#Souls of the Sinners | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elegantduelliste · 3 months

Text

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The bard, Tav, meets an unlikely group of strangers after being kidnapped by mind flayers.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 2: Book

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual language

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Time does not afford thee many options to choose in life. Thou dost hold little quantifiable moments for such bounty. It can be a curse or blessing depending on thee. Forsooth, whether by swain, lady, or person’s, the path will always be heavy. The perils of the worth of a life. For isn’t all ye that becomes bound by another in flesh or knowing, all a little broken?

— Withers, page 384 in ‘The Three-eyed Crow’

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺ Present Day ⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

There was no light, but there were hands.

Tav could feel them lifting her. And, oh, they were deceptively attentive in such a charitable way, dancing a possessed mania to chilling silence. It was easy to give into the relaxing ritual they were performing against her skin.

A flimsy piece of cloth covered her eyes as it was tied around her head. The finger pads of one hand, stroked her face lovingly. Ripe enough—it seemed to suggest. Imbued with all her worst and best. A distraction, before they latched onto her naked body and lifted her in one motion into the air.

Was she floating?

And then, she was being lowered into a body of water. It was warm, opened wide to accept the bells she rang, amidst every contract forged with the fiendish and divine choices she’d made.

Her throat felt vacant while she tried to muster any noise. She lifted her own hands to her neck, wrapping them around it, silently begging her voice to be free. The spirited hands rubbed themselves against her in silken waves to hush her.

Tav could feel herself being submerged; her body was pliant, accepting this baptismal relief. She mouthed the words: FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME. Then, the hands dipped her down further into the liquid abyss, swallowing her whole.

The water accepted her; she smiled in relief beneath its surface.

It felt like time didn’t exist as she was being comforted by these depths. But, she could feel a hymn reverberating in the distance—a decadent piece beneath the surface of her watery tomb. Ripples of a voice causing gooseflesh to appear all over her body. The sound was cleansing her and offering purification.

She will accept it because hadn’t she endured enough? Hadn’t. She. Endured. Enough?

Then, there was light! It peered down at her from a completely darkened space above. Tav could see it penetrating the cloth wraps binding her eyes.

Salvation had arrived!

Her body was rising and the cloth fell away. The water beneath was now a clear pool, resembling thousands of shimmering black diamonds. The hands had been banished, yet the hymn remained. She raised, she raised, she raised.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

And then she woke.

Tav’s eyes opened, but the rest of her felt paralyzed. Panic. They rapidly moved from side to side and then upwards towards a blue sky overhead. Curious skies for the hells.

She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her voice had been stolen—just like in her dream.

The devils of Avernus are sitting on my chest and mean to steal my breath! Dearest, Oghma, please will my body to move!

As her consciousness returned, she gasped with newfound breathing and cried out frightened. She retched from the smell of an unearthly scent of burning corpses. In several contained areas, smokey pillars were rising up, forming inky clouds well above their fires. The realization that it was not Avernus that held her, but that the Nautiloid had crashed elsewhere, and somehow—she survived.

The squirm behind her eyes was palpable. Memories came flooding in all at once of her being taken from the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Images of mind flayers and the pods they kept her in like some kind of unhinged monster, splashed across her gray matter. But, most of all, she remembered the insertion of the tadpole and how the violation of her autonomy was committed.

It was enough to make the elf briefly wish to cradle herself into a ball, allowing the numbness to succumb. But, the ache in her back—the blood she finally saw slowly oozing from the broken wooden stake in the side of her doublet—was enough to force her to stand with an intense wince.

Sand. A beach under her boots. Grit and filth near her wound, luring infection. With shaking hands, she pulled out the wood. Her essence spewed as an offering of tithes to a god of the sanguine. She cried out, alone and sorrowful of her plight. A long rip was made at the bottom of her doublet and a strip of fabric served to tie around her torso, applying pressure to the gash.

And then she saw her lute: smashed into bits. Fragments of colorfully carved marigolds, with singing birds and baby’s breath, lay across the sandy ocean. Strings, once promising to uplift those that witnessed their noise, were now twisted and coiled. A gift from her mother. Her peace. Her one true love—deceased.

Now the lute was laid to break and all that was left was eternal heartbreak.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Like most days during his two centuries worth of undeath, Astarion woke with the familiarity of his body wrung sore and numbness wedged in places he once considered mortal.

Out of practice—eyes rapidly moving to puppeting shadows beneath his lids—Astarion reached out across the ground, searching for the scraps of cold wet fur attached to four puny legs that would serve as his nightly meal. Grasping fistfuls of nothing, he retracted his hand with a pang of hunger shooting through his fangs and the anxiety that he had, once again, displeased his master.

The pale elf forced himself to sit upon his knees, awaiting for the command to unseal his eyes. Head up. Spine straight. Master would not allow for slouching.

Tongue dry like thick ash, he paused before his instinctual apologies started to spill. His hearing hissed with noises he couldn’t decipher. Did he miss the order? He thought he heard the residual shrill of Cazador’s voice, “Boy, open your eyes” amidst the passing tinnitus. A clammy shiver tore down his chest.

A test? Yes, Master was testing him.

A deep intake of breath. The scent of unnatural smoke tinged with the coppery caress of spilt blood, burned heavily in his nostrils. Had the Crimson Palace fallen?

A brave moment willed Astarion to chance opening his eyes.

Streams of a bright light immediately seared his irises. Had mercy finally been granted upon him in the form of the sun beamed god, laden with gilded armor upon his chariot of fire, there to whip the payment of coins from his sight?

He yelped, scrambling to cover himself by batting the light away; danger was in the daylight.

And then, it dawned on him. For the first time in hundreds of years, the sun did not pierce his flesh to dust—it welcomed him into its yoke.

The sudden burst of hues unsullied by tones of shadows, caused his throat to convulse. It was too much to absorb all the colors at once. He heaved over into the dirt on all four limbs, with acidic bile blanketing his palate.

Maddeningly, he laughed aloud, a hand covering his mouth.

The mind flayers—of course.

As with all new discoveries, several notions flashed in his frontal lobe: he could now walk in the sun, the presence of a squiggling worm had burrowed itself in his brain, and he was no longer under the thrall of Cazador Szarr.

But, such revelations would have to wait. Because there were two heartbeats rapidly approaching upon his position and he was wont to put blind faith into any bit of this predicament.

So, Astarion stood up, intentionally leaving the remnants of dirt upon his clothes—for that extra touch of “helplessness”—and the preparation to act with the skills he knew best: weaving deceit.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The sun blazed down on them—demanding they fall to their feet—as they fumbled about for supplies. Leftover carcass from intellect devourers covered their boots. Tav felt like she’d been under a continuous dancing hex from all the stomping she’d done: it proved to be exhausting.

There was ridicule, a silent scoff behind the cleric’s eyes as she followed the bard. She only trusted her as far as two unlucky souls thrown into the fray of such a circumstance would allow. And Tav, with all her tempered patience and quiet observation, decided it best to ignore Shadowheart under that watchful uncertainty.

Upon scavenging, an orphaned rapier surfaced, resting next to its departed owner. Whomever they once were had recently been reduced to a mutilated corpse. Tav muttered a solemn prayer in gratitude for the weapon and the opportunity to wield its blade.

“I hope you know how to use that. I don’t think squishing an actual flayer under your foot is going to suffice,” Shadowheart commented dubiously.

But, Tav held knowledge within the muscles of her joints, the swiftness of a blade she had called her own. Memories etched into her backbone of adrenaline’s flight. And despite her rather natural guarded demeanor, in the moment—she chose to flourish.

Like a bullet slicing through the wind, she thrusted quickly and steadily. Then, she twisted and cut downward, sweat building upon her brow—like a whore in a church. As if to parry, she leaped into the regaling wind, easily coming down for a final paralleled tick before landing gracefully.

“Seems I was correct in choosing you to travel with. We might make it through this after all,” the cleric smirked pragmatically.

Tav presented her with a cheeky smile. She knew she was talented at the blade. The rapier felt heavy and potent in her grasp. She could burn down kingdoms under the servility of her sword, claiming the crown as her own.

However, the bard was no ruler. She would never be queen to any denizens, ruling in the name of power. Being the immolated siren of balladic performances was her calling. She craved—no, needed—adventures of her own and strived to maintain the quiet peace of her heart in between. Because having moments of solitude to observe and appreciate life in slow-moving patterns, served her in ways that no other living creature was capable of.

Yet, hearts can carry many scars. And the breadcrumbs leading to the chambers of hers, have long been consumed. For she waged a holy war and the result was disavowing putting her full trust into anyone. A tactical boundary that often made her feel alone.

They rounded a path, climbing up a hill, and there he was: the ghost of a man. Pallid with partially mussed curls of white silver. Spots of ash and debris clung on the velvety purple portions sewed onto his overcoat. Despite the upheaval of his appearance, it was apparent the high elf was strikingly handsome.

And with his pearly tone of flesh, voice being a lilt to their ears as he begged in earnest, may be as wicked as they come. With pitchforks and order of decrees in tow, town riots are held because of men like him.

“A little help—if you both wouldn’t mind. Please.”

Both of the women eyed him cautiously. The cleric nodded at Tav, urging her to approach him while she stood afar, mace in hand, ready to act should something go awry. The gentleman pointed over towards a heap of bushes, the leaves shaking with the rustling movement.

“Quickly, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered over here! I saw you earlier with that sword of yours. Just one thrust and it’ll be dead!”

Tav walked forward past the pale elf, angling her head to the side to peer through the bushes. A small boar jumped out as she drew near, hurriedly running in the opposite direction. She placed her hand on the hilt of her blade, ready to unsheathe it. It was unlike her to dive right in like this—without her usual focus on the possible outcomes—but he caught them off guard with that pleading gaze in his piercing eyes. And she was absolutely sure he knew it.

Ah, but it wasn’t long before she finally felt the cold steel of a knife at her throat and her legs being swept from underneath her.

“Now, now, I suggest you keep quiet unless you’d like to lose that darling neck of yours.”

He held Tav in a hold on the ground, legs pliant, as they tangled with hers. One arm was holding down her shoulder possessively, while his right hand held the knife pointed directly into the hollow portion of her throat. It didn’t stop her from trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was notably physically stronger than her.

There were the occasional noises of boots shuffling a few feet in the dirt behind them and he suddenly seemed angrier as he directed his vision over towards Shadowheart. “Stay where you are or things will become messy! Unless, that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Stow that blade. I need her alive or you will find out just how messy things can get,” she firmly replied.

“Perhaps when my business is through, darling,” he playfully answered.

Turning his attention back to Tav, he pressed the tip of the blade a bit further into her skin. She gasped, staring at it in fear. One small move and he'd surely slice her open.

“I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer. Now—I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

The bard flicked her eyes up bit by bit, directing them from the knife to study his face.

His jawline and cheeks were sharp, strong in such a statuesque manner typically carved into the marbles of nude heroes draped in cloth finery. Then, there was the residual scent. One of aromatic notes—seeping into the air from the tender skin of his wrists—as he continued to closely hold the blade. Woodsy with a crisp aquatic citrus. It was oddly sophisticated, somehow suiting him perfectly. If this villainous man hadn't attacked her, she could imagine the most lovely of sighs pacifying her rosy lips as she breathed him in.

And while the many facets of his outward appearance intrigued Tav in a strange way, it was his eyes that made her breath hitch and her body still. The longer she stared, the more lyrical words she came up with to describe them. Initially, they appeared a bright candy apple red in the sun's direct light, but up close, oh, his eyes were an alluring hue of garnet jewels with flecks of a darker maroon encompassing his pupils.

“Wait! I—,” she murmured under his hold. When he cocked his eyebrow at her, she suddenly recalled her predicament and nodded to try and subdue him.

“Good girl.” The pure smoke of his tone accepted her response. “Tell me what those tentacled freaks did to me! And don’t even think about lying.”

Without due notice, their tadpoles connected on their own and they’re suddenly looking out of each other’s unfamiliar eyes as their minds mangled.

She sees busy, dark streets. Prowling. Waiting. Watching.

Teeth ripping into a soft object as a liquid spews forth.

Staring up at the stars longingly.

Memories of her past are forced into his mind.

A rapier swung in a vast field while an elven man with wintery eyes smiled proudly.

Walls filled with musical instruments amidst tons of hastily written lyrics on parchment.

A younger handsome man with dark hair, yelling before his calloused hand tilted up her tear-stained chin.

“Argh! What was that? What are you doing,” he questioned harshly.

Tav winced, trying to fully grasp what had just happened. “The mind flayer’s worms, they—I think they somehow connected us. I don’t fully understand what’s happening either. I’m sorry.”

The elf furrowed his brow, seemingly considering her words.

He rolled away and stood up, dusting off his clothes. Nonchalantly, he placed the palms of his hands against his lower back, elbows sticking out like bird wings. Shadowheart was instantly at the bard’s side acting as a crutch while she lifted her to stand.

“My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when I was snatched up by those creatures. I guess we’re in a similar position. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies. And you are?”

Tav straightened up, regarding the man’s full height. He stood around 5’9” or so judging by her own stature being a few inches shorter than him. “Tavelle Swiftchoir. Tav is fine enough. And I may have acted the same if the roles were reversed. Thank you for apologizing.”

Astarion gave her a brief bow of his head. “You mentioned earlier you had no idea as to what is happening to us?”

“Judging by what I saw back on the ship, I think we may turn into mind flayer’s at some point. I truly do not have any information beyond that,” she remarked.

“Turn us into—Gods. Ha! Hahahaha. Of course it would turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” He added in scorned disbelief. “Maybe we can find someone that has more expert knowledge of these things. So that we can control them.”

Control? What a bizarre word to use; one that Tav bristled under. “We need to get rid of them! I cannot imagine any good would come from controlling them. That being said, if you’d like to accompany us—at least until we reach somewhere safe—there is room. It’s your choice.”

Astarion brought his neck back, a smarmy grin stretched from pointy ear to pointy ear. “Of course. I was considering going at this alone, but you seem like a useful person to be on familiar footing with and it’s sometimes always better to stick with a crowd.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Right away, Tav found Gale of Waterdeep endearing. He was wordy and slightly sarcastic when he spoke. Gleefully, he illustrated the process of ceremorphosis and jested a rather befitting joke asking if anyone was adept with a knitting needle to pry out their new friends from their optical regions.

He had chestnut hair to his shoulders, with streaks of gray swept back from his forehead. The deep brown of his eyes were warm and reminded the traveling minstrel of a tree she used to sit under as she practiced her songs. And there was a certain masculine aesthetic that only added to his attractiveness with his closely trimmed facial hair. The way he spoke was tinged with an intellectual knowing that could come off as haughty—overly self confident—but he also seemed so very awkward.

“You all have every right to be distrusting of me. Wizards carry a certain reputation that not even I have been able to escape. But, I do want to remind you: we share a common goal. And I also do not know any of you. My arcane knowledge will come in handy, should you allow me to journey with you,” he reassured them.

“You seem very promising, especially seeing as you got yourself stuck in that portal of yours,” Astarion mocked.

Tav snorted quietly, "Now, Astarion, it’s his first day. Let’s give the man time to adjust.”

“Har. Har. A minor inconvenience, but one you’re soon to forget once you pay witness to my spellwork—surely,” Gale confidently mentioned.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion noticed Tav first for her heartbeat.

It was vastly different from their other two charges—holding an irregularity like the currents of a river. Hers lacked the strong prideful thrums from the wizard or the confident pounds of the obstinate cleric. Initially, he thought he had heard a quaint misfire of her blood failing to pump properly, but upon willing his senses to zone specifically in on hers, he realized the rhythm was one his vampiric mind couldn’t recall in all his years as a specter.

It did not seem to swiften the pace of its beats, there were simply more of them. The drumming of the bard’s heart was akin to flowing downstream alongside drowning flower petals, oscillating a path away from her, only to be lured back in and managed by the hums of a sweet song once again.

Though, there was something amiss: a quickened stuttering of beats when either him or Gale stood near her. It was so effortlessly knotted into her other unusual thuds, that Astarion had nearly unheard it. A murmur? No. Disease of the organ? Not quite. These gentle quivering rushes were ones he did understand. He had victimized innumerable hearts that bore a similar fleeting spark to hers.

A longing for companionship.

During their journey over the next few days, the spawn monitored Tav from a distance as she bustled around camp. Oftentimes, she sang a calming tune to herself that would make her smile as she performed her tasks—little gestures of kindness he found to be pointless labors of her time.

Every morning, the elven songstress would prepare a pot of hot tea for them from a satchel of loose leaves they found in their supplies. Sometimes, depending on their current stash, she would stroll by Gale’s tent, setting down a bowl full of culled berries for him by the lounging area he formed. He once caught her rubbing Shadowheart’s armor down to save it from dreadfully rusting overnight, when the cleric went to nurse a migraine after a particularly exhausting day of picking off a group of gnolls.

And for him she—

“Astarion! Here. These should keep for a bit until the next time you’re injured and spoil another barracks full of rags again.” Tav pushed a pile of clean rags tied thrice over in twine into his hands. And just because she’s her, there was a stem of wild yarrows placed thoughtfully on top.

Astarion was dumbfounded. He looked down at the linen, noticing some of the blood stains hadn’t washed entirely out, but most of them faded to dulled brownish spots. She didn’t know about his condition—yet. Praise the hells animals still bled red!

“I tried to get the stains out as best as I could manage with what we have in our packs, but at least they’re clean,” she added with a careful smile.

He was taken aback. Why had she done this? And when had she snuck into his tent to remove the rags without his notice? Not even a trace of her snooping left behind—at least, to his detection.

He stared at her, studying her responses to him. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to do it. It’s one less task you have to worry about; one less task you may ask me to help with later on,” she teased.

“Right. I have to admit, all this ‘roughing it’ in the woods seems a little novel.”

The bard nodded introspectively. “It’s definitely not for everyone. I suppose I am used to some aspects of it. A lot of my youth was spent catching butterflies in meadows and falling into muddy creeks trying to knight toads.”

The vampire grinned, watching a soft glow envelop her while she spoke, offering him a small glimpse into treasured memories.

But, he needed to test the waters. A navigated rope of words that may ripple across her body, providing him with a concrete answer he sought.

“Ah, the reverie of youth! Such a wonderful era to engage in a bunch of new experiences. New food. New places. New lovers.” Astarion tilted his head, emphasizing the last word with the faintest overlay of flirtation.

Tav only seemed to humor him with a crinkle to her round stormy eyes, until she tucked a few pieces of hair behind her fair ear—her fair, very flushed ear.

Astarion’s expression fell flat before perking up.

“If you’ll excuse me, the last few days have been quite a lot and I need time to process.” He turned around, heading back to his tent to deposit the clean laundry, with that recognizable incessant tug at his soul.

He did need time to process.

Time to process her.

Because he knew the trade of manipulation as an avian knows their migration path.

The lady of musical blades: with kindness etched in the lines of her hands and introversion deciding her demeanor.

And what kind of victim could properly aid him in heralding his security within their group better, than a foolishly humbled nitwit, with a heartbeat that all but gave her away.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Tell me Gale, do you have any lovers waiting for you once this is all over?” Astarion wiggled his eyebrows at Tav while the wizard was still turned away, helping to search for a way inside the temple ruins.

“That is—not the easiest of questions for me to answer,” Gale muttered. He found a door leading into the ruins and motioned towards it. “It’s locked.”

Shadowheart scoffed, shaking her head. “You mean just waiting, like a lovesick puppy? Short-term amusements are much less hassle.”

Astarion casually approached the latches on the door, tapping them a few times before exhuming a set of thieving tools. Tav stood at his side watching as his deft fingers worked, jiggling it with a lockpick.

He questioned her in kind, “What about you, my blade-happy friend? Do you have a beau you were plucked from?”

She shifted her weight uncomfortably onto one of her legs. The faintest cast of her expression switched from a yearning to coy saccharine. “I do not. Truth be told, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a lover, but I have also been content without one.”

Astarion regarded her with a toothsome grin, as if he were a kitten she had led to paw at a bowl of cream.

“What about you? Surely, there is someone of interest that has taken to your charming wit,” the bard inquired.

She continued her ardent curiosity as his nimble fingers moved the pick around inside of the keyhole. They were reminiscent of her own, when she meant to play a fast ballad across the strings of her lute.

The pale elf stopped his tinkering, flicking his scarlet orbs to hold her own vision within his own. “You mean a lover anticipating my return with open arms? Ha! Not exactly. However, I’m not opposed to the pleasures of an unexpected affair.”

Oh.

Oh!

Tav chewed on the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to answer. Did he just—?

No. Mayhaps? There had been attractive men who had shown interest in her in the past, peacocking their gait as they strode to her, jingling their pockets of excessive coin as they complimented her. But, with the spell of her melodies heavy in the air, her voice commanding an entire room, it was the mystery of the euphonic song they proclaimed their undying affections for—not the woman they didn’t truly know.

And Astarion may be the first man in quite some time that reacted to her for reasons other than her performance on the stage.

But, would it matter if he had? Her heart was a barren percussive wasteland that betrayed her in the past.

Love lies in a tomb. Covered in weeds, caressed by wandering winds. Frozen in time with the unknown.

Though…she was curious about him.

Astarion was an adventitious encounter that kept Tav on her feet with bewilderment. He would step forward with his charm, only to back away with a distilled gaze, as if he were examining each of them in a specimen jar.

Yet, he was a welcomed asset to their team. Offering to keep watch at night, scouting the area from the shadows, or gods, his skill as a rogue were ones that thoroughly mesmerized her. She didn't think she'd ever tire of being the one in the audience for once when he flipped his daggers around, ready to lead forward at his target.

Shadowheart and Gale were so stuffy in comparison to him. He added the dichotomy of “fun” into the fray and she caught herself gravitating towards his presence on more than one occasion, seeking his brand of levity. He managed to evoke ribbons of laughter out of her with his cynically entertaining commentary when she least expected it. Plus, there was a strange comfort she found in him—as if he had known her for centuries—before even the very blips of matter and capillaries decided to form and create her body in the world.

The door to the ruins clinked opened ceremoniously.

“I doubt this is the first lock you’ve opened. You’re quite skilled with those fingers of yours, Astarion,” Shadowheart jested as they stepped over it’s threshold.

Astarion impishly grinned with a wink, “Oh, you have no idea my dear.”

Tav lightly chuckled, rolling her eyes at the innuendo as she entered through the doorway.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Hmm. There seems to be quite a few rooms to scavenge through, should we split up? Gale, come with me—I think there’s another place to explore in that direction according to one of the maps I gleaned off this bandit. If that’s true, there’s a chance the entry may be protected by an abjuration barrier,” Shadowheart stated, rolling the map back up.

“Right behind you! Have you noticed the colonies of bats down here? I’m no wildlife expert, but did you know that the mating ritual of bats involves the male biting the female…,” Gale’s voice was an animated echo as they disappeared around the corner.

Astarion quirked a side smile towards Tav. “Well, I guess that leaves the two of us. Don’t worry about them, I’m sure Shadowheart will come to Gale’s rescue if he blasts himself into another portal again.”

“Let us hope she doesn’t decide to abandon him should such an event come to fruition,” she giggled. “Come, there should be some rooms to rummage through this way.”

They trudged on, finding themselves in a chamber of the crypt that had rows of books chaotically shoved into bookcases with a shrine near the back of the room. Most had fallen out into dusty piles, ruined at some point by age and water damage. It appeared to have once been a study of sorts by way of stone benches and scattered doctrines. The cloying scent of moldy musk and rat droppings laid densely in the study: it was almost suffocating.

Tav coughed away the foul smell, attempting to light a few abandoned candles. “Ugh. So, Astarion, I don’t mean to assume, but you don’t strike me as the type that likes curling up to read on a rainy afternoon.”

Astarion sauntered over to a shelf that had a row of old religious texts. He pointed his index finger out, skimming it across the titles about dead gods on the spines.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I’ve had nothing, but time to read,” his face soured. “However, I’ve come to find books can reveal traits about ourselves we didn’t know.”

“The written word has a lot to offer to people. Books give us ideas; ideas can manifest into actions,” she added mildly. “And sometimes, books give us worlds to escape into when life chases us away.”

The vampire observed as she gracefully placed her hands on a book, pulled it out, then pushed it back into place. And then another, until she set her sights on a specific piece bound in weathered leather. It appeared ancient.

He took note of the brightness in her blue-gray irises when she opened the book, a gentle beam upon her lips. Astarion watched how her fingers turned the pages, minding the wrinkled yellowed edges of the paper. The way she glided them delicately across a page as if she were apologizing to it, sent an unexpected shiver down his back.

The Curse of the Vampyr

Harken close and beware the Vampyr. Beware its cold beauty. Beware its charm. Beware its curse. Above all, beware the pale noble, for the Vampyr cannot bear to be of the common folk. How doth one protect from the Beast? Walk not in blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other. If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care. Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times. But remember, your home is a fortress, if protected well. If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home. If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan? See you any mark upon their neck? See you any dirt upon their clothes? Unless their need is great, turn away all but the most trusted. And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee. Leave love and family behind. You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.

And then, there was an abrupt diversion against the back of her neck. Breath cool, exhaling onto the delicate tendrils of fine hair that curled at the bottom of her head. That rousing mixture—aquatic and woodsy—threatening to burrow itself right into the marrow of her olfactories.

Astarion’s voice became a dulcet whisper below the shell of her ear. “Have you ever met one? I’ve heard vampires have an insatiable appetite for both blood and flesh.”

Tav leadenly turned around to face him, her grip slowly tightening on the front and back covers of the book.

His voice grew deeper, a molasses any maid would want to dip their tongues into. “And who could blame them? Some of us were created to tempt, while some of us were created to give into temptation.”

Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub. Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub.

Ah, there they were. The delicately reserved beats of her sweet chambers she tried to hide from prying vagabonds. Blood thriving, fighting for space in the channels of veins and arteries they flowed. A signal for Astarion to proceed.

His long fingers tapped on the page. “Read it aloud.”

Tav looked up into his face confused. “You wish for me to read to you?”

“Yes. Educate me about vampires.”

She stalled, her breath warm on the underside of his chin. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand why you—“

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I find your voice to be soothing? I’ve heard you chirping around our rugged accommodations,” he replied with a craftily composed smile.

A crease in her brow scrunched inward. Her lips parted, exhaling a quiet breath. She meditated on his face, pupils adjusting more to his expression in the dimly lit room, weighing her options on the premise of his delivery.

The purr of her tadpole sloshed up against the gate into his thoughts—an involuntary reaction born of hesitancy. Swallowing, the worm withdrew and she cleared her throat without another word on the matter.

Tav refocused on the book, reciting passage after passage of information. He delighted in the elicit shudder she offered to him when the pads of his chilled fingers lightly grazed against her hand. Instantly, she peered up at him, owl-eyed, pink spreading to her neck.

“Keep going, darling. You were reading about theories on where vampires originated.”

She nodded courteously, reading aloud in that perfect lilt of her pitch. Enunciating each sentence with a richness only found in buttercream icing.

Astarion craned his neck to be eye level with hers, a few inches shy of her blushing face. He trained his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest—pretending to be fixated on the pages—as her breathing hastened like a fawn’s during a hunt.

He deeply inhaled her scent. Traces of lavender. Sweat. Arousal.

“Stunning, really,” he whispered aloud, causing Tav to flinch from her concentration.

The bard straightened her head, peeking at him through finely wisped lashes. Her voice broke. “What’s stunning?”

Astarion trailed a deft finger along the side of her neck, a move that would cause her to quiver. He touched a strand of her hair that lay limply over her ear, tucking it back in place so he would have better access. With the very edge of his nail, he lightly scraped it from the top of her helix to her lobe, forcing her to release an inviting moan that she swiftly covered with her hand.

“You.”

She stared at him, embarrassment resting on the surface of her skin. Boldly, she grabbed his hand, removing it from her ear. “I didn’t even think you noticed me.”

“I think it’s quite obvious I’m attracted to you.”

He could hear the way she ached for him. The singing in her blood that pulsed like fireflies, as he ghosted his touch with the promise of something more. A wetness he could sense that settled below.

“But, why?” Tav questioned, still holding onto a few of his fingers lightly as if they would break her, letting them rest near the collar of her doublet.

Astarion leaned in, his cool lips hovering in front of hers. He drawled, “For many reasons.”

Her pale lids were half hooded, the tip of her tongue wet her lips. “Tell me one.”

The elf hooked a gentle hand around her hip as his mouth, inch by inch, came closer to its destination. “Your lovely voice could be a salve to anyone’s wound, but it would be the lure that could sink me to the depths of sin.”

He closed his eyes, pressing himself closer as he readied to kiss her—

“Astarion, stop,” a firm voice muttered, accompanied by a palm pushing flat on his chest.

Scarlet globes flashed open. He backed away from her, allowing space between them.

Fuck.

Tav closed the book, depositing it back into the position she found on the shelf. Bravely, she turned around to face him—her skin a pretty rose—still heaving with lust, trying to catch her breath.

She shook her head, her plait swishing down her back as she walked past him without even so much as a glance of her peripherals. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just—can’t. Not like this.”

Astarion was confounded—like she had caught him in an uncompromising position that was all part of a strategy quickly gone awry.

Because it had.

“ASTARION! TAV! HAVE YOU TWO FINISHED UP IN THERE? WE HAVEN’T FOUND ANYTHING AND SHADOWHEART HAS, ONCE AGAIN, THREATENED ME WITH THAT VERY SPIKY AND HEAVY MACE OF HERS,” Gale shouted from their location.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Meeting back up, the group was successful in finding a hidden lever that opened the door Gale and Shadowheart had been investigating.

Once inside, they found a large statue of ‘Jergal, the Lord of the Dead’, and an entire temple dedicated to the god. Sarcophagi lined the east and west sides of the temple, skeletons strewn about finding rest on the grounds instead of their cold coffins.

It wasn’t long before those dead scribes rose to fight them, loyalty to the dead god exceeding beyond their deaths. As they were struck down, they met Withers, the eccentric skeletonesque creature hidden in a secret room behind the statue. He spoke to them in cryptic riddles, but offered his assistance to them without directly intervening with their mission.

By the time they reached the surface again, the light had faded from the sky. Everyone was exhausted—overwhelmed by the events of the day—each, welcoming the distance between them as they individually set up their spaces.

Shadowheart meditated outside of her tent before eventually dousing the incense she had lit, heading off to rest.

Gale studied a few of the scrolls they found inside the crypt before, he too, yawned loudly. He imparted a small wave to the companions before disappearing behind the flap of his own abode.

Tav reconvened with her nightly chores, her body moving in uncertain motions as if she were second guessing herself with every step.

Astarion avoided interacting with her entirely. He glanced at her when she wasn’t paying attention: studying her mannerisms, watching her facial expressions morph, or clocking her behavior.

“Not like this.”

He would not make the same mistake twice.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion acunin #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #epistles of saints & sinners #soulmates #soul marks #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav

35 notes · View notes