elf look comically broad. You look like a pimp, Tav thinks.
"You look dashing," he says.
Astarion slips gracefully from the stool, the iron of his heels loud on the wooden floorboard, offering a slow turn before looking up, down, and up again, in Tav's eyes. Tav embraces him shortly, careful not to send Astarion crashing against his armour as his arm circles his much frailer friend. Astarion wriggles away quickly, equally careful not to nick himself on the metal plates.
"Wish I could return the compliment darling. What hole have you been crawling out of?" he says, taking a step back as he observes Tav.
"Trollclaws. Simple caravan escorting work. Got attacked on the way here. Clueless buggers, but anyway. Are you buying me a drink?" noticing eyes on him, Tav adds, "And introducing me to your charming company."
And so, introductions are made, the two Tiefling girls gawking at his blood-speckled armour, or chivalrous features. It’s hard to tell. One of them extends her hand and he kisses it, expecting a virginal giggle but receiving the crooked look of someone who thinks they just established dominance. Tav's mood sours on the spot.
"The foolish matron that let such a charming drow stallion run away is out of her mind," Joanna says, low pitched, looking through her eyelashes.
"Don't start flirting, you know they keep them caged up," Chim completes, gesturing a cock with the wiggle of her finger.
"You girls are absolutely awful. Please don't mind them," Astarion says, his hand dropping preciously on Tav's gauntlet, clearly enjoying the show with wicked glee, barely disguised as hindrance.
"Half-drow," he mutters, "As for your theory, check for yourself. Show me some lock-picking, little devil," he adds, jesting, schooling his features into stone, split by a half smile.
When the girl does, twinkling eyes under downcast horns, he expects the bit to stop at her hand peeking under the codpiece, but she grabs his cock through the undergarments, assessing it coldly, and he has to catch his breath as the air leaves his lungs suddenly.
"How disappointing, guess those gaudy books lied all along. Free as the winds," she says, staring at him, and removing her hand, at last.
Tav wishes he could still reach for his tadpole and probe Astarion's mind about the demented company he seems to keep, but the look he sends him seems to convey the message as accurately.
"Days on the road, grime, sweat, finally put my ass down. And it's between the three meanest, weirdest buggers I could imagine. Nine hells," Tav laments, his eyes locked on Astarion's, and the elf has the audacity to smirk.
"Now buy me a pint, Fangs, you little rascal, or I'm smiting you," he adds, digging his plated index finger in Astarion's chest, but there’s no air to knock out of there.
Tav does finally get treated to a drink, no beer but two bottles of a white wine that's entirely too good for this shady inn, coming with four dainty crystal glasses. He downs his first in one go and sets it on the table as delicately as one can when armoured in full plate. Astarion laughs and it would almost sound genuine to an untrained eye.
"Thought you favoured red," Tav mumbles.
"You know me well," he smiles, honestly this time.
Time passes and the bottles drain, followed soon by exquisite brandies. Tav starts worrying about going for a piss and coming back to three empty stools and a hefty bill. He's not unhappy about chancing upon Astarion, and certainly entertained by trading enchanting tales and jokes. The two girls are clearly having a great time. You're just the way Star's been telling us about, they say, and Tav can't figure out if that's a great or a bad thing.
"Do they have rooms here? I'm gods damned exhausted. Been on that blasted path for too long," he whines, stretching his long legs and arms in a cacophony of metal screeches.
"Would not recommend them, honey," Chim says, or is it Joanna?
"Dear, you deserve much better. Just come with me, I have myself fixed with a true palace. Uptown, gilded, a velvety nest," Astarion says, pantomiming opulence with wild flourishes of his hands.
The two girls start giggling. Tav sighs and laughs along, assuming his firm position as the butt of a joke, staring hazily at his glass of brandy and expecting the worst.
"I'm so coinless I might just take the offer. Provided you're not messing with me," he swirls the alcohol in his glass, a purple blush blooming on his pale blue skin.
"I would not dream of abusing my favourite travel companion's trust that way..." Astarion says, and the peculiar mixture of honesty and sarcasm he's demonstrated throughout the evening has Tav feeling restless.
*
Astarion does end up paying, to Tav's relief. The paladin's pockets are as good as empty. Chivalry, courage and goodness of heart have not been paying well. As a hired sword, he barely makes ends meet.
They bid the Tieflings good night, and Tav follows Astarion, his heels snapping on the pavement, -how very unstealthy, he ponders- as they go through the city.
"I'm quite happy to see you, my friend," Astarion says softly.
"That's sweet of you. Where's the trick."
"That comes later."
"Alright. I'll ready up."
The elf turns around, his red eyes two strange beacons in the dark.
"I have not complimented you enough on that outfit, I feel," Tav blurts out. "Please tell me you're not peddling silkroot to unruly rich kids."
Astarion preens at the compliment and at the insult. Tav could swear his ears perk up.
"Gods below, no. I've been living an absolutely honest life since that all nasty business ran its course. My dashing looks are the courtesy of those two ladies you met. Joanna deals in leather, Chim in clothes. I think I’m not much more to them than a breathing, prancing, oh-so-pretty mannequin, but aren't those rags just worth it," he says, basking in the attention.
"So that's what those two wenches do? Quite the company you keep there."
"I'm just smitten with how, pardon the language, bitchy they are. Could not imagine anyone else in Faerûn taking a look at you and proceeding to stick their fingers through the enclosure. They treated me so, too. Directness has its virtues."
"That Chim she-devil certainly was direct."
"Hope no oath of chastity got broken tonight, dear."
"Do shut it," Tav mimics Astarion's voice, honeyed and poisonous, "dear”.
They keep walking, light smiles ghosting on their lips, feeling some form of giddiness. Tav blames it on the drinks. Astarion probably just lets it happen, thoughts scattered.
Tav is first to break the silence:
"Can't wait to change. Don't think I’ve been out of that armour in a while."
"I can smell that."
"Your poor vampire senses. Apologies. Just toss me in a tub when we arrive."
"We're closing by, by the way. I'm afraid I might, however, have played a practical joke on you. My abode is far from a palace."
"I can still find some other place if it's a bother. We can meet tomorrow night. Got some catching up to do. And I need a couple days of rest."
"No, by all means, do come. I own a deviously large bed, you can take it. I trance at days anyways."
"Your insistence worries me, Fangs, how hungry are you?" Tav jokes.
"Not at all, mind you, but I'm... Hard to put it in a non-pathetic way, truly, but I'm quite lonely."
"Oh," Tav casts his eyes down, and a strange silence stretches between them.
*
Astarion gestures to a narrow back alley. Only then does Tav notice that they are definitely not in the Upper City. It’s more a slummy part of town. Deducting from the smell, there must be an abattoir nearby. Convenient, Tav thinks.
They enter a building where Tav has to bend down at every doorstep. A tight staircase leads them to the last floor, where small apartments lay under the roof.
"Give me five minutes to put that place into order. I've been living... A very celibate life, to put it mildly. Would not force a mighty paladin to debase himself so."
"I've seen your tent in camp Astarion, how bad can it be?" Tav chuckles, trying to peek through the door as Astarion stands stubbornly in front of him, stretched on tip-toes to block the sights.
"Bad. Please consider my poor, fouled feelings and comment not. A second, dear".
Tav hears a few muttered ignis , glass clinking, furniture rattling and Astarion muttering in elvish what he assumes are words he would not want his company to hear, were they in common tongue. How very considerate, Tav thinks with a smile.
"Alright, alright, do come in".
As Tav enters, his eyes drop on the bed, and he bursts out laughing. The place is modest, a single room with a paravent and a tub on a corner, a wardrobe, a small table and two chairs against the curtained wall, a ceiling window impeccably covered in light proof fabric, but the bed is somehow twice larger than any Tav has ever seen in his life.
"What kind of- of fucking orgy den even is this," he says through wheezes.
"It's not, gods, gods ! Stop laughing, you towering brute. I just... Saw that gargantuan bed frame at the carpenter and blew my coin away like an imbecile. Wanted comfort, something a bit decadent. After, after, you know..." Astarion gestures, hands waving in fluttering circles.
Tav sobers up quickly at the implications. His eyes roam the room. The biggest part of the mess is gone, empty glasses and vials piled on a crate under the table, clothing probably tucked away in the wardrobe. It's still dusty and sinister, odd shadows cast from every direction where half melted candles stand.
"Can't blame you my friend," he says, dropping a heavy hand on Astarion's shoulder. The elf immediately squirms away and again Tav feels awkward. He stares at his feet where the floorboard is stained with what he assumes is blood.
Astarion's living quarters are marginally better than the rag-covered bloody plank he slept on the road, but it is still quite miserable.
"Privy chamber you'll find in the floor below. Water, lucky you, comes with the basin from some magical nonsensical faucet. As for breakfast, I'm afraid you'll have to go get yourself one on the morrow."
"Thanks," Tav says, running the water and heading downstairs. Coming back, he strips, arranging his armour neatly on the chair and table, and folding his under things with a frown - making a mental note to have them follow suit on the water once he'll come out.
"Soldier boy, weren't you," Astarion remarks, lounging with his head on his crossed arms, his colourful bodysuit a vibrant stain on the fresh, black bed sheets.
"I was, I was. I'm not sure I ever mentioned it back then," Tav says, sinking in the hot water with a pleased sigh, his head resting on crossed arms on the tub's edge.
"Oh, I could not have known from our adventures. I thought you some birthright paladin. But now that I see you stripping with not a care in the world and folding your things that way, all so neat, it just seems impossible to not have noticed your military training. Silly me. Even your tent was always impeccable."
"Well, some things do stick. Been quite some years now," Tav says as he rubs the grime of the miles away from his skin- was it always such a light shade of bluish grey?
"I can even teach you how to properly make your bed. It's wrinkled there,” he adds, pointing at the faulty sheet.
"Don't make me regret opening the doors of my abode to you, boy,” Astarion says, rolling his eyes up.
*
They end up chatting for some time, Tav resisting sleep in favour of discovering new facets of his former companion. Astarion questions and questions: what missions he took after the brain, what set of armour and weapons he's currently using, what type of parties happen in paladin chapters and many other harmless pursuits. Tav dares not return the attention, not knowing how to tread around the elf's past and somehow aware of the bleakness of his present, all manifest in that dismal room he must hide in so often. All enquiries seem so intrusive, or plain depressing. He manages to keep his curiosity under control, though devoured by the desire to ask all the silly things regarding Astarion's vampiric nature that he bottled up during their travels.
So Tav answers and answers, feeling a certain kind of warmth a mercenary seldom gets. Hot water and fragrant soaps, the haze of the earlier drinks, and the thrill of company. Tav is no pondering man, and usually doesn't inspect his feelings too closely. Perhaps had he been a bit lonely too since their merry group disbanded.
When he finally exits the water, navigating his large body through the cramped space - hitting his head on the inclined ceiling -, dressing up in wide inside pants and making use of his host's many perfumes, he feels like he's been moulded all anew for the first time in months.
"Most decadent crash house I've ever been to. Fits you," he says, laying down on his back and stretching his massive body on the bed with almost feline grace.
"Shut up," Astarion growls, sitting up.
"That was a compliment."
"In your limited mind, maybe."
"Can't argue with that. But enough enquiries about me," Tav says, shifting to sit on the bed's edge, indenting it, "what have you been up to? Since that all shit ended."
"Well, I bought this place for a start. And what's inside. Been trying to play the hand I've been dealt, dear," Astarion softens. Tav gets the feeling that his prying will be enjoyed until cut short at the whim of his host.
"Good fortune cheating?" Tav quips.
"Gods, no. Only the fairest," he shuffles closer, "most honest", and he slips into his sly, suggestive tones, "of activities. A paragon of virtue, I've become. This being said, I've been living on the coin we made on our little adventure, and it's running low already."
"I'm glad you're walking the good man's path now. Surely no lies would come out of those lips."
"I've never lied in my entire existence. Quite the performance, I'd say. I'm getting pretty antique," he grins.
"Sorry, I'll pry, but any family, relatives you could get back to? Get some coin, place to stay, hells, an occupation," Tav asks bluntly, then continues: "I'm in the shit money wise. But I got the paladin's quarters to crash in, in dire cases. Anything of that sort?".
"The ones I knew, dead I presume. I've searched a bit actually, found some distant descendants in Baldur's Gate. Haven't worked up the courage to meet them. Don't think I ever will."
Astarion gets up and starts acting.
"Hi, oh, oh so very sorry to interrupt. I'm your long gone dead relative. Don't mind the eyes, or the teeth, please let me in, please do invite me in, I beg! What, oh, yes, I do look pretty young, thanks darling. Well, I do use face creams. Now that we're acquainted, got a couple thousands of gold coins for me?"
Tav laughs, watching the theatricals unfold, the coquette looks, the hair twirling.
"Yeah, I get it. And I suppose you don't have gold in the bank from your years of employment,” Tav tests the waters, trying to assess if the whole Cazador part of the story is to be avoided or not.
"On the good side I don't have debts either." Good sport, then. "I've had quite the years stretching on and on and on without any break, any off-days or sick leave, ever. Unruly hours if you ask. Plain dirty work. You know, according to the law of this town… "
"Oh yeah, you were a lawyer weren't you. Never pried past that," Tav interrupts, Astarion's grandiloquent speaking style allowing plenty of time between verses to jut in.
"Magistrate. A bit different."
"Crooked or honest."
Astarion rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically.
"Crooked. If you want to give me your paladin's judgement and scold me, I feel like I've served enough years of sentence already, dear."
"Please continue, I'm so terribly rude," Tav grins.
"Well, as said, according to the rules of the town, a worker is owed a minimum two days of rest per tenday. I've accumulated quite the years of ungiven days in my previous occupation . I've decided to do absolutely nothing for the following years. More accurately, I refuse to do anything.” Astarion says, raising an imperious finger, “I could do with a mountain of gold. I think I deserve it, don't you? Hero of the Gate, saviour of the Coast, and all of that, urgh , do-gooder business. Every day I rot in this attic, when I should be a Duke, covered in gold embroidered silks and rose petals, with an army of blood servants crawling at my feet, bent to my whims." Astarion is petulant, as always, but it doesn't take a lot of wits to notice the ugly undertones. He flops back on the bed.
"And about the whole vampire business. Faring well?" Tav asks sheepishly.
"No. If I wasn't dead already, I'd kill myself," Astarion dramatically fans his hand over his face, then continues, "This whole business as you say is quite hard to tolerate after the tadpole gave me a glimpse of normality. I miss the sun, I truly do," he sighs.
"For all that's worth, I'm sorry for you about all that".
"It's not worth much, but I'll accept it." A small smile, the ghost of kindness on his pale face. "If you knew how silly I feel when asking for permission to enter places. Oh, it's utterly humiliating."
Tav does not really know what to add. Sleep seizes him slowly, and he lays against the back-rest, head cushioned in a pile of soft velvet pillows.
"As for the blood, well, it's not the worst ordeal. Little difference between it and eating meat. I fare well..."
Their eyes meet and Astarion's, impulsively, lower to stare at Tav's neck. Tav sees him swallow, his pale throat constricting.
"Don't give me that look. Creeps me out," Tav softly says, with a half-smile he hopes conveys a light-heartedness about the matter that he does not particularly have.
Astarion's eyes go up again, finding Tav's, and he shuffles closer and grins, making a special effort to show as much fang as he can.
"Prefer this one?"
"Gods below, no," Tav pushes him off gently.
"There's no pleasing you, darling."
Astarion notices Tav's heavy lidded eyes and sits up on his haunches.
"I'll go enjoy the rest of the night with the scum of the Gate. Do rest, my sweet knight. There are still many things I need to touch upon with you. Some that will surely catch your interest," Astarion gets up, quickly rummaging around for his boots and jacket and grabbing his keys from a skull hanger on the wall.
"Have fun."
"Likely at those late hours. I'll be there surely when you awake, and if I'm trancing, do be a sweet thing and refrain from opening any window. If I'm not there..." He opens the door, hand on the threshold, head thrown back in mock agony, "I probably just met my sad, sad fate. Help yourself to my meagre belongings. See you."
"Thanks, little rogueling," Tav says, reclining, "Truly. This is all quite sweet."
"Oh, do shut up, you'll make me tear up if you keep on going..."
One last flourish of the hand and devilish wink and the door closes. Tav barely has time to tuck himself under the sheets before he passes out, a slumber as heavy as death claiming him.
*
