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.

Chapter Text

Those first minutes had been little more than a blur. The nautiloid ship, the imps, the dragons, the crash, and how could she ever forget her newest little addition. Surely, it was her imagination when she felt it writhe just behind her eye. To have the thing inside her, wriggling through her skull and leaving little tunnels through her brain-matter like the core of a rotten apple…

It was best not to dwell on it.

It felt like she was suppressing much these days, that couldn't be healthy. Ah well, what was another wriggly inconvenience amongst friends? Control. She had to stay in control… control of self, control of her situation, control of those around her. Gods, but she was tired of it! It felt as though she were holding a coiled spring in her hands and every time something went wrong she tightened her grip. Each time the tension grew. 

And yet what choice did he have? 

Where would she be without restraint? Barrelling through enemies with all the finesse of a bull in a porcelain shop? Cutting down potential allies over a sharp word? Force-feeding druids molten glass in order to help them attain a semblance of clarity? Fashioning makeshift grenades out of empty grog bottles, rusty nails, and fireblood venom…

“Don’t be uncultured.” 

The memory of her mother’s exasperated words made her flinch. They were usually accompanied by a sting of pain, or a burst of nausea as punishment. Thankfully those had been meted out less and less as she approached her hundredth birthday.

One hundred years old. 

Gods, she really had spent her birthday in the bowels of an illithid’s ship getting infected. She’d heard of people having awful repercussions due to their careless frolicking, but ending up with worms from a squid-ship had to be up there. All she’d wanted was to sneak off for a night of revelry before undergoing the rites of adulthood and taking on her clan responsibilities. Just a few measly hours, not even a full night, and she couldn’t have that without the world falling apart!

All nobles had their entire life planned for them on some level. Tav understood the political necessity of such stability. She had long since accepted it as part and parcel of having a life of power and comfort. From a young age she knew her entire life was already planned and laid out before her: she would complete her predecessor’s plans, she would marry into a specific family, she would have three children, she would craft her life’s work, and before her death, she would set the foundation for her successor. 

These decisions had been made and set into motion long before Tav was born. She was but a single thread in the massive tapestry woven throughout generations. Her role was not to set a new path, but to continue the cycle and perpetuate the pattern. 

She had wrestled with it as all young ones do when confronted with the intransigence of eternity. However, as her memories from the reverie settled over her thoughts she’d come to see the foolishness of fighting. Resentment had come quick and sharp. The great cosmic joke of it all was akin to giving a mule a pair of wings and letting it believe it was meant to fly. Eventually even that cooled and settled into apathy.

What most short-lived species failed to understand was that time smothered the brightest flame. It didn’t matter how passionately she had once felt, without something to continuously reignite the blaze, emotion petered out. By the time she was in her eighth decade, she had stopped fighting it. After all, it was no great sacrifice to live in the Upper City, surrounded by luxuries and power.

Still, her restlessness remained. All she’d wanted was a moment of freedom, a single gasp of air before being pulled under. Surely the fates wouldn’t begrudge her one night’s deviation before an eternity of servitude. What consequences could she possibly incur over something as simple as wine and music?

Welcome to adulthood.

Fate, it seemed, was a funny bitch. Oh sure, Tav was certain some literary buffs would call her predicament ‘the hero’s journey’ or some other flowery nonsense. The cold reality of it was that it had less to do about personal growth and more about survival by any means necessary. This of course meant all rules were off. She could be as uncultured as she liked.

Although, if she were being honest, ever since the nautiloid fiasco, her strength had been significantly diminished. The spells that once flowed from her fingertips as easily as breathing now darted beyond her grasp. She had once been capable of melting hordes of undead with a single wave of her hand. Now she struggled to summon a single cantrip. To her horror, this left her without the usual option of simply flipping over the table and ending this little charade.

Tav found herself at a crossroads. She could give in to the draconic urge to burn and rampage until the tadpole in her brain vacated the premises or -more likely- until she gave herself an aneurism. Granted, rampaging in her current weakened state would be more of a tantrum than the extinction-level event it was meant to be. Worst still, she would look ridiculous while doing it.

Let’s put that in the “Maybe” column.

If wrath was off the table, then the only things she had left were coercion and persuasion. Thankfully her lifetime of training had kicked in the moment she was out of the pod. Initially, there had been no plan but to keep moving and let the pieces fall in place around her. The social calculus between breaking out Shadowheart, rescuing Gale, allying with Lae’zel and all the little quid pro quos in between had come naturally to her. Weaponizing her charm and winning people to her side had been easy, almost instinctual.

Almost.

It was easy to strip people down to their core components: Standoffish Cleric, Bloodthirsty Fighter, Arrogant Wizard. She had spent enough hours studying with tacticians and reading tomes on strategy to understand how to use her little band of foundlings in a skirmish. The key, her father would often stress, was to make your people feel valued. 

A beaten hound knows no loyalty and whatnot. 

If assets felt disposable they would turn on their handler. If her little band fell apart because of her negligence, then where would she be? Weakened as she was, Tav didn’t have the strength to thrash them into obedience. Even if she could intimidate them enough to attain a proper level of fear, they were more likely to cut and run the moment they got the chance. Then there were the weapons to consider. These people would have to be armed to be useful wouldn’t they?

My scales for a proper set of obedience collars.

Coercion would cause more harm than good in this situation. They were in it for the long haul, which meant that eventually she would have to rest around these people. Spells she could set up wards against as she slept, but steel? Ah yes, the pointy bits were always a bit more tricky. 

As much as I don’t care for these robes, I would very much like to not wake up with a knife in my back. 

Unfortunately, there would be no shortcuts for this round; no cobbled together grenade to make a convenient exit. Persuasion it was then. 

May Her Resplendence give me patience.

She’d kept her mouth shut for most of the escape from the nautiloid letting Lae’zel and Shadowheart take turns sniping at each other. After the crash -possible concussions aside- she hadn’t thought of doing much other than gathering resources. It wasn’t until she’d spotted Shadowheart sprawled out on the beach that she had to seriously consider her next moves. 

If Shadowheart had survived, it was possible Lae’zel had as well. There might be more. That in itself took killing and looting the body off the table, but that didn’t make things easier. There was absolutely no guarantee those two would listen to a random bossy know-it-all even if she were speaking sense. There was also the risk of being clocked as a threat. People didn’t like ambition or talent especially when it might overshadow their own.

Tav would have to thread that needle of soft control in order to make sure these idiots didn’t get themselves killed. If it meant playing the oblivious fool to attain it, so be it. She had learned early on that pride just got in the way of real work. She would smile and laugh and pretend to be oblivious all for the sake of cohesion. In the end this was just another performance, another chore.

That wasn’t to say Tav liked having to resort to manipulation. Too often she had been reprimanded for being soft-hearted, overly compassionate, and simply too earnest about the people in her care. More than once her mother had scolded her over perceived hesitations. After all, what good did all that loyalty serve, if one was too weak to exploit it? A patriar’s smile could just as easily be accented with the point of a dagger as it could with an exquisite brocade. Subterfuge and poise were prized far above mere victory, but for that one needed pawns.

Oh but what rare treasures did she find on the Sword Coast? An irritable githyanki fighter intent on testing the limits of a sorceress' restraint. A cleric who showed all the signs of having been raised in a cellar because she had no semblance of what a normal conversation was supposed to sound like. 

And then there was Gale. 

To his credit, Gale seemed to be the most stable of the three. He was grateful for her assistance and seemed anxious to prove he was an asset. Alas the man had a peculiar way with words. Peculiar in the way that they seem to slip past his lips without his brain screening them first.

“Say, Tav, I don’t suppose you’re versed in magic are you?” he asked out of the blue but in such a disarming manner that Tav blinked in genuine confusion. She had just used her power to stabilize a portal and rescue him from a broken rune not an hour ago.

“I would venture to say I’m just as magical as you,” she had replied with a cheerful smile as they picked their way through the wreckage, “I’m a sorcerer!”

“Oh, right of course. My mistake. No, I meant proper magic, the type you study, not just your type of crude improvisation ,” he corrected her.

Tav was momentarily astounded to the point of silence. Of all the things she had expected to hear, a prejudiced comment about her inherent skill had not been one of them.

Now that takes me back.

It had been decades since she’d heard such an ignorant dismissal of her talent. Then again, it had been decades since anyone dared say such things in presence. 

Did he believe any sorcerer could simply reach into the live weave with their bare hands? Did this man not understand the decades of training and study it had taken to control just an ounce of her power?

He doesn’t. 

He doesn’t understand and really, do you want him to understand? Do you truly want him to know? What possible advantage could you gain from that, you simpleton?

Almost immediately she felt foolish for caring. Nothing good would come from trying to impress this particular wizard.

“I’m afraid not. I prefer to play it by ear,” her voice was casual all the while keeping the same vapid smile on her lips.

“Ah, pity. Then it seems we must search elsewhere for a solution to our cranial problem.”

“Guess so,” she replied, still smiling like a daft idiot and picking up the pace. 

“You know, if we are to become travel companions, I would not be averse to teaching you,” he said as he quickened his step and followed her, “don’t get me wrong, I’m quite the formidable opponent, but there is a certain wisdom to having redundancy in our little band. Our situation could benefit from a second pair of hands well versed in the weave.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“I think I’d like that,” she replied, Cheshire grin plastered firmly over her features whilst feeling utterly exhausted by the conversation. Before Gale could continue monologuing, a cry for help echoed just over the nearest ridge.

“Over here! I need some help!”

Thank the stars.

Tav’s attention quickly pivoted to the man calling out to them. He was dressed in velvet and tell-tale sparkle of gold thread glittered beneath a fine layer of dust over his shoulders. Well coiffed hair, pale hands, soft rosy fingertips, manicured nails… This man was definitely not a local.

“Hurry! I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you did the others?”

An inexperienced noble out in the wilds asking for help. Tav really should have known better. How many times had she pulled that trick herself?

She underestimated him. After rescuing Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Gale, Tav had been too eager to treat this man as yet another damsel in distress. Years of training cautioned restraint, but she didn’t listen. There was no one here to enforce the rules, no mythal’s echo to freeze her in place. Here she could finally act without hesitation or restraint. Unbound by her usual limitations, Tav had only seen a quick way to gain the man's trust. It had been a tactical mistake, one of many.

Reckless.

There were no shortcuts to Astarion's approval as the blade to her throat soon made clear. 

“Not a sound… not if you want to keep that neck of yours…” he whispered as though she were prey.

Something in Tav snapped then. 

Diplomacy had failed, and she’d had a long and trying day. Tav immediately changed tactics and this foolish stranger soon found a brow full of tough golden scales slammed against his nose. The momentary distraction was enough for her to pull away and grab her staff; however, Gale’s shocked expression stayed her hand from further violence. 

If not for her audience, she might have ended up beating Astarion with her staff whilst screaming ‘why is everyone so fucking rude?!’ through angry tears.

Thankfully the tension resolved itself due in no small part to the parasites in their head. That in itself was worrying. It implied the wrigglers weren’t just mindless inconveniences, they could discern motives. 

Tapeworms with a plan, because why not?

In the end, she let Astarion tag along.

As frustrated as she was, Tav just didn’t have it in her to leave him on the side of the road. To be honest, all of her current companions were annoying little shits. It wasn’t Astarion’s fault that she had reached her limit by the time they’d found him.

Case in point, the resident cleric had a grating way about her that made conversations difficult and off-putting. It would be much easier if she simply leaned into her aggressive streak instead of awkwardly attempting to straddle the line.

“You, what were you two talking about?” Shadowheart demanded as Tav began to make camp.

No sense of manners at all. Raised by wolves, were we, miss?

“You know, it’s customary to say hello first,” she responded in a gentle tone as she struck a flint to start a campfire. “Also, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You and Gale. What were you talking about?”

“Ah, well this is embarrassing,” Tav gave her a sheepish smile, “I wasn’t really listening. He has a tendency to ramble on.”

Shadowheart looked her nose down at her and to Tav she had the look of a teenager demanding an explanation.

"You were speaking for some time,” she accused her, “Surely you must have discussed something."

I owe wolves an apology.  

While Tav had attempted to initiate friendly conversation throughout the day, Shadowheart had taken it upon herself to rebuff her each time. One needed at least an inkling of rapport before sharing information. Making demands only worked if she were in a position to issue orders.

"Oh must I? I thought there was no harm in a little mystery," Tav's lips twitched as she parroted the cleric's own words back at her. Shadowheart flushed scarlet before looking away in annoyance.

“Fine. Just don’t expect my confidence if I don’t have yours,” she huffed before storming off. 

Not a strand of social etiquette in that entire braid. Tav shook her head.

After the chaos of that first day, their routine seemed to stabilize. More stragglers were added to their little band. More fighters for the roster. More skill sets to use. It certainly helped that, for all their griping, her new party was delightfully transparent in their intent. Depending on the person, they were either blunt about their distrust or eager to take any sort of kindness after their terrifying ordeal. Given time she was sure they would come around. Honeyed words were worth far more than sparkling amber when doled out on a dark unforgiving night. 

When it came time for bed and she settled into her reverie, Tav tried her best to steer her memories into the day before. Out of habit, she observed her actions with a critical eye, catching errors and taking mental notes as though she were merely an observer. There were things she could work on, clearly, but some skills were innate. 

She knew how to nod, and listen. She knew the right things to say, how to soothe and coax out truths in exchange for understanding, validation, and support. Old habits of wanting to please were surprisingly useful in that regard. It certainly helped that were all so easy.  

Gale was easy to please.

Wyll was easy to impress.

Shadowheart was easy to motivate.

Lae'zel was easy to praise.

Karlach was… well, her favorite if she was being honest.

And then there was Astarion.

Astarion was complicated . She couldn't tell if he had seen through her methods or if he simply did not know what to make of her. Perhaps he had simply been left feral for far too long. 

Their first meeting had not been ideal and he did not become easier once he joined them.

For one, his moods and intent were tedious to dissect. In spite of how loudly he promoted his image of squeamish fop, the mask didn't quite settle properly over his features. There was too much savagery in his actions, too much viciousness in that crimson gaze for the act to be convincing.

At first glance, he dressed like a noble. The gold-embroidered velvet mimicked a brocade that had been in vogue sixty years ago but the supple cloth was worn bare along the seams where it was joined with the darker leather. Tav noted how the golden thread became thicker at these junctions to hide the wear. She could appreciate the clever craftsmanship if nothing else. 

The problem was, that once she began to notice the flaws in his clothes, they became impossible to ignore: errant golden leaves deviating from the embroidered pattern hiding patches, dark cloth that was meant to be ink-black but looked a faded charcoal gray in the sunlight, sleeping clothes that had been washed so many times the thread had acquired a polished sheen. 

These were the trappings of a wealth long-since faded. They were reminders of better times, like a purple stain left in a wooden cup that once held the finest wine. Perhaps in a dimly lit room, they might fool a commoner or a drunkard, but to someone who had spent their entire life on display -to someone like Tav- it was all too easy to see the lie. 

His clothes simply weren't fitted. High-elves with Astarion's body type preferred a sleeker, more streamlined look. Astarion's clothes added unsightly bulk to his form; and the man had all the vanity of a peacock in heat. He cared about his appearance, which once again, indicated he had to know this was a tacky look. And she was meant to believe he chose this?

Clearly something is keeping him from fully dressing the part.

He looked like a noble in the same way paste gems looked priceless to a man unaccustomed to luxury.

Perhaps at some point he had been wealthy. There was a chance he had indeed been a magistrate and mingled amongst the patriar in the upper city, but clearly that had been a long time ago. In all her life, she had never once seen or heard of him amongst The Gate’s well-to-do social circles. Magistrates, even the low-born ones, made a habit of making their names known to the people who mattered. The right connections meant career opportunities and the possibility of social mobility. 

Something had happened to this man that had made him fall out of favor and never attempt to regain it. Usually, such an event only occurred if he was found doing something positively sordid. Oh she’d seen it all before: embezzlement, extortion, executions. The favored E’s were a trio of vices reserved only for the elite to indulge in. Although…

He’s too impulsive.

In the short time she’d known Astarion, Tav had never once seen him think before making a move. She had seen him get caught up in his emotions and jump into the fray without considering the consequences of his actions. The man was more scapegoat than ringleader.

“Shadowheart. Such a grim name for such a beautiful flower.”

“I heard you mumbling that line to yourself earlier. Still needs work,” she replied with a toss of her braid.

The memory made Tav snort in amusement.

Clearly she was giving the man too much credit. In all honesty, he was probably just caught getting too friendly with the wrong patriar’s daughter (or son). She could see it now. What a magnificent scandal it might have made! Unless, of course, he had been strong-armed into going away.

But then, why stay in Baldur’s Gate? 

The man was a High Elf, he had options. Even if he wasn’t from a particularly influential family, why would he force himself to live in the shadows when he could have struck out for Waterdeep, or Athkatla? Even Evermeet was a modest improvement, provided he could make himself useful and behaved within reason.

Perhaps, therein lies the problem. Astarion didn’t seem to have any useful skills other than empty flattery and, even then, his pick up lines were poorly crafted. His motions were so painfully rehearsed, she wondered if they were practiced in front of a mirror. He couldn’t possibly be enjoying this, so why keep up the charade at all? Was it impulse? A way to cope?

There’s too many gaps in my knowledge. I don’t have the time to figure him out.

Astarion was intent on throwing her off the scent. He refused to give her any clues to suss out his intent and it made him particularly irritating. An incomplete puzzle was merely a riddle, and riddles were just “guess what color I'm thinking of” games for stupid people who wanted to feel clever. She had no intention of playing along.

Yet, as luck would have it, Astarion was also terrible at keeping his own secrets. 

Things might have been different, if he’d chosen someone else. Her hapless noble girl act may have worked a little too well, if he considered her to be the safe option. Whatever it was, a turn of fortune or hyperawareness, Tav snapped out of her reverie and was confronted by a pair of sharp fangs.

“...Shit.”

She was on her feet before he could react and he must have sensed the danger because he stepped back and raised his hands.

“No no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Fear. That was fear in his voice. It felt good to have it again. After nearly a week playing the idiot, Tav welcomed it like an old friend. Ah but for all his nonsense, Astarion was clever. It took him all of three seconds to understand the new dynamic and he shifted his posture accordingly.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!”

A lie. Her violet eyes stared at him expressionless. She saw him twitch in response as though she had struck him.

“I just needed - well, blood.”

The truth at last. It spilled out of him as though she had gutted him where he stood but her mind was quicker. Her eyes sharpened in the dim firelight and she saw him then for what he was: a vampire, but also not.

Vampires were powerful, selfish creatures of dominance and cruelty. They didn’t know how to yield, and they certainly didn’t starve themselves when there was a veritable buffet sleeping before them. No, Astarion did not have the markings of a true Vampire. He was one of their spawn.

It all made so much sense now.

His mannerisms, his callous attitude, his arrogance… he was mimicking his master but there were no teeth behind it. Academically, she’d known vampires abused their spawn more than any other of their victims, but to see one in person was entirely different. This instantly made him the most fascinating member of her party. Lucky for him, it spared him a stake through the heart, but she wasn’t about to let him know that yet.

“We found your boar,” she pressed him like nudging a specimen with a stick to see what he would do.

To her amazement, when prodded, Astarion rolled over. 

Now that… that was far too tempting. He was well trained and didn’t once stop to think what he was admitting. His confession merely verified what she already knew. Which then begged the question, why hadn’t he made an attempt before now? She had been alone with him in crypts and darkened forests. Why take the risk and bite now? She wasn’t naive enough to think it was because he harbored any feelings of camaraderie for her.

“If I had a little blood, I could think better, fight better. Please. ”

He was asking for permission and the last piece clicked into place. 

Two things were clear: Astarion had never hunted for his meals before and he had never fed on sentient blood. Only a spawn given direct commands would choose to hunt himself to starvation. Only a spawn forbidden from biting people, would allow himself to be weakened to such an extent.

He was trying to defy his Master’s order. She was witnessing a slave attempting to break his leash. Alas, Astarion had reached for control and found Tav standing in the way.

The tadpole in her head squirmed as though pleased with the revelation and jumped in to help. With a surge of power it reached into Astarion’s mind ready to plunder it like a broken vault. The worm’s interruption sparked a flash of anger in Tav. She did not need a bloody parasite to get the answers she wanted. Like a lioness snarling at a jackal nosing around her hunt, Tav broke the tadpole’s control with a sharp burst of magic.

This kill is mine!

Astarion flinched and looked at her with widened crimson eyes. He was studying her, attempting to say the right thing to avoid her wrath. Good. This would make the next part easier.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His shoulders slouched and he looked away. Illithid connection or not, it was as though he knew he had no other choice but to bare his soft underbelly to her in a hopeless attempt to appease her. He didn’t dare lie to her again.

Tav studied him even after he’d finished speaking. Unable to maintain eye-contact under her scrutiny, Astarion’s gaze focused on the ground making him appear small and docile. For the first time since they’d met, Tav realized just how lovely he looked. The fickle pretense and pompous self-importance that he used to shield himself had been stripped away revealing the soft frightened creature underneath. 

Oh to sink her talons into him! The things she could make him do. The ways she could twist and shape him into pleasing forms. There would be no need to brutalize him with violence. Why harm such a fragile creature, when she could simply fill his head with pretty thoughts until all the fight went out of him? Or perhaps she could place him under a sleeping spell to trap his mind within happy dreams and keep him as a permanent fixture of her treasure room.

Is this what you want to be? Another dragon blinded by obsession over jewel? 

Have you not learned how those hated beasts met their end at the tip of a sword?

With great reluctance, she pulled away from the brink. Better to deal with the matter at hand than indulge a short-sighted draconic instinct. 

There was still a vampire spawn in their midst and it wasn’t lost on Tav that his position in their camp was dependent on her choice. She couldn’t think of anyone who had a positive opinion of Astarion strong enough to defend him. She could cast him out, but the idea had all the merit of tossing out a declawed cat to fend for itself in the wild. Killing him would be more merciful except…

Well, while Tav didn’t want to focus on what her instincts wanted to do to him, she also didn’t want him dead either. A happy medium would have to be achieved. For now, she would extend a compromise by settling his nerves.

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

The effect was immediate. His eyes flickered up to meet hers filled with gratitude. How was it that his scarlet eyes were so round and open? Had they been like that before?

“Thank you,” Astarion breathed a sigh of relief and the corner of his lips twitched into a faint smile. His lips parted as though about to speak once more but something cut him off and he winced in pain.

It’s all well and good, but you’re still hungry, aren’t you?

Tav wondered if he would ask. Granted, she wasn’t about to let him starve. If he was too weak to hunt, then she would provide whatever game he needed. Still she couldn’t help but wonder if his pride could abide it.

“Do you think you can trust me a little further? I only need a taste, I swear,” his voice tapered into a soft, pleading whisper.

Tav had to stop herself from shaking her head in disbelief. Astarion clearly did not understand the danger he was putting himself in. Here she was actively trying to do right by him, and he had all the self-preservation of a rabbit playing in a bear trap. Bloody hells, what would happen to this man, this spawn , if someone with less scruples got ahold of him? If someone truly wanted to possess him, if his old master caught wind of his location, what would happen to this silly little idiot? He’d find himself caged and collared in a week.

He is a spawn in need of a master to obey. This is all he knows.

Now there was a terrifying thought. Was it kinder to give him a form of guidance or let him stumble blindly on his own? Was it selfish or responsible to look the other way? If this was all he knew, would it be cruel to make him navigate his new life alone? Was she simply stalling when she had already made up her mind? Yes. Yes she was.

Bahamut knows I tried…

“Oh fine,” Tav sighed in defeat as her instinct overrode all common sense, “but not a drop more than what you need.”

He was a vampire, a dangerous creature of the night, and yet he stammered and trembled like a doe cornered by wolves. In the pale moonlight Tav saw him as what he truly was: prey. Such a lovely vision, frightened, hungry, unsure, and alone. Were it any other time she would make quick work of him, but here, with the rubble of the mind flayer ship scattered all around, she would not harm him.

He motioned for her to lie back and she couldn’t help but smile. He was trying to replicate what he had read in storybooks. How sweet. He was pretending to stalk his victim in the same way a kitten would pounce on a bit of yarn. Of course she would humor him.

As Tav lay back, she met his gaze and saw the fear in his crimson eyes. It was clear he had not expected to get this far and now seemed utterly baffled on what to do next. The uncertainty hardened into determination and he bit down.

It felt like shards of ice had pierced her neck. Surely that was overkill.

Oh fuck me.

Too late did she realize her mistake. Like a baby viper, Astarion did not understand how to bite properly and so he made full use of his fangs when a simple pinprick would have done. It was a miracle he hadn’t punctured an artery. That would have been a messy death.

As the pain faded to a dull numbness, she realized Astarion’s form was stiff and rigid as he hovered over her. His hands were fisting the coarsely spun linen of her bedroll so tightly she wondered if he intended to rip it apart. Slight tremors coursed through him and she realized that he had sunk his teeth into her and now practically lay atop her like a dead fish.

This really is his first time…

If she knew anything about men, it was that they didn’t like people pointing out their inexperience when they were attempting to ‘perform’. Ironically, even with a full set of fangs into her neck, it was Astarion who was in a very vulnerable position. Any attempts to help him would come off as condescending and Astarion would end up feeling humiliated. It seemed the fragile male ego was capable of surviving death itself.

Her negative thoughts cut off when she felt a strong shudder from him. It took her a moment to realize Astarion was shaking uncontrollably. He was tense and latched on to her throat as though unable to let go and his breathing was erratic as though he might burst into tears at any moment. Tav’s heart twinged at the sight of him.

Well, this won’t do.

If he couldn’t or didn’t know how, then Tav would make the first move. She reached up and rested her hand on the back of his neck as though he were a feral cat in need of soothing. He needed to relax, he needed to feel safe, he needed to feel in control.

“It’s alright, Astarion. It doesn’t hurt,” Tav murmured. 

The lie came easy. She hadn’t realized he was terrified. She hadn’t noticed that he had no idea what he was doing. He hadn’t just overdone the bite. He was a natural. He was being thoughtful. Surely, this wasn’t awkward at all.

Her fingertips gently ran through his snowy white hair and his breath hitched. Finally, his body relaxed and she felt the pressure of his fangs ease. The sting eased into a dull ache as her blood flowed. She heard Astarion give a soft moan as he drank. The iron grip on her bedding eased and she didn’t need the tadpole to tell all semblance of thought had left his mind. 

When was the last time he had fed properly?

When was the last time he had been allowed?

She blinked as the bloodloss began to make her feel lightheaded. He wasn’t going to stop on his own. That would require a level of self control the man simply could not be expected to possess. Although he had stopped chomping down on her neck it didn’t mean Astarion wouldn’t tear out her throat if she pushed him away. She had to… she had to do… the thing… frowned as she tried to clear her foggy thoughts and focus.

Taming vampire spawn was not difficult once you knew the steps. First one had to isolate and break their master’s hold. Second, they needed to be fed (ideally on something other than your own neck). Third, you had to give an order with sufficient power behind the words. That last part was harder if the creature thought of you as food. Tav wasn’t sure what Astarion thought of her but there was only one way to find out.

She focused her thoughts and tightened her grasp on the back of his neck.

“That’s enough,” her eyes flared gold for a brief moment. She felt the tip of his tongue catch the last few drops of blood against her skin before pulling away and Tav blinked. It worked. That was somehow both a relief and something completely new to worry about.

He smiled at her through bloodied lips but Tav could not bring herself to find him monstrous. If anything, it solidified the sense of responsibility resting on her shoulders. She had chosen to let him live. She had chosen to keep him on her leash rather than doing the proper thing and giving him a quick, merciful death. From this moment on, every life he took, every dark impulse he succumbed to was inextricably tied to her. The blood he spilled was on her hands.

He attempted to move away and her hand caught his wrist. His smile didn’t dim even as he gave her a quizzical look. Clearly Astarion was far too pleased with her to mind the sudden touch. Tav kept her gaze even as she took a moment to craft her first command.

“The next time you need to feed, come to me or ask before you take a bite.” His eyes widened in surprised but she pressed on. “You will not drink from someone without my permission. Not everyone is as open minded as I am.”

He seemed surprised. Perhaps shell-shocked was the best descriptor. He reacted as though it hadn’t crossed his mind that he would grow hungry again. Or had he expected that this would be a one-time offer? Regardless, he quickly recovered, all smiles and sweet words that Tav didn’t believe for a minute. The promised freedom from hunger was enough for him to accept what the rest of the command entailed. It wasn’t as effective as a muzzle, but it was enough of a deterrent that he wouldn’t be actively attempting to bite the others.

His smile was contagious and Tav found herself bantering with the silly man. It hardly seemed this was the same person who had uttered a few lines in her general direction and then ignored her existence for the past three days. How quickly he could turn on the charm. She had to remind herself this was his game, he was acting this way because he needed her for survival, not because he liked her. If she were being honest, there was little about her that anyone would find likable. Still, there was no harm in playing along. Sometimes, it was nice to play make-believe.

And then the game ended, as it always inevitably did.

Astarion walked away and she settled back on the hard, lumpy thing that passed for a pillow ‘round these parts. That pillow was going to be a bigger pain in the neck than the vampire bite. Ideally, Tav knew she should probably eat something before going back to bed, but she was far more tired than hungry. She glanced over at Astarion, expecting him to have left already but he seemed frozen in place, staring at his hands. Suddenly he turned to look at her with a strange look in his eyes.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it,” Astarion's voice was almost a shy whisper but before she could respond he had straightened himself and turned back to the dark forest. 

He was gone before she could parse what exactly she had seen. It had to have been part of the game. He was trying to seem grateful in order to stay in her good graces, nothing more. That soft tone and large eyes merely meant he was good at playing. It would be ridiculous to think it genuine.

She tossed and turned for a little while longer as her mind refused to stop analyzing every aspect of their interaction that night. She’d placed a seed in his mind. Would he return, outraged that she had turned on him? Astarion was a spawn, and he shouldn’t be able to perceive the shift just yet. Usually, spawn didn’t understand the concept of imprinting, it was simply their nature to follow the strong. She’d been careful but perhaps he was smarter than she gave him credit for.

Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe he truly meant it as gratitude. No, this had to be a part of his survival strategy and she would dissect it from every angle. Better to understand her new prey so that she could better predict what moves he would play next. 

“One more thing to worry about,” she muttered to herself and willed herself to stop thinking about it. Whatever shift in dynamic was happening, he would not catch her by surprise again. She’d have to think about what to say to the others. It would have to be something convincing enough to keep them from killing him but dumb enough not to cast any suspicion on her. She'd have to be smart about this, but that particular worry could wait until morning.