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Chapter Text

Without the goblins to keep the fires roaring, the old temple of Selûne had grown damp and cold. The stench of rot permeated the building; rats and flies had taken up residence in abundance, feasting on the slaughtered remains of the Absolute’s fallen. The fetid air of decay combined with the damp scent of cold stone reminded Astarion of Cazador’s spawn kennels in the worst way. The buzzing of flies and squeaking rats was the song of torment and starvation; the bardic accompaniment to two hundred years of pain. He felt like he might run into his ‘siblings’ or even Cazador himself around any corner.

It put him in a foul mood. 

Halsin had declared he could find the entrance to the Underdark hidden within the temple by making use of his bear form. He could smell the changes in the air, he claimed, the faint waft of dark depths concealed amongst the rot of goblin bodies. The party shuffled along behind the bear-form druid as he sniffed at bloated corpses, seeking their way into the depths of Faerûn. Scratch followed close behind the druid, sniffing everything the bear sniffed, occasionally peeing on a bloated corpse, just to add an extra layer to the foul air.

Astarion did his best not to breathe as he stalked the dark halls behind the massive bear, something he had no need of but habits were hard to break and his body wanted to breathe even if the air was unneeded. Every moment he forgot himself was an accidental breath that flooded his senses with stench and memory, spiraling his mind into deeper depths than the Underdark itself. His scars itched as though freshly carved, the scent in the air reminding him of the night they were chiseled into his skin. Tension coiled his body into knots, echoes of fear sliding down his spine like sharp icicles.

Karlach exclaimed in glee over the carnage, proclaiming over fallen corpses and using their positions to describe the flow of battle. Shadowheart nodded along, filling in details where she knew them, Wyll sharing tales of their battle to the fiery tiefling with more flourishes than a bard. Karlach was fascinated, completely unphased by the bloated decay and stench that surrounded them. Tav drifted along behind them, sticking close to Lae’zel. The drow relying on the githyanki’s naturally rancorous mood to keep others from speaking to her, to keep her somber mood from infecting Karlach’s excitement, to keep Gale from approaching her at all.

The wizard hovered at the edges of the group as they moved through the temple, he joined no conversation, looking glum and mournful. Wyll tried, now and then, to draw him into the stories being swapped, but Gale was clearly still feeling badly about the secrets he had kept from the group and the harm he had done – and still presented – to Tav. He was unable to join in the camaraderie of the group, especially with Tav so disconsolate herself.

Astarion, blinded by his own pain, didn’t notice any of the goings on between the companions. Karlachs joy was lost on him. Gale’s melancholy, something which may actually have perked him up, went amiss. Tav’s increasingly doleful mien went unnoticed. The party passed a web-choked pit as they followed Halsin towards Priestess Gut’s chambers. Most of the party hadn’t seen those rooms; Gale and Lae’zel had assassinated the goblin priestess while the party had separated to search for the Master Druid. Astarion, so wrapped in his own torment, didn’t notice Tav pause by the webbed pit, didn’t hear the chitter of spiders still held within, nor hear her whispered lament, breathed out in a sigh that sang along the sticky white strands of spider silk.

“Udos orn jal tlu vlees whol Lolth,"

Gut’s quarters were just as foul as the rest of the goblin-infested temple, both before and after the party had turned it into a charnel house. The bodies of the priestess and her massive ogress bodyguard moldered in what appeared to be some sort of kitchen space, deeper into the cambers, an iron-barred prison and bone-strewn altar. Gut’s bedchamber, the last room to be found, was filthy with the stench of unwashed bodies and spoiled food. Halsin’s bear form perked up, moving faster, with an urgency led by his nose. Scratch running along happily beside him, easily forsaking his investigation of decomposing bodies, the only one of the companions completely unaffected by the stench of carnage.

A stairwell in Gut’s bed chamber led down, deeper into the mountainous rock into which the temple had been built. The frigid waters of the nearby river permeating the stones, radiating the dark chill of the grave. Lae’zel’s shining silver armor reflected the cold back at Tav, a mirror reflecting frost, temperature as cold and heartless as the warrior's emotions. The companions followed the stairs down, into lightless reaches more cave than construct, granite brick giving way to rough stone.

At the bottom of the steps, a rough room lay empty but for massive roots, nature having stabbed downward, determined to flourish despite the constructs of Selûnites. Motes of dust danced in a shaft of light alongside vine-twisted roots. A brazier in the corner lay tipped on its side, surrounded by crumbled rocks, cold and dusty with disuse. Broken statues of knights of Selûne, one armless, the other shattered to rubble, flanked an entryway into a candle-strewn temple chamber. The sunken center of the space tiled in concentric circles of white stars and black moons, its walls decorated with intricately painted reliefs depicting the Moonmaiden. The decay of the temple complex was still evident, though the goblins hadn’t managed to infuse the place with their filth, if they had discovered the chamber at all. The place was free of the stench of goblin lives –and deaths– to the great relief of all the companions.

Halsin resumed his elvin form, looking around with satisfaction.

“We’re here,” The Master Druid stated with a nod, setting about to light the candles scattered around the ruined temple. Dark vision, enchanted or not, could only show so much detail. “The entrance to the Underdark will be found in this chamber."

“Not an entrance to be seen,” Shadowheart observed as she glanced around at the rooms' statues and friezes dedicated to Selûne, her lips curled in faint disgust. “Who knew Selûnites could keep secrets?”

“Nothing obvious,” Astarion told the group after giving the chamber a disinterested once-over where he lit whatever candles Halsin had missed. “I expect it’s a puzzle to do with the floor tiles."

“A puzzle!” Gale perked up, moving forward to examine the circles tiled into the floor. “I’m certain we can figure this out. Shadowheart, your experience may help here."

The cleric moved to stand beside the wizard, both contemplating the odd pattern of the floor tiles, wondering what it could mean.

“Ugh, I could use a good meal,” Karlach lamented as the wizard and cleric settled in to solve the puzzle and, hopefully, reveal the entrance to the Underdark. 

“Well, this is for finer minds than mine,” Wyll declared, rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill. “We can rest in the other chamber while they figure this out. If we can get a fire going in the brazier back there, I can make us a warm meal."

“Fire, I can do,” Karlach grinned, throwing an arm around the demonic warlock’s shoulders; the two of them moved in tandem, heading for the cold brazier to prepare fire and food together.

Astarion lingered with Gale and Shadowheart as everyone else left the puzzle chamber, seeking rest or food or both. The opportunity to scour the room for the secret entrance to the Underdark was too great a distraction to pass up. He was grateful for something to focus on outside his own dark thoughts. The cold settled, as though it belonged, into his dead bones.

The companions settled into food and rest while they waited for Gale, Shadowheart and Astarion to sort out the puzzle that would lead them all into the Underdark. Tav’s shivers increased in intensity, the damp cold penetrating her robes no matter how close she brought herself to the cooking fire and Karlach. She felt as though she could light herself on fire and still be cold. A friendly woof behind her caught her attention away from the dancing flames of the brazier. Scratch, his tail wagging, took Tav’s hand gently in his mouth and pulled her into a root-twisted corner of the room, where Halsin had chosen to rest in bear-form. Heat radiated from the massive furred body. A brown eye cracked open to regard her.

“I’m c-cold,” Tav stuttered to the bear through her shivers. “Scratch thought…”

Halsin rolled over, adjusting his position to spread out a warm flank. Scratch immediately tucked himself into the bear's side, Tav followed, settling into the warmth of the animals with a grateful sigh. She curled up as small as she could, pressed into Halsin’s side, her shivers not fully abating. A blanket dropped upon her body, then swift efficient hands tucked a second blanket around her.

“Be warm,” Lae’zel’s raspy voice hissed into the quiet. Tav tried to say something, to thank the warrior, but the heat was penetrating her bones and reverie called. Tav slept.

“Success!” Gale’s cry came, some time later, on the heels of a grating sound of rock scraping against rock. A blast of moist air rolling from the ruined temple preceded his next words. “Well done, Shadowheart."

Astarion was through the entrance before the mechanism had fully completed opening. Rotting wooden boards led through a narrow tunnel, down and down and down. Then a rickety ladder leading straight downwards into a well of complete darkness. Warm air floated up from the darkness; it smelled strange, redolent of fungus and other scents he could not place.

Wizard and Cleric emerged from the ruined temple chamber into the fitful firelight of the single brazier Wyll had used to cook a meal. The lone shaft of sunlight had long since disappeared; night had fallen upon the surface.

“I think we’ve done it,” Shadowheart announced to the group, gratefully accepting a warm bowl of stew from Karlach. “We can head down."

“Where’s Astarion?” Wyll asked at the same moment Gale asked “Where’s Tav?”

Karlach snickered, pointing a flame-clawed hand to a corner of the ruins where roots tangled upon roots, tossing up large granite blocks as though they were childrens toys.

Halsin slept there in bear form, his massive furred body cradled by nature. Pressed into the druids furred side, wrapped in multiple blankets, Tav and Scratch napped in a warm pile. Astarion chose that moment to emerge from the ruined temple, having finally torn himself away from the entrance to the infamous Underdark. Sanguine eyes followed the point of a demon-clawed hand. When he saw Tav snuggled in tightly with Halsin, his body stilled, jaw clenching.

“She was cold,” Lae’zel stated, rising from the ground near Astarion to shoulder her pack in preparation of the next leg of their journey. “We are about to enter the Underdark. You will not stab Halsin again."

Astarion scoffed, then turned heel and returned to the Underdarks entrance.

“I’ll get them up,” Wyll volunteered, moving towards his sleeping companions while everyone else finished their meals and shouldered their packs. “Halsin? Tav? They did it. We can keep going."

Scratch woke first, turning in Tav’s arms to slurp a tongue across her face. Her splutters woke Halsin. None of them moved for a moment, content in their warmth.

“We do have to keep going,” Shadowheart announced, prompting everyone to rise, resume elvin forms and pack their things to continue the journey.

“That was lovely, I needed that,” Tav spoke around a languorous stretch, smiling at Halsin and Scratch, the fear in her eyes poorly masked. “Are we ready to go?”

She could smell it in the air; the welcome familiarity of home, the terror of the darkness that had borne her. Her shivers resumed, but had nothing to do with the cold.

The Underdark waited.

*****

It had taken untold hours of climbing and falling to reach the bottom of the deep well of black darkness that led from the ruined temple of Selûne into the tunnels and caverns of the Underdark. The party tied themselves together with rope, relying on each other's strength to catch each other when rotting ladders or crumbling rock gave way under their weight. Feather Fall spells were used in abundance, scrolls burning away in blinding flashes of light in the pitch black of the tunnel. Scratch whined, confused at being harnessed to Halsin’s back, no matter how often the Druid explained the situation to the dog.

The air grew warmer the deeper they journeyed, almost uncomfortable in its heat. Tav felt properly warm for what seemed like the first time in a year, cold knots in her muscles coming undone under the comforting heat. She wished she could ask Astarion his impressions of the black depths through which they descended, but the vampire spawn seemed to be avoiding her for some reason. He refused the ropes, climbing on his own with the dexterity of a spider, walking down the walls with hands and feet finding holds no one else could see.

Down they climbed, Tav’s mood sinking into the pit of her stomach with every passing meter. She couldn’t catch Asarion’s eye, he seemed to find a better handhold far from her every time she drew close. Tav was certain she had done something to upset him. Perhaps the night before had been a bad idea, though he seemed into it at the time. Tav tried to block everything from her mind but the focus required to climb the treacherous path downward. Her heart ached despite her best attempts.

The rope leading beneath her went slack as Shadowheart found something to stand upon. The cleric's soft gasp caught Tav’s ear.

“Such depth to the shadows,” Shadowheart whispered in reverence. “I don’t care what others say about the Underdark – it’s beautiful down here."

The tunnel opened and Tav could see what her friend saw. They had made it. A ruined temple to Selûne carved into the black rock of the Underdark, a massive cavern beyond, lit fitfully by bioluminescent fungus. A grand statue of the moon goddess, thrice the height of a mortal, stood in the center of a courtyard, looking to iron portcullis beyond. The statue held a staff that blazed blinding white light from a crystal, sending beams of light to matching crystals set into the crenelated stone wall, built of massive black granite blocks. The light lit the temple environs in fitful bursts, the shadows unbroken and deep.

Tav barely felt Astarion land on the ground beside her, he was forever grave-silent. He stood between Tav and Shadowheart, staring out at the Underdark laid out before him in all its dark beauty.

“I’m used to a crypt’s gloom,” He murmured in awe, “This is… something else."

Tav wanted to reach for his hand. She didn’t move other than to blink tears away. As the others emerged from the tunnel, forcing everyone to shuffle forward, Astarion noticed the tears that had escaped her eyes to fall unheeded down her cheeks. A gentle hand, ghost-white in Selûne’s light, reached out to wipe her tears away.

She stared into wine-red eyes, stepping closer to the comfort of his body. Awareness of everything else dropped away, the terror of the Underdark faded in the comfort of his sanguine gaze, his hands wrapping loosely around her waist. Whatever she had done to upset him could be fixed; they could do this.

“Please tell me our next step is making camp,” Gale begged as he emerged from the tunnel, the last of the companions to do so.

“Yes,” Tav murmured, not breaking eye contact with Astarion, “I think we– ”

A booming crash reverberated through the temple, shaking the ground upon which they stood. Snorts and huffs loudly echoing, disorienting the companions. Tav immediately turned to the iron portcullis of the temple, knowing to sense direction by reverberation through the ground rather than trust echoing sound. A minotaur stood on the other side of the iron gate, crashing its massive fists into the black metal. The creature was easily nine foot tall, the humanoid parts of its body an ashen gray, thickly corded with muscle; its hoofed legs and bull’s head lightly furred in black. Sturdy horns, bloodstained at sharpened tips, curled upwards from its broad forehead. The minotaur’s blows held a mighty strength, the portcullis shook under the onslaught, barely holding on.

They were trapped. If the minotaur brought down the gate, it would charge straight at them.

“Do we go back up?” Gale suggested as they all starred in frozen shock at the bloodthirsty minotaur lost in its own rage.

Selûne’s light grew in intensity, beams reaching out to crystals set in the crenelated granite walls on either side of the portcullis. White light drowned out vision, the scent of charred fur and cow's meat flooded the temple. When the light dimmed, the companions saw that the minotaur was no more; burned to a crisp by the Moonmaiden’s light.

“I think we’re safe in here,” Tav observed as Karlach gave a low whistle of awe. “We’ll make camp; I can scout after we’ve rested."

“We can scout,” Astarion corrected, his arms still around her waist tightening. For some reason, he glared at Halsin. Tav was too tired, too scraped raw to consider what that was about.

The group moved deeper into Selûne’s temple, seeking the best place to set up their camp. Gale discovered a glowing purple sigil on the wall of a mess hall full of desiccated food. He happily transcribed the magic into his own spell book as Lae’zel and Karlach tore old tables apart for a fire. The hall was deep enough in the temple that Tav felt they could safely have a fire, give themselves rest in cheerful and safe light, rather than accustoming themselves to the starless night that was the Underdark. The time would come for that, but not just yet.

Far from the mess hall and the companions settling in, across from Selûne’s moonlit courtyard, Tav settled upon the sill of a broken window, staring out across chasm and cavern, taking in the tableau of home. Beautiful and deadly, familiar and painful. At least it was the wilds of the Underdark spread before her and not Menzoberranzan or Ched Nasad or one of the other of the Drows' great cities. The wilds were bad enough; they certainly wouldn’t survive a city.

Astarion joined her, squeezing into the small space of the window beside her, pressing shoulder-to-shoulder. He had doffed his weapons and armor, his shirt unlaced.

“Warm enough, pet?” The vampire spawn asked, the chill usually radiating from his body abating in the humid air of the Underdark.

“Finally,” Tav replied. “I thought I would freeze to death up there."

“Did you?” He frowned, “You seemed quite snug with Halsin."

“And Scratch,” Tav reminded him. “It was his idea."

“Oh, the dog convinced you to have a snuggle with Halsin, was it?” Jealousy dripped like foul poison from his fanged mouth. “It must be nice to feel warm with someone."

“I love you, you jealous idiot,” Tav sighed, nudging her shoulder into Astarion’s. “Want to talk about this?”

“No,” He grumbled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his lap. He rested his head on her shoulder. “It’s just… been a shitty day."

“And more to come,” Her observation hung between them, weighted with the promise of pain.

“You can hug them,” Astarion sighed. “Snuggle them, whatever. I know you’re mine."

“I am yours,” Tav agreed, tilting her head, offering her ravaged neck to his gaze. Fangs slipped into her neck, a true feeling of homecoming and belonging flooding her emptying veins, the land of her birth be damned.

Chapter Text

Tav knew Astarion didn’t want to talk about his jealousy and whatever mood he had been in to set it off, but she also didn’t want to wander the Underdark on the edge of panic knowing something was festering within him as well. It felt safer, being alone with one’s fears, but this wasn’t the place to be alone when they should be united. The vampire was licking gently at the fresh wounds in her neck, lapping up the slightest trickle of blood. A fresh feed always puts him in a good mood, so now was the best time to poke at his insecurities and have him withstand it.

“I do think we should talk,” Tav forced out around a lump in her throat. “I don’t want to upset you, especially down here."

His only answer was a growl and his fangs sliding back into the throat. She groaned in pleasure, loving the feel of his lips and tongue coaxing the blood from her veins, drawing her life out to mingle with his own. Arms banned iron around her middle, holding her tightly in place as though she would ever seek to flee his embrace. Tav could feel Astarions hunger, his possessive need, possibly through their tadpole connection, but it didn’t squirm and hurt like the tadpole’s so often did. Perhaps this was a deeper connection than parasitic infection; something vampiric, the eternal dance of hunter and prey. Her entire body pulsed with arousal as her life drained away.

How could he ever feel jealous when they had this? Her head spun with lust, the chill of blood loss shook her body. It was too much.

“Astarion,” She slurred, pushing against him with flagging strength, the black of the Underdark closing around her vision “... qualla."

Astarion finally released her, pulling back to gasp for breath as though he had just run for miles.

“Yes. Sorry,” He swallowed hard, blood soaking his chin, blood running down her chest. He reached into his own shirt to grasp a silver pendant. A blue flash of magic and Tav felt whole again, blood restored by the Amulet of Silvanus. “Feels strange to heal someone,” He grinned, her blood almost black on his pale face in the colorless shadows of the Underdark.

Tav’s mind reeled from the whiplash of being yanked back from death's door so quickly. Adrenalin mingled with passion in her freshly rejuvenated blood.

“Shlu'ta … naut lettari,” She panted. “Can’t distract me."

“Pity,” Astarion murmured, licking the last traces of blood from her neck. “Fine. All the stench and rot up there, it reminded me of Cazadors palace in the worst way. I just… wasn’t in the mood to see you curled up with Halsin. I know you were cold and he’s a fucking bear , so it made sense. I just… couldn’t see that in the moment. I let it eat at me; you didn’t deserve that."

“Eszak naut,” Tav breathed out, breath still uncaught. She patted his arm, “I’m sure to do something equally stupid soon enough. We’ll be even."

A soft laugh gusted blood-scented breath across her hair.

“Tell me, pet,” Astarion asked, gesturing to the grand view they had of the large cavern they had found themselves in. “What are we looking at? Does it all look like this?”

They were looking out to the west, as far as she could tell, across a massive cavern, rent by deep chasms, stalactites dripping from the dark reaches of the ceiling to join up with stalagmites below in towering columns of rock. Bioluminescent mushrooms, harmless and harmful, dotted the region as far as her eyes could see, the deadly torchstalks glowing a deep, threatening orange. To the north, very close to the temple environs, Tav could make out the gentle purple glow of crystals. It all seemed, to her eyes, a riot of color and shadow. She could smell a faint hint of salt water in the air; a large body of water must be nearby.

“No, it doesn’t,” She admitted. “This is a very large cavern; oftentimes, you could walk for days through tunnels only big enough for you, sometimes they’re so tight you have to crawl… or wiggle."

He shuddered.

“There is a lot of life in this cavern,” Tav observed, frowning over the realization. “Life means danger. I would rather wiggle through a few miles of tunnel, honestly."

Astarion began pointing out features of the cavern, asking for in-depth explanations, trying to distract Tav from her worries. Which is where Shadowheart found them some time later, curled up in the window together, Tav in the middle of a long-winded explanation about mushrooms.

“We’re not setting up your bedrools, you lazy creatures,” The cleric admonished.

“My dear Shadowheart, you’re just in time!” Astarion announced, sliding out of the window to stand on a narrow ledge outside the temple walls. “Tav was about to show me what this glowing mushroom can do."

The vampire pointed at a bulbous growth of torchstalks growing against the southern corner of the temple. Their stalks darkly shaded under pulsating orange bulbs the size of melons. Tav rolled her eyes, she hadn’t been about to do any such thing; she had told him the fungi were dangerous, that was all. Tav picked up a bit of rock from the ground and haphazardly threw it towards the torchstalks. The rock landed a few feet away, but still the angry orange fungi reacted. Four bulbs of various sizes roiled with every shade of orange as they swelled, then burst in a swarm of flaming spores.

“You didn’t even hit it,” Shadowheart stated, shocked. Astarion just blinked, he hadn’t really believed her; how could plants be this dangerous?

“Torchstalk,” Tav named the fungi with a shrug. “Get close enough, and they explode."

“So what plant turned those poor bastards to stone?” Shadowheart asked, pointing to a cliff top just to the west, where humanoid forms stood petrified to stone under glowing purple crystals.

“Nothing that I know of,” Tav replied. “Basilisk, maybe? I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow," She hopped off the window sill, heading towards the mess hall where everyone had set up camp.

Shadowheart and Astarion paused, looking at each other in slow understanding. That Tav could shrug off the possibility of a basilisk, that a minotaur had been torn to shreds before her eyes and she was unphased… the Underdark was truly more dangerous than they had ever believed.

Tav was eating an apple, sitting before a brazier holding a fire made from broken furniture, when Shadowheart and Astarion entered the mess hall. The companions had spread out in the room, setting up their bedrolls wherever they felt comfortable to do so. Wyll and Karlach resting on bedrolls almost side-by-side, Shadowhearts bedroll waiting for her in-between them. 

“I need to scout tomorrow,” Tav announced. “See what’s out there, try to pick out a safe path. We seem safe here, nothing is getting through that gate, anyway. I think it would be best if most of us stayed here. A smaller group can be quiet, unseen."

“We should probably take care of the basilisk to the west,” Shadowheart suggested. “It’s too close for comfort."

“A basilisk!” Wyll stated, immediately digging through his pack, searching. “Do we even have oil to cure the petrified?”

“We do,” Halsin assured the monster hunter.

“Astarion, Karlach and myself can climb down there in the morning,” Tav suggested, “The rest of you can watch from the window. Once we lure the beast out of hiding, launch whatever spells or arrows you can and then come unpetrify us."

“That’s a terrible idea, darling,” Astarion scoffed.

“Do you have a better one?” Tav replied.

“... fine,” The vampire spawn rolled out their bedrolls with more force than was strictly necessary and settled in to sharpen his swords to a razor's edge. If Tav was going to be stupid, he would make sure she survived it.

“Maybe this is dumb,” Karlach spoke her thoughts slowly, looking incredibly doubtful, “But… how will we know it’s morning?”

“We won’t,” Tav grinned. “We sleep until we’re rested, then we keep going."

*****

The next morning saw Tav make her way down a rope tied to a stone bench in the temple. Lae’zel had braced it at the window Tav had sat in with Astarion the night before, assisting Drow, Vampire and Tiefling in their climb to the ledge below. Once the three made it to the plateau where they could see the petrified humanoids, Lae’zel pulled the rope back up. They were committed to the fight, Lae’zel wouldn’t drop the rope for them until the danger had passed; Tav hoped the basilisk was young and inexperienced, else the fight would be a terrible one.

Astarion had been muttering to himself all morning, not pleased with their course of action but unable to come up with a safer alternative. That a monster as powerful as a basilisk was so close to the temple would leave them vulnerable, those staying in the temple and those who left to scout. The only option was to defeat the creature, though he wished Tav wasn’t putting herself on the front lines. Surely Karlach and Lae’zel could beat the stone-gazed lizard into submission without them.

As the three made their careful way forward, Karlach almost tripped over a petrified humanoid lying prone on the ground. Tav gasped, getting her first good look at the stone-cursed being. It was a drow, male, armed and armored, his face frozen in a grimace of pain. They pressed forward, revealing more petrified drow, all male. Astarion could see Tav’s jaw clench with each stone-formed drow they passed, the signs of her people being nearby in numbers terrifying her.

A puff of black smoke appeared from nowhere, surprising them. The creature that emerged from it, to their great surprise, was not a basilisk at all. It was massive, a bulbous purple body floating above the ground, surrounded by four whipping tentacles. Its body was primarily dominated by a great glowing green eye and a wide mouth full of rows of needle-sharp teeth. The tentacles wriggling from its body were crowned with eyes, one of which immediately shot a beam at the petrified form of a drow near Tav. The beam surrounded the stone drow in pink light, then the elf was no longer petrified, drawing weapons and assuming a fighting stance with a quarterstaff, his face slack and blank as the creature took control of his body.

“Spectator!” Lae’zel cried from the temple above, as though that would mean anything.

Astarion sheathed his sword and drew his bow, but found himself blinded by a drow’s darkness spell before he could get a shot off at the Spectator. The sound of magic crashed through the darkness, the sound of an explosion followed by a wash of heat. He followed the sound of Karlach screaming in rage, the wet thunk of a weapon sinking into flesh. Astarion stumbled through the inky blackness, hoping to escape from it and do something to help; Tav was out there without his backup and the thought would have stopped his heart if it still beat. 

Astarion finally emerged from the dark cloud, finding two drow unpetrified but held in place by Tav’s magic, a third drow lay smoldering atop the remains of a torchstalk mushroom. Karlach was chopping away at the Spectator, two tentacles already flopped on the ground in their death throes. The tiefling’s rage was clearly aiding her in ignoring the wounds she had taken and were bleeding freely; the demonic hint of Tiefling blood was a heavy scent in the air. The dark cloud impeded the view from the temple; no aid would be coming from their companions.

Tav’s concentration was complete, holding her brethren as still as they had been when petrified. She could add nothing more to the fight with the Spectator or risk taking a drow’s sword to the back.

Luckily, the Spectator’s great green eye made a wonderful target. Astarion loosed an acid arrow straight into it. The creature's needle-lined mouth opened wide in a scream of pain, acid dripping down its melting purple face. Karlach feigned, then dodged, leaving another opening for Astarion to shoot. This time a fire arrow. He could be more careless, shooting faster, as it didn’t matter if Karlach found herself caught by flames.

Suddenly, the Spectator flew forward, throwing itself mouth-first at Tav. The drow she had held were released instantly as rows of sharpened teeth drove themselves into her leg, shattering her concentration, wrenching a pained scream from her throat. Astarion drew his sword, plunging it into the back of the Spectator again and again. He ignored the dagger that drove into his back from one of the drow Tav could no longer hold.

The Spectator stilled. A second blow from behind never came. He spun, plunging his fangs into the evil elves neck. Ripping the throat out from the confused drow, freshly unpetrified, freshly released from mind control and now, freshly dead. The infusion of blood helped heal the stab wound in his back, though he almost wanted to spit it out at how foul it was, tasting of sluggish petrification. The remaining drow backed up at the sight. Karlach lifted Tav out from under the corpse of the Spectator and handed her a large red potion bottle. Tav drank thankfully, then limped towards the surviving drow, each step she took was stronger as the potion worked its magic. He was having a small coughing fit, his quarterstaff carelessly falling to the ground as he cleared his throat again and again. Tav’s hands rose to twitch fingers sparkling with magic at her own face. What had she done?

“Tiuin'iona. Pholor. Ussta. Ooble'!” The drow spat in Undercommon, brushing dust from his body. The dark elf turned his attention to Tav, standing firm on her newly-healed leg. “I offer to parley, and he brings a spectator? Twit. Quite ruined my ambush. Now – you are?”

“Accustomed to a little more respect from a male,” Tav answered sharply, keeping her arms at her side, her body language precise in a way that Astarion did not understand. He had no idea what they were saying to each other and it had him on edge. Karlach shifted her weight nervously beside him, giving him a look that said she would follow where he led, as neither of them could understand Tav.

“... my apologies, mistress. I am still coming back to my senses,” The male’s eyes widened as he finally took in Tav, understanding that a female drow stood before him and she was displeased. He gave a small bow. “I am Dhourn. Third son of House Ba’Tol, first rank evoker, and initiate of Gravenhollow’s…”

Dhourn’s introduction trailed off as he pulled a white crystal from his pocket, frowning deeply at the faint glow within its milky white depths.

“... oh. Oh no no my dear dark GODS BELOW, NO!” Dhourn shouted at the crystal in shocked rage.

“Your memory shard is fading,” Tav nodded to the crystal, its glow nearly extinguished. “It seems you’ve been frozen like that for a while."

“Far, far longer than I realized,” Dhourn answered, still gazing in horror at the shard in his hand. “Then my enemies have already found the forge. Which bastard stole my glory – Xargrim? Filro?”

“Neither bastard rings a bell, I’m afraid,” Tav answered wryly. She was glad Dhourn hadn’t revealed the presence of drow nearby, he was there for his own ambitions.

“Impossible! The master of the Adamantine Forge would be known –and feared– throughout the Underdark,” Dhourn replied, “Unless… hah. Hah! The fools must have returned back. Or better yet, died in the search. Good."

Dhourn’s darkness spell was dissipating. Astarion noticed the companions were no longer visible from the temple windows. Someone must have had the good sense to get everyone to hide while Tav dealt with the drow.

“If they had just surrendered their research to me, we might have found the forge together. But no – they hoarded their knowledge, left each of us clinging to scraps,” Dhourn reminded Astarion of Gale; in love with his own voice. Understanding required no language; clearly, the drow was also a wizard. “I had the good sense to lock mine away in the memory shard. And now I can claim the forge alone."

“You’ll claim nothing,” Tav stated flatly. “Hand over the crystal – I’ll take it from here,” She wouldn’t have a drow party running around the cavern causing Eilistraee-knew what chaos. Dhourn was alone now, but there were easily ten more drow petrified around them; should he have the means to fix that, they would be a formidable force.

“You bloody well…” Anger shone in Dhourn’s blood-red eyes for a moment, before a single raised eyebrow from Tav helped him remember himself. “I mean to say, mistress – I have undertaken this research myself, beholden to no house or hold."

“House Ba’Tol, you said?” Tav scrambled for ideas. She needed Dhourn gone. Needed them all gone, before they noticed her surface clothing and surface companions. A bluff could only go so far, the illusion of Lolth-sworn red eyes she had cast upon herself was the flimsiest of spells; the wizard might catch it, if he was paying attention. “You’ll be welcomed back – all the male heirs died, I believe."

She had never heard of House Ba’Tol. They must be from another city. 

“Then my brothers have perished in my absence?” Avarice corrupted Dhourn’s handsome countenance. “With no sons to replace them…”

The drow made up his mind with a nod. “The memory shard answers to the pass-phrase ‘Dhourn, Lord Archmage’."

Tav couldn’t help it. This fool? Lord Archmage? She giggled.

“Just an… aspiration, mistress,” Dhourn had the sense to look bashful. “But if my house now has room to honor me as I deserve, I have no need to chase relics any longer."

Dhourn moved to survey his petrified companions, taking stock of the plateau upon which they all stood, dismissing Tav entirely. He fetched packs from the ground and settled himself in to take stock of what he had left that would aid his journey back to House Ba’Tol.

Tav turned back to Astarion and Karlach, placing a finger over her mouth and allowing the illusion to dissipate, her eyes returning to their regular ice blue. She nodded to the ragged stone of the cliff edge, leading deeper into the cavern, away from the temple. Astarion waited for Tav and Karlach to disappear over the edge, trusting in the tiefling to keep her safe for a few moments while he saw to a task Tav didn’t need to see. He hid in the shadows, easily moving through puddles of Spectator blood, creeping up behind Dhourn. The drow died silently, his throat slit deeply from ear to ear.

A tingle in his mind caused him to look up at the temple. Lae’zel stood at the window alone, her head cocked to the side in a silent question. Astarion gestured to the petrified drow around him, then dragged his finger across his throat. The warrior nodded. She would take care of it.

He followed Tav and Karlach down the cliff.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Soldier,” Karlach called to Tav, climbing the cliff wall beneath her. “Want to translate any of that?”

“They were looking for something called the Adamantine Forge,” Tav explained with half a mind, her true focus set on seeking handholds and footholds, “An ally betrayed him before he could betray them. Typical drow things, really. I told him a lie and sent him home."

“And I thought demons were fucked up,” Karlach muttered.

“Oh,” Tav’s voice floated upwards. “I guess this was Dhourn’s ambush."

Karlach jumped off the cliff, landing heavily beside Tav. The wide ledge they stood upon was littered with petrified drow and skeletal remains. A half-buried pressure plate leaked green gas into the air beside shards of bone and scraps of cloth. A deep chasm split the rock to the south, its distant other side aglow with crystals and bioluminescent fungi. Tav cast her eyes along jagged cliff edges and protruding rocks, trying to spy out a path for them to take. Her focus was so complete, she shrieked in surprise when a cool arm encircled her shoulders.

“Fangs!” Karlach exclaimed, “Where have you been?”

“Looting,” Astarion replied blithely, spinning a necklace around his finger. “Neither of you had the good sense to take any treasure from that fight."

“We’re not here to loot the Underdark,” Tav couldn’t help her grin, of course he was looking for treasure.

“Well, no, darling,” Astarion admitted, sliding the necklace into his pack, “But we may as well while we’re here."

“Ha, go loot those guys,” Karlach pointed to the fractured skeletons.

“Traps,” Astarion frowned. “Going around would be better, I think."

“Agreed,” Tav moved to the edge of the cliff, staring down at the chasm's depths. A broken-topped stalagmite thrust out of the black deep, presenting a small island. Karlach could make the leap, Tav was certain. Herself and Astarion, however… how to get them across?

So consumed was Tav with being the only one with true knowledge of the Underdark, she neglected to seek the thoughts and opinions of her companions. While she tried to figure out how to get them across, Astarion and Karlach sorted it out for themselves. The drow made a strange gasping squeak in surprise as the world suddenly upended in an uncomfortably warm grip. Karlach held Tav tightly in her arms, launching them across the chasm. She set Tav down just as her robes were just beginning to smoke.

“Sorry, Soldier,” Karlach grinned as she stepped back from Tav, not sorry in the least. “Fangs told me to do that."

The vampire spawn appeared beside them, as though summoned by Karlach, in a swirl of blue magic, having used a scroll of Misty Step. He immediately doubled over in laughter at Tav’s spluttering and slapping of her smoking robes. Laughter that cut off in a squirming gasp as the Sorcerer summoned a small icicle and sent it speeding into a chink in his armor with a flick of her fingers.

“We’re in the Underdark, we just fought some gods-damned eyeball thing and you two are having a prank fight,” Karlach observed with a rueful shake of her horned head, watching as vampire and drow, both creatures of dark evil, descended into elbowing and tickling each other on the small space of the stalactite. She rolled her eyes in exasperation when Astarion pinned Tav to the ground after the Sorcerer elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Are you always like this?”

“Not always,” Astarion smirked, tangling his legs with the struggling drow, refusing to let her up. “Sometimes we’ll plot against you."

“I could go for some ice down my pants,” Karlach shrugged, sighing in relief when Tav happily obliged, flicking icicles at the fiery Tiefling from her spot on the ground.

After their brief reprieve of foolishness followed by a short rest, the three had begun climbing down the stalagmite. Astarion accepted the rope this time, tying himself to Tav, who was tied to Karlach’s greataxe to prevent the rope from burning. After a few hour's climb, they came to a small ledge a few meters away from the other side of the chasm, allowing Karlach to tug both Astarion and Tav across the gap with one jump and a sensible use of Feather Fall. They landed on a narrow bridge connecting the path to the north, which climbed sharp cliffs towards the petrified drow and their traps, then onward again to the ruined temple of Selûne, and the path to the south, where jagged stones piled on each other, seeming freshly carved from the very ground in strange furrows of formerly-solid rock.

The ground began to rumble and heave shortly after Tav and Astarion landed beside Karlach. 

“Vi'sirik!” Tav cried, flattening her body to the ground, tugging hard on the rope to get Astarion to follow her.

At the same time, Karlach cursed, “Fuck, earthquake!”

The ground heaved, bursting open to the south in a spray of rock as something large and dark emerged and fled down the path to the south. Whatever the creature was, its eruption from the ground threw large rocks at the companions with great force, knocking both Karlach and Astarion from the path and squishing Tav between boulders. The drow screamed in pain as her right leg shattered under the impact, the ropes tying her to Karlach and Astarion pulling hard at her body, trying to saw her in two. That the dead weight of her companions dragging at her might be actual dead weight, she could not consider.

“Fuck!” Karlach’s voice floated up from the chasm, followed by unintelligible roars from the Tiefling as she gave in to her rage. 

The pull of rope on Tav vanished as Karlach launched herself back up to the stone bridge, carrying Astarion’s unconscious form lightly in one hand as the Feather Fall spell was still in effect. The vampire’s body trailed charred pieces of rope, their safe lines of connection severed as Karlach’s infernal engine burned with the fires of hell and the hotter fires of her own rage. The Tiefling’s golden eyes were unseeing, nothing penetrated her mind but thoughts of rage and death. She dropped Astarion to the ground, his Spider Silk armor smoking only slightly, before launching herself to the south, greataxe hungering for the blood of whatever monster had torn through the ground and nearly slaughtered them all.

Tav was left to free herself from the boulders pinning her and see to their injuries. It took four tries to access her magic, struggling through the blazing distraction of agony and fear. She was certain the fourth try only worked because Astarion groaned in pain, signaling that he was, at least, alive. The storm of magic in her blood finally coalesced into Thunder Wave, launching the boulder crushing her leg off the other side of the bridge.

“Belbau z'ress jallil t'puuli'lauske,” Tav groaned as a fresh wave of anguish threatened to rob her of consciousness, the darkness hovering at the edge of her mind making sweet promises of painless rest. Lady Silverhair, give me strength.

Her leg was a pulped mess of blood and bone shards, leaving her unable to move. Astarion was too far for her to reach. Tav dug through her pack, pausing often to wretch through the pain blazing an inferno through her body, finally digging up a large healing potion in a fragile glass bottle. She threw it at Astarion, satisfied when it shattered upon his back, soaking his body and healing it at the same time.

Sanguine eyes blinked open, the vampire spawn pushed himself off the ground with a groan. A pale hand rose to cradle gray-white curls as Karlachs screams and laughter lanced through what must be a monumental headache. He was alright.

Relief destroyed the last defenses she had against the excruciating misery that was her leg. Darkness rolled over her.

*****

Tav floated through the darkness of her own mind. Pain ebbed and flowed, as did consciousness. Snippets of reality came through. The bobbing motion of being carried, the subtle, almost imperceptible scent of spider silk reminding her of the nursery. Clinks of glass and the jingle of metal. Something metallic clicked.

“It’s a good spot to rest,” Karlach, arguing with someone. “A nice solid alcove, nowhere to be pushed off."

Liquid in her mouth. She swallowed helplessly before blazing anguish crashed over her again and she was lost.

“... Could you at least burn all these webs away?” Astarions voice, tense and annoyed.

“Why can I read this?” Karlach, again. “Shouldn’t it be written in drow or something?”

More liquid in her mouth, healing potions? Something stiff tied tightly to her leg. Everything ached, but she was rising from the depths and would not be pulled down again.

“She seems stable,” Astarion again, exhaustion and relief in equal measure. “What the hells are you reading?”

“... Their minds are simple and should be treated accordingly. They must follow the order of every priestess like a sacred decree. They must never cover their eyes and insult Lolt’s gift. They must honor the House that raised them from their pathetic, treasonous origins. They must keep our secrets upon pain of death. Ensure that death is public, should the time ever come. Lolth smiles on those who are creative in matters of torture,” Karlach gave a low whistle as she concluded her reading.

“Drow are insane,” Astarion muttered.

“Ves seke,” Tav groaned in agreement, finally surfacing to  “We really are."

“Welcome back, Soldier!” A wave of heat near Tav’s shoulder, evidence of Karlach coming as close to touch as she was willing to provide outside of necessity. The Sorcerer blinked her eyes open to see Astarion and Karlach had set up a small camp in an alcove dominated by an altar to Lolth, of all things. Beyond the alcove, the smoking remains of whatever they had fought lay in a puddle of blood and hacked off limbs. The massive black corpse was heavily armored in natural growths of thick plating, its tiny eyes pincushioned with Astarion’s favorite acid arrows, still oozing green-yellow muck.

“What the fuck was that?” Tav asked, shocked to her core at the sheer size of the creature.

Karlach shrugged. “We were hoping you knew."

“We were hoping you were ok,” Astarion corrected, nervous hands re-tucking a blanket around Tavs body.

“M’fine,” Tav sighed, squirming under the heat of the blankets, but unwilling to move them off. Astarion had put them there, after all. “Just don’t ask me to dance for a couple days."

“I’ll have to attend the Underdark’s high society balls without you, darling. The local creatures will be despondent at your absence," Sarcasm dripped from the vampire spawns voice. He hid his worry behind masks and inappropriate humor, Tav knew. Gentle hands held hers, stroked her arm with nervous energy, his worry communicated in every gesture.

“She’s up now,” Astarion turned to Karlach, “You can go."

“What?” Tav asked, struggling to sit up in her confusion, only to have Astarion wrap cool hands around her shoulders to gently force her back down. “Where are you sending Karlach?”

“I’m off to get Shadowheart, Soldier,” The Tiefling answered, the flames in her chest flaring at the mention of the Sharran Cleric. “Fangs thought scouting would go better if we had a healer. Can’t say he’s wrong,"

“Could you push that thing over the ledge first?” Tav pointed at the steaming remains of the creature Karlach and Astarion had destroyed. “Carrion will draw all manner of things to it."

“Sure thing!” Karlach was incredibly cheerful at the notion of heaving a steaming monster corpse off a ledge, which made Tav incredibly grateful. She could probably push it over with Thunder Wave, but she had no idea if she could even walk yet. Her leg still ached; it would probably be best if Shadowheart saw to it before she tested her weight on it. Not to mention the bruised pulsing that was her middle, where the rope that had saved Karlach and Astarion had torn into her flesh.

The Infernal Engine in the Tieflings chest flared a deep, burning red as she heaved the monstrous carcass to the edge of the stone bridge where they had initially encountered it. One final push and it slid over the western side. Nothing happened for a moment, as the monsters body fell deep into the earth, then a faint echoing splash could be heard, bringing with it a wash of salty air and the stench of rotting fish; an oily miasma of sea life’s offal that chilled Tav’s heart with familiarity.

“Disgusting,” Astarion grumbled, his nose wrinkling. “We don’t have to go deeper, do we, darling?”

“Not if I can help it,” Tav swore fervently, watching Karlach’s red glow disappear into the dark from whence they had come. “Want to help me desecrate this altar while we wait?”

“Once you’re healed,” Astarion replied, lounging beside Tav on the ground before the altar's eight-legged visage. Silence grew between them, seeming, in a strange way, thunderously loud in Tav’s ears. Boredom set in, racing through Tav’s aching body, encouraging her to move, to do something. She summoned a Mage Hand, giving her dagger to the disembodied appendage, before doing her best to make it carve a sword into the bulbous stone abdomen of Lolth’s spider altar.

“Higher,” Astarion suggested, standing to get a better look at Tav’s work. She moved the Mage Hand’s position as he directed. “Yes, there."

They worked together to carve a sword into the spider altar. It wasn’t the beautiful work of an artisan, but producing artistry wasn’t the point of the act. Once the Mage Hand dissipated, Tav’s dagger clattering to the ground, Astarion picked it up and used it to add the words Fuck Lolth along the crude sword blade Tav had carved in the stone altar.

“Beautiful, darling!” Astarion announced, stepping back to take in the fullness of their irreverent markings. “We do wonderful work together."

Tav wanted to see it; she tried to sit up, her hiss of discomfort bringing the vampire spawn to her side in flash. He tutted, gently pushing her back down.

“Will you stay down?” Exasperation lay heavy in his voice, ”Shadowheart will fix it all soon enough,"

“It took us hours to get down here,” Tav pointed out. “Hours still for Karlach to get back, even more for them to return. We’ll be stuck here overnight."

A wicked smile stole across Astarion’s face, red eyes glittering in the dim light of distant fungal glow. Tav swallowed hard, nervous in injury, in her absolute lack of predatory grace while Astairon smoothly joined her upon the bedroll he had confined her to for healing. She could easily believe him to be a creature of courtly dance, should the Underdark ever lean towards high society balls, he would be highly sought after, as he no doubt had been as a living elf in the past of Baldur’s Gate.

Gentle hands slowly reached for the scars on her neck, their reach telegraphed, giving her plenty of opportunity to refuse. She tilted her head to give him easier access, her assent, her blessing over his touch upon her body given in her gesture, as his worry was given in his. Gods, she needed to teach him the silent language of the drow, to say so much in silence. The idea of his whispering seductive words to her from across a crowded room sent a shiver down her spine.

“Poor little sorcerer,” A rumbling whisper in the shell of her pointed ear as he slid under her blankets, joining her in warmth, “Trapped in the Underdark with a vampire. Whatever are you to do?”

A needy whinge emerged from the back of her throat Tav’s body began to ache in a different way. The pain of her wounds receding behind raging fires of passion. Her body, her blood called to him. How dare Astarion do this to her when she was so injured? She should blast him off the ledge to follow the unnamed monster into what she was certain was a pit of kuo-toa far below them.

Cold hands skated under her shirt, feeling wonderful against the wheels of rope burn across her stomach.

“... what are we doing?” She whispered to him, nearly blinded by want, hardly able to move for her injuries. Astarion leaned over her, gentle lips pressing into hers, their kiss turning heated quickly. She slid her tongue into his mouth, seeking a fang to cut herself on, seeking to give him a taste of the desire burning through her blood.

He pulled back before she could succeed, touching his forehead to hers.

“I don’t know,” He whispered, heart achingly gentle as cool arms gathered her injured body against a firm chest. “I hate when you get hurt."

“I watched you get blasted into a chasm,” Tav’s own painful memories clenched in her throat, turning her voice to a husky whisper as she held back tears.

Gentle kisses on her eyelids preceded his murmured reply. “Which was probably about as fun as being blasted into a chasm."

“I hate it here,” Tav huffed a complaint, staring at the blank darkness of the cavern's ceiling, wishing with everything in her to see the stars again. “You wouldn’t even feed."

“Is that what’s bothering you, pet?” Astarion laughed softly, his arms tight around her. “Shattered leg, Gods know what internal damage and you want me to feed?”

“Ol zhah vunder'zel,” She sighed. “It’s special. It’s something I can give to you. Something that isn’t sex."

“I can kill you, darling,” Astarion replied, the fear of her death thick in his voice, “With the best of intentions, when you’re whole and healthy, I can kill you. I’m not feeding from you now. "

“When I’m better?” Tav asked, snuggling in tightly to his body, ignoring her aches and pains to get closer to him.

“It’s a promise, love,” Gentle kisses on his marks on her neck underlined his guarantee.

Chapter Text

Sunlight shone bright on her face, a greatly missed blaze of warmth; a gift of life set in the sky like a single, perfect jewel. Tav blinked sleepy eyes open, astonished to find herself on a stone rooftop in the middle of a vast surface city. Buildings of rough stone stretched all around her, leading down to a very wide body of water, a river or possibly a lake. Hills above showed taller buildings behind crenelated fortifications, domes and towers of much larger buildings just visible, stained glass windows catching the light of the sun and sparkling in every color of the rainbow.

Tav stood, the bedroll beneath her vanishing as she moved away from it. She slowly twirled around to completely take in the sights. The sounds of the city rose from the streets to wash over her, the conversation of thousands of people mixing together in a tide of murmurs that rose and fell as the oceans did. She could smell a thousand different things, from foul rot to the finest of perfumes. Her senses reeled, the stimulation of so many sights, scents and sounds stretching her body to its limit. It was like New Stall day in Menzoberranzan’s Bazaar, but amplified hundreds of times. Hundreds of  people within earshot screamed, cried, laughed, lived.

Where was she?

“Gods, I had forgotten it could be like this.” Astarion’s emotion-choked voice behind her. He hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Tav turned, shocked to see the vampire spawn staring out over the city, dressed in finery of blood red and ash gray, black leather accents and polished short sword completed the look. A dashing nobleman, a well-connected High Elf of wealth and means. Tav felt dowdy in her Sorcerer’s robe, tunic and leggings, all the soft gray and black provided to her by Eilistraee’s people. She had always dressed in whatever was provided, clothing suitable for her station as disgraced daughter or refugee. Astarion’s clothes reminded her of how low she truly was, how undeserving of his attention. 

“Where are we?” She asked around a lump in her throat.

Astarion turned from the view, surprise curling up his lips into an honest smile of jubilation, turning his face into the picture of open beauty. He moved towards her with open arms, gathering her close to his chest. 

“Darling, you’re here!” A kiss pressed into the top of her head. “This is a wonderful dream.”

“No, I’m dreaming.” Tav argued. “I was here first.”

“You’re dreaming of Baldur’s Gate? That makes no sense.” Astarion asked, doubt thick in his voice. “You know, dream you doesn’t usually argue with me about things. Or wear clothes.”

“Which is how we know I’m dreaming.” Tav laughed. She hoped to remember this and find out if he truly did dream of her. “Tell me where we are, Aestar.”

“This is the rooftop of the Elfsong Tavern,” Astarion explained, releasing her from his embrace to gesture widely at the view. “Offering the best view of the city at night… and, I suppose, during the day.”

“This is Baldur’s Gate?” Tav breathed out in wonder. Her first sight of a surface city. It was so different from Menzoberranzan, so very different from the forested enclave of the Mouth of Song. The city was like a heart, beating pulses of life through the veins and arteries of its roads and alleys. It was magical.

“Home, sweet home.” Astarion replied, his wine-red eyes sparkling joyously in the sunlight. “And, as this is my dream, we can go anywhere, see anything. What should I show you, darling?”

“What is there to be seen?” Tav asked, not knowing what Baldur’s Gate had to offer.

A cloud of sadness passed over his face. “I… don’t actually know. I haven’t seen daylight on these streets in two centuries.”

Tav considered, looking around at the city's rooftops, listening to its pulse of life from the streets below.

“Would you like to just… go for a walk?” She offered, trying to sound casual, trying desperately to keep the burning hope from her voice lest he think the idea a foolish one. They had never spent time together so simply. Even in a dream, what would he make of the idea? “Give me a tour?”

Joy looked so good on him. Stress and pain sloughing off to show the beauty of youth in which he was forever frozen. He offered his arm with an elegant gesture.

“Yes, darling, let me give you the tour.”

The dream proceeded in flashes, in the strange manner of dreams. They didn’t have to climb off the roof top, they were simply in the streets, walking arm-in-arm. They didn’t have to journey from place to place, Astarion would suggest taking Tav to a different location of the city and with her agreement, their next step would have them there. She saw the grand estates of the Upper City, marble palaces kept safe behind wrought iron gates, the works of artisans on display in statue and architecture. The cold Temples District, towering palaces built from mortal sweat and blood to honor Gods and Goddesses. Astarion took her through the bustle of The Wide, the vast open-air marketplace of the Upper City redolent with the scents of spices and exotic goods brought from all over the realms.

As the sun began its inevitable descent into the west, their tour became seedier. They explored the Lower City of the Gate; the briney air of Seatower, encompassing the west-most docks of Gray Harbour, crowded with warehouses and sleazy establishments full of sailors on leave, the eclectic collection of establishments of Heapside seeming to have no organization, delighting Tav in the lunacy of jeweler beside tanner beside restaurant.

They returned to the rooftops to watch the sun set. This time settling upon the crenelated fortifications of Wyrm’s Crossing, watching the sun sink into the Sea of Swords, casting warm rays across the entire city, laid out before them like a painting.

It had been a perfect day. A perfect dream.

A shimmering white glow caused Tav and Astarion to turn their heads from the beauty of the sunset. A silver bastard sword stood, embedded in the granite blocks of Wyrm’s Crossing, its onyx and diamond hilt glittering in a light of its own.

“I - Tav, are we both dreaming?” Astarion asked, looking at the sword askance.

“I think so,” Tav realized aloud before breathing out an oath, a prayer to the Goddess who had granted them this moment of peace. “Udos orn dro harl l'sssiks 'sohna.”

“What does that mean, pet?” Astarion asked drawing Tav closer to his body, hugging her tightly as day slipped into night.

“We will live under the sun again.” Tav translated.

“I hope you’re right.”

*****

Tav woke from the paradise that had been the dream realm to the stiff agony of her still-injured leg. The oppressive blackness of the underdark closed in on her almost instantly, crushing the joy from her spirit. Astarion lay curled beside her, careful of her injuries even in sleep. It was odd to wake up beside him and not half under him, their limbs tangled.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, other than her need to perform bodily functions. Six to eight hours, she guessed. Tav struggled to her feet, somehow not waking Astarion, and limped off with waterskin in hand to perform her ablutions. When she returned, Astarion was just sitting up, blearily rubbing his eyes; sluggishly trying to return to himself after their disorienting adventure through the dream realm.

“I actually slept,” Astarion told her quietly as she carefully returned to the bedroll.  “And the dreams were nice.”

“Me too,” She murmured, a quiet smile stealing across her face. “You were in my dream.”

“Really?” He grinned, “You were in mine. You were doing the most filthy things to me. It was wonderful.”

“We had the same dream,” Tav laughed, resting her head on his shoulder, “Though the next time you have a dream about actual filthy things, I’d love to hear about it.”

“It’s a deal, pet.” Astarion’s voice sounded normal, but his countenance seemed more frail. He was ghostly white, dark circles plain under his eyes. He needed to feed, Tav knew. She would need to think of an argument to get him to look past her injuries and drink some blood. She fished food from her own pack, a bruised pear and a small hunk of cheese, and settled in to eat her small meal while she thought.

“Did you…” Astarion swallowed hard, staring off into the darkness, “Did you like the dream?”

Tav’s thoughts on convincing Astarion to feed derailed completely in the face of his nerves. Somehow, against all facts of reality that Tav knew to be true and real, Astarion was nervous about her impression of the perfect day they had spent together in the dream realm. She considered her own nerves when, in the dream, she had been presented with an Astarion in the full flush of High Elf glory and how unworthy she had felt to stand alongside him.

“It was amazing… it was perfect.” She whispered into the lightless depths of the Underdark. “I hope Baldur’s Gate is really like that. I want that day with you again.”

“Truly?” He asked, “It’s so hard, sometimes, to consider myself worthy of days like that, worthy of you. I’m a monster.” 

Tav swept her hair from her neck, baring his scars to the humid air. Before she could even speak, he was shaking his head in denial of her offer.

“You’re hungry, Astarion.” Tav stated, desperation coloring her voice, “You’ll feel better once you eat.”

“No - ”

“How can you protect us if you’re hungry?” Tav gestured at her leg, splinted with a broken spear Karlach had found near Lolth’s altar. “I’m not much use right now.”

“Fine.” Astarion gave in with a gusting sigh, over dramatic til the last. “But you’ll drink the last healing potion afterwards.”

Tav didn’t voice an agreement. Shadowheart and Karlach would be joining them soon, with supplies and healing spells, but taking the last potion before their arrival did not seem wise. Her magic was stable and they were wonderfully positioned for defense. One didn’t need to stand to Thunder Wave something off the chasm to join the kuo-toa below. Hells, the more corpses she dropped down there, the more the mad fish creatures below would consider her their god, dropping manna from the heavens. The power of their faith might even empower her.

Astarion wouldn’t be pleased to hear her theories, she was sure. Especially her certainty that they were sitting on top - far on top - of a colony of insane aquatic humanoids with the power to make belief reality.

Cold hands, shaking with anticipation and hunger, helped her lay back down upon the bedroll. The same hands tried to tug at the ties of her shirt, but the shaking was too much. He was too hungry, too overcome with bloodlust and worry. Tav’s hands stilled his, then she smiled. Her shirt vanished entirely. She lay on her bedroll, neck and chest exposed, just like the first night he had tasted her blood.

“Is this right?” She whispered to the pale elf as he knelt beside her.

“I - yes. Yes.” Astarion replied, his voice oddly uncertain to her ears. 

This time was different; this time he was very certain, and so was she. Fangs slipped into her neck, the icy pinch of agony more than welcome. Her veins flooded with a desire she hoped he could taste. Her body pulsed with pure need. Their shared dream had been sweet and perfect, but so was this, in its own way. A sinful sweetness, burnt sugar and dark chocolate.

Astarion lay beside her, pressing into her body, arms holding her tight, pinning her to the bedroll, pushing her into the rock beneath. A quiet groan of pleasure slipped from his mouth, muffled in the skin of her neck. Tav clapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle her own sounds of ecstasy. Their thoughts and feelings merged, the tangle increasing more and more with each feed. Astarion’s hard length pressed into her side; he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her sorcerer's blood flooded his body with magic, electricity sparkled white-blue around them both as her life became his life, her gifts became his gifts.

A cool hand ghosted down her body, touches gentle across her wounds, finding the waistband of her leggings and delving underneath. Tav shuffled her good leg to the side, opening herself in invitation. They had to be quiet, sound was a dangerous lure in the underdark, but gods she wanted to scream her pleasure to the world when his clever fingers found her clit and began to play her like a beloved instrument.

She prayed this connection was separate from their parasitic infection. It would be devastating for this to end, to no longer feel his desire as if it were her own. She wanted to drink him in as he drank her. Everything pulsed and spun, blood was delicious on her tongue, she gulped it down feeling so safe and cared for. She never wanted it to end, wanted him to feel the same pleasure she felt. Needing to bring him to the same feeling of completeness he gave her, he had to love her like she loved him. He could never leave. Her hand danced along - 

No, those were his thoughts.

“Astarion?” He needed to know. Did he know?

Not yet, not just yet. One more sip, just one, he would make her come and drink the rapture from her throat. She was so wet, Gods he wanted to fuck her. He would have her when she was healed. Help her enjoy this black hole rather than fear it.

Agony seared through Tavs leg as her orgasm crashed over her body, forcing muscles to bow when they should be still. She loved the sharp edge of pain, feeling so alive as she tumbled so close to death. Astarion’s thoughts whited out as her pleasure became his, their collective need and satisfaction tangling together until they could never be separate again.

Astarion pulled back from her neck, breathing hard in exertion alongside her own gasps for air. He looked slightly abashed.

"Zuul’raght.” Tav sighed over the aftershocks of pleasure and genuine shocks of electricity that zapped between them, sparkling in the lightless reaches in which they lay.

“What was that?” He gasped around heaving breathes. “I could hear… I could feel your thoughts, they were mine. So much… so much love.”

“Same,” Tav replied, “I heard everything. It was like your thoughts were my own. We were one.”

Astarion lifted a pale hand, observing the electricity that still sparkled along his fingers. His eyes narrowed, a secret grin stealing across his face a second before a flick of his fingers sent an electric charge arcing through the air to jolt Tav with an almost gentle zap.

“Perhaps I’m the Sorcerer now, darling.” He whispered through a wicked grin.

A soft jingle of chainmail floated through the air, catching their attention. Astarion’s head snapped around to the sound, his body moving to stand before Tav, shortsword and dagger in hand.

“It wouldn’t surprise me; you are what you eat.” Shadowhearts voice whispered through the alcove followed closely by the cleric herself popping around the corner. Karlach followed behind, her footsteps oddly silent. The Tiefling grinned and tried to speak, but while her mouth moved, nothing came out.

Tav looked to Shadowheart for an answer.

“Gale cast a silence spell on her so we wouldn’t attract attention on the way back.” The cleric explained as she fell to her knees before Tav, drawing the blankets off the drow to examine her injury. “It’s honestly been pretty funny.”

Astarion sheathed his weapons before hefting Tav’s magically-refilled waterskin.

“This is my cue to let you have your gossip. I’ll be back.” He vanished into the darkness. Tav hoped he knew not to go far.

Karlach danced from foot to foot, looking down at Tav and Shadowheart, then off to wherever Astarion had vanished.

“Stay, Karlach.” Tav offered, holding out a hand before remembering the tiefling would not take it. “We can all have a talk once your spell runs out.”

“Brace yourself,” Shadowheart murmured, the blue light of healing magic swirling around her hands, coalescing around Tav’s leg. The drow didn’t see if Karlach joined them on the rocky ground or not, as every bone in her leg shattered anew and reknit in an instant. The pain blasted her from her own mind; she slumped back to her bedroll, deeply unconscious.

*****

Astarion did not go far. Only moving out of the alcove to sit at the chasm's edge and observe the vast, dark beauty of the massive cavern while doing his best to wash up. The great rends in the ground that led to fogged and lightless depths had done much to stymie their search for a route to Moonrise towers. Fungus the size of oak trees glowed a gentle orange from a ledge across from him, their broad caps easily the size of a good room at the Elfsong.

Faint murmurs caught his ear from behind and he was greatly tempted to listen in to whatever talk Tav was having with Shadowheart and Karlach. The Tieflings voice carried the most, once the silence spell vanished and she could be heard again; listening in would be easy.

His mind still spun from his most recent time alone with Tav. A goddess-gifted dream, a melding of minds and magic through her blood. Sharing her thoughts while he fed was almost as perfect as fucking her while orgasm bloomed from her neck in red founts of pleasure for them both. The warmth of her affection for him was its own little sun and was, like the sun, a bright purity that should burn his shriveled soul to ash. 

Then there was the matter of her magic, still bursting electric bubbles through his own veins. Astarion held up a hand and concentrated for a moment, faint purple sparks crackled fitfully along his hand. Astarion wondered if this shared power was a result of his near-exclusively feeding on her for weeks, their tadpole connection or perhaps just something wholesome about Tav that wanted to share everything with him, even the wild storm of power that sang through her blood. Regardless, he should probably ask her for training before a wild surge of magic turned her into a sheep at an inopportune moment.

A dim flash of Shadowheart’s healing magic in the corner of his eye was his only warning before agony blazed into his skull. His leg, his leg! No, he was fine. Tav. That was Tav’s pain. That was Tav gasping for breath around searing agony, Tav giving in to the safe darkness of oblivion.

Astarion stumbled to his feet and drew his dagger; answers were needed.

Shadowheart was still kneeling in prayer over an unconscious Tav when he returned to the alcove, his every stalking step full of anger. Karlach bared his way, reaching out to pluck the dagger from his hands while his attention was on the pained lines of Tav’s face.

“Easy there, Fangs.” The Tiefling said, ironically for someone who gave into her rage at the slightest provocation. “Healing comes with pain sometimes. She’ll be fine.”

Tav was just laying there. Agony seared through her body and no one did anything to help her. Unformed thoughts, clouds of feelings more than anything, slipped into his mind from the drow’s. Loneliness and agony, inseparable. A familiar feeling; for two centuries no one had so much as held his hand while he tried to reassemble himself after one of Cazador’s torture sessions. Tav didn’t deserve to experience that torment alone, not like that.

Astarion dodged around Karlach and settled himself on the ground beside Tav, pulling her into his lap as much as he could while she still lay prone. Shadowheart looked up, upset that her patient was moving, but had the good sense to not argue when he bared his fangs and growled. He stroked Tav’s ghost-white hair, while her leg re-forged itself in crackles of bone and flashes of magic.

When it was over, Tav relaxed into a healing sleep. Shadowheart stretched and stood.

“We’ll have to wake her soon to keep going.” The cleric spoke softly.

Astarion shook his head. She needed rest. He needed rest. His mind had run for miles, taking an emotional battering along the way. Who was he without this storm blooded creature in his lap? Her magic within him wanted to return to her, wanted to stretch back and rejoin the storm that had borne it. Or was that just him, wanting to keep her by his side forever?

“There is a potion of fire resistance in my pack,” He offered to Shadowheart without looking up from Tav’s face. “Please, and I really mean this, fuck off.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Karlach replied, snatching up his pack and grabbing Shadowheart by her mailed arm to drag her from the alcove.

Chapter Text

Karlach, in the short time she had been with her fellow tadpole-infected, had shown herself to be many things. A ferocious fighter, a staunch friend, a strangely positive presence despite her decade spent enslaved in Zariel’s armies. What she was most definitely not was a quiet person. Try as she might, the Tiefling could probably be heard coming a mile away.

In more ways than one.

When Tav’s eyes finally fluttered open, their beloved blue darker in the shadows of the Underdark, moving from ice to ocean’s depths, the pleasured moans of Karlach and Shadowheart were echoing all around them. A pale white eyebrow quirked at him, upside down in his lap, a smirk turning the corners of her lips upwards as Tav realized what she was hearing.

“Astarion,” She whispered, a flush shadowing her already dark face, “What… !?”

She was awake, she was alright. It was time they added to the sounds of pleasure floating through the air. He needed her to feel as loved as he felt, as wanted. Needed to give in to her body’s cravings as she gave in to his. Vampires, Astarion had told Tav, were scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts. Which was all true. He schemed to do whatever was necessary to keep her. He was paranoid he might lose her, knowing there were more worthy contenders for her heart camping with them nightly. He hungered for the power she gave him, the power in her blood, the power in feeling safe for the first time in two hundred years. He had fallen, head over heels, into the final quality prevalent in all vampires, a quality he had neglected to share with her: he was obsessed.

Though, he considered, could it be an obsession if the feelings were returned? This was love, wasn’t it? She was his greatest strength; supporting him, caring for him, giving him feasts of blood, power and affection. Tav had become the center of his universe. He would burn the world to ashes for her.

“They’re putting on an abysmal show, darling,” Astarion drawled as Tav removed herself from his lap, sitting up and stretching languidly. “Shall we show them how it’s done?”

Tav shook her head, but he could hear her heartbeat stutter. It was probably unwise to bend her over Lolth’s desecrated altar and fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight, but it was certainly something she wanted. Or it would be once he explained the idea to her.

“Come, pet,” Astarion purred, rising to his feet and offering a hand to Tav, helping her stand as well. “Let’s desecrate the altar just a little more."

Tav breathed in deeply, half gasping, half trying to catch her breath over the racing of her heart. Her pupils dilating so wide her eyes were black holes, endless and dark. She swallowed hard around a lump in her throat before giving a hesitant nod. Astarion’s hand tightened around hers as he led her to the spider queen’s altar, placing Tavs hands upon its crumbling surface in a silent command to not move. He stood back to observe his work; it needed a few alterations. A tap of his boot to Tav’s foot had her adjusting her stance to widen her legs. Gentle pressure on her back encouraged her to bend, forearms replacing hands upon the altar. Astarion delighted in his control over the drow; she was so pliant, so willing to go along with his desires. A heady sensation of power sparked along the borrowed blood in his veins; he needed this like she needed to breathe.

“Clothing, darling,” He murmured quietly, a single finger tugging gently on the laces of her stays. In an instant, Tav’s stays and leggings vanished. She stood naked before him, proudly bared to his gaze. That he was still clothed only increased his sense of power over her. Astarion stood back, simply appreciating the sight, perhaps taking too long as Tav began to squirm nervously, shuffling weight from foot to food. The gentle sway this created was very appealing, but he hadn’t told her she could move.

A sharp crack echoed through the alcove, briefly silencing Shadowheart and Karlach, as his hand struck her ass. Tav gasped at the strike, then relaxed into the afterburn, moaning softly in pleasure. Astarion leaned in to kiss her neck, moving his kisses upwards to her jaw, finishing on a dusky gray-purple cheek.

“Don’t. Move,” He whispered in the pointed shell of her ear. Smiling widely when Tav failed to suppress a full-body shudder. He spanked her again on the other side, tutting quietly. “Darling, if you can’t listen, we can’t do this." 

It was a meaningless threat. Nothing was going to stop him from fucking her until she saw stars.

“Count to ten,” Astarion instructed, “And if you’re good, I’ll let you come."

Another spank. He wasn’t gentle.

“One,” Tav spoke quietly, focusing on breathing through the sensation.

“In Undercommon, love,” Whatever would he do if they ever stumbled across a proper dungeon again? Everyone would have to wait, tadpole infection and heroic errands be damned while he chained her to the wall and took his pleasures from her. They could listen. They could watch for all he cared; it would do them well to see who Tav belonged to. Another strike.

“Uss,” Tav murmured, fighting to remain still as instructed.

Again.

“Draa,”

Astarion had no idea if Shadowheart and Karlach were still at it. Perhaps they had run out of potions. His focus was where it needed to be, finding pleasure, power and release with Tav. He struck her three times in rapid succession.

“Llar. Quen. Huela,” Tav choked out around sobs, embracing the pain, enjoying it.

Two more.

“Rraun. Blyn,” She was crying now. Sobs making it increasingly difficult to stay still. Astarion knew the release of stress and emotion was something she needed. He wasn’t going to punish her for it. They had three more to go. He smoothed his hands across her back, down her hips and back again, rubbing gently, rubbing away the pain of his strikes. The sobs continued in heaves of full bodied shudders.

“We can stop, love,” Astarion offered while Tav struggled to breathe around her whimpers. It wasn’t about pain. Not exactly. It was about control, it was about release and trust. He had that. He didn’t need to keep going.

“Nau! Qualla nau,” Tav begged, continuing to speak Undercommon, perhaps keeping to his instruction but perhaps just too lost in the moment to remember he didn’t speak her language. He had heard these words before and understood: No. Please no.

“Mzild llar,” She whispered into the sword they had carved together on Lolth’s foul arachnid form. Three more.

“You can do this,” Astarion encouraged, still rubbing his hands all over her body, calming her with gentle touches.

“Xas,” One last deep breath and Tav was ready.

Astarion struck her on the side of her hip. Then her other side.

“Lael!” Tav gasped. “Thal!”

One last strike.

“Szith,” Tav whispered, her knees buckling. She caught herself on the altar and steadied her legs. He hadn’t told her she could move, after all.

Astarion tore Tav away from Lolth’s desecrated altar, lifting her in his arms and spinning to place her back on her bedroll, before covering her body with his own. He murmured endless praise while delighting in the discovery that she was absolutely soaked and ready for him. He made quick work of the ties on his pants, freeing his aching erection with preternatural speed, needing to sink into her warm heat.

Tav cried out in pleasure at his first thrust, in pain as his body drove hers into the unforgiving rock beneath their thin bedroll. Praise still fell like raindrops from his lips. She did so well, she was so perfect, he was proud of her. With each utterance she grew wetter, tighter, heat fluttering around him in pleasure. They came together with a feral urgency, already so close to the pinnacle, needing just a little more.

And then Tav was screaming her peak, clawing at his back so hard she tore his shirt, drawing blood. The sting tipped him over into ecstasy, blood flooding his mouth in gulps of delicious red passion.

Blood? He had bitten her without knowing, his body seeking her veins in its rapture. She was coming again just from his teeth in her throat. The taste of her was sheer bliss. Bliss that would have him kill her if he wasn’t careful.

He stopped drinking, the thought chilling him.

“Damn,” Karlach’s voice echoed through the alcove. They had been watching after all.

Tav squeaked, hiding her face in her hands.

Gods, he loved her.

*****

Much time and many Feather Fall scrolls later, the companions were skirting a decrepit village. The place seemed abandoned, shanties of strange wood-like planks falling into ruin all around, a distinct air of emptiness hovered over. Tav was adamant she would not risk attracting the attention of whomever might still call the village home. It was bad enough they had created such a ruckus earlier. Surely every creature in the massive cavern had heard them and was on high alert.

They came upon two bodies, mangled in death. They had not died easily.

“They look like… like… Drow Gnomes,” Karlach exclaimed.

“Svirfneblin,” Tav replied. “Deep Gnomes. They’re more common on the surface than drow, I think."

“Not common in Avernus,” Karlach shrugged. “Or Norchapel. Never seen one in Baldur’s Gate, either. They evil like you, then?”

Astarion bristled at her side, but Tav laughed. “Yes, just about as evil as me."

Shadowheart gave a quick prayer for the fallen, then they moved on. The air became thicker, it never smelled fresh in the Underdark, but something now hovered in the air, a faint cloud of something obscuring their vision.

“Spores in the air,” Tav paused, frowning. ”I don’t know what mushroom would spread its spores so far."

MORE ARE COMING.

The voices thundered into her mind. Tav stumbled, as did her companions. Everyone’s heads ringing with the announcement seared straight into their brains. No sound echoes through cavern walls, but it was loud all the same, a shout from a hundred voices with one mind.

“Vel'bol…?” Tav muttered, clutching her head as though her fingers could draw the speaker out from her own mind.

“Who – what in the hells?” Astarion swore at the same time. Shadowheart’s hands hovered over Karlach, who grimaced in pain at the loud shouting that had no sound.

THEY’RE COMING. THEY’RE COMING.

There was urgency to the voices. Fear and excitement. Tav fell to the ground, assuming a meditative position. She stilled herself, stilled her mind and heart, then reached out to the voices in an effort to understand. A cool hand on her shoulder caused her to look up into concerned sanguine eyes.

“You listen all you want,” Astarion said to Tav with an untrusting glare for the spore-clouded air. He limbered his sword and dagger in their sheathes. “But it can get the hells out of my head."

THEY’RE COMING. YOU’RE COMING .

The voices cut off.

“We should avoid whatever that is,” Shadowheart stated with firm conviction.

“Can we?” Karlach asked. “I don’t see anything to avoid."

“We’ll go that way,” Tav said, pointing in a different direction from the cloud spore. “I don’t know what that was, but you’re right; it can't be good."

A few twists and turns later, they came across the remains of a battle. Fallen dwarves, dark of skin and pale of hair just like Tav and the Svirneblin, and strange creatures who only seemed humanoid in shape. Brightly colored, covered in shelves of fungus. Not covered, they were fungus.

“What in the hells?” Astarion asked again.

“Ah. Myconids,” Tav observed, nodded to herself as everything fit into place. “I understand now."

“Enlighten the rest of us?” Shadowheart asked, staring at the dead myconid in fascination. Karlach poked at it with the handle of her axe. Nothing happened. It was as dead as the dwarf beside it.

“Myconids are fungus folk,” Tav explained, amused at Karlach’s wide-eyed wonder contrasting with Shadowheart and Astarion’s disgust. “As best as I can explain it: they’re thinking, walking mushrooms. They live like mushrooms, in a sort of peaceful hive-mind situation. I’ve never met one."

“So all that weird mind shouting was the Myconid welcome wagon?” Karlach asked.

“I guess,” Tav shrugged. “They seem to be fighting with the duergar, which isn’t good for us. If there are Gray Dwarves about, we’re in danger. Seeking out the Myconid village might be a good idea."

“Let’s go talk to the mushrooms!” Karlach’s excitement wasn’t shared. They pushed onward.

Hours later, they were heading back to the temple of Selûne to collect the rest of their friends and return them to the Myconid Village. The Fungus Folk seemed to know everything that had happened in the cavern. They knew of their fight with the armored monster, they called it a Bulette, they knew of the petrified drow and the Spectator. They were grateful for the destruction of the Minotaur. Their voices sang that their circle was complete, but Tav’s ‘circle’ was separated. The Myconid Sovereign wanted to speak to them, but only as a whole and complete circle. An offer of asylum was made; the companions would be safe in the Myconid village.

A path was revealed through towering mushroom stalks and torchstalk fields. Wild tinmask shelves threatening to cover them in clouds of confusion-creating spores at every step. A careful journey of a few hours and suddenly they could see the light of Selûne’s temple as they crested a ridge. What had taken them days was a much shorter journey with the Fungus Folks aid.

The path to the temple of Selûne was clear. A glimmer of silvery light enticed Tav away from that path and up an arch of rock.

“Soldier?” Karlach asked, realizing Tav was heading away from the temple.

“Tav, we don’t have time for this,” Shadowheart sighed.

“Go without us, then,” Astarion told the women, recognizing the glow, recognizing the gentle tingle of Eilistraee’s magic in the air. He knew Tav would not be dissuaded from seeking it out. “We’ll meet you there."

“That’s not safe,” Shadowheart argued, trying to push past Astarion to follow Tav up the stone arch. She stopped when his hand pressed against her chestplate, his friendly smile showing his fangs.

“She is safe,” He guaranteed softly, a threat hiding in his words. Safe in the Underdark, safe from any he might want to protect her from. Safe from Shadowheart, if necessary.

The cleric rolled her eyes, before turning heel and storming off towards the ruined temple, Karlach following in her wake. “What was that about?” The Tiefling’s voice carried back as Astarion ascended the stone arch, certain Tav had not gone far.

The Vampire Spawn crested the stone arch, finding a natural stone altar at its peak, Tav kneeling in reverence before it. A small plateau of rock held a silver bastard sword driven point-down into its center. An actual sword, solid and real. Someone had left it there in honor of Eilistraee. Astarion realized, looking out over the cavern, that the sword was directly across the chasm from the altar of Lolth they had desecrated. An answer to the Spider Queen’s worship. A promise of light and safety to counteract the dark lies of the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.

“Pholor ussta vlos natha iglata,” Tav whispered to the sword, as she pulled a dagger from her boot. “Udos orn dro harl l'sssiks 'sohna."

“Darling, what are you doing?” Astarion asked, worried as Tav gripped the dagger in a shaking hand, leaning forward to hold her wrist near the sword.

“Pholor ussta vlos natha iglata,” The sorcerer repeated, eyes tightly shut to the world, lost in the words of her prayers. The dagger rose above her proffered wrist. “Udos orn dro harl l'sssiks 'sohna."

A faint chime of music in the air calmed Astarions worry. He may have been abandoned by the entire pantheon, but Tav seemed to have found favor with Eilistraee. The Dark Dancer wouldn’t let one of her children be dragged into the Underdark to sacrifice themselves on some forgotten altar. Eilistraee was not her Mother, after all.

“Pholor ussta vlos natha iglata,” Tav whispered one last time, bracing herself for pain as her dagger pressed into her wrist.  “Udos orn dro harl l'sssiks 'sohna!”

The scent of Tav’s blood bloomed in the air as the dagger cut her flesh, her blood sacrifice dripping upon the silver sword. Astarion’s fangs ached at the scent; such a waste that her blood be given to Eilistraee and not him. At the first splash of red on silver, a soft white light swirled around the drow, cradling her in a gentle embrace. Tavs sacrifice had been accepted.

“Oh. That’s new,” Tav murmured, opening her eyes to see Astarion waiting for her. A smile bloomed bright across her face. “Aestar! I have a new spell!”

“A bigger fireball?” Astarion guessed as Tav got to her feet. “Gale will be so upset."

“No,” Tav laughed. “Something that will help down here. I think. What happened to Shadowheart and Karlach?”

“I sent them ahead,” The explanation was clipped. He wasn’t pleased with the cleric. “Shadowheart isn’t happy you wandered off."

“We need to catch up, then,” Tav grinned. “I think she’ll like this one."

“What spell is it?” He asked, following behind her, returning to the path to the temple.

“A surprise,” Her eyes twinkled with mischief in the dim bioluminescent glow. They moved on, quickly joining with Karlach and Shadowheart, standing near hastily constructed fortifications and piles of bones, the fallen clerics of Selûne who had failed in their defense of the temple. Behind them, wide steps rose to the gates of the temple, the threatening magic of Selûne’s might still pulsing a pure white glow. They had no way in from this direction.

“I have a new spell,” Tav announced to her friends, a glow of excitement in her ice blue eyes.

“And will it knock down the gate?” Shadowheart asked, staring at the charred remains of the Minotaur reminding them of the power that barred their way.

“No,” Tav said grasping Shadowhearts arm. A gentle blue glow encircled them both before Shadowheart gasped and floated upwards. She had cast Fly on the cleric. “But I think you can."

“I will put out the light,” Shadowheart swore, a dark shadow of fanaticism casting over her face. “For my Lady Shar."

The cleric rose into the cavern, higher than the gates of the temple, almost disappearing into the dark ceiling beyond the reach of anyone’s darkvision.

“What the hells?” Gale’s voice floated to them from the temple’s depths as the flying cleric descended, safely behind the gates, beyond the reach of any defensive magics. A few wild swings of her mace and Shadowheart rendered the crystal to powder, Selûne’s statue now headless, her staff topped with a broken haft of stone. The lights of the gate flickered out.

“You have destroyed our best defense,” Lae’zel’s voice carried down the steps as she emerged from the temple’s depths to stand before the gate. “Explain."

“Open the gate, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart spoke to the githyanki with her lip curled in annoyance, the bliss of serving her goddess fading too soon. She landed in the courtyard, then walked out of sight. Voices could be heard coming from within as, hopefully, Shadowheart explained the situation.

Lae’zel threw a heavy leaver to the side. The gates to Selûne’s temple creaked open on rusty hinges.

It was time to move camp.

Chapter Text

The companions set up their new base of operations deep in the sprawling Myconid grove. They spread themselves out in a grotto, along the shores of a cold, freshwater stream and the large pond it formed before splashing down a deep waterfall and out of the grove environs. The stream was quite rare; fresh, moving water in the underdark was hard to come by and would be fought over brutally. Mushrooms and various fungus grew everywhere, both common and rare alchemical components the fungus people guarded fiercely. Did they cultivate the fungi as friend or food? Tav couldn’t quite tell. Her hands itched to harvest everything she saw. They could really use the potions, but the Myconids and their shambling, spore infested guard-zombies had made it quite clear that touching a single Rogue’s Morsel would result in their peace being broken.

Finding peaceful allies in the underdark was as rare as finding a Red Dragon distributing its gold to charity. The peace offered by the Myconid Sovereign was of the utmost importance; certainly more important than any potion she could make. Tav was incredibly willing to help the Myconids with whatever their request was in order to keep such a well-appointed, well-defended campsite from which to venture deeper into the underdark. When they had first decided to pursue travel avenues in the underdark, Tav was hopeful that their journey would be a boring one of endless dark tunnels with, perhaps, the occasional monster. Finding a massive cavern, teaming with life, was almost the worst possible scenario, short of blindly stumbling onto a city of Drow or Duergar. Tav was exhausted from fights, the stresses of injury and healing. A peaceful rest with the fungus people was just what she needed.

“Astarion, do you want to go with me to talk to the Sovereign?” Tav asked as they worked together to set up their tent. The spawn was already shaking his head in refusal before she finished speaking.

“No, thank you. I don’t want to inhale spores and have yet another visitor in my mind.” Astarion snipped, still not happy with the Myconid’s method of communication and how the Sovereign had shouted into their minds the day before. Tav tried not to feel sad about his refusal; it was important that he say no to things, that he could feel safe in establishing his own boundaries. Astarion ducked into their tent, disappearing behind the flaps. She was alone in this.

Tav just didn’t want to go for an audience with the Myconid Sovereign by herself. Perhaps the Sovereign didn’t know she was drow and would attack upon seeing her dark skin. Perhaps she would say something wrong and ruin the peace. There was too much riding on this talk. How does one talk to royalty?

Royalty.

“Wyll!” Tav gasped, turning to find the monster hunter, assisting Karlach in setting up her tent with Shadowheart, the three tents cheek-by-jowl near the water's edge.

“Hero!” Wyll replied, a delightful grin on his face as Tav rushed to him, clearly needing him for whatever brilliant idea had just occurred to her.

“You have to come with me,” Nervous words poured from Tav, “The Sovereign is royalty and I don’t know how to talk to royalty but you do. You’re coming.”

“They’re mushrooms, Tav.” Wyll replied, incredulous. “I have no idea what could pass for courtly manners here.”

“You’d have more of an idea than me.” A stubborn frown darkened Tav’s face. By Mystra’s magical left tit, someone was coming with her.

“Halsin would have more of an idea on how to talk to plants.” Wyll rejoined. “But I’ll come.”

“Halsin!” Tav called across the camp, uncaring that her shouts were interrupting the druid speaking with Lae’zel. “You’re coming too!”

Halsin had the good sense to not argue with a nervous sorcerer. He joined Wyll and Tav as they left the camp and made their way up massive shelves of fungi to speak with the Myconid Sovereign who waited for them on a dais more grown than built. Nearly to the top of the dais, the three came across a deep gnome, writhing in agony upon a hastily laid out blanket. Tav immediately went to the gnome, intending to offer what aid she could, but the gnome shrieked in fear at the sight of a drow and tried, through muscle spasms and pain, to scuttle back from the dark elf approaching her.

Monster. Murderer.

Tav’s face fell. She swallowed hard as she turned from the gnome, blinking quickly to fight back tears.

“Halsin, would you help her?” Tav rasped out through a lump of unnamed emotions catching in her throat. The hulking druid gently squeezed Tav’s shoulder as he responded to her request, kneeling beside the gnome and engaging her in conversation.

Tav caught a few words of their conversation before she could turn away fully and focus on speaking to the sovereign.

“I don’t want your ‘help’, drow slave!” The gnome spat, ineffectively trying to fend off Halsin as Tav and Wyll moved onwards. Whatever Halsin said in reply was lost as the song of the Myconid circle overwhelmed Tav’s mind. The Sovereign was before her, its massive form shrouded in clouds of spores as it worked to seed a duergar body in tiny fungal polyps. The spores grew quickly, taking over the body and heaving it back onto its feet. Another fungus-controlled zombie shuffled away to join the Myconid ranks. The Sovereign turned it’s gilled cap of a head towards Tav and Wyll. No eyes could be seen in the strange mass of sentient fungus, but Tav felt it was looking at her, it’s attention focused, the song of the circle sharpened from a faint drone in the atmosphere to a rumble, a focused song, deep and mournful.

“Flesh-talker.” The Sovereign’s voice rumbled in Tav’s mind. Her eyes sought out Wyll’s; did he hear it too? His disbelieving face gave evidence that the Sovereign of the Myconids spoke to them both. “I show you a memory. Watch and listen.”

A vision came over her, at first a chaotic swirl of dark colours, but soon it resolved. Tav could see it and see the Sovereign at the same time. The vision came with taste, sound, sensations of fear. Duergar chopping at myconid remains, their faces pleased, alight with laughter as they desecrated the dead.

“They broke our peace. They killed our young.” The song became a dirge as the Sovereigns voice invaded their minds once more. “We laid waste to many. But intruders remain. Lakeward.”

The song broke off as the Sovereign considered how its words had affected the humanoids before it. It tasted the emotions its memory had stirred within Tav.

“I sense your resolve.” The Sovereign seemed pleased with the results of its tale. “You will find duergar invaders near lake’s edge. Cleanse the Rot. Destroy them.”

“We can manage Duergar invaders, surely.” Wyll suggested to Tav. The Sovereign wasn’t asking for much. Tav was still undecided. The Duergar had broken a peace, the Sovereign said. Why?

“Why did these duergar attack?” Tav asked, trying to push the intent of her words from her mind to the Sovereign.

“The duergar seek a guest.” The Sovereigns song caused visions to swirl once more. The sight within Tav’s mindseye resolving into familiar shapes: deep gnomes, dropping shovels and pickaxes to flee from the pursuit of murderous Duergar. One face in the vision stood out; the gnome who had fled from Tav just moments ago.

“You harbor a fugitive gnome?” Tav realized out loud. “Admirable of you.”

The Sovereign did not reply, but the song of the circle rose in appreciation. Oddities of the underdark, the Myconid were generally a peaceful people. The Sovereign was pleased that Tav admired this quality in them. Wyll was already in full support of the Myconids needs; as the Blade of Frontiers, protecting people from the monsters and evil creatures of the wilds was his duty. It seemed his duty was no different when the wilds were miles underground and the people were made of fungus instead of flesh and bone.

“We can handle those duergar nearby.” Tav agreed. It would be best for the party to face that threat head on rather than place it at their backs anyway. The fight would happen regardless of the Myconids.

One more vision crashed over Tav’s mind. A wall of vines parting to reveal glowing light.

“Riches of magic and mind. Cleanse the rot and they are yours.” The Sovereign explained through their spore-mind connection. “Do the Circle this service. We will await word.”

The song changed, fading to something quiet in the background of Tav’s mind. The sound of the Myconid Grove simply existing, no longer focusing attention on her mind. The Sovereign turned its attention back to the row of duergar dead lined up on the dais, coating each one in its spores, creating Myconid growth while adding to their defenses. 

The audience was over.

Tav and Wyll turned to descend from the dais and return to the party. They needed to explain what they had agreed to. Before they took their first step down the fungal shelves that made up the Sovereigns place of rulership, a pain-ravaged voice stopped them.

“He says he’s not your slave. That you’re not like most drow.” The deep gnome the Myconids harbored caught Tav’s attention. She looked much improved, though Halsin was still working to fully heal her. The druid himself still kneeled before the gnome, assisting her to sit up.

“I suppose I’m not.” Tav agreed, pausing to stand before the sick gnome. “Though I am not alone. We’re not all zealots, you know.”

“Aye,” The Gnome agreed. “Now I know.”

“Thulla here is a victim of some nearby duergar.” Halsin explained, his hands still working glowing magic into the gnome.

“Like the Myconid.” Wyll observed. “We have already agreed to deal with them.”

“Not all of them.” Thulla ground out as healing magic seared through her injuries. “Garl’s garters, I don’t have time for this. My kin need me.”

Halsin shook his head. “You’re in no condition to help anyone, Thulla.”

“Maybe not… But you are” Thulla’s eyes glittered in the soft bioluminescent light as she considered the three standing before her. “I need you to rescue my kin.”

“We can pay.” She spoke quickly, desperately trying to convince them. “We’re Ironhand clan, best artificers in Baldur’s Gate. We were on an expedition down here when the duergar snatched us up. I got away… but the others… the greys have them digging out some old ruin across the lake.”

“We will free your people, if we can.” Wyll agreed, ever the hero of the people. Tav wondered what the others would think of it.

“Our road will probably take us across the lake anyway.” Halsin explained to Tav as he got to his feet. “The shadowlands lay in that direction.”

“Thank you,” Thulla sighed, relieved in body and mind. “Only wish I could go with you.”

“Stay here and rest, Thulla.” Halsin directed the gnome. “You will need time to heal from the duergar poison.”

“Yeah.” Thulla agreed, her face spasming around a twitch of pain in her abdomen. “Not much choice, eh?”

*****

“FLESH-WALKER, TONGUE-TALKER.” A new Myronid voice thundered into Tav’s mind as she made her way back to camp with Wyll and Halsin. The voice rang discordant to the song of the circle around her. It was in a different key to the grove. A strange myconid heaved itself from a dark corner to stand before her. The Myconids of the grove, even the Sovereign, were tall, willowy beings. This fungus creature was squat and round, it’s colouration missing the blues and greens of the rest of the circle. “You hail from the Dark - yet far you’ve come. Reach into memory. Tell me of home.”

Tav wasn’t sure what to make of this new Myconid, so different from the rest of the circle. She did as it bade, thinking warm thoughts of homes both near and far away. She remembered Nors d’Linath , her first feeling of community, finding her own circle as the Myconids would think of it. She thought of the tent she shared with Astarion and how they had made it a home of their own.

In reply, the strange Myconid revealed memories of it’s own home. A humid cove by the lake, filled with decaying myconid corpses.

“Duergar destroyed my people. I am Sovereign Glut of no Circle.” The squat fungus man explained. “This Circle does not welcome me. But I have heard the song. You mean to cleanse the duergar rot. I mean to join you.”

The exiled Sovereign seemed welcome, from what Tav could see. The Myconid had let it come into their grove and live in peace. How was that unwelcome?

“Are you sure?” Tav asked Sovereign Glut.

“It’s going to be dangerous.” Wyll spoke almost on top of her.

“I am the danger, and I am the cure.” Glut’s discordant song grew loud in its anger and lust for vengeance. “They erased my people; I will erase theirs.”

“Halsin, what do you think?” Tav asked the druid, seeking the wisdom of his experience. What began as a simple quest was swiftly getting political.

“Duergar by the lake and across it.” Halsin mused. “We do not know how many we will be facing. Another sword… or, spore, would be helpful.”

“Very well.” Tav agreed. “Join us.”

“Gather your circle.” The bulbous Myconid hissed into her mind, planting its body deliberately in the path, clearly prepared to wait. “Then we erase the duergar.”

It didn’t take long to explain the situation to everyone back at camp. Everyone, that is, except Astarion who was still shut up in their tent. He didn’t respond to Tav’s entreaties to come out; she assumed he was in trance. It was only a fight with some duergar and they already had assistance in the form of Sovereign Glut. Astarion really wasn’t needed for this fight; Tav was happy to let him rest.

“We are to kill these duergar.” Lae’zel summarized, once Wyll was done explaining the situation to everyone. The ever-ready githyanki hefted her sword and was immediately prepared to head out and fight. “Let us go to this village and make quick work of them.”

“Hang on, Lae’.” Karlach was struggling back into her own armor. “Wait for me.”

Lae’zel put her sword down to assist the tiefling with straps and buckles.

“Shadowheart, I need you to not engage in the battle.” Tav asked the cleric, thinking of strategy. “Duergar are expert poisoners. I need you and Halsin to keep out of this, but be ready to heal us when it’s over.”

“I look forward to seeing your new fungus friend in action.” Shadowheart grinned. “From a safe distance. Gale, could you wait with us? A second line of defense could be helpful.”

“Yes,” The wizard agreed, “I, too, want to see Sovereign Glut fight. What fascinating creatures these Myconids are. I can’t believe they’ve been just under my feet all this time.”

“Let’s go!” Karlach crowed, back in her armor and ready to fight.

*****

The companions trudged back to the Myconid Grove, tired and injured but no one poisoned. Gale and Shadowheart were excitedly discussing the zombie army Sovereign Glut had raised from every duergar that had fallen to them. Every enemy became an ally, powered by Sovereign Glut’s spores. The battle went smoothly as Glut focused its spores on powering a fighting force rather than establishing a circle of young Myconids. A Sovereign with nothing to lose was a force to be reckoned with.

And a force for betrayal. The moment the last duergar fell, Glut was asking them to turn their swords upon the Myconid Grove and Sovereign Spaw. They learned the Sovereign's name the same moment they were asked to kill it. Tav was appalled; Spaw had taken in the gnomes, had taken in herself and her fellow tadpole infected, had taken in Glut itself. And here the bulbous Sovereign asked them to commit genocide on the Grove in a power play that would have pleased any Lolth-sworn drow. Perhaps that was why Tav was so horrified, why her magic lashed out so quickly. Sovereign Glut was now charred mulch on the muddy shores of the underground lake. Its body rotting alongside duergar and felled gnome alike. 

Tav’s every muscle ached; the fight had been a long one. Glut had turned its zombie horde upon them when they were unwilling to murder the Myconid Grove for it. She had long run out of spells, forced to defend herself with her staff while Gale laid waste with fire spells. The only thing keeping her feet moving was a haste spell Gale had cast from a scroll. That she felt her exhaustion despite the spell told her everything she needed to know about just how tired she truly was.

Conversations with the Myconids could wait. Upon returning to the grove, Tav went straight to her tent, looking forward to reverie beside Astarion. She ducked into the tent and was brought up short by the sight of Astarion reading a vaguely familiar book bound in strange pale leather. The pages glowed with a sickly green light that lit up Astarion’s face in the worst way, making him look like the corpse he was. He didn’t even look up from the book when she entered the tent, muttering at its pages, knuckles white as he gripped the book tightly.

“Can you summon the Dead? Bring them back? Can you - ugh, can you shut up and let me read?” Astarion argued with the book, frantically turning pages, “No, I won’t kill them! Well, maybe Gale… I can’t. I won’t. No - stop! Let. Me. Go!”

The book slammed shut. Tav got a better look at its cover. A screaming face, eyes and mouth made of polished orbs of purple crystal. She had seen it before, but where? Faint memories of a forsaken village tugged at her mind, echoes of goblin screams.

“Ah… Hello.” Astarion looked a little bashful, caught arguing with a magical tome.

“The hells was that?” Exhaustion made her sluggish. Her mind hardly worked. What was happening?

“I’m not sure. A dance with death, maybe.” Astarion replied, staring longingly at the cover of the tome. “This is a powerful book of necromancy, but it’s guarded by spirits. I barely opened it when they started whispering from the shadows. Now everytime I open it, the voices surge back into my mind. I can’t reason with them - they exist to protect that book.”

The Necromancy of Thay! Tav remembered, they had uncovered it beneath the apothecary in the blighted village. No one could open it then, it’s screaming mouth had been empty.

“What secrets?” Tav began preparing for rest. Setting her things in her corner of the tent, wetting a rag to wash her face and body.

“I don’t know. That’s the point - they’re secret.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Someone went through a lot of trouble to protect this tome. It has to be something more than a book of cantrips. Still, I doubt this will help us with our parasites. Maybe it’s better to put it aside for now.”

“What are you hoping to find in there, anyway?” Tav washed herself again. There was so much duergar blood in her hair. She was surprised Astarion hadn’t mentioned it. His eyes seemed to only see the book.

“It’s a book of necromancy, full of secrets about controlling the dead, returning the dead to life, and who knows what else. Whatever’s in here, it might give me an edge over Cazador. Or free me from him entirely.” The longing in his voice was palpable. A deeply entrenched desire for the power to be truly free. “Although I can’t make any progress as long as those spirits remember their mission. It seems to be all they know. Still. If nothing else, maybe I can beat Cazador to death with it.”

“No, Aestar , don’t hit him with a book.” Tav grinned, finally ready to crawl under a blanket and rest. “You want to feel a knife going in. See his guts shining on the ground.”

“So true, that would be perfect.” Astarion finally tucked the book into a bag and gave his full attention to Tav. “So you’ve spoken with the Sovereign. What are we doing?”

“We did it.” Tav yawned, laying down and pulling a blanket around her.

“What? How?” Astarion was confused. “It was that fast?”

“Astarion, it’s been hours .” Tav explained. “You wouldn’t come out; I thought you were resting. We fought duergar. We fought myconid-spore zombies and a rogue Sovereign controlling them all. I couldn’t light a candle right now, I’m so drained.”

“Oh…” Astarion looked to the bag containing the Necromancy of Thay, a line appearing between his brows as he frowned, deep in thought. “I don’t think I’ll read that book again without you here.”

“Good idea.” Tav tried to say, but a yawn cracked her jaws.

“Rest, love.” A gentle kiss on her lips, cool hands tucking blankets in tight. She was lost to reverie.

Chapter Text

“I found moon worms!” Tav announced, ducking into their tent with a bucket of fresh water.

Astarion blinked at the drow in confusion; were moon worms supposed to mean anything?

“I think there are a lot of them, too.” Tav went on as she heated the water so they could clean up in preparation for the day. “The Sovereign didn’t want me to harvest any of the mushrooms growing around here, but maybe they’ll let me gather worms?”

“Why would you want to?” He asked, washing up with the warm water and beginning to fit himself into his armor.

“They’re a delicacy,” Tav grinned, casually reaching over to help him with a hard-to-reach buckle. Their give-and-take was so well performed at this point, but still foreign to him after so long a tortured spawn. His heart felt strange in his chest, as though it threatened to thump out a beat or two for the first time in centuries. Gods, she was simply helping him into his armor and he thought he might cry over it. “And I want to see everyone’s faces when I try to feed them worms.”

“Disgusting,” Astarion tried to grimace, but it was more grin. How could anyone not grin with Tav around? Especially when she was plotting mischief. “I can’t wait to see it.”

The pair finished getting ready for the day, then went off to speak to the Sovereign while their companions continued to sleep. To Astarion’s great annoyance, the Myconid Sovereign asked Tav for another task. A drow named Nere led the duergar that had killed the myconids and deep gnomes; the Sovereign asked Tav to kill the drow, to prevent any future massacres. She agreed, of course, though he wished she wouldn’t. There was so little to be gained from being sent on these errands; it was nothing but risk and danger.

The Sovereign began to wave its frilled arms about, the song of the circle crashing over his mind as it grew louder. Praise for Tav was nice, but there was treasure to be found. Astarion set off to find the payment for the hard work he had taken absolutely no part in, only seeing Tav take a puff of spores to the face from the corner of his eye. He turned in an instant, dagger out to carve mushroom people for the group's morning meal; what had they done to Tav?

The drow’s face was relaxed, a beatific smile gracing her features; she waved at him in one of those odd drow gestures, a tiny wiggle of fingers. Perhaps bringing the entire colony down upon them wasn’t worth it at the moment, she seemed alright. He held out his hand, encouraging her to move away from the Sovereign to join him. Her smile grew, it’s joy just for him, as she nodded farewell to the still-dancing Sovereign before joining him at the edge of the fungal dais. Tavs hand clasped his, it was so warm, so alive; he never wanted to let go. He led her to the cave the Myconids had opened for them to raid. She stumbled along beside him, giggling under her breath. Her pupils blown so wide, her eyes were deep black holes.

“Treasure… where are you?” She sang into the still air of the cave the Sovereign had directed them to.

“Darling, are you alright?” Astarion asked as Tav twirled into the space, not pausing for a moment when faced with a moldering drow corpse, laying in the center of a ring of glowing quartz crystals. The cave had clearly been the drows camp, at one point, bedroll and packs of supplies stuffed into one corner, a crude table covered in rotted food in another corner.

“Oooh, fancy hood.” Tav breathed in wonder, lifting a spider-silk cowl from a stone ledge. Lithe purple-gray fingers stroked the hood as the sorcerer closed her eyes, reaching out to the weave. “Dexterity… a hide spell. This one is good for you.”

Astarion accepted the hood, placing it over his head and feeling the tingle of new magic now accessible to him. She still hadn’t answered his question, though her resuming her twirl around the corpse on the ground answered it for him. Whatever the Sovereign had done, she was definitely not alright. Tav seemed joyous, almost drunk, harmlessly blissful as she rode the spore wave. If that condition changed, he would do something about it, but for now she seemed… not fine, but acceptable. He patted down the corpse, quickly retrieving gold, a strangely familiar piece of icy iron and a book from its pockets.

“Flumph Mating Rituals?” Astarion read the cover aloud. The hells was a Flumph?

Tav stopped her twirling and burst into giggles. “That’s not a thing,” She gasped helplessly around her laughter.

“No, it says right here.” He flipped open the book, quickly scanning it’s lurid descriptions of multi-tentacled mating rituals. “And it’s pretty graphic.”

“Flumphs reproduce asexually.” Tav informed him around her giggles. “Someone wrote sex fiction about Flumphs! Can we keep the book? Will you read it to me tonight?”

The racy prose in his hands wavered as he accepted Tav’s words for truth. The illusion magic on the book unable to stand up to scrutiny. The writing became sparse, simple handwritten instructions on forging adamantine. Tav’s dreams of a night of racy fiction dashed as the magic dissipated.

“Adamantine, again.” Astarion muttered, sliding the book into his pack alongside his other finds. The icy piece of iron resting beside the book in his pack reminding him of another icy piece of metal he had recently taken from the body of another adamantine-focused drow. Icy bits of iron and a search for an adamantine forge; this drow was probably connected to Dhourn. The ability to forge fantastical weapons or armor was something worth pursuing, far more than seeking Nere’s head.

“Nere is probably there.” Tav said suddenly, her voice far away. “At the Adamantine Forge. Another drow seeking power. Like pebbles on the ground; they’re everywhere. Can’t ever be happy unless you’re stabbing someone in the back to take a sliver more power for yourself.”

Tav’s joy was ebbing, threatening to extinguish entirely. He would rather she be happy for a moment more.

“Did you ask about the worms, darling?” Astarion asked, trying to distract her.

“No! I should do that.” Tav’s eyes snapped shut and her body stilled. The song of the myconid colony, always a low thrum in the back of his mind, altered as Tav did… something. Communed with the mushroom people? What in the world was she doing?

“Yes.” She answered, eyes opening to reveal a mischievous sparkle. He was pleased to see her pupils were shrinking; black eyes on her were a terrible look. He needed to see the sky’s blue in them. “I can harvest mushrooms and worms.”

“You can talk to them now?” Astarion didn’t like this. They already shared their minds with the damned mindflayer tadpoles, now Tav was sharing herself with an entire Myconid colony? If she kept portioning herself out for every sob story that handed out a piece of treasure for a life-threatening quest, there would be nothing left of her.

“The Sovereign has sort of adopted me, but it won’t last.” She answered as they moved out of the cave, heading back to camp. “For now, I’m an honorary mushroom.” 

“Well, Mushroom, let’s go cook some of your family.”

*****

For someone who hadn’t eaten solid food in well over two centuries, the morning Tav cooked drow cuisine for the party would, for Astarion, be remembered as one of the best meals he had experienced.

The meal Tav prepared smelled amazing. Food always smelled delicious, it just tasted like ashes. The fried moon worms smelled warm and nutty, they made a delightful crunch when Tav bit into one and the face she made when she ate it told him it was delicious. She had even found crystal-clear crayfish in the depths of the pond beside which they camped; she created a spicy stew with them and about four different kinds of mushrooms harvested from around the colony. The stew ended up being deep blue in colour, which Tav took as normal, though to Astarion it added to the strangeness of the meal she prepared. Plump, white worms, fried to a crisp golden brown, served alongside a blue stew with tiny, clawed crustaceans to be crunched whole in their clear little shells. Fantastically bizarre, to him. He almost wished he could still eat food so he could try it.

Tav was so proud of herself, the pride overflowed from her and he caught what she couldn’t hold; he was as proud of her efforts as she was. It was all so simplistic, so alarmingly domestic; she had cooked a meal and was excited to share it with everyone. Astarion found himself looking at her unadorned fingers and considering what she had said earlier about jewelry. Faint echoes from the deep past rising up in the back of his mind, shadows of memory from when concerns were as simple as finding someone to give a ring to. For a brief moment, everything was so simple, so clear. Then their companions began emerging from their tents; thoughts fled from him in a blast of amusement as they each encountered the meal Tav had prepared and reacted to the prospect of fried worms for breakfast.

Gale hung back, his face turning pale and slightly green when he realized what the meal was. Which allowed Halsin to push past the wizard to fill his plate to near overflowing. The druid happily identified the ingredients of the meal, exclaiming that it had been too long since he had sampled the delicacies of the underdark; the hulking wood elf crunched into a worm with great satisfaction. Karlach, Shadowheart and Wyll devoured the stew, then began daring each other to eat the worms. Tav laughed along with it all, she had expected their reactions, though her smiles didn’t reach her eyes. Astarion didn’t understand why she had set herself up to be hurt.

Lae’zel accepted her plate without comment, other than to observe how odd it was that Tav was cooking. She tucked into the meal, seemingly quite happy to crunch into the worms and crayfish. The gith was ever one for formality, her manners starkly black and white. She acknowledged that Tav had shared a meal from her homeland and thanked her for the effort. Astarion hadn’t realized that Tav was nervous, until Lae’zel’s polite thanks dropped the drows shoulders, a tension in her body easing as one of her friends simply ate and enjoyed the meal. It seemed more was riding on the moment than he had realized; this was more than making them eat strange food, Tav was truly trying to share something with the group and was hiding behind laughter at the odd ingredients in order to protect her heart. And he had called it disgusting.

“Children,” Halsin announced eventually, his disapproving gaze taking in all four who had yet to eat the worms, making it clear who the children of the group were, “will you be eating or not?”

The arch druid had clearly had enough of everyone’s foolishness. Food was food and while they had all delighted in feeding Tav surface food, they weren’t returning the favor in kind. Halsin was clearly of a similar mind as Astarion, but more able to do something about it. The vampire, of course, couldn’t shame others into eating.

“This is a delicacy in Menzoberranzan,” Halsin went on, his voice neutral but a frown on his face, “and Tav is sharing it with us.”

“No, it’s alright. No one has to eat it.” Tav tried to rescue the others from her own cooking, “I know you don’t eat worms on the surface.”

“I disagree,” Halsin seemed to see through her; she was hurt, just trying to hide it. “Everyone needs to try it. It’s only fair.”

Guilt set in. Karlach scooped up a worm and popped it in her mouth. She grinned around the satisfying crunch.

“This is good, soldier!” The Tiefling admitted, her mouth full. That opened the floodgates. Wyll and Shadowheart tried the worms, Gale dished himself a plate and sat down to eat. Everyone exclaimed over the meal, thanking Tav for cooking and asking about other food that could be found in the underdark. The meal was enjoyed; Tav was truly delighted. Her pride returned, her smile rose to her eyes, joy sparkling in their blue depths. 

“So I was talking with the dwarven trader - Derryth? - she was hopeful that we had news of her husband.” Wyll began talking once he had eaten enough worms to satisfy Halsin, “Seems they came down here to collect mushrooms and he hasn’t returned from foraging.”

“We have found no dwarf that wasn’t duergar.” Tav frowned, guilt heavy in her voice. “If he’s lost, he’s lost. We are set across the water to fight the grays and their drow leader. That is the path to moonrise.”

“What if there’re more duergar on this side of the water?” Karlach asked.

“We could be setting ourselves up for an attack at our backs.” Gale observed, agreeing with Karlach, “We haven’t explored much around the Myconid Colony, only fought what they have pointed us at. Gods know what’s out there.”

More fools errands. Helping people who had little to pay in return, no power to bequeath. They would be out time and treasure once more finding this stupid dwarf. It was frustrating, though the wizard did have a point about leaving themselves vulnerable to attack if they didn’t secure the area around the Myconid colony before crossing the water to fight the duergar. He was going to have to kidnap Tav to save her from herself.

Not a bad idea, actually. Tadpoles, murder Cazador, then kidnap Tav for at least a decade. He was sure she wouldn’t mind.

The party agreed to split up. Lae’zel remaining behind to guard the Myconid Grove while Gale, Halsin and Shadowheart prepared for them to strike camp and head across the water. The duergar had left a pontoon boat tied up at the decrepit village where the Svirfneblin had been  slaughtered. It would hold them all, easily. But first, Tav was taking Astarion, Wyll and Karlach to scout the immediate area to make sure they left no threats at their back. Wyll and Karlach made sure to touch base with Derryth, the dwarven mushroom hunter, on their way out of the Myconid Grove, promising her they would find her missing husband. Tav stood to the side, looking stricken. She assumed the man was dead and loathed the false hope her friends were spreading.

“They shouldn’t say things like that.” Tav murmured to him under her breath as the scouting party made its way out of the grove. “You don’t get lost here. You die. They don’t understand.”

He had no words of comfort for her. He caught her hand and held it tightly in his own.

The temperature of the cavern didn’t change, but the farther they walked, Tav began to shiver. Cold set into her bones, nothing seemed to warm her. Karlach and Wyll asked about deep scores along the ground and stalactite-formed walls of the area. Tav shrugged, perhaps not knowing, perhaps not caring. Her face increasingly slack and distant as they pushed onwards. Astarion grew concerned; something was very wrong with her. A delayed reaction from the spores of the Myconid Sovereign, perhaps? She was fading to nothing before his eyes; a pale shadow of herself.

Ahead, Karlach and Wyll turned a corner. Karlach’s gasp of wonderment echoed back to them.

“Wow, a glowy underground tree!” The Tiefling’s voice carried. Whatever Wyll said to her in return was lost to Astairon as, beside him, Tav froze in terror, held as if with a spell. Her face was pale under the purple-gray dusk of her skin, blood draining from her in fear.

“Nau,” Tav whispered, shaking in fear. “Z’klaen alu rath - we have to go back. We have to go back.”

Karlach and Wyll were calling back. Something unimportant about this glowing tree. Tav was wilting before his eyes, terror spiking her heart rate.

“What is it, pet?” Astarion tried to stay calm for her, “Why do we have to go back?”

Tears bloomed in her eyes, spilling unheaded down her cheeks.

“Sussur lorug,” She whispered, “It’s a Susser Tree. It’s anti-magic. I can already feel it eating at me; I can’t feel the weave.”

“Well, get your magic back, then.” He knew he was being an asshole but there was no stopping it. He was terrified for her. Tav was magic, if this Sussur tree - where had he heard Sussur tree before? - was eating at her magic, surely she would die. “I don’t travel with you for your personality, you know.”

“The feeling is mutual, ass.” A watery grin turned up the corner of her mouth; she was still in there. His relief was palpable.

“You seem better,” He wasn’t better. He needed to hold her, to feel that she wasn’t going to fade away like her connection to the weave had. Astarion gathered the drow in his arms, pressing his face into the top of her head to breathe in her comforting scent.

A large hooked limb emerged from the darkness to claw through his armor like it was tissue paper, tearing his arm from its socket. Tav’s scream echoed in his ears as pain shattered his world.

Chapter Text

“Wow, a glowy underground tree!” Karlach’s voice brought understanding for the chill that had been digging dead fingers into her bones.

Tav had thought the cold and exhaustion was a result of whatever the Sovereign had done to her that morning. The bliss had long since worn off, surely her body was paying for it now. But, no, for the second time in her life she had stupidly stumbled across a gods-damned Sussur Tree. 

Waele lotha, Tav’ryneer.

The weave flickered in and out of reach; she was at the limits of the tree’s antimagic field. Karlach and Wyll, farther along the path, beyond the jagged teeth of stalactites descending from the cavern ceiling, were deep in it. She wondered if Wyll could access his powers; Mizora wasn’t near the tree, after all, and she was the fount of his power. Gale would probably appreciate the scientific bent her mind took, at a safe distance from the tree, of course.

The panic set in quickly. The weave, her very existence, wavered on a daggers edge, flashing in and out of reach. They had to leave. They had scouted enough, they had to leave. Her body shook, trying to generate heat through movement, muscles priming themselves to flee.

“Nau,” Tav whispered, shaking in fear, curling in on herself to protect the tiny spark left within. “Z’klaen alu rath - we have to go back. We have to go back.”

Astarion ignored Karlach and Wyll calling back about the tree. He turned to regard her with concern in his wine-red eyes. He was safety, he would be safety, but he didn’t yet understand. Who would know that a tree was trying to kill her?

“What is it, pet?” Astarion’s voice was calm, reassuring. She let herself believe it would be alright, it would be over soon. Relief spilled from her eyes to fall unchecked down her cheeks. “Why do we have to go back?”

“Sussur lorug,” She whispered, “It’s a Susser Tree. It’s anti-magic. I can already feel it eating at me; I can’t feel the weave.”

“Well, get your magic back, then.” He posed in front of her, backlit by the glowing blue of the tree, the very picture of an affronted nobleman. How very dare she slightly inconvenience him by dying on her feet. “I don’t travel with you for your personality, you know.”

Gods he was an asshole. Her life was ebbing from her more than it ever would under his fangs and he decided to be insulting now. His inappropriate expression of selfishness jogged her mind from its looping spirals of panic.

“The feeling is mutual, ass.” A scraping sound behind her almost caught her attention. The weave flickered again, death's grip tightening around her hollow soul. Her mind scrambled for focus and found him.

“You seem better,” Astarion gathered her into his arms; she was so cold, he felt warm by comparison. A kiss pressed into the top of her head. Wyll called out again, his words lost as the world shrank to just a bone-white hook emerging from the darkness to tear through Astarion as though he were paper. It tore him from her arms, hooked into his shoulder in a fount of blood that separated his arm from its socket. Spidersilk armor parting like rotted cloth.

A Hook Horror, one of the underdarks more powerful monstrosities, emerged from the shadows, massive and dark, long arms ending in bone-white hooks glowing ghostly pale in the faint blue light cast from the Sussur tree. Tiny eyes recessed into a wrinkled vulture's head thrust from a sparse nest of greasy red feathers. Twice as tall as Tav, the monster stood near ten feet, studded, chitinous armor covering most of its hulking body, arms and beak cruelly hooked, razor sharp. Its beetle-like body ended in sharply clawed birds feet, widely splayed to hold its weight, thickly scaled as the rest of its body. Astarion’s blood - her blood - dripped down one hooked arm, falling like red rain on the unconscious Vampire Spawn.

A scream ripped from her throat, torn from her as unwilling as Astarion’s arm was torn from him. Wordless rage and hurt. The weave crashed into Tav as her soul reached out in a blaze of vengeful anger. The storm hesitated, the Sussur tree holding it back from her grasp. She pushed until it hurt, until her soul ripped, blasting thunder at the beast before her, sending it skidding back along the tunnel.

“TAV!” Wyll’s voice echoed in her mind, their tadpoles connecting them in a moment of stress. Psionic connection outside the reach of the Sussur tree’s antimagic field. She glanced over her shoulder to see the demonic warlock squaring off with Karlach against a second Hook Horror. The rapier in his hand a tiny sliver of silver that would have no effect on the monster's thick armor plating. The green-black streak of an eldritch blast shot from his hand, dissipating harmlessly into the air almost immediately as the antimagic field fought against Wyll’s demonic powers.

“PLUCK THE BLOOMS,” Tav sent to Wyll, pushing an image of a sword slicing blue flowers along their connection. They wouldn’t survive this unless the Sussur blooms emitting antimagic were destroyed. She seized Astarion’s pack, digging through it to grab the biggest healing potion she could find, unceremoniously smashing the entire thing upon his shoulder. Bones crunched, flesh re-knit. He stopped losing blood, which was important. Her head rang, her body smashing to the ground as a hook clipped the side of her head in an ill-aimed swat that still had her seeing stars. The Hook Horror she had pushed away having returned to the fray while she scrambled to heal Astarion.

Tav rolled from the Hook Horror, instinctively reaching for her magic. Karlach’s mad laughter seemed to mock her as she found nothing. The monster followed her, thankfully, abandoning Astarion’s injured form upon the ground. Tav rolled again, enticing the creature nearer a chasm's edge. The stalactite walls flared purple as Karlach’s infernal engine lit the space with a red light that fought the Susser Trees deadly blue glow. Wyll had abandoned her to her fight, disappearing from sight to - Tav hoped - reduce the antimagic field. A hooked limb clattered to the ground, falling to the might of Karlach’s greataxe. 

Instinctively, Tav tried to cast, tried to coalesce the storm of fire and fury within The chasm that split the cavern seemed to reach down into the depths of the hells and, surely, that was where this tree was growing from. It’s glowing, twisted roots visible down and down and down. Tav’s heart chilled at the sight, the Hook Horror approaching her from behind. Feather Fall couldn’t save her. The monster approached, its hooks clacking as they bounced along the stone ground. Tav’s hand clutched one last item from Astarion’s pack. The beast closed in, hooks sweeping in, aiming for her neck. She dove under its legs, dropping a smokepowder bomb between its clawed feet, scrambling away as fast as she could, but not fast enough.

Hook met smokepowder in a great explosive ball of fire and force that tipped the Hook Horror’s hefty, armored form into the chasm, blasting Tav across the ground in painful bounces. Her head rang as it smashed into a rock; she tasted blood. One eye wouldn’t open. Astarion groaned nearby, the first sign he might be healing as the healing potion soaked into his broken body. Tav cast around for a pack, any pack, she needed a potion. Astarion probably needed another. She found nothing as she stumbled towards Astarion, still prone on the ground, his armor rent and bloody. His face was so pale, black bruises under the shadow of long eyelashes. 

Fuck it. She drew the dagger from his hip, using it to slice into her wrist. She held it to his lips, watching helplessly as her blood flowed down his face.

“Elendar,” Tav whispered, willing him to feed, to heal. “Phor guuan lu’elendar.”

“GET IT, FUCKER!” Karlach screamed as her axe cracked into the carapace of the Hook Horror before her. The chill of antimagic faded; green light danced through black smoke whispers, Tav felt echoes of satisfaction through the tadpole connection before the squirming parasite quieted. Clouds of rot choked the air as Wyll’s blight spell ended their fight with the last Hook Horror, killing it and speeding its decay all at once. At the same moment, Astarion’s lips latched onto Tav’s wrist, fangs ripped into her and all that was reduced to blood that dragged through ragged wounds. Existence reduced to a pinprick of light, shadows closing in all around her. Another deep pull at her wrist and the shadows won, consciousness fled.

Arguing voices and the clink of glass brought Tav around to consciousness. A warm bottle held to her lips.

“Drink up, soldier.” Karlach’s husky scream-rasped voice in her ear. The arguing grew louder. Was Astarion alright? Were they safe? Tav’s eyes blinked open as she drank from the potion bottle Karlach held for her, the glass rowing uncomfortably hot the longer the Tiefling held on. Healing potions were never meant to be tea. Bile rose in her throat, she grasped the bottle, taking it from Karlach’s heated touch.

“She’s awake, you know.” Karlach called over her shoulder, her infernal engine flaring in echo of the annoyance in her voice. The arguing didn’t stop. Perhaps they hadn’t heard.

“Thank you,” Tav murmured to her friend as the potion knit her body back together, the pain of healing cresting then ebbing into warm comfort. Fully repaired, body and soul as the weave pulsed around her, seeming happy and new. She sat up, “Wyll got the blooms, I guess?”

“Oh, that was great fun, soldier.” Karlach laughed though sarcasm was heavy in her voice. “I’ve always wanted to fight enormous monstrosities while the man who should have my back goes gardening.”

“I don’t know if you should go see her.” Wyll’s voice grew louder with rage. “Can’t trust you to keep your fangs to yourself in a gods-damned fight.”

The whisper of steel unsheathing seemed shockingly loud.

“I’ll see to that.” Karlach stood, moving to throw an arm around Wyll’s shoulders and gently encourage him to move off with her. They sat themselves within shouting distance, staring at the chasm together.

Tav’s eyes met Astarion’s. He stood a short distance from her, jaw clenched, dagger in a white-knuckled grip. He made no move towards her; Wyll’s words had struck home, though neither of them likely had the truth of the matter.

“Aestar?” Tav asked, opening her arms, wanting - needing - an embrace. Astarion looked away. Her heart bled more than her veins had. Hurt turned to anger.

Fine.

Tav got to her feet, shouldering her pack. They hadn’t journeyed far, there could still be grays about and she had sworn to scout, so scout she would. She could cry when safely alone.

Astarion had turned from her when she stood, sheathing his dagger with more force than necessary. She was dismissed, it seemed. Unwelcome. Well, fuck him.

Tav dropped Invisibility on herself, moving silently towards the Sussur tree’s great trunk. It was five minutes before a shout from behind her let her know someone had turned around to notice she had simply left. Whatever. They knew how to get back to camp. She moved on, her emotions boiling in a storm more chaotic than her magic ever could be.

Invisibility had long since dissipated by the time Tav stumbled upon a lone tombstone at the edge of a cliff overlooking the decrepit village where they had fought duergar and Sovereign Glut. Black water extended into the distance, darkness overtaking the limits of her vision. She read the epitaph on the stone, surprisingly carved in surface common.

In memory of Myrna - a shining light in this dark world. May you forever gaze upon the lake you loved to play in.

Someone had cared for Myrna a great deal, whoever or whatever Myrna was. Tav offered a small prayer to Eilistraee for peaceful rest, before setting herself against a nearby boulder. She curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest and allowing her tears to finally flow. Everything felt scraped empty and raw.

“You’re hard to track.” Astarion announced as stepped out of the nearby shadows.

“Not hard enough.” She muttered, trying to ignore the thrill in her heart at his appearance. “Where are Wyll and Karlach?”

“Sent them back to camp,” He explained, hovering behind her. “Can I join you?”

Yes. Always.

“Why would you want to?” She refused to turn around. He sat beside her anyway, setting his bow and weapons down first, shifting nervously at her side before seeming to make up his mind. An arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her gently into his chest. Tav went with only slight resistance. 

“I almost killed you. Again.” Astarion murmured, his arm tightening around her.

“Ho’polis d’glin almost killed you.” She answered. “I saved you.”

“Not how Wyll saw it.” He sounded haunted. The Blade of Frontiers had probably saw himself rescuing her from the clutches of a vampire, no matter how they had been traveling together for weeks and he should know better.

“I don’t care how Wyll - ”

“Ussta ssinssrigin…” A soft voice interrupted them. Clacking thumps echoing alongside. “Vel'klar inbal dos alus?”

A feral looking drow in ragged clothing shuffled into view, flanked by two Hook Horrors. A faded sussur blossom tucked into the tangles of his hair. Astarion stilled beside her, hands inching slowly towards bow and quiver.

Tav was incensed, pain and exhaustion reforming into targeted rage. This creature, this worm of a male, dared interrupt her. Raw pain accessed the full strength of the weave around her. She stood, calm in the center of a wild storm brought forth from the will of her indignation. The chill of heartbreak within expanded around her, flew through the air as clouds of frost, crashing ice and lightning upon the drow and his monstrous companions. Icy air blew hard, Astarion ducking for cover beside her with a curse as ice shards flashed everywhere. The drow screamed in pain as a particularly large piece of hail formed in the storm and smashed his femur to powder. The Hook Horrors slipped and cracked, pounded to chitinous powder by the ever growing storm of wild magic dancing on the edge of her control.

They were dead, long dead, but the storm continued. She relished in the power, the storm without a manifestation of the storm within.

“Darling, stop.” Why would he stop her? The storm needed to rage, it had to rage. Ice grew everywhere, the chill of her magic coating the rocks and ground all around. It felt wonderful.

“Tav!” Astarions hands tugged at her robe, the pale of his skin flashing in the darkness as lightning struck the drows corpse, lighting the icy storm with jagged lines of purple. Cool hands pressed into the scars of her neck. That felt better than the storm. She let her attention refocus on the gentle pain of his touch. The storm quieted, then dissipated while Tav relaxed in small increments.

“Fuck, Tav.” He breathed in wonder, gathering her close as the last of the storm winked out, power returning to the great flow of the weave. 

*****

Once the ice had melted away, Astarion left Tav to rest by the tombstone while he looted the corpse of the poor bastard that had the misfortune of pissing her off. He pulled torn pages from filthy pockets, writing in undercommon spidering across the pages in black ink. An icy crystal, freezing to the touch, shallow grooves carved into one side suggesting it used to be attached to something. Tav watched it all through half-lidded eyes, she was still hurt and it seemed they were just going to ignore it.

“Can you read this, pet?” He asked her, handing her the torn pages as he returned to his seat at her side. She took them and read aloud, translating as she went.

Protector… guardian of the Adamantine Forge? From magma rose, only in magma destroyed. Hot. Hammer. HOT HAMMER! WHERE??? Dhourn knows.

Tav threw the papers aside. The Adamantine Forge. Again. Astarion was fiddling with crystal and pieces of iron drawn from his pack. She could return to scouting without him; it would hurt less.

“I… I am sorry.” The vampire spawn finally muttered. “You did save me from the… thing.”

“Hook horror.” Tav offered.

“You saved me from the hook horror.” He corrected, the iron in his hands fitting together like puzzle pieces, slowly forming into a rime frosted staff. “Then I let Wyll and his stupid heroics get to me.”

“Because you’re an ass.” Tav smiled encouragingly.

“Because I’m an ass.” He leaned in, bumping his shoulder into hers. He passed the frosted iron staff to her. It was icy cold to touch, but secure in her grip. In the back of her mind, where her magic connected to the weave, every ice spell she knew pulsed with extra power as she held the metal haft. “Here, you can use this.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him sweetly on the cheek. He seemed flustered by it; gentle touches still so foreign. He stood, full of nervous energy.

“I want to try a cantrip from the Necromancy of Thay.” Astarion said, distracting himself from whatever feelings she had brought forth within him. “Come with me?”

He brought her to the drow’s body, calling to necromantic magic that wrapped the body in sickly green light. It sat up, eyes opening to glow with a hollow light.

“Your notes mention a ‘Guardian’ - what is it?” Astarion asked the corpse.

Protector… of the Adamantine Forge… Born from hellish heat… in helolish heat… destroyed.

A voice echoed from the corpse, though its mouth didn’t move. A Speak with Dead spell. Very useful for information gathering. Tav was impressed.

“The Adamantine Forge - what is that?” Astarion asked his next question.

Workshop… of great Silouv… Yali… Artefacts… beyond price…

“Where would I find this forge?”

Location… was Dhourn’s task… I learned… of the Guardian…

The spell waned. The corpse fell over, dead again.

“The location is probably in the memory crystal I took from Dhourn.” Tav mused. “We can figure it out once we’re back to camp. Well done on learning the cantrip.”

Astarion smiled, looking boyish in his delight.

Chapter Text

Tease Gale for his boring, book-learned wizardry though she might, Tav really did admire anyone’s ability to apply themselves to learning the intricacies of the weave. She had been shuffled through lessons at Tier Breche, always one of the worst in class, only defending herself from the knives of her classmates with her natural sorcerer’s abilities. Learning was hard, picking up a book and distilling knowledge from it was, to Tav, a magic all its own. That Astarion, with no wizard training whatsoever, had sat down with a powerful book of Necromancy and come out able to use any spell, much less something so very useful as Speak with Dead, was incredible to her. She was bursting with pride for him and meant to say so in better words than ‘well done’, but blood loss and exhaustion - both magical and emotional - caught up to her.

“You’re a wizard!” Tav slurred through a crooked smile, wavering on her feet. Astarion’s quiet delight at her pride in him morphing into amused concern. She patted his arm, missing a few times as the world wobbled along without her.

“Am I, pet?” He asked, catching her hands in his own, leading her back to the tombstone. Astarion drew her to the ground with him. He huffed a quiet laugh when she refused to be held, holding him instead, resting her head on his back, reaching around to wrap her arms around his chest.

“My Wizard.” Tav sighed, shutting her eyes.

A warm wash of healing magic flowed over her, righting the world. Exhaustion still held, she had expended a lot of energy calling the storm of ice, but the head-spinning effect of blood loss ceased as Astarion used the Amulet of Silvanus to cast Lesser Restoration on her. 

“We shouldn’t stay here.” Despite his words, he made no move to get up.

“I don’t want to go back.” Tav sighed. Couldn’t they stay in the wilds of the underdark, just the two of them? Just for a little while, before they had to face adventure, heroics and tadpole infections.

“I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of sussur bark.” Astarion mused. “We found blueprints about using it to forge a masterwork weapon, do you remember? In the blighted village before you burned it to the ground?”

“Did you keep the blueprints?” Tav didn’t remember any of that, but it had been one of the worst days, every anxiety and fear she had triggered in the space of hours.

“No,” He sighed, “I suppose it’s still there in the town forge.”

“We do have to get away before the bodies attract attention.” Tav gave his back one last big squeeze before reluctantly letting go and standing up. “We can take the long way back. Get some bark for you. If nothing else, we can use it to fuck with Gale.”

They walked past the corpses of Hook Horrors and drow, heading deeper into the tangle of sussur tree roots and limbs. Astarion kept his short sword in hand, lopping off blooms whenever they encountered them, keeping the antimagic field to something uncomfortably cold, but livable.

This corner of the cavern was fully given to the Sussur Tree; every crack in the rock or glimpse of chasms depth revealed the blue glow of the tree. Every tumbled boulder had been moved by the trees growth. Its full size was unknowable. The Mother of all Sussur trees, perhaps. Tav felt uncomfortable in the tree's presence, but her blind panic had subsided as she moved under its glittering silver branches at Astarion’s side. The tree may be a danger to her very existence, but the vampire spawn was safety and that was all that mattered. The chill of antimagic meant nothing in the face of the warm fires of her love and trust for the man at her side. They could do anything together; he wouldn’t stab her in the back for the prospect of power, nor abandon her when she was weak. Nors d’Linath had begun her down the path of friendship and trust, then the mindflayers had finalized the lessons with a kidnapping and parasitic infection. She trusted all of her companions - her friends, they were all friends -  but what she had with Astarion was a blessing from Eilistraee herself. Safety and comfort, love and laugher, feelings that still felt a little foreign, but so very welcome nonetheless. 

Did he know how she felt? Their minds had tangled lately, in blood and magic, and she felt so much fear and desperation from him. He was so often driven to cement her place at his side, fearful that she would leave when there was no need. They both had their fears, she should remember his and try to assuage them. The thought almost left her head as she watched Astarion work at cutting away a large patch of sussur blooms tangling vines around a large boulder. With each cut of his sword, the chill grasp of antimagic lightened its grip on her soul. There was no need for him to do any of this, the Hook Horrors that had made the tree their home were all dead; the only need was her comfort. He saw to it with a single minded focus that brought tears to her eyes.

The vines and blooms cleared away to reveal a portal stone, purple-light fitful as magic slowly returned to the sigil carved deep into its surface. An idea bloomed in Tav’s mind.

“Aestar, wasn’t there a portal in the blighted village?” She only had a vague memory of a portal.

“Yes, there was.” He answered with half a mind, slicing the last few sussur blossoms away.

“Splendid.” Tav grinned. “Grab your bark, we’re taking a trip.”

“A trip?” He looked at her, bemused.

“We can use this.” Tav gestured to the portal stone, magic pumping steadier through the sigil with each moment. “Pop to the village, make you a sussur bark dagger, take a moment to see the sky, then come back. Why not?”

“Ceremorphosis.” He answered wryly.

The Astral Prism was still in her pack, the dream visitor within hadn’t voiced an opinion on her idea. It fought their path through the creche with every step, surely if returning to the surface for a moment was such a bad idea, something would have happened the moment she gave voice to the idea.

“Our protector seems ok with the idea.” Tav shrugged. She wanted to see him sun-warmed, be sun-warmed herself. No one was stopping them. “We’ll be fine.”

A slow smile spread across his face, then he vanished.

Tav blinked. She had no time to react. A tearing, cracking sound behind her, bark ripping from trunk, then a pale blur picked her up and rushed her towards the sigil. A blinding flash of white light, the smell of petrichor, the warmth of sunlight flooded her senses. She couldn’t see, tears of pain pricked at the corners of her eyes, she had grown too used to the dark again.

“Gods, I’ve missed this.” His voice rumbled in his chest, where she was clasped tight. Something in the back of her mind stretched, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight. She thought it might be him.

“Would you put me down?” The something in the back of her mind balked at the suggestion. His arms tightened around her. Yes, that was definitely him. They were joined, though the connection was not nearly as strong as when he fed from her.

“You can’t see, pet.” She got a sense of satisfaction from him. Something about carrying her through the remains of the blighted village made him happy. “Why would I let you wander around blind?”

“But where are we going?” He hadn’t stopped moving since the portal sigil deposited them in the blighted village. Cool shadow and sun warmth dappled her face as he carried her through the village, the scent of old smoke teasing her senses. She had burned the village to the ground, she remembered him telling her. There must not be much left.

“We’re here.” Astarion announced once they had gone far from the scent of smoke and shadows cast by whatever remained of the village. Sunlight shone down on them unimpeded, warm and bright. He finally let her go, helping her sit upon the soft grass of a clearing. Sounds confused Tav; the clink of buckles, the thunk of something hitting the ground. A shirt was thrown at her face, surprising her. A thread of his thoughts overwhelmed her for a moment.

Warm… sun… beautiful… kind…mine. Keep. Keep her keep her keep her.

“Get undressed, daring!” Astarion laughed, shaking her from their tangled thoughts as she yanked his shirt from her head, frowning in his general direction. “We’re sunbathing.”

She lay down gingerly, feeling behind her first, the sun blinding her but still so welcome. Warm light, a fresh breeze, she could cry from the joy of it all. Cool hands began tugging at the ties of her robes. Tav realized, as Astarion’s skin brushed hers, that he had undressed. At least removed his armor and shirt. She followed along, assisting him in removing her own clothes, reducing her to leggings and stays. The sun felt wonderful on her skin, a warm kiss. The underdark was warm, but it was a stagnant, suffocating warmth. The sun and fresh breezes stirred her soul, bringing joy to her heart. Astarion made it obvious he felt the same way, as he lay beside her in the soft grass with a groan of satisfaction.

They lay together, side by side, soaking in the sun's warmth while Tav’s eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light of the sun. The act of laying in the sun together, simply being, one of the more intimate things they had ever done together.

“You know…” Astarion sighed sometime later, long after he had rolled onto his stomach to let the sun soak into his back. Tav could see, mostly, and was idly stroking his sun-warmed back. “I’ve been thinking about the runes Cazador carved into my back.”

Tav glanced at the infernal markings scouring Astarion’s entire back in wheels of indecipherable infernal text, but didn’t stop her gentle stroking. The infernal scars were part of him and she accepted every part of him. Scars, fangs and all.

“I don’t know much about Infernal,” He went on “but I know anything written in devilscript is going to be bad news. I’m afraid that through those runes - somehow - Cazador might still be able to dominate me.”

Tav’s biggest worry about her own past was someone popping up to kill her for the honor of her house. She couldn’t understand the hell Astarion had lived through for two centuries as a vampire spawn, the hell he was determined to never return to. Astarion’s worry that Cazador could reach him through the infernal scars carved into his back was a very valid concern.

“I could take a closer look, if you want?” She offered. She knew nothing of infernal, but Astarion wasn’t about to show his back to anyone else in the party. Her eyes were all they had.

“Any excuse to keep my shirt off, I see.” He chuckled. “But no, I don’t think that would serve any purpose. I need someone with a little more… expertise.”

Karlach and Wyll were the only people she could think of with experience in infernal script and he had already rejected everyone in the party as potential sources of information.

“I was thinking… our devilish friend - Raphael.” Astarion admitted. Tav stilled, panic flashing through her mind; this was a terrible idea. “If anyone’s going to know about Infernal text, he will.”

“He’ll want something in return.” The possibilities of how Raphael would wish to be paid for his knowledge chilled her soul. He could ask for Astarion’s soul, he could ask for her head on a platter. What price would Astarion consider worth paying? “Are you sure you can pay his price?”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask, now, will we?” Under her gentle hand, his pale shoulder shrugged. “Unfortunately, he comes and goes on his own schedule, so we’ll just have to look out for any sulfurous odors or the sound of questionable poetry. Meanwhile, I think I’ll spend some time studying the art of infernal negotiations.”

“Don’t pact yourself.” Tav pleaded. After watching Wyll deal with the fallout from upsetting Mizora, it was more evident to her than ever that a devil’s pact was no answer, no matter how sweet it might appear when they offered their terms.

“And outshine you in the magic department?” He glanced at her with a smirk, “I would never.”

“I’m serious.” She smacked his shoulder, the smirk fled his face.

“I know,” Astarion rolled over, hiding the infernal marks from her gaze, sitting up to gaze upon her sun-dappled face. He captured her hand in his own, holding on gently, thumb moving in small, soothing motions on her hand. “A year ago, I would have cheerfully sold my soul to be free of Cazador. I would have made a pact with the first devil I could to escape that hell. Better the devil you know, right? Well, I know Cazador and I know I would have sold myself ten times over to be free from him.

“But now…” His hand tightened around hers. “Now there is a lot more to lose. A lot more Cazador could take from me, if I ever fall back into his clutches. I need to know what is carved on my back to keep us safe.”

“We have time.” She tried to be reassuring. Eilistraee, please keep him from making a terrible decision in the name of their mutual safety. “We’ll figure it out.”

Tav pulled gently on Astarion’s hand, drawing him down to her, encouraging him to slide on top of her body, adding the heat of his sun-warmed skin to hers. He released her hand, steading himself to leand over her to kiss her lips gently, a whisper of touch that left her wanting more.

“I know you’ll figure it out.” Tav murmured as she kissed him again and again, hands gently touching, stroking the softness of his skin. “I know you will. You’re so smart.”

A strangled sound choked in the back of his throat. He shook his head in denial as their kisses continued, delicate and sweet.

“You’ve saved me so many times,” Tav continued, heaping praise upon shoulders that tried to shake it off. He didn’t know what to do with the words pouring from her, head shaking in denial after each press of his lips to hers. “You wheedled my name out of me with silly drinking games. You rescued me from a gnoll’s cookpot. You sent Karlach to fetch Shadowheart and mend my leg; I’d still be limping on it if not for you. You’re learning magic entirely on your own, just because you felt like it. You can do anything, Aestar. I know it.”

Their minds connected again. Echoes of a harsh voice, bone cold and full of hatred, spouting insults over screams and the hiss of burning flesh. Memories of torture flowed from Astarion’s mind to almost overwhelm her. She shook her head, pushing her own memories of Astarion along their connection. Fighting his painful memories with more recent ones of her own. He was a better person than he thought himself to be and she would tell him that every day for the rest of their lives.

A tear fell on her face. Tav drew back, staring into his wine-red eyes, denial present in every line of his face. She smiled.

“Come here.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his chest and hugging tightly. Just a hug. No passion behind it, only love and safety, comfort freely offered. Astarion shuddered in her arms, then he was sobbing. She babbled soothing nonsense to him, stroking the warm skin of his back while they hugged tightly in the sunlight.

*****

“This says we need to use the sussur bark in the forge fire and use that fire to enhance an already-made weapon.” Tav read the blueprints out loud in the dim basement forge of the blighted village. “How is that ‘masterwork’? This is enchanting an existing weapon, not smithing something new.”

“For the best, don’t you think?” Astarion asked as he lay the sussur bark onto the cold fire pit. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my nails trying to actually forge something.”

“Oh, of course not. What kind of heroes would we be if we didn’t save your manicure?” Tav grinned at the vampire spawns antics. “What are we going to enchant? Your shortsword already has enchantments on it. A dagger, perhaps?”

“A dagger.” He nodded firmly, drawing a dagger from his boot and laying it on the anvil. “Something we can both use.”

They worked together at the forge, setting the fires alight with flint and steel, the sussur bark resistant to any magical fire Tav tried to cast. It took time and effort, the forge space quickly becoming smokey and hot. Tav was thankful they had left the bulk of their armor and clothing above, just inside the doors to the forge. Sweat rolled down her body as they worked the fire and bellows of the forge, Astarion just as much a sweaty mess as she was.

When the fires were the same cold blue as her eyes, the dagger went into the flames, blue smoke racing up and down its blade as it became superheated in the blue fires of antimagic. Bellows kept the fires going, the heat eating every speck of sussur bark, infusing the dagger with antimagic, a hollow silence unfolding around the blade.

When it was over, the dagger quenched and set aside to cool before they could sharpen its newly deep blue blade, Tav wiped the sweat from her brow and stretched her aching muscles with a sigh. Smithing was not a job made for either of them.

Astarion stared at the dagger, pale fingers taping his lips as he contemplated something.

“I’ll draw up a bucket of water from the well,” Tav offered, suddenly feeling awkward in the silence. “We can clean up.”

“Yes, I think the apothecary’s house still had a functioning bedroom.” Astarion said, still not tearing his eyes from the dagger. “Meet me there, I’ll get a fire going.”

They left the forge together, leaving the dagger behind to cool. Tav went straight to the well, drawing up two buckets of cold water to take to the apothecary’s house near the center of town. Astarion had vanished within the buildings' charred depths, taking their clothing and other things with him.

Tav dragged the buckets into the apothecary’s house, into a room in the back of the building half-collapsed and full of sunlight. A bathtub lay twisted and broken in charred rubble - a tragedy - beside a strangely untouched bed, thick mattress only lightly dusted with dried leaves. The other side of the room was dominated by a large stone hearth where Astarion had a fire crackling merrily. The pale elf was rifling through a broken wardrobe when Tav dragged her buckets of water into the room.

“Soap!” He crowed, holding a thick yellow cake aloft in triumph.

They set to work cleaning themselves and each other, sloughing off layers of forge sweat and blood splatter, daring each other to run back to the well naked to fetch more water as it became obvious that cleaning up was more than two buckets of water could handle. Astarion finally went, strolling off with empty buckets in hand, throwing a wink over his shoulder when he caught Tav staring as he went.

The second round of cleaning could hardly be called cleaning. Tav tried to help Astarion wash his back, but he caught her hands in his own and drew her into an embrace. Gentle kisses fell like rain down her face and across her shoulders, setting her body alight faster than they had set the fires in the forge. He pulled her to the bed, gently encouraging him to join him. This was different than their usual frantic couplings, he didn’t take control, didn’t sear her with blood heated passion. Everything was slow, gentle. Tav thought of earlier, when his body shuddered at her praise, the dark memories that flooded him of insult and torment.

“Good,” She murmured, kissing her way down his body. “You’re so good.”

His denial, his murmured refusal, his shaking head all stopped when she took his length into his mouth and sucked, finding her own pleasure in the act of giving to him. Her tongue curled around the weeping head of his cock, wrenching cries of pleasure from his throat. Tav pushed her thoughts of love and safety, praise and admiration, along their connection. She didn’t care if the connection was using their tadpole powers or not, it was important that he know her thoughts, that he feel the truth of his worth. Astarion shuddered underneath her, not knowing what to do with her feelings, his instinctive denials growing weaker.

“Pet,” Astarion’s hands tightened in her hair, stopping her ministrations.

“Are we done?” Tav smiled up at him, so beautiful in the fitful sunlight of the shattered room.

“Come here,” His arms opened in encouragement. She crawled up his body, wanting to admire and touch, but unsure where he wanted this interlude to go. “Just you,” he murmured gently into her lips, kissing her sweetly in contrast with his hard length thrusting against her damp core.

“Yes,” She hissed. Please, let him want her like she wanted him. It was more important that he accept her feelings, accept her praise, but gods she wanted to ride him until he saw stars, until he was as shattered by love and passion as she was. He was everything, he needed to know he was everything. Clever fingers found her clit, circling maddeningly, teasing her to the point of insanity.

“So wet,” Astarion murmured, slipping two fingers into her wet heat, driving her mad as he touched all her secret places, heightening the full body throb of pleasure that overcame her senses. “For me?”

“Naut vrine'winith,” Tav whined, her body clenching, “need you, need you please.”

Hands on her hips positioned her over him. Then he was sliding into her, the stretch so welcome, their bodies joining alongside their minds. Her pleasure was his, their passion blending and merging. He felt so tight around her, she thrust helplessly, chasing the peak. They were one.

So good… only her… mine… Mine. Mine. Mine.

Everything crashed together. They reached the peak of pleasure, orgasm shuttering their minds, stuttering hearts and breath.

“Love you,” Someone murmured, voicing their joint thoughts.

Chapter Text

“...Of course, we had no idea those things exploded like that!” Wyll was regaling Tav with tales of how they had taken a small detour to rescue the mushroom-hunting dwarf Baelen Bonecloak on their way back to camp from their fight with the Hook Horrors.

“You’re lucky you didn’t ignite the entire field,” Tav shook her head with a forced smile, her eyes were distant with painful memories. “I did that once, it was pretty terrifying.”

“Really?” Wyll asked as he worked alongside the drow, “You’ll have to tell me that tale.”

The companions had packed up their camp and were loading their few possessions not magically shrunk onto the pontoon boat in the decrepit village that once housed Deep Gnomes, then Duergar. Wyll and Karlach had found the poor dwarf in a bibberbang field; he had fallen from a cliffs edge above, managing not to set off the explosive mushrooms, but unable to move an inch for his lit torch had fallen as well. It was a dicey rescue, though neither Wyll nor Karlach had realized quite how much danger they had been in until Baelen was safe and explained the situation to them.

Tav hadn’t really wanted to talk to Wyll when she had returned to the Myconid grove with Astarion. Wyll had been a complete ass after their fight with the Hook Horrors, accusing Astarion of attacking Tav. A strong nudge from Karlach sent the Monster Hunter over to apologize. Tav accepted it for both of them, Astarion wasn’t feeling near as gracious as she, but would follow her lead. Their little break in the sun had put him in a good mood, so he refrained from stabbing the one-eyed man.

The boat upon which they worked was a strange mix of massive, hollow bones and stretched pieces of leather tied tightly around gray planks of not-quite-wood that Tav identified as something called zurkhwood. It looked like two long boats had been constructed of massive rib cages, with a quarterdeck spanning the two boats, turning them into pontoons of one single ship. The quarterdeck held a massive handle for the rudder and a tall frill of bones covered in oiled cloth in parody of sails. No weather or wind would be found in the underdark. They could only rely on currents and oars to get them to the other side of the lake.

The companions finished lashing their things to the boat and cast off into the lightless depths of the cave. Astarion stationed himself in one of the bows, greedy for the sight of moving water beneath him. Lae’zel and Halsin took control of the ship's massive rudder, their strength pushing it against the flow of water to direct the craft on its journey. Everyone else found a position on the boat where they could, lounging on or around their secured possessions, Scratch set himself up near Halsin, resting on the quarterdeck. After navigating the shallows of the inlet in which the boat had been anchored, they left towering mushrooms and sheer cliff sides behind, the lake into which they sailed seemed to go on forever, a lightless void.

“Everyone can swim, right?” Karlach asked, her voice carrying across the water, after Gale dropped a glowing bottle of alchemist's fire into the water, losing it to sight long before it found any bottom. In the center of the deck, as far from the water as possible, Tav and Shadowheart exchanged nervous glances.

“No,” The cleric admitted, her face growing pale. “I can’t.”

“Me either.” Tav echoed, a note of fear in her voice.

Astarion turned from where he stood at the bow, overlooking the rushing black water, but Wyll was already with Tav and Shadowheart, settling them down between secured packs, tugging Tav’s hood up from the back of her robes, making sure the deep cowl hid the sight of endless black water from her as best he could. He told silly jokes, getting the women to laugh and forget their nerves as Halsin and Lae’zel handled the massive rudder of the boat, directing their adventure deeper into the black emptiness of the lake.

“Quite the view,” Karlach’s voice distracted Astarion. He turned to his side to see the fiery tiefling also staring back at Wyll, Shadowheart and Tav, a small smirk on her face. Shadowheart’s bright laughter at something Wyll had said tinkled through the air, turning Karlach’s small smirk into a wider grin.

“Light to port!” Gale cried out, interrupting anything Astarion may have said to Karlach. Everyone looked around, not knowing what side port was. An identical pontoon boat pulled alongside theirs, entering the same current to run along side-by-side. Manned entirely by Duergar who clearly knew their way around the boat better than the companions did.

“You there!” A raspy voice called out, a balding gray dwarf stepping forward to take charge of the situation. “Why are you in Gekh’s raft?”

Tav stood, turning to face the Duergar Corsair, keeping her hood shadowing her face, but allowing her white hair to glow in the little light shed by torches on each boat. She took in the Duergar and his crew of five, each dark skinned, with darker face tattoos. They all wore a similar uniform of dark green and blue, the sigil of the Absolute Cult shining proud silver on each chest. Tav showed no nerves in the face of the Duergar sailors, though a small gesture at her waist had Shadowheart sliding the Blood of Lathander from a pack, preparing to send its light into the grays if needed.

“Drow!” The Corsair stated, a little shocked but not afraid, after catching sight of Tav’s hair and skin. “We weren’t expecting more of you. Did True Soul Nere call for you? Where’s Gekh? Who are you?”

“I saw a body left by the myconids,” Tav kept her eyes low, shadowed by her cowl, but answered the Duergar as leader. Astarion recognized her ‘evil drow’ tone of voice, authority and arrogance. The expectation that she would be obeyed was obvious, a silent threat in every word. “Your ‘Gekh’ must be dead.”

The gray dwarf rolled his eyes and cursed a lengthy streak.

“Damn it. Gekh’s gone and screwed up.” The Duergar muttered into his pale gray beard. “If he’s dead, so’s the squad.”

“Move over - I’ll take you to shore. You’re the one telling the sergeant what happened.” The gray Corsair made good on his words, clamoring over to their boat, heading up to the quarterdeck to take over control of the rudder. He turned to call back to his crew, ”The rest of you - keep patrolling. I’m heading back with the drow.”

The Absolute cultists obeyed their leader, the hooded dwarf at their own rudder moved the large lever and their boat headed out. Tav made her way up to the quarterdeck, where the Corsair had taken over control from Halsin and Lae’zel, piloting them with unerring accuracy through the lightless waters of the underground lake. Neither Halsin nor Lae’zel moved very far away, both prepared to jump the Corsair at Tav’s gesture.

“Surprised Nere called for you,” The Corsair was saying to Tav, conversational as though they were old friends having a pint. “He’s a right prick, always going on about how amazing he is, how favored by the Absolute. Didn’t think he’d be into Lady Drow.”

“Perhap he’s not as grand as he thinks.” Tav replied, an ominous tone haunting her voice.

“Well, this’ll be a right show.” The Corsair laughed.

Soon, they could see murky lights in the distance. Lights that grew into a large, portcullis entrance of thick, black iron bars set in massive blocks of granite piled high. The gate was flanked by incredibly tall statues of Shar, body lithe and face heavily masked. The foreboding entrance, heavily fortified and obviously dedicated to the Lady of Loss, marked the location as the Grymforge. The secret Sharran enclave beneath Halsin’s Shadowlands. A chain was thrown, the portcullis raised with the clank of metal. Their boat sailed into a small, yet heavily fortified harbor. Somewhere within was an entrance to the surface, to Moonrise towers and the cure promised by both Halsin and their Dream Visitor.

“Well I’ll be ploughed sideways,” Their Duergar Captain spat as he carefully brought the boat to dock. “We’ve got a welcoming party.”

More Duergar approached the boat, one catching the thick hemp rope the Corsair threw down, tying the boat up to a large stone balustrade. The companions disembarked, Tav at their head.

“Greymon, you shithead!” A Duergar woman, her head fully shaved, faint markings curling down her dark face from her pale eyes, called out to the Corsair. “Time you showed up. We got trouble.”

“Spit it out Morghal,” Corsair Greymon replied in an equally rough tone of voice, “Sergeant finally choked on True Soul Nere’s prick?”

Fitful torchlight nearby caught a pendant of a broken arrow on the woman’s neck. The sigil of Laduguer, the Duergar’s evil god. Tav took note that this woman didn’t follow the Absolute cultists. Perhaps the Duergar clan assisting Nere were split on the choice to follow the Absolute. A split that could be useful.

“Drugh no. The Twat-Soul caused a rockfall.” Morghal replied to Greymon’s questioning. “Trapped tighter than a ring on a fat finger.”

“You’re shitting me,” Corsair Greymon sat back on his heels and thought for a moment. “He pay up?”

“That’s the trouble - he’s got the gold on him.” Morghal’s tone of voice made it obvious the true tragedy of the events that left Nere trapped under a rockfall; the gold on his person. “Sergeant’s arm is falling off with all the gnome slaves she’s been beating.”

Tav’s jaw clenched at the mention of slaves. Astarion, standing just behind her, reached out a comforting hand to her lower back. She breathed through the moment, now was not the time to decimate slavers, no matter how much they deserved it. They were standing at the harbor entrance to an extensive complex, heavily fortified and well guarded by the Duergar. Who knew what they would face inside?

“Who’s the hoon - friend of Nere’s? Or you plowin’ drow now?”

“Disgusting.” Tav shuddered with revulsion at the idea. These were not the sort of people she wanted to spend any time with. Just as xenophobic and mad as her own. “I assure you, we’re not ‘plowing’.”

“Pity for you.” Morghal smirked. “A good plow might dislodge that stick from your…”

Morghal grimaced in pain, scrunching her eyes shut for a moment. The tadpole in Tav’s mind stirred, but no answering echo came from Morghal. She wasn’t infected, no True Soul, but there was a tingle of connection all the same.

“I’ll be. You’re one of them cult-freaks. Felt the tingle.” Morghal remarked once the tadpole had calmed and any pain had receded. She pulled a dagger from her belt, fisting the hilt tightly to wave it at Tav. “Your Twat-Soul chum owes us a load of coin. You want through? Make a donation.”

Wyll and Karlach tensed at her side, but Tav didn’t move. She gave a humorless laugh, the arrogance of the drow thick in her voice. She stared down the woman from the darkness of her cowl, letting the silence stretch for a moment before answering softly. “I’m not giving you a single gold piece.”

“Unclog your hole.” Morghal slipped the dagger back into it’s sheath, either having been bluffing or realizing that a fight with a drow wasn’t how she wanted to end her life. “Just shitting around. But I’m warning you - that Twat-Soul ain’t settle up soon, there’ll be hell to pay for the lot of you cult-buggers.”

The Duergar moved off, Morghal and Greymon talking loudly about seeing where Nere was trapped and laughing at how hard the Sergeant was working the slaves.

Alone, or at least out of hearing of the Duergar, Tav turned to the party, thinking furiously.

“What now, hero?” Wyll asked, “I’m glad they spoke common, but I have to be honest I still don’t know what’s going on.”

“We seem to have the run of the place.” Halsin observed. “We could just find the entrance to the Shadowlands and leave.”

“Leave?!” Karlach was horrified. “They have gnome slaves! We have to free them!”

“It’s not our problem,” Astarion argued back, “You want to fight a whole Duergar clan to free a couple gnomes? It’s a death sentence!”

Gale took Karlach’s side, Shadowheart dithered between letting Nere die and saving the gnomes, though the presence of Shar everywhere in the compound had her encouraging them to stay and explore. Lae’zel wanted to move directly to Moonrise, every moment not focused on their cure, a waste. The group fell to arguing while Tav stood back, watching and absorbing it all. Eventually, she backed away entirely, sitting on a nearby crate, watching their boat gently bob in the water, letting the whispered arguments of her friends wash over her.

“Well?” Lae’zel stated, planting herself in front of the drow. “We waste time arguing. Make a decision.”

“I don’t want this at our backs,” Tav spoke her thoughts out loud, gathering them together slowly. “A Duergar clan, if they’re mercenary or Absolute cultists, either way not safe for us to leave behind us. Especially if they have a leader in this Nere and whatever crafts their gnome slaves could provide. We need to deal with this before moving on.”

“You can dig Nere out, then.” Astarion spoke with heavy sarcasm as he joined her on her crate. “I’m not ruining this manicure digging out some drow asshole.”

“What about killing?” Tav leaned her shoulder into the vampires’, bumping her body into his. “Will you help me kill him if I decide I don’t like him?”

“Of course, darling,” He purred in her ear. “Maybe I’ll get to find out if all drow blood is as delicious as yours.”

Jealousy flashed through Tav as she narrowed her eyes at the smirking vampire leaning into her.

“Let’s go save some gnomes!” Karlach whooped, breaking the moment.

*****

“Let me see your eyes, underelf.” A bloodied Duergar spat at Tav as the companions moved through the compound of Grymforge. The Duergar had a dirty red cloth tied over his face as a bandage over a wicked injury. He was dressed in the same uniform of the Absolute as the Duergar on the lake had been, blue and green, the sigil of the absolute dangling from a pendant around his neck. This Duergar seemed to be in control of a sort of prison, iron cages lay scattered around the stone floor, most containing dead drow. A group of spiders, each half as big as Scratch, chittered together in one corner.

Tav paused, waving Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart and Karlach ahead to seek more information about the gnome slaves and the trapped True Soul they could free, or let die. She was still undecided. The four moved onwards, disappearing up a crumbling set of stairs, following in the footsteps of Morghal and Greymon.

Halsin, relying on Tav’s distracting the Duergar in front of them, moved to the back of the prison space, chittering softly to the spiders. He could gain information from the creatures that he would share with them later. A murmured command to Scratch left the dog pressing tightly to Tav’s leg.

Tav cast her hood back, settling her blue gaze upon the injured Duergar before her.

“Absolute must’a took you in.” The Duergar nodded to himself, once he confirmed that Tav’s eyes lacked the red cast of the Lolth-sworn.

“Where did these drow come from?” Lae’zel asked, while Tav tried to burn a hole into the Duergar before them with her gaze alone.

“Caught ‘em sniffin’ around. Easy marks - had the stench of the top-lands.” The Duergar boasted. “Hung them here as a warning. Ain’t no one drughs with Clan Flameshade.”

The chittering in the corner grew intense. The spiders arguing with each other and Halsin. THe Duergar almost turned to see what was going on, Tav’s voice brought his attention back to her.

“Who hung these drow out to dry?” Tav forced herself to ask around the tension and fear in her mind. There was no love lost between Drow and Duergar, both people xenophobic supremacists of the underdark. She stood, a lone drow amongst the bodies of her people, be they Lolth-sworn or Seldarine and this Duergar had the might of his clan behind him. A dangerous prospect.

“Me - who else?” The Duergar puffed up, proudly, speaking as one Absolute cultist to - he thought - another. “My spiders sussed ‘em out of hiding, then Nere taught ‘em a thing or two, and I let ‘em fly.”

“Tell me they put up a fight, at least.” Astarion drawled at Tav’s side.

“Nah - the spiders had already tired them out by the time Nere got his hands on them.” The Duergar continued to brag. He was proud of the disfigured corpses spilling from iron cages all around them. “Once he broke their brains, their tongues wouldn’t stop waggin’. No fight in ‘em after that. Didn’t so much as groan when I snapped their spines.”

The chittering cut off, suddenly. The spiders, as one, fled the area, disappearing deeper into the complex. Halsin threw Tav a wink; the spiders would not be returning. The Master Druid entered the conversation, praising the Duergar for his swift work on the drow, praise the Absolute and other meaningless drivel Tav didn’t catch as she stared at her fallen people. She hoped they weren’t Seldarine, but she also hoped they were. She hoped they died free. Halsin disengaged them all from the conversation, encouraging the party to move up the crumbled staircase, deeper into the shattered compound of Grymforge. Scratch, once more at the druids' side. A large, purple orb, a scrying eye, patrolled the stairwell, passing them as they climbed.

Grymforge was a strange place. Newer masonry piled on ancient, both shattered to rubble and covered in sulfurous yellow crystals. The place had existed for millenia, forgotten, rediscovered, rebuilt, then smashed to gravel by something large and - judging from the sulfurous stench still clinging to the crystals - very demonic. Somewhere within its depths, Tav suspected, lay the Adamantine forge. Perhaps still functional, perhaps not. Duergar, Clan Flameshade, swarmed the ruins like ants. Some dealt with the corpses of gnome slaves, tiny bodies shattered by some great force. Others inspected the ruins of the Grymforge, seeking answers in the stone, the story of the compound waiting to be discovered, it’s treasures waiting to be revealed. Not all the Duergar wore the uniform of the Absolute. One particular elder, a grisled older man, head shaved, beard neatly tied and face a swirl of intricate black tattoos, caught Tav’s ear as he muttered to a companion about the lost wages the Clan was facing. Nere, it seemed, hadn’t been paying Clan Flameshade as agreed and may be facing a mutiny should he survive the rockfall.

“... Seen her run with a barrel under her arm. Just a small one, but enough to blow the drow out.” The elder Duergar was saying to his companion. “Someone should grab it. Slaves are never gonna manage with pickaxes.”

“Can’t go chasing ‘maybes’, Elder Brithvar.” The bald Duergar guard replied, resignation heavy in her voice. “The sergeant’s our ticket in.”

“Would you look at that, Kur.” Elder Brithvar caught Tav listening in as the companions lingered in the stairwell. Wyll’s voice echoed down; he was having his own conversation with the Duergar above. Something about the rockfall. “Someone’s having a listen.”

Again, the tadpole squirmed behind Tav’s eye, a tingle of connection where there should be no connection. Brithvar had no parasite infection, but his anger, ancient resentments of the Duergar, flooded her mind nonetheless. The man hated drow, hated that his clan had been infected by worship of the Absolute, hated that they were beholden to True Soul Nere. He wanted payment and he wanted to return to their home, pulling his people out and purging them of the Absolute’s filth.

“True Soul, no less.” Brithvar stated to his companion, acknowledging the brief connection his mind had shared with Tav, the Duergar’s natural psionic abilities allowing him to recognize, in a way, Tav’s infected nature. “What do you think, Kur, should we take Nere’s debt off her?”

“I want Nere out.” Tav stated, desperately clinging to the arrogance and confidence any drow would show to a Duergar. Her lip curled with disgust, that she had to lower herself to speak to Duergar. If this Elder caught on that Tav was afraid, things would end very badly for the heavily outnumbered companions. “It sounds like you have a lead.”

“I ain’t parleying with more Twat-Souls, and you got the stench.” Elder Brithvar spat, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a mind flayer shat a worm in your brain. Should split your head open and poke around in there if you lot don’t pay up.”

Just behind her, Tav heard the whisper of steel leaving sheath. Astarion and Lae’zel both had their weapons ready. Halsin had taken a large step back, giving him room to transform should she need. Elder Brithvar could try to poke around in her head, but he would lose his own the second he put a finger on her.

“Go on, try it.” Tav smirked, all drow arrogance and bloodlust. She hoped the bluff would work, she really didn’t want to fight an entire Duergar clan. “We’ve been itching for a fight.”

“You don’t need to ask twice.” The Elder reached for his own weapon, a cruel pickaxe that had never faced rock. “Your blade ready, Kur?”

“Drop it, Brithvar.” Kur, the guard standing beside Elder Brithvar, hadn’t moved a muscle. Perhaps the first Duergar in existence to not want to chop a drow down with her axe. The purple orb of the scrying eye passed by them on the loop of its patrol route. Tav considered it’s presence, and whomever watched from it, may have saved her life. “You chop this one, and Nere won't pay a damned copper.”

“Fine.” Brithvar re-sheathed his pickaxe, Kur’s words stilling his hand, for now. “Spill what you want, True Soul, before I choke on your stench.

“Stench? Ridiculous.” Tav played a desperate hand. The Duergar Elder was clearly not happy with the Absolute Cult or True Soul Nere. A mutiny could take care of the Duergar presence at Grymforge; they could kill each other or leave, either would prevent the threat of a clan of Gray Dwarves at their backs when they journeyed onward to the shadowlands. “I’m no more a True Soul than you are.”

The tadpole seized in her mind again, a cold shiver. Elder Brithvar shook his head.

“The stench don’t lie. You’re one of them.”

“I was a True Soul,” Tav allowed herself to admit to the Elder. “”The cult lied to me - now I want revenge.”

“Hm… revenge, eh?” The lie took. Brithvar was hooked. Astarion and Lae’zel resheathed their weapons. A cool hand on Tav’s back encouraged her to keep going. Astarion understood her plan. “In that case, I got a proposal. Want to earn some gold?”

“Depends,” The answer was yes, of course, but if the idea was Brithvars, he would be more likely to follow through on it. “What do you need done?”

“Sergeant Thrinn’s after the Absolute’s glory - that’s why she’s got those slaves digging for Nere.” Brithvar explained, hatred heavy in his voice. “But we ain’t need glory, just coin. And Nere’s got plenty. Help Thrinn free Nere - then you and my chums grind him up. Whatever the spoils, we’ll drop you a fat cut. You in?”

“I’m in.” Tav agreed. It was to be a mutiny. Duergar against Duergar.

“Good. But first we need to take care of something.” Elder Brithvar leaned in, lowering his voice. “You seen that weird orb-eye floatin’ about? Knife it And don’t get caught. The cult watches through it. And we can’t risk more Twat-Souls showing up.”

Tav nodded to the elder, before gathering her companions and moving up the stairs. Destroy the orb, start a mutiny. Depending on what information the others had gathered, it seemed they had a plan to set in motion.

Chapter Text

“Ah, here she is,” Wyll gestured widely, as though he had summoned her with a spell when she entered the magma-lit space at the top of the broken stairwell. “True Soul Tav.”

Upon entering the space, Tav was immediately awash in sweat, the humid air too hot even for her liking.  Behind her, Scratch panted loudly, trying to cool his body down. Halsin, Lae’zel and even Astarion remarked on the heat. Magma pooled and flowed through cracks in the decimated chamber. Dark sculptures of Shar, wrought centuries earlier by the hands of her faithful, were lit from underneath in lurid tones of orange and red as the magma burst and bubbled. In the distance, seen through shattered walls, the earth's superheated blood continued to bubble and flow. There were also more crumbling walls, more man-made structures, reliefs and sculptures to indicate the Grymforge complex continued, even if there was no obvious path through the fiery heat of liquid rock.

Another Duergar woman, Sergeant Thrinn, Tav assumed, turned from speaking with Wyll to regard Tav and her party with a baleful eye. The Sergeant’s short white hair pushed across her face in a sweaty mess, eyes pale under black slashes of a face tattoo. She was oddly barefooted, Tav noticed, worst of all, a leather scourge dangled from one of her gray hands, blood dripped from shards of metal tied to each braided end. Behind them, a group of deep gnomes worked feverishly, applying pickaxe and shovel to a large entryway choked with fallen debris and heavy boulders. Each gnome had tears in the back of their shirts, blood dripped freely from scourge wounds. Karlach, looming over Wyll’s shoulder, glared at Tav meaningfully. The tieflings face gave everything away; Tav was thankful the Duergar had turned from Wyll, so she wouldn’t notice.

The room was full of Duergar, some moving through routes as guards, others passively observing the room, holding tight to axe or crossbow. Most wore the uniform of the Absolute cult. In this space, with these numbers, a mutiny would be short lived. Murmurs behind her, Lae’zel’s voice and Corsair Greymon discussing barter. Astarion and Halsin at her shoulders, both helping add intimidating height to her presence. The Duergar woman before her was tall, for a dwarf. Tav was barely half a foot taller than her. The surface elves with her, Vampire Spawn and Druid, towered over them all.

“What now?” The Sergeant asked, exhaustion rasping her voice. She rolled her right shoulder, stretching and flexing the arm that wielded the scourge. 

“How’s the dig?” Tav asked the woman, forcing herself to stare into the slavers pale eyes. With the sergeant’s attention fully on Tav, Wyll and Karlach were able to speak quietly with the gnomes. Shadowheart stepped forward from the shadows behind Karlach to share her waterskin with the exhausted slaves. Gale, face pale and robes drenched with sweat, didn’t move from the shadows where he had been resting with Shadowheart.

“Poorly, obviously. Tunnel collapsed on a True Soul.” The Duergar rolled her eyes, impatient as having to speak, what was to her, the obvious. “Absolute’s going to eat my liver. Now move. I’ve got no time for - ”

Again, the parasite behind Tav’s eye stirred. A tickle stirred her mind, an echo of barely healed scars. Sergeant Thrinn winced in shared pain, then grinned.

“You really are a True Soul, eh?” The Sergeant noted, when the tingle of connection faded. “Didn’t think Nere would’ve sent for you, but I’m glad you’re here. You can take responsibility for the tunnel collapse. True Soul Nere’s trapped in there with poisoned geysers. We don’t get him out, it’s both our heads.”

“Clearing that rubble will be no easy feat.” Tav observed. Her mind spun, counting Duergar and resources. Would it be better to leave Nere to die, to fight the Duergar here and now, or to continue with the mutiny? “Do you have any ideas?”

“Not a one.” Thrinn cackled. “Unless you count tacking aboleth fags to my whipping came.”

By the gnomes, Shadowheart hissed at Karlach, stopping her from clobbering the Sergeant. They couldn’t afford a fight right now, they were severely outnumbered.

“I’ll take care of it.” Tav assured, glaring at Karlach over the Duergar Sergeant’s head. Wyll still murmured to one of the gnomes, the fellow looked out of place, in better garb than the others, leather vest keeping his back safe from the scourge. A leader, perhaps?

“Thought you would.” Sergeant Thrinn nodded. “True Souls don’t abandon their own.”

Tav stepped forward to investigate the collapse herself. The fallen boulders were massive, heavy rocks, some laced with faint rivers of silver. The Adamantine Forge lay somewhere within the depths of the complex, perhaps it was forge and mine all at once. If the boulders, bigger than the gnomes, were also laced with mithril, slave labor alone would do nothing to free Nere. They needed something with more force. Something explosive.

The closer she stepped towards the wreckage, the more the parasite in her mind began to stir. A panicked voice flooded her mind.

“Issnaqin! Pinsu... doeb d'ghil.” The undercommon that flooded her thoughts was oddly accented. A drow spoke, but not one from Menzoberranzan. Nere, Tav assumed, reaching out as the poison choked the life from him. His thoughts were a muddle of frustration and rage. Tav pushed harder at the connection. Perhaps, if she could assist Nere in scraping himself together, he could be of assistance from the other side of the cave-in.

Suddenly, Tav’s entire body seized, the tadpole in her mind squirming as the one in Nere’s head clutched tightly at hers. Panic and terror flooded her senses, almost subsuming her own thoughts under choking fear. Each breath was pain, acid melting her lungs but she couldn’t stop breathing it in.

“A Tru… Sou… True Soul?” The voice coughed in her mind, switching to common. She coughed in turn. They were one, they couldn’t breathe.

“Tav?” Astarion’s worried voice. He should be worried, she was dying in a poison cloud and couldn’t tell him. The wall of tumbled rocks swam before her eyes. “Halsin, do something.”

“Yes, I am a True Soul.” Tav pushed, she tried to disengage. Nere was drowning and she was a lifeline he would not release. He was dragging her down with him.

“Finally! You must clear… rubble.” Nere’s panicked demands held echoes of the authority of a True Soul. Tav feld no urge to follow through on his demands. Either she was protected, or immune. Still his fear clutched at her, the poison in his lungs was choking them both. A hand at her shoulder sent a cool tingle of magic into her body, clearing her airways, letting her breathe. Humid, volcanic air never tasted so sweet.

“What happened here?” She demanded of Nere, their minds' connection fading as oxygen began moving through her body again.

“Expedition… passage trapped.” Nere gasped out his explanation, mind flailing as oxygen grew less and less. “Gnomes… Useless. Don’t trust… mercs… Get me OUT!”

Tav pushed her mind farther, twisted herself in Nere’s grip so she was holding on to him instead. Her tadpole coiled in agony. The tumbled rock wall keeping Nere sealed in the chamber beyond wavered in her vision. Instead she saw billowing green clouds. Faint motion as small forms deep in the poisonous fog wrecked feverishly to clear stone and rock. She lifted her hands and saw Nere’s hands lift into her line of vision, beyond the shaking purple-gray hands, two small bodies lay broken and scorched on the ground. Gnome slaves, killed by powerful magic. 

Black darkness was closing in at the edges of Nere’s vision, coughs racking his body more and more. Tav forced him to move, forced him to stand. The surviving gnomes, noticing that Nere moved behind them, began to double their efforts, terror painting their faces. Tav caught sight of a door on the other end of the collapsed chamber. A door! Even locked, it shouldn’t be hard work to knock it down or open it. Airflow would save them all. Disgust curled her lip; that Nere would sit back and wait for his slaves to save his life, that he would reduce the workforce by two with angry magic, possibly dooming them all. The shortsighted, chaotic brutality of it all. 

It was very drow.

“Tav, you have to let go.” Gale’s voice. The tiniest thread of Netherese magic touched her soul. Her body recoiled. She had one shot before Gale took it upon himself to save her.

“Dalharuk d'biu lael da'ur ssindossa!” Tav spat the blasphemous insult into Nere’s mind, pleased to feel his shock, his dawning understanding that he was speaking with a female drow. “Open the door, you fool.”

The connection severed. Tav’s tadpole relaxed, the pain in her mind settled to a throbbing ache. Her eyes fluttered open, body leaning too far forward. Gale caught her hands in her own to prevent her falling, though his hunger pulled stronger when their skin made connection. Tav pushed away, thudding backwards into Halsin, also standing far too close. Everyone was too close; she was surrounded by her friends, unable to fall in a surprisingly tight crowd.

“Gale, you need to eat something.” She murmured, shaking off the exhaustion of mental connection. Astarion, at her left, grabbed her arm and pulled her into his embrace, keeping her as far from Gale as he could. “Could everyone step back a little? We need to get out of here.”

Once the companions were satisfied Tav could stand on her own, they broke apart, allowing the Duergar to see the drow once more. Sergeant Thrinn, her hands on her hips, stared at Tav with skepticism as Astarion tugged her farther away from Gale, while trying to give the impression of a bodyguard and not a possessive vampiric lover.

“What cocking nonsense was that?” The Sergeant demanded. Tav lifted her head, face  coated in disgust as she stepped from Astarion’s embrace to play ‘evil drow’ to the hilt one more time.

“I have made connection with True Soul Nere,” She announced distainfully, projecting her voice into the room and all the Absolutist Duergar who stood guard. “If he listened, he is opening a door for airflow as I speak. This will give us time. Keep on with the digging, we will return with another solution.”

Keeping up the act, Tav made an imperious gesture, a flourished version of the sign language of her people, the message to her companions hopefully clear. She then strode off, under a crumbling archway, towards the splashing sounds of water. They needed to talk away from Duergar and Scrying Eyes. Astarion and Halsin, continuing the hired muscle act, gathered everyone else to follow Tav into the cooler depths of the Grymforge.

Tav walked with confidence, as though she knew the complex, knew where she was going. As though she had strength in her limbs. Down another broken stairwell, passed Duergar tents and supplies, passed a small stable of deep rothé, along a crumbling corridor marked with yellow crystals and the stench of sulfur. 

For reasons that she still didn’t quite understand, everyone else followed her.

*****

“Wyll, tell me what you know.” Tav sighed, finally resting on the ground, a dusty crate as her backrest, after the companions had settled into an unexplored portion of the Grymforge. Karlach and Shadowheart poked at skeletons still wearing armor marked with Sharran symbols, Gale was resting casually beside a small fire he had built on a crumbling ledge overlooking a wild spray of cold salt water, the nearby lake flooding into the shattered Grymforge complex. The wizard was taking the time to recover after having absorbed another piece of enchanted treasure to slate the hunger of the Netherese Orb within him. Lae’zel sharpened her greatsword beside him, not caring about plans, only seeking to kill or cure herself of the tadpole infection. Wyll and Halsin sat around the fire eating a cold meal of fruit and bread, Scratch begging both men for scraps. On the other side of the fire, as far from Gale as possible, Tav and Astarion had settled in.

Tav had explained the potential for mutiny within the Duergar Clan; everyone agreed the idea had merit. But what had Wyll learned in speaking with the gnome slaves?

“One of the gnomes escaped with a fair amount of smokepowder,” Wyll explained, “She’s most likely hiding in a spot the gnomes set aside before the Duergar came. They marked it on this map for me. If we get the smokepowder, we could blow Nere and the other gnomes out. It would clear the cave-in for sure.”

“How can we trust that?” Astarion asked, frowning at the map in Wyll’s hand. “They think we’re True Souls , surely they’re just trying to send us off to our deaths. Probably marked a cave full of Hook Horrors or something worse.”

“I think we can trust because we’ve rescued one of the gnomes already.” Wyll grinned, “Remember the gnome we saved in the blighted village? Poor Barcus has the worst luck with his adventuring because he’s currently trying to get Nere out of the cave-in. He knows we’re not slavers.”

Tav remembered rescuing the gnome. Wyll had sent the deep gnome on his way while she unleashed agony and fury on the goblins who had tormented him, the slavers who had tipped her already precarious mood into destructive darkness. She had emptied herself of magic and tears that day, reacted without thinking in a way that put all of her friends in danger. It was also the first night Astarion had spent the night in her tent, just sleeping, just taking physical comfort from each other. A day of highs and lows; one she would not forget anytime soon.

“Is Barcus with the other gnomes?” Tav asked, wondering if there would be a division amongst the svirfneblin as there was with the duergar.

“In a way,” Wyll paused in thought, wondering how to explain, “Barcus is looking for a friend. His friend was with these gnomes. That one’s been sent on to Moonrise, though. One of them, Laridda, is worried for this Philomeen who’s run off; they’re in love, it seems. She didn’t want them to give me her location. Another of the gnomes is worried for his husband, trapped with Nere. Between Barcus and promising Lunkbug that we’d save his spouse, I think we can trust this map.”

“Just saying,” Karlach’s voice carried, echoing through the chamber as she and Shadowheart investigated the fallen Sharrans, “whatever killed a bunch of Sharrans might still be down here.”

“I suspect it was demonic.” Gale called to the women. Karlach and Shadowheart left their investigation to join everyone else at the fire.

“What do you mean, Gale?” Shadowheart asked, “These Dark Justiciars are ancient; they’re nothing but bones and armor. How could you know what killed them?”

“Have you noticed the yellow crystals everywhere?” Gale asked, pointing to a small cluster of them nearby, “That’s not a natural formation to this plane. Some massive hellbeast smashed through this place some time ago.”

“Fuck me,” Karlach swore quietly, after giving a low whistle. “How did I not notice that?”

“Because you’re not a hellbeast.” Wyll smiled softly across the fire at the tiefling.

“Ha. Yeah,” Karlach returned Wyll’s smile. “Neither are you.”

*****

Hours later, Tav regretted a lot of her decisions as she, Astarion and Halsin stood before Philomeen in a crumbling room high up in the shattered Grymforge complex. The Deep Gnome shook with fear and adrenaline, magical fire clenched in one fist, held closely over a large canister of black powder.

Tav’s arm still smoked, her flesh still burned from the acid attacks of the Ochre Jellies they had fought on their way to the Svirfneblin safe room. She had been asking Halsin for healing when Astarion threw open the massive set of doors rather than sneaking around to the other entrance as Wyll had told them. The doors crashed into the walls, one falling completely off its hinges. Philomena, hiding deep within the room, behind an altar to Shar, arose to safeguard the canister of smoke powder like it was her own flesh and blood.

“Hold it. I swear to Ironhand, one more step and I blow us to chunks!” Philomeen cried out, her flaming hand clenching and unclenching, her voice warbling with fear. She used her non-burning hand to rip the lid off the canister sitting on the ground beside her. The hot, acrid scent of smoke powder filled the air, smelling stronger than Tav had ever smelled it before, used to small satchels of it as she was. The canister held enough smoke powder to decimate the entire chamber, possibly sending it crumbling into the lake below.

“Easy now,” Astarion drawled, holding up his unarmed hands in a placating gesture, “Let’s not do anything hilarious.”

“Shut your mouth, hoon, ” Philomeen swore at Astarion and Tav had to agree; he was going to get them blown to smithereens. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Philomeen, I presume?” Halsin asked gently, touching Tav’s shoulder with healing magic as he stepped farther into the room, his calm demeanor bringing the peace of a forest glade with him. “What’s going on here?”

Tav stepped closer to Astarion, allowing Halsin to talk to Philomeen. She knew the deep gnome wouldn’t want to hear a word from her mouth; that’s why she had brought Halsin in the first place. The Master Druid had the most peaceful mannerisms, it was easy to trust him. Tav, instead, chose to elbow Astarion hard in the ribs and glare at him. He widened his eyes at her and mouthed ‘ what?’ before giggling under his breath. Gods, would he ever be appropriate when they were about to die?

“Drugh. Dropping my name like your cultist arse knows me. Like we’re friends.” Philomeen swore at Halsin, her voice absolutely dripping in disdain and disbelief. “I know what you are - one of Nere’s cult-goons. Sailed right in. Better to die in this shit-heap than rot in Moonrise. You want me? Come get me.”

The fire banked in Philomeen’s fist flared to new life with her anger, glowing bright in the dark Sharran chamber. One tiny gesture from the gnome and no healing spell in the world would be able to put them back together.

“Laridda sent us,” Tav blurted, her eyes fastened to Philomeen’s fiery hand.

“And Thulla,” Halsin added, a warm, friendly glow to his words. Tav suspected a friendship spell was at play and hoped Philomeen was susceptible to the magic. “The gnomes need your help.”

“Thulla? And Laridda?” Philomeen shook her head, “Ruddy mind games. I… I know all about your tricks, True Soul.”

The gnome fell quiet, staring at the canister on the ground while the flame in her hand fell to a fitful glow. Tav held her breath, tense despite Astarion’s bored amusement at the situation and Halsin’s calm assurance.

“Shit.” Philomeen sighed, the fire in her hand winking out. “I can’t do it.”

Tav gasped, air never tasted so sweet.

“Go on, drag me to Moonrise.” Philomeen choked out around tears, “I’ll make you cult-nutters suffer.”

“Let’s all calm down.” Halsin spoke softly, with a calm authority, “Your people are trapped in a cave-in, we just need the smokepowder.”

“You want to waste runepowder on - “ Philomeen scoffed, “Look. you have no idea what you’re dealing with. Any true Ironhand would trade their life for a grain of this stuff. It’s the whole damn reason we’re here, and I’m not leaving without it. But… let me go… and maybe I’ll spare you a vial.”

“Runepowder?” Astarion spoke dismissively, “A children’s story.” 

“We’ve heard the same stories, I bet.” Philomeen laughed wryly, with little humor, “A fistful of fire that can turn cities to dust. Well it’s real, and I need to bring it back to Baldur’s Gate. I’d rather my clan were with me, but…”

Philomeen took a deep, fortifying breath. She was, against everything Tav knew about gnomes, preparing to abandon her clan to get this runepowder out of the Grymforge. The gnome's dark face hardened with resolve.

“The mission comes first.” The deep gnome nodded to herself, her plan set. “A vial’s what I can spare you.”

“Deal.” Tav agreed. Halsin stepped forward to accept the vial of runepowder from Philomeen. He handled the small container like it was a live, and very angry viper. The gnome grabbed a leather satchel from behind Shar’s altar, then scooped up the canister under one small arm and began to head for the doors Astarion had thrown open earlier. Just before she ducked out of sight, Philomeen turned back to them, looking bashful and awkward.

“Listen…” Philomeen spoke haltingly, her eyes glued to Tav’s boots, “You see Laridda at the dig? Tell her I’m dead. Impaled, half-eaten… I don’t care - make up a story.”

“Ah, nothing says ‘true love’ like faking your own death to avoid someone.” Astarion drawled with an ostentatious roll of his eyes.

“Love?” Philomeen answered. “I might have been hers. She sure as hells wasn’t mine.”

Then the Deep Gnome vanished from sight, blending in with the dark rock of the underdark,  abandoning her clan on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

Chapter Text

With the disappearance of Philomeen, Astarion’s entire mein altered. His blasé attitude, his uncaring disengagement from the world, fell aside. He looked Tav up and down with concern shining in his wine-red eyes, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist to draw her into his embrace. When she rested her head on his shoulder, Tav realized Astarion was shaking with some barely-suppressed emotion.

“Runepowder!” He whispered, disbelieving, into her hair.

“Incredible, if they truly have found a stash of runepowder.” Halsin observed, poking around the room, adding abandoned foodstuffs to his pack. “Beyond dangerous if they have the recipe.”

“It’s a child’s story,” Astarion snapped at the Druid, his hands gently stroked Tav’s back in contrast to the  impatient anger in his voice. He was clearly trying to assure himself, to comfort himself as his hands comforted the confused drow. “According to the tales, that much runepowder could have leveled half this complex. It could destroy Wyrm’s Rest. An explosive thousands of times more powerful than smokepowder, a murderous gift from their god. Runepowder is the gnomish philosopher’s stone. It’s. Not. Real.”

“So… she really could’ve blown us to chunks?” Tav asked, her voice muffled into Astarion’s armored chest. Arms tightened around her, pressing her closer against him. “If you knew how dangerous that stuff is, why were you baiting her?!”

“Darling,” Astarion sighed, his breath gusting across loose strands of snow-white hair that had escaped her tie yet again, “When people know you treasure something, they’re more likely to destroy it.”

“No…” Tav shook her head as much as his tight embrace allowed.

“How you came out of Menzoberranzan so innocent, I’ll never know.” He muttered under his breath.

“We should return to the dig; this vial is more than enough to clear the rubble and rescue Nere.” Halsin advised, eyeing the embracing couple with a slight blush on his cheeks. “Are you two alright?”

“They don’t need us yet,” Astarion answered, letting go of Tav just enough to allow her to walk. He began leading her towards a dark alcove full of crumbled rock and stone beds, some still covered with rotting cloth and bedding. “Right, Tav?”

Gale and Lae’zel had been sent to observe the Duergar’s continued efforts to free Nere. Wyll, Karlach and Shadowheart left to set up camp and defend it, or play with Scratch, which was more likely. As in the Goblin encampment, Gale would connect to Tav’s mind with announcements of any change to the situation. Thus far, Tav’s mind had been quiet. Or as quiet as it could be, with an illithid tadpole and a growing mental connection to her lover invading her thoughts at odd moments.

“I don’t think so.” Tav answered Halsin with half a mind, distracted by Astarion pushing her deeper into the alcove, setting her against an empty stone bed. Astarion took her staff and pack, setting them aside quickly before returning his hands to her body, stroking gently, fingers tugging at the ties of her robe. The druid hovered between Philomeen’s abandoned camp, campfire of broken furniture and scraps fitfully lighting the space and the alcove where Astarion had dragged her. He watched them from the corner of his eye, uncertain as to what was going on.

“Astarion?” Tav tried to get the Spawns attention. He didn’t answer, focused on her body, on touching and stroking, on opening the ties of her robe to fully bare her neck to his ravenous gaze. He leaned in slowly, giving her the chance to deny him, though she never would. Astarion’s lips brushed against the scars of her neck, at the same time, his mind brushed against hers revealed his jumble of thoughts. A sort of numb, gobsmacked feeling stunned him, flashes of fire and explosion and worry threading through it all. Painful memories of something lost… no, something stolen. Something tender and newly beloved ripped from his grasp followed by pain and an endless black hole of vampiric hunger. Months of unassuaged starvation, a haunting longing for a single drop of blood, for even a putrid, dead rat.

The idea that they had been a hairsbreadth from a fiery death had triggered something within him, had set his emotions on a spiral of fear. Astarion’s mind pulsed with worry and an almost desperate need for reassurance, alongside a certainty that reassurance would never come. A certainty that he was undeserving. Or perhaps a certainty that he was deserving, but only of pain and loss.

“Halsin, could we have a moment?” Tav called out, before allowing her eyes to drift shut to better experience the foreign emotions surging through her. Sounds followed, Halsin possibly agreeing but certainly moving off. Astarions lips on her neck became more insistent. Her blood thrummed under her skin, pulse quickening with anticipation. Tav tried to tamp down her body’s reaction; Astarion needed care, not a fuck. Her hand rose to the back of his head, tugging his hood down before pressing gently to encourage him to feed, her nails scratching at his scalp bringing a groan of relaxed pleasure to his lips.

She anticipated the icy pain of his fangs, but nothing happened. Just lips on her scars, cool hands opening her robes to slide underneath, running up and down the skin of her back. Tav almost wanted to squirm at the chill tickle. Instead, she repositioned them, pushing against Astarion, forcing him to turn, to sit on the stone bed. She climbed on to the bed after him, straddling his lap with a knee on each side of his hips, wrapping her arms around his waist. Astarion returned the embrace, tightly, murmuring apologies into the dark of the alcove.

“Nau taudl,” Tav instruced, her fingers slipping under his hood to card into his hair. “I’m here for you. You’re here for me. Nothing to apologize for.”

*****

He should run.

A strange thought to have while he clutched at Tav like a lifeline, held her tight and was held tight in return. He couldn't possibly let her go, not ever.

But he should.

He should run harder than he ran the first time. Cazador had caught him then, had presented him with the corpse of the man he couldn’t bear to bring back, cold and drained of blood, face hardly recognisable or the marks of torture blooming red and black upon dark skin. The scent of it, shamefully, had made him drool. Then an entire year locked in a tomb, lonely and starving. Months of suffering for having cherished someone, if only for a moment.

He could throw himself into the lava of the Grymforge; it would be almost like embracing the sun. He always thought he might like to go out in the sunlight. Decapitation would be quicker, of course. The less pain, the better in his books. Though one last sight of the sun would have been nice. But that was when he was relegated to the spawn kennels, a slave to Cazador’s mad whims. This time, he was free. No one would catch him if he left, though ceremorphosis would catch up to him if he didn’t find death first.

Tav had crawled into his heart, had set roots so deep he was almost certain he couldn’t live without her. But, one day, one stupid word from him would surely end her. Today had, almost, been that day. Death, true death, didn’t frighten him anymore. Tav’s death? Untenable. He wished it was unimaginable, but he could imagine it quite clearly. Cazador had tortured him enough over the centuries for his mind to conjure up remembered agony quite easily. Agony he could easily imagine Tav being in, her body broken before him, torn to shreds. 

Blown to chunks. 

He nearly threw up, seeing her broken body in his mindseye, frozen still in the finality of death.

He should go, before his stupidity got her killed.

Her arms tightened around him, but she didn’t say anything. Her hand in his hair felt like paradise. Simple comfort. When had he last felt simple comfort? It had been centuries. Endless, agonizing years where he starved for comfort and gentle touches, decades where he tried to remember a family. Surely someone had loved him before? Or perhaps he had been raised like Tav, in selfish chaos, never knowing kind words. Now comfort was given daily. Weeks of never ending love and comfort that he most assuredly did not deserve.

Astarion’s mind blurred and cycled through panic and pain, but Tav still didn’t react as he dwelled. His thoughts, his fears, seemed to be hidden from her. He hoped. He didn’t want to see the pain in her eyes when she found out he was thinking of leaving her, even if it was for her own good.

He could be good. Tav had said so herself and if she believed it, it had to be true. He just had to find a little more courage and he could let her go.

“Breathe,” She murmured softly into the dark of the alcove, nimble hands pulling at his armor. His hood came off easily, then she began attacking the endless buckles of his Spider Silk armor, pieces fell to the ground as she freed them from his body and discharged them without care. He let her, of course he let her, she could do whatever she wanted.

She just shouldn’t want him. He was only good for killing, for bringing others to their doom.

“Breathe,” Tav repeated, a hand on his chin forcing him to look up, forcing his eyes to seek out hers. Blue, beloved blue, like the noon sky he had so recently become reacquainted with. He would miss her eyes more than the warm sun in summer sky. Oh, she was doing something. Breathing for him, an exaggerated demonstration, a deep breath in, then out. He mimicked the action, inhaling and exhaling needless oxygen.

“Good,” How could she praise monsters? She wasn’t lying, he knew, their minds were tangled enough that he could feel her belief in him, her love. “Keep going, Aestar, just breathe for me.”

He breathed because she wanted him to. He didn’t need air to live, he just needed her. Fear and panic wasn’t lonely vulnerability anymore, not with her.

“You need to feed,” Her head tilted, exposing her throat to his gaze. Tav bore his scars proudly, his marks so beautiful, twin punctures a darker purple on her purple-gray skin. “You’ll feel better.”

Astarion could see her pulse jumping just under the scars on the long column of her neck. He could smell her desire in the air, it permeated her blood and he was trained to that delicious bouquet like a scenthound. More than that he could sense her care, her concern. She tasted sweeter the more she wanted him, darker when she loved. The finest wine of the most complex flavors, a luscious delight upon his palette.

“Qualla?” The tremor in Tav’s voice gave away her worry. She feared for him. He hated upsetting her; he was immune to tears, to cries and wails, he had heard too many over the decades. Immune to all but hers. All his noble intentions to leave melted away like ice in the sun. 

Astarion slid his fangs into her neck, reopening old wounds, tender and barely healed. Her rich blood flooded his senses, lighting every nerve in his body with delicate warmth. Chocolate and sin danced in his mouth, sweetness and benediction gulped from the marks in her neck that grew more permanent each time he fed from her. The marks that told anyone who saw that she belonged to him, she was his. Forever.

Perhaps he needed to mark her further. Her hair covered her neck so often and not everyone recognized a vampire's claim when they saw it. She tasted of forever, she should look like forever too. He should get her jewelry, or perhaps a tattoo.

A droplet fell on his face. Astarion had ceased to pull blood from Tav’s neck long before, reduced to gently licking at her scars until the bleeding stopped. The droplet of warm water almost distracted him from the taste of her skin. A second droplet prompted him to pull away from Tav, to find the strange source of water that was falling on him. He was met with her reddened eyes, tear tracks shining on her cheeks in the dim light of the alcove.

“You can go,” Tav said softly through a forced smile, more tears flowing freely down her face. “Or you can stay and not die and I’ll leave you alone. I think I upset you too much; you think about leaving a lot.”

“I think about keeping you safe a lot,” Astarion corrected, horror clenching a tight fist around his heart. She had heard his thoughts and it hurt her. Monster.

“Sreen'aur xuileb dos?” Undercommon flowed from her tear choked throat, he never realized how beautiful the language sounded when it could echo in dark caverns as it was meant to. Tav's husky voice well suited to its dark beauty. Perhaps later, she could read to him or tell him a story. He didn’t need to understand her, just listening to her was calming. When he couldn’t answer her question, she translated herself for him. “Why would I be safer without you?” 

“I… “ He couldn’t voice his fears. She had heard them anyway, skittering through his mind, gnawing like a thousand rats on any sense of joy he had. He had been the end of hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. But to be the end of her? No.

“We’ll never be safe, you know.” Tav spoke lowly, not upset by the death they faced daily, just observing the fact of it. “Not until we finish this crazy adventure.”

She was right, of course. Calm finally settled over him, helped along by breathing techniques and the reassuring weight of her in his lap.

“I don’t want to leave,” Astarion admitted, leaning into her hand as it still carded through his hair, pulling her tighter into his lap. “I want forever.”

“I knew you were an ass who might get me exploded when we started this.” Tav spoke seriously, but a glance at her face showed her fighting back a grin. He tickled her ribs, just under the stiffened fabric of her stays, delighting at the giggles that erupted from her dark lips. Her laugh lifted his spirits, her heat squirming in his lap lifted something else. 

Astarion pushed her open robe from her shoulders, not caring that it pooled on the rough stone floor below them. He began slowly untying the ribbons of her stays, his lips returning to her neck, wrenching a sinful moan from her lips. He needed reassurance, needed her love. Needed to drown in her pleasure, to drink it from her cunt as he drank it from her neck.

The sensation of her in his lap is vexing. It’s warm comfort, it’s searing hot anticipation, it’s everything but still not enough. Astarion’s whole body pulsed as her squirms turned to thrusts, at Tav gasps and moans with each lace pulled. Her control slipped and magic sparked around them both, tiny jolts electrifying him, encouraging him to keep going. Just to torment them both, his pace grows sluggish, pulling one ribbon with agonizing slowness.

Tav growled in mounting desperation, then all their clothing vanished. He could combust, going from clothed torment to the perfect feeling of her skin on his in the blink of an eye. But then she freezes in his arms, stiff as a board, pulling back from his embrace with a slight gasp.

“Taudl!” She squeaked, trying to climb out of his lap entirely. “Usstan zhal'la inbal aske'th.”

“Don’t you dare,” His hands fell to her hips, holding tightly, encouraging her down as he cants his own hips upwards, thrusting his hard length into her damp heat. Her eyes flutter shut as her hips fall into a rhythm with his, a slow, torturous grind.

“Xassss,” The word slips from her lips in a hiss, her hips never stopping. He could fuck her right now, they both wanted it so bad. But he hadn’t tasted her yet. He needed to feel her pleasure explode on his tongue. He tightened his hands on her hips, lifting her off him, setting her to the side so he could kneel on her robes, setting himself between her legs. He never needed to voice his needs to her, she happily acquiesced to every request, every gesture. Their coupling was his to control and he delighted in it.

She opened before him, leaning back on her elbows to give him a delightful view of her entire body. He set her legs over his shoulders before diving in to lick a stripe up the center of her, reveling in the taste of her passion.

“Xas!” She cried out into the darkness, “Tyav uns’aa.”

Astarion settled in to drive her wild, teasing her with his tongue, licking all over, circling where she wanted him most. Tav begged, pleaded for release in every language she knew as he tortured her. Their minds tangled, she begged him through that connection as well, but he knew from her thoughts that she loved the slow burn, despite her begging for more. She was soaking wet as she fell apart on his tongue, babbling into the dark, exclaiming over pleasure, begging for more, begging for his cock as he brought her body to the peak of pleasure. He sucked gently on her clit and suddenly saw stars, she came apart on him, the pleasure in her body shared with him as their minds tangled. He felt her orgasm as though it was his own.

“Stay?” The hesitant thought brushed across his consciousness, setting a small ache in his soul. Insecurity was a terrible look on her and her fears were his fault. He brushed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then her hip, kissing his way up her body, opening his mind to her completely so she felt his love and devotion alongside his fears. She felt his delight as his kisses brought him to her soft little tits and he paused to play with them, sucking one nipple to a stiff peak while his fingers toyed with the other. Her dark skin flushed darker across her chest, language fleeing her as she reduced to needy whines and the bright sparkle of electricity in the dark, her control slipping farther. Their connection pulsed with growing need.

Astarion was almost ready to slip into Tav’s wet heat, to seat himself fully within her and become one with her body as his mind was already one with her own when the sound of a throat clearing behind him caused them both to freeze.

Ah, yes, Halsin was waiting outside the alcove. Had probably been listening this entire time. The thought passed from Astarion to Tav and the drow’s eyes widened comically; she had forgotten about the druid entirely.

“Do you want an audience, love?” Astarion whispered in Tav’s ear. She shuddered in pleasure, her thoughts on the little show she had given in their tent some weeks before. Tav had enjoyed that, as she had enjoyed knowing Karlach and Shadowheart had heard them when they desecrated Lolth’s altar earlier. Memories of Loviatar’s penance swamped him, nearly bringing him to orgasm with the pleasure and pain of the memory. She was becoming quite the exhibitionist. “You need to say yes, darling.”

She wanted to be seen, wanted the sight of them to bring Halsin pleasure, but only the sight. Tav had a deep sense of ownership over their coupling; she didn’t want to share. Which was certainly fine with him, the idea of being with anyone besides Tav was a horrific one; he wasn’t ready for that.

“Is that alright?” Tav whispered back to him. His consent was the most important thing to her. Tears pricked at the corner of his eye; he didn’t deserve her care. Her soft hand reached between them to stroke his hard length. “I’ll say yes, if it’s alright with you.”

“We’re not done, Halsin.” Astarion called out, in lieu of an answer, “But you’re welcome to watch.”

A strangled, sputtering sound echoed into the alcove.

Astarion re-positioned himself, sitting on the edge of the stone bed, pulling Tav up to straddle his legs as she had done before, but this time facing away from him. He palmed the gentle curve of her ass before striking it, drawing a deep moan from her. Motion at the entrance to the alcove caught his eye; Halsin was watching.

“Play with your tits, love.” Astarion encouraged as one hand delved between her legs to play with her clit while the other slapped her ass again. Tav squirmed and groaned in his lap, her face turned to observe their audience. 

“Satiira ji bwael,” Tav moaned in pleasure. She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes shining with passion while she followed his orders, hands toying with peaked nipples for Halsin’s gaze.

“So wet,” He murmured, bringing his hand to his lips to taste her essence again, “So ready for my cock.”

“Xas,” Tav cried out, thrusting her hips back at him “Che uns'aa qualla, Astarion.”

The movement in the corner of his eye sped up. Halsin had his hand in his pants, watching them with wide eyes, wide chest heaving like bellows. Tav’s bliss rolled over him as he thrust upwards into her damp heat, her tight walls clamping down on his length in a bliss of his own.

Thought fled them both as they chased their pleasures, hands everywhere, the slap of skin on skin and heavy breathing from all three echoing in the alcove’s depths. Tav moaned and cried out with each thrust, her hand drifting down her body to play with her clit while Astarions’ grip on her hips tightened with bruising pressure.

“Fuck,” Halsin muttered, chasing his own pleasure, thrusting helplessly into his fist, his eyes riveted to the performance before him.

Tav body clenched around him as she found her peak, then Astarion was following after her with a long groan of satisfaction. She was his, she was his, he would never leave his perverted little love, he would keep her chained in their bedroom forever. Her friends could visit her there, could watch him fuck her, watch him own her. Her pleasure at the notion pulsed around him, she cried out as the idea brought her to orgasm again.

The alcove quieted to naught but ragged breaths. Needing oxygen or not, everyone needed to catch their breath.

Chapter Text

Tav had no idea what to do. 

She was boneless, utterly relaxed in the afterglow of yet another truly mind blowing experience with Astarion. He was still inside her, hands gently stroking her back and sides as they both came down from the high of their coupling. But Halsin was in the room as well, her friend who she had learned to increasingly trust and rely upon in this journey, who had proved his trust once more by not pushing beyond the quickly offered boundaries of their invitation. His attraction to her, to Astarion, had never been hidden; Druids, natural to the end, were never a people to feel shame around their attractions, their bodily pleasures. Halsin had enthusiastically watched their little show and being watched had been incredibly hot. She had welcomed an audience - they had barely done anything without an audience, if she was being honest - though this was the first time someone had been expressly invited to watch. And watch he had… and watch she had in return; Halsin was impressively built in every way. Not that she had any intention of touching that impressive body; being watched was fun, but she drew the line at actually inviting another person into her perfect little bubble with Astarion.

So… now what?

“I think a conversation might be in order.” Halsin rumbled softly, the wisdom of years and leadership allowing him to know just what to do while Tav fumbled in the dark. “But you two first.”

Graciously, the druid stepped from the alcove. Tav could hear him rummaging about in packs, then the splash of water. Cleaning up was a good idea. Tav slid from Astarion’s lap, turning to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, casting a quick prestidigitation on them both as she did. The cantrip flowed from her lips, tingling gently across his body to clean the evidence of their coupling that splashed across his thighs.

Astarion was still deliciously hard, she could see. Her blood in his veins setting his passion aflame as his very existence set hers. His hands had caught her waist when she leaned forward to kiss him, a good thing as blood loss from his earlier feed was catching up to her. She ached everywhere, her head spinning. She should probably ask for healing… but he was deliciously hard.

Tav gave Astarion’s cheek another gentle kiss, before whispering into his ear “Can I taste?”

Something bruised pulsed in her mind. Her own thoughts were hardly coherent, she couldn’t understand his. Was he saying no?

“Is this what you really want to taste?” Astarion whispered in return, already catching one of her hands, bringing it down to grasp the silk-on-steel of his erection. A strange question: of course it was.

“Zuch.” She nodded enthusiastically. Under common was easier when she couldn’t think straight. The world spun in blood loss, her mind blown in orgasm. Everything centered on him; her mouth watering, she wanted to taste him, to pleasure him. “Er’griff dos.”

Tav slid to the ground before Astarion in less of a graceful, seductive motion and more of a knees-giving-out. She settled between his legs, hand still gliding gently on his length. His hands carded into her hair, yanking out the leather thong that had hardly been doing its work to hold back the white strands anyway. Astarion’s hands on her scalp directed her forward. Tav followed his direction eagerly.

She loved the taste of him. The feel of his cool thighs under one hand, the heat of his erection in her mouth. Tav babbled loving nonsense into their connection as her tongue swirled around him. She was lost in him, lost in them. Thought fled, everything was just him, him, him. Hands in her hair, groans echoing through the alcove, her spit overflowing to drip down her chin as her blood sometimes fell down his.

Then she was swallowing helplessly, his passion sliding hot down her throat. Astarion surged forward, pushing her into the ground, climbing onto her to slide fangs into the soft flesh above her nipple, drinking deeply from her chest. The pleasure of his hunger intoxicated her, sent her mind spinning in exquisite joy.

“Will you two come on?” Halsin called into the alcove. Tav giggled, gently pushing Astarion from her body.

“He’s right. We need to go.” She sighed, regretting her motion when Astarion moved away from her. “We need to talk.”

“About what? It happened.” Astarion observed in a detached voice, returning to the stone bed they had so recently found bliss as Tav rolled off her clothing, standing up with pieces in her hand. He sought out his own clothing, slowly getting put back together.

“Kyorl nin,” She spun around, clutching a wad of leggings and robes to her chest, what was with him? The world spun more than she did; she almost fell over. “It was your idea, you can’t be blasé about it now.”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugged. Tav couldn’t tell if he was avoiding her eyes or simply getting dressed. She needed to give him grace, it had been a whirlwind of emotions. Had she been in her right mind, Tav probably would have turned down Astarion’s offer of their putting on a show for Halsin. The emotional pendulum had swung from one extreme to another so quickly, she was surprised she didn’t have whiplash.

“It was fun, though I’m not sure it was the best of ideas.” Tav focused on the extreme difficulty of  pulling her leggings on as she talked, “That’s as far as I want anything to go with someone else. I only want you.” She was lacing herself back into her stays when their still-tangled thoughts sent a bruised pulse of his thoughts into her mind.

She shouldn’t want him… he should give her to Halsin. The druid would take better care of her than he ever could.

Rage and pain whited out all thought. They had just been over this! The idea of giving her away, of handing her love around like a package was a worse thought than simply leaving. He thought so little of her love that he believed it could be given away just like that? Tav’s palm had cracked hard across Astarion’s face before she knew what she had done. Wine-red eyes widened in shock. Why did she love such an idiot?

Faerûn wobbled on a broken axis, the lightless underdark threatened to swamp her entirely. Bloodloss fought against sheer rage for dominance. Rage won. Undercommon growled out of her, punctuated by electrical crackles of magic dancing over her skin, lifting stray pieces of snow-white hair into the air. She didn’t have the energy to translate her anger, to think carefully about what words should be chosen. The absolute asshole of a vampire could suss out the meaning of her vitriol from her mind.

“Usstan tlun naut natha dero’lyle…

I am no possession. I am no slave, no toy to be handed about and you, of all people, should know better. Spiders take me to the pits, I chose you. I continue to choose you. Stay or go, you cannot hand me off to comfort yourself with lies, you cannot grind my heart to dust and convince yourself you have done right. I am Tav’ryneer Aranath, Fourth Daughter of House Melarn. I am Drider-killer, Father slayer. I am the Betrayer of House Melarn. I am Eilistraee’s disciple, I am Sorcerer of her Mouth of Song. All of this I have done myself. I have earned my place. I have earned respect. I have seized my freedom with my own hands and will give it up for no one. I will not be handed about, not even for you, Aestar.”

A snap of her fingers and she was fully dressed. Tav shouldered her pack, the frost staff Astarion had given to her leapt into her hand at a gesture. Astarion stood from the stone bed before her, regarding her with concern and regret, a pale hand reaching towards her in the dark. Tav did not want to be touched. With narrowed eyes, she sent wind gusting through the chamber, scattering pieces of spider silk armor, gently pushing Astarion back down. She wanted to slap him again, wanted to cry in his arms. She loved him so much, he had flooded her with thoughts of love and forever, with comfort and pleasure and then this? How dare he.

“Dos asrogg uns’aa.”

You ruin me. 

Tears threatened to blind her. Magic kept her standing where she wanted to fall into the oblivion that hovered at the edge of her mind.

“Tav,” Astarion finally found his voice, she was in no mood to hear it.

“I have yet another drow to kill.” Tav’s voice caught, hitching on agonizing emotion. She was going to collapse in tears at any moment and would die before doing so here. “Killing my own people seems to be all I’m good for, if I’m not being handed about like a whore.”

She stormed from the alcove, stomping past Halsin as she made her way back to camp.

“Tav? Are you alright?” The Master Druid called after her, uncertainty coloring his voice. She had no idea what he had heard or if he had understood. He seemed almost fluent in under common at times, he probably understood everything. Tav stopped at the wide doors to the ruined chamber where they had nearly died in a firestorm of gnomish ingenuity. Where, perhaps she had died, if only inside.

“Come on, Halsin.” She sighed, dashing tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. “We have work to do.”

The hulking elven druid followed her, staying blessedly silent as they climbed through rubble and ruin. She tried not to care if Astarion followed or not.

*****

Astarion ruminated on his own stupidity while he gathered up his scattered pieces of armor, each piece shockingly clean, air-blasted to sparkling perfection. Tav, in her rage, had thrown his things about and somehow taken care of them at the same time. Endlessly kind to him, even in her own hurt, as she had been when he first fed from her. He remembered, though the memory was hazy with hunger, how she had been more hurt than angry when she caught him at her throat. How she had so quickly assured him of her trust, had given him the gift of her blood. He hadn’t deserved that kindness then and certainly didn’t deserve it now.

Not even a slip of the tongue. A slip of the mind and he had earned himself far more than the one slap Tav had given him. They could have had an adult conversation. He could have said something to make her laugh, to make them both feel comfortable in the aftermath of what had been an insanely amazing sexual experience. He could have amused himself making Halsin jealous, knowing Tav would never go beyond their little show, would never touch the Druid as he wanted to be touched.

She had been perfection; shepherding him through panic and pain then gifting him with the addictive pleasure of her body, the absolute glee in being able to see naked desire pain Halsin’s face. But then he had to let the old disgust win out. Had to dip himself into the familiar ocean of loathing that lived in the back of his mind. Had to share that disgust and loathing by making her feel it too. Astarion had made Tav feel like a whore, like she wasn’t good for anything but to be passed around for sexual favors as he had been for centuries. He despised feeling like that, why would he make her feel that too?

Halsin probably would take better care of her. As he would no doubt continue to take care of whatever other lovers he had left behind at the Emerald Grove. The man wasn’t monogamous, not that there was anything wrong with that but Tav had been rather clear that she was. Tav had been clear about a great many things, especially her love for him. Love that he had to stomp all over in a moment of stupid, jealous disgust. Of course he couldn’t hand her off to Halsin like a package, couldn’t dictate what she did with her life. Why did he think that, even for a moment?

Idiot. Monstrous idiot.

Astarion fit himself into his armor, struggling with some pieces as Tav always helped with the hard-to-reach buckles. It would probably be easier to leave the alcove, to use the light of Philomeen’s abandoned campfire rather than dress in the dark. The black space suited his mood, so he stayed. Alone in the dark, as he had been the last time he fucked up someone’s care for him.

When he was finally finished suiting up, swords sheathed, pack shouldered, the clink of potion bottles caught his ear and his curiosity. It had taken them some time to climb up to Philomeen’s little hidey-hole, this area of the Grymforge compound shattered by force and ravaged by time and water. He could set himself to the task of climbing back down after Tav and Halsin, or…

A quick dig through his pack revealed a potion marked flight and ten in a simple, round hand. Tav had made it, he recognized the potion bottles she had used in the Emerald Grove, small, clouded glass vials tightly corked and waxed by her own hands. He couldn’t quite make out the colour of the potion through the thick, murky glass, but it felt light in his hand, as though he could toss the bottle in the air and it would float away on a gust of wind. 

All his potions had been made by Tav; she rarely let him use any potion they had found or purchased on their journey. She distrusted the alchemy of strangers, unwilling to let him risk himself on potions of unknown quality. Especially after their encounter with Auntie Ethel, who had cheerfully sold them her ‘lotions and potions’, then turned out to be a Hag, a dark fey creature of endless maliciousness. He had stuck close to Tav in that battle, initially believing she would recognize the Hag’s magic and know how to counter it, then simply guarding her with sword and arrow from the Hag’s servants. Tav had rewarded him by keeping most of the Hag’s loot away from him. Every potion the creature had lined up in her kitchen space came with an evil twist, every gift she sold to the fools who came to her door had a wicked blood price. Another caring gesture he had so rarely considered; Tav had been doing it since the beginning, when he thought she was a simple fool, when he was so preoccupied with plans of seducing her, he couldn’t see the tiny gestures of her friendship for what they were.

I am your friend, Astarion. I am more than that, but I am also that and I will always be that.

He could see it now. Could see how being a lover and friend could be the same thing. Friendship, he hadn’t had in centuries, if ever. Lovers were people he had no choice but to touch, drunken sob stories found in taverns or on the street, or perhaps some specific flavor of individual Cazador set his mad mood upon. Tav had taught him differently. Taught him to see the worth in both, taught him to desire the comfort of friendship as much as he desired the blissful release to be found in her body. She had taught him so much, just in time for him to fuck it all up.

He held the flight potion, considering his next move. If he quaffed it, he could probably get back to camp faster, could catch up to Tav and apologize. She probably didn’t want to see him just yet, but he wasn’t one for convoluted plans. The best he had was rejoining her as fast as possible, throwing himself on her mercy and hoping for the best. Tav still loved him, after all. She had to.

Perhaps she would even forgive him.

*****

Flying was brilliant .

To be weightless, floating over the ground like a bird, was exhilarating. Astarion kept fairly close to the ground, skimming over the path they had climbed, not certain how long the potion would last and not wanting to find out a dangerous distance above anything solid. The word ten written on the potion probably meant ten minutes, though it could mean ten hours. He supposed he’d find out soon enough. Shattered walls, wet with the splash of water flowing where water was never meant to go, passed by quickly. It seemed that Tav and Halsin had been gone for some time, but he could already hear the deep growl of the giant man’s voice echoing from around a corner, near the shattered stairwell where they had fought acid jellies.

It had taken them hours to climb up and more to climb back down and he had flown past it all in minutes.

Incredible.

Halsin’s rumble bounced off shattered walls and crumbling stone. They were so close, perhaps a plan was needed. Astarion paused. Did he want to just fly up and throw himself at Tav? Especially in front of Halsin? He could hear them talking, or at least the druid was telling Tav something. Perhaps getting a feel for her emotions would be a better idea. Astarion landed, silent as the night, before making use of the invisibility spell lurking in his drow-made hood. He moved forward cautiously, the potion making him so light on his feet, it was a struggle not to float away.

“... you can read his thoughts without using the tadpole?” Halsin was asking Tav. Bollocks, she really was telling him everything. It wasn’t as big a secret as the mindflayer tadpole’s infecting their brains and the druid already knew that. Hells, they had never even agreed to keep their mental tangle a secret; they hadn’t really discussed it at all. More pressing issues were always taking priority. Adventuring was a never-ending run from one crisis to another, with little time to talk or plan. Not that talking and planning were his strong suits, he could do without them most days.

Weight suddenly returned to Astarion. Arms wheeled in the air, balance was impossible for a brief second that lasted an age. He couldn’t fall, he couldn’t let them know he was listening. Some of Tav’s reply was lost in the shock that glued his heels to the ground and almost had him sprawling on his back.

“... my blood?” Tav’s voice was odd. Slower, with a touch of a slur; she must be exhausted. She never took care of herself, working so hard to keep them moving forward, using her free moments to do foolishly wonderful things for the rest of them. As though their friendship was dependent on her being useful at every moment of the day.

“I can’t say I’ve read anything about a Vampire Spawn that spends weeks exclusively feeding on a single Sorcerer and what may result from that.” Halsin replied, a touch of humor in his voice. “You two are probably the first. It does stand to reason that the magic in you, in your blood, would begin to infuse him. Especially with the tadpole affecting his other vampiric abilities.”

Interesting theory. It made sense. Heartening, in a way, to know that this connection with Tav wouldn’t have to be lost when they freed themselves of their infection. He liked having her run electric through his veins.

“Anika'selg'tarn,” Tav stumbled over the undercommon, “Stupid Vampire won’t be having more ‘f’my yummy magic blood ‘nytime soon.”

“Tav, what happened up there?” Halsin was hesitant, he had probably already asked and been snapped at by an angry Drow as a result.

“He… he can’t make up his damn mind!” She cried, a watery tone to her voice announcing the floodgates had opened and Tav was having a good cry. “Come here, go away, love you, want to hand you off to someone else like he can decide that.”

“I heard your anger up there, but nothing from him. He said all that?”

“‘S’mind did.” She muttered angrily.

“Tav, you can’t get mad at someone’s thoughts, we all have moments of indecision or negative - TAV!” Halsin’s mildly exasperated response to Tav’s anger turned to a surprised shout. A moment of stunned silence to wonder what had happened was all Astarion had, then a sickening crunch gave him any number of horrible ideas.

Chapter Text

Astarion stood frozen, pressed against a collapsing stone wall, fear holding unneeded breath in his lungs. Silence stretched in the broken stairwell he hid outside of. What had happened? What had happened to Tav? He couldn’t bear to move, to leave the safety of his dark hiding space and see Tav splattered at the bottom of the decaying stairs, slick with slime from the Ochre Jellies who had, until hours prior, called the space their home. If he didn’t look, it wouldn’t confirm that something had happened. If he didn’t look, Tav was fine. They would talk soon, she would forgive him. 

He was an expert at disengaging, at pretending things hadn’t happened. Pretending so hard it was almost real.

“Oak Father preserve me,” Halsin’s long-suffering sigh broke the silence, followed by surprisingly angry stomping, coming from such a wise man of nature. “Waele lotha, Tav . Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself."

The insult was murmured with an abundance of exasperated affection. Halsin’s voice called out in incantation, the blue-green light of magic washing out Astarion’s dark vision in waves of warm radiance. The Master Druid’s healing magic reached out over –what Astarion assumed was– Tav’s unconscious form, seeking injury, diagnosing problems. Magic swirled and flared in the stairwell, all the while, Halsin muttered to himself about Tav needing to take better care of herself –Astarion agreed– and lamented about their ongoing foolishness.

“Blood loss… exhaustion…” Halsin observed as his magic did its work. “No wonder you were slurring. I thought it was just a lot of emotions, but no. You didn’t use a restorative spell."

The Amulet of Silvanus around Astarion’s neck suddenly seemed like it weighed a thousand pounds. He had forgotten about it entirely. He had let Tav storm off after he had fed from her multiple times, no wonder she had raged so hard at him; blood loss did nothing for the stability of one’s emotions. He was lucky she hadn’t summoned another ice storm to smash his bones to powder under cold fury. Guilt wriggled like a second tadpole in his mind; yet another foolish act he couldn’t shrug off as being truly Cazador’s fault. He was so accustomed to spawn compulsion, to his actions being at the command of his insane master, it was difficult to remember he was responsible for himself now. Every arrow loosed, every monster killed, every friend –or lover– insulted was entirely under his own power, of his own mind. Freedom yawned before him, a gaping black hole that wanted to devour him.

Astarion sank to the ground, curling up as best he could in stiff armor. Safely alone, intently listening for Tav to return to consciousness, for the sound of her voice to tell him she was alright.

*****

Gods, what had hit her this time?

A deep ache in her head brought a groan to her lips. Azure light flashing in her face, not helping in the least. She feared to open her eyes, knowing from past experience that light did not agree with a head wound.

Tav felt broken and hollow, tears dried in tracks down her face. Memory was slow to return, in the agony of her skull knitting back together. Philomeen… runepowder… Astarion being perfectly wonderful, then perfectly awful. Ah, yes. He wanted to give her away. Hand her around like a package. Had he invited Halsin to watch them for fun, or was it an audition?

Her head hurt. Her heart hurt more.

“Almost there, Tav,” Halsin’s gentle murmur still seared agony through her mind. Almost healed she may be, but her head injury was ready for neither sight nor sound. “I hope you’re ready for the mother of all lectures once you’re healed.”

“... why?” Tav whimpered through pain and confusion. “What did I do?”

“We’ll start with passing out from blood loss at the top of a staircase,” Halsin’s voice held a smile, “and go from there.”

“Didn’t do that on purpose,” Ugh, she was an idiot. She fell down the stairs like a child.

“Of course you didn’t.” Halsin’s voice was distant as he answered her. His focus stayed on whatever healing magics Tav needed after falling down the stairwell, on knitting her skull back together. The side of her face felt sticky with blood she could ill-afford to lose; as clarity grew with each passing moment, embarrassed horror clenched tighter around her heart. Hurt and rage had caused her to forget the need for healing. She could have asked Halsin at any time, but instead stewed in her own agony and made everything worse.

“Usstan tlun taudl, Halsin,” Tav sighed as the healing came to a warm conclusion, pain finally disappearing, leaving embarrassed clarity behind.

“You owe someone else an apology, Tav,” Halsin admonished, assisting Tav to her feet. “Once Astarion catches up to us, you two need a long talk.”

“Zifreinn naut!” Tav cried, upset at the very idea. “He wanted to give me to you, Halsin, like… like…” Words, in any language, fled. It hurt, Astarion had hurt her so much. The kind of hurt that can only happen when you love someone so much, when they hurt you from inside your own heart.

“Tav, he had a thought. We’re not mind readers, it’s not something we deal with constantly,” It seemed Halsin was gearing up for his lecture, an implacable bear charging downhill. “He’s going to have thoughts and they may be negative. Words and actions, lotha Tav, words and actions are what matters. I don’t know what he has gone through, but I can sense there is trauma. Let him have his thoughts, let him process things.”

Halsin was right. His counsel was full of foresight and wisdom, as always.

She didn’t want him to be right. Why did he have to be right?

“Vith uns’aa,” Tav swore, then added for good measure, “Xal orbben plynn ussta solen.”

“Why your eyes?” Halsin blinked his own eyes in confusion.

“It’s just… it’s just a curse,” Tav sighed, her entire body deflating in resignation and sorrow, “What it means is that you’re right and I’m mad about it. Lolth gives us a red cast to our eyes, every drow with red eyes is sworn to her will. Cursing ‘may spiders take my eyes’ is a way to say ‘I’m stupid and unworthy’.”

“Oh, pet, you’re none of those things.” Astarion’s voice announced behind her.

Suddenly, she was sobbing again, held tightly in the comfort of his arms. Halsin had ceased to exist, as far as she was concerned, as the world narrowed to her, Astarion, and the ache in her heart.

*****

“Halsin said he was going to send Shadowheart to meet us?” Tav double-checked on the details with the pale elf clinging tightly to her side as she and Astarion made their way through the Grymforge, heading towards the shattered chamber where they would free Nere, then stage the Duergars mutiny.

“Yes, I think so,” Astarion replied, he had barely listened to the man.

Halsin had left to make his way back to camp fairly quickly after Astarion made his dramatic entrance, joining them at the bottom of the stairwell, where Tav had stood in a puddle of her own blood. Tav wasn’t certain of everything she had said in that moment, apologies and assurances of love were murmured on both sides. They had forgiven each other, had only reluctantly separated – their hands still tightly clasped – to complete the job they had set out to do. Tav fought the urge to crawl into Astarion, to seek comfort in physical intimacy; he didn’t take comfort in the act like she did and they really did have other responsibilities to see to.

The pair quickly came upon the dark stone stairwell where the scrying eye patrolled. The purple ball of the eye floated leisurely up and down the stairwell, the black slit that made up its cornea paused to stare at Tav and Astarion, seeming to regard them with suspicion. As they had agreed, Tav made an obvious show of slipping around the back of the stairwell, into the ruined remains of the Grymforge compound, her overly suspicious action drawing the eye after her. Astarion called on the magic in his drow-made hood, becoming one with the shadows, creeping unseen behind the scrying eye.

In short order, Tav found herself in a shadowed alcove, blocked in by the floating orb that allowed the Absolute cultists to observe her. Then it was gone, burst like a purple bubble by Astarion’s short sword, and the man himself was crowding her in the alcove. He smirked at her, a flash of white fang in the dim light setting her pulse racing.

“Step one, complete,” Astarion murmured, gloved hand reaching up to casually stroke the scars on her neck.

“Can…” Tav shuddered, swallowing hard. She wanted those fangs in her neck, wanted his arms around her. “Can we do this after the fight?”

“Fine,” Astarion huffed a sigh and pouted in a show of reluctant acceptance. His fingers still stroked her scars, she did nothing to move away.

“Lady of Sorrows help me,” A whispered plea, long-suffering and so often heard, caused them both to pause, “Will I ever find you two not fooling around in dark corners?”

“Jealous?” Astarion asked, stepping out of the alcove to reveal Shadowheart rolling her eyes behind him, “You’re welcome to go in there and ravage her yourself.”

“Hilarious,” Shadowheart drawled before elbowing Astarion aside. She stepped into the alcove to gather Tav in a warm hug, placing a quick, friendly peck on Tav’s cheek. “We have places to be. Wyll is already up there with Lae’zel. Gale couldn’t take the heat; wasted all his energy on frost spells. What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Astarion scoffed, “Go up there, kill things. What more do we need?”

Shadowheart ignored him, turning to raise a dark eyebrow at Tav.

Tav slipped her arm into Shadowhearts, murmuring quietly about runepowder and mutinies as she walked her friend back to the stairwell, a pouting Astarion trailed behind. The mood he was in made him likely to do something foolish for attention, if Tav wasn’t careful. All she could do was hope the upcoming slaughter would hold his focus. Her explanation of the plan wrapped up as they crested the top of the stairwell, where Elder Brithvar waited. Tav threw an ostentatious wink at him as they strolled passed, receiving one in return. From the corner of the eye, Tav saw the Duergar elder reach behind him to unstrap a wickedly sharpened pickaxe, reading himself for the upcoming fight with his own clan.

“Oh, it’s our saviors,” Sergeant Thrinn called out as they entered the ruined chamber, the glow of magma flowing through the shattered floor sending red ghosts dancing across the Duergars dark face. The gnomes still worked feverishly, yet ineffectively, to clear the rubble sealing Nere and their kin in the room beyond, bloody stripes down their backs evidence that Thrinn had been working her whip. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Do calm down, they’re fine aren’t they?” Astarion drawled, capturing Thrinn’s attention which allowed Tav to find Wyll and Lae’zel in the room, in a shadowed space to the right of the hardworking gnomes, half hidden behind highly piled tents and supplies. She made eye contact with her friends, nodding very slightly. Lae’zel removed a potion bottle from her pack, quickly downing its mustard-yellow contents before limbering her flaming sword in its scabbard in acknowledgement that Tav had a plan that would, most likely, result in a lot of bloodshed. 

“Nere listened to True Soul Tav, didn’t he?” Astarion went on, his voice heavily affected. A complete and total lack of concern dripped from his every utterance. Either Nere was smart enough to listen to True Soul Tav or he deserved the painful death that would follow if he didn’t. Sergeant Thrinn’s eye twitched with barely suppressed anger. Despite the lack of illithid infection in the Duergar, she had given her loyalty to Nere, to the Absolute, and did not appreciate Astarion’s words.

Tav squeezed Shadowheart’s arm, still held in hers as they had escorted each other through the Grymforge, then stepped forward to rescue Astarion from himself. She removed the small vial of runepowder from a deep pocket of her robe and held it high, so the gnome slaves could see it as well.

“We have… acquired … some runepowder,” Tav announced, keeping her own voice heavily affected in tones of drow superiority. The message was clear: she held the answer and they were fools trying any other course of action. Astarion smirked at her, his sanguine eyes sparkling with excitement; he was quite enjoying this aperitif before the slaughter.

Her words exploded in the room like the runepowder itself had gone off. The gnomes scattered, Shadowheart moving forward with Wyll to try to corral them into the alcove from where he and Lae’zel had been observing the rescue efforts. One gnome fled farther, cowering beside a broken altar to Shar at the edge of a magma river, despite Wyll’s best efforts, she wouldn’t move. The Duergar were more regimented, each dark dwarf in the chamber –Thrinn included– responded as one to the sight of the runepowder vial. They moved to the back of the broken room, as far from the rockfall that had sealed Nere in as possible while still remaining within sight of it. Shields raised, forming a protective phalanx that would see the members of Clan Flameshade protect themselves and each other from the explosive firestorm that awaited in the small glass bottle held in Tav’s dark hand.

Tav strode forward, outwardly confident, inwardly terrified of the runepowder she held. She placed the vial on the pile of rocks sealing Nere away, then moved back, drawing Astarion with her, seeking to flee the blast radius.

“Can I?” Astarion whispered in her ear, excited at the prospect of fiery explosions now that Tav wasn’t going to be blown to chunks by it. She nodded.

“Watch this, pet,” He spoke, anticipation heavy in his voice. Astarion’s eyes drifted shut, he focused inward for a moment, then a bolt of fire shot from his hands.

Tav would have taken a moment to be impressed, to ask if he could do that before or if her blood had given him a firebolt spell, but the runepowder exploded and all thought fled in an eruption of fire and chaos that dominated the room far more than one tiny vial should have been capable of. An ever-growing ball of roiling flames consumed the rockfall that had trapped Nere and the gnome slaves, reducing boulders to rubble in an instant.

Eilistraee inbal ka’lith , Philomeen really could have blown them all to chunks. 

Nere himself, a tall drow male in ornate robes, strode out from the chaos. The smoke of the runepowder explosion curled around the True Souls body as he stormed angrily from his imprisonment. Two small figures – svirfneblin slaves – darted out behind him, luckily Wyll caught them, gathered them up in safety with their kin before they could run headlong into the assembled Duergar, or be caught by Nere himself. As Nere emerged more fully from the smoke and rubble, tendrils of smoke clung to his long white hair, making it seem as though the white locks stretched for meters behind him, possessed of a life of their own. He paused his storming strides to glare his hatred at everyone assembled, the sigil of the Absolute in silver worked into a clasp that held a cloak to Nere’s shoulders glinted in the flickering red light of magma.

“Finally,” Nere growled, casting his Lolth-sworn burgundy gaze around the room, settling on the lone slave who cowered by Shar’s altar. “Worthless slaves. Your incompetence has been my ruin. Nere. Does Not. Fail.”

Nere gestured imperiously, summoning a psionic push of energy that launched the poor slave from her hiding place, forcing her into the magma. She screamed in agony as she burned to ash in the super-heated flow of liquid rock. Tav tried to move forward, to do something to help, but she was held in a tight grip. She struggled, not realizing quite what was happening.

“You can’t help her,” Astarion rasped in her ear, his grasp tight on her arm. “Stick to your plan.”

Nere turned, seeking out more slaves. The rest of the Ironhand gnomes cowered behind Wyll, Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Fuck the plan.

“Vost!” Tav cried out, Menzoberranzan-accented Undercommon in a feminine voice seizing the entirety of Nere’s attention, allowing Wyll and Shadowheart to direct the gnomes to flee deeper into the ruined Grymforge, out of sight of the angry drow. “Nau mzild vassnten orn el yallt, Nere.”

“Translation? Can I kill him yet?” Astarion’s thoughts slipped into her mind. Tav began furiously sharing Nere’s translated words.

“You care for the weak, True Soul,” Nere spat, his red eyes making contact with Tav’s ice-blue ones, knowledge flooding him as he took in their color. He spoke to a female, yes, but she was not Lolth-sworn. Any due reverence that may have been shown to Tav as a fellow True Soul scattered to the winds with that revelation. Astarion, his grasp still tight on Tav’s arm, was dismissed entirely. “Most curious.”

“The only weakness I see here is you,” Tav replied, voice haughty, secure in her own superiority. This fool who punished slaves for his own mistakes deserved everything that was coming to him.

“You dare speak to me without due reverence?” Nere’s voice choked with anger, though he was not insensible with rage, as he had switched to common so as to bring the Duergar into the conversation. He was thinking, planning. “That was your first and last mistake.”

“Thrinn! Carve out her heart and serve it to the rothé,” Nere called to the Duergar sergeant, still not willing to dirty his own hands with action, “If she indeed is a True Soul, let the Absolute save her.”

Due reverence! Nothing was due to this lazy fool.

“Brithvar!” Tav raised her voice in response, “That’s your cue, it’s time you got paid.”

“Damn right it’s time,” Brithvar grumbled, shoving his way through the Duergar phalanx, scattering kinsmen as he went. He stomped up to Nere, unabashed in his anger at the drow. “You owe my crew a tenday’s worth o’coin, Nere – and the reckoning’s come.”

“You bargained with his wretch? How vexing, ” Nere’s lip curled in disgust. He tossed his head, chin raising, white mane floating behind him in the hot air, “Nere is not without mercy, True Soul. The rat has given you a chance to earn my favor. Strike him down. Prove your faith.”

“Can I please kill him now?” Astarion asked just behind her, his voice thick with frustrated exhaustion they both shared; how the Duergar had dealt with Nere this whole time and not killed the sanctimonious prick, she’d never know.

“Please do,” Tav took a step back, eyes falling shut as she became lost in her magic. A cold wind began to blow around the Duergar phalanx, the shield wall the dark dwarves had created falling apart quickly as dwarf began fighting dwarf, Absolutist against Laduguerite. Brithvar squared off against Nere, his sharpened pickaxe shining in the red light of magma.

Lae’zel launched into the fight, psionically propelling herself halfway across the ruined chamber. She intercepted Thrinn as the woman charged towards Nere, seeking to defend the drow from Brithvar, her own clan leader. They exchanged quick blows, flaming greatsword versus dual-wielded hammers. Thrinn had the upper hand in the duel, her hammers smashing into Lae’zel’s defense with powerful force. Each great hammer blow vibrating the githyanki down to the bone, nearly causing her to drop her sword. The warrior was cunning in her defense, each step she conceded leading Thrinn back towards the gnome slaves and Wyll. Once the dueling women were close enough, Wyll stepped into the battle, his hand glowing a sickly green with demonic magic. Vampiric Touch drained Thrinn of life, shocking her into gasping stillness. The moment of pause was fatal; Lae’zel’s sword took her head.

Astarion had allowed Brithvar to take up Nere’s attention, taking advantage of the distraction to stab his shortsword into Nere’s ribs. Nere spun, turning a killing blow into a gravely injurious one, and pushing Astarion backwards with psionic force. The vampire spawn skidded along the floor tiles, running into Shadowheart, who had moved to defend Tav as she was vulnerable in her casting.

The ice storm grew. Frost collected everywhere, magically-powered and thus able to resist the heat of the magma flows nearby. Tav played the storm like a composition, each growing rime of frost or crash of ice a melody in her symphony. Duergar slid and fell on the icy floor, larger crashes of ice sought out the cultists, smashing into heads and arms, breaking bones. A crossbow bolt, shot from darkened shadows above, barreled into Tav’s upper arm, but did not break her concentration, at the same time an Absolutist broke from the in-fighting phalanx to charge the weave-focused sorcerer.

“I’ve got her, you climb!” Shadowheart cried, shoving Astarion towards a ladder leading to the upper reaches where an archer had taken position on a broken wall. Lathander’s morning light shot from Shadowheart’s mace, blinding the charging Duergar and his compatriots behind him. The dwarves fell to the ground, crying in agony as they clutched at sunlight-seared eyes. Tav directed ice at them, taking advantage of their vulnerability to smash skulls to powder. Astarion wasn’t pleased to be sent from Tav, but he could climb faster than Shadowheart, in her heavy chainmail. Another bolt struck the ground at Tav’s feet. That archer had to be taken care of, before their aim improved. He climbed.

Corsair Greymon and a small group of Duergar emerged from behind the stacked supplies, hammers and crossbows at the ready. The ground below the ladder erupted with black tentacles, stopping the Corsair from charging Wyll, Lae’zel and the gnomes they protected. Wyll’s casting of Evard’s Black Tentacles served a double-purpose; distracting the Duergar from how close they were to Tav and Shadowheart, from Brithvar fighting with the heavily-injured Nere beyond them. Wyll held the spell with all his concentration, relying on Lae’zel’s crossbow to tear into the tentacle-held dwarves. She chose enchanted bolts, sending frost and fire into the Duergar in quick succession.  

Tav had taken another bolt to the arm by the time Astarion ascended the ladder and slit the throat of the Duergar he found at the top of the ruined wall. Her left arm hung useless at her side, dripping blood onto the ground. The ice storm receded, melting into puddles of water, as Tav’s concentration finally broke in the face of her pain.

“Lightning?” Tav panted to Shadowheart beside her. The cleric grinned, calling on Shar to send dark bolts of electricity into the final few cultists. The energy jumped easily from puddle to puddle, from dwarf to dwarf, electrocuting everyone in sight. Dwarves fell to the ground, or convulsed where they lay, felled by Shadowheart’s spell.

Arrows began flashing down from above. Astarion shooting his own acid arrows at Nere and the remaining Duergar. Corsair Greymon and his compatriots were soon cold on the ground, pincushioned with crossbow bolts and arrows. Nere shrieked his final scream, clawing at his face in his death throes after one of Astarion’s arrows buried itself in his eye socket, its acid boiling his face to goo.

It was over. Clan Flameshade was decimated; their losses to the Absolute were heavy. Despite those losses, Brithvar was joyous in his triumph. The rot infecting his people had been exercised. 

“Take that you cocksucking– Sschindylryn’s shithouse!” Elder Brithvar’s triumphant crow turned into a curse as an illithid tadpole squirmed from Nere’s melting eye. The tadpole’s pale flesh seared in the acid as it tried to wiggle its body to freedom, its many-toothed little maw snapping in burning agony, before falling still and dead as the drow it had crawled from.

“Fucking wriggler,” Brithvar spat at the tadpole.

Chapter Text

“Cock-stench had a wriggler in his skull. All the more reason to clear out,” Elder Brithvar shook his head over Nere and Thrinn’s bodies for a moment, before tossing a small pouch to Tav. It clinked when she caught it. 

“Your cut. I always keep my word,” Brithvar explained when Tav shook the pouch again, raising a white eyebrow at the jingle of gold within. The elder duergar turned to regard his surviving clan members, projecting his voice through the shattered chamber to gather them all up. “Clan! Grab your gear, wipe your arses. Time we scrammed before more pricks from Moonrise Towers move in.”

A duergar moved behind Wyll and Lae’zel, beginning to gather up the gnome slave. Lae’zel did her best to stop Wyll from doing anything about the slaves being gathered up by their harsh masters, joined by Astarion once he had climbed back down from his position above them all. The ruckus they were causing caught Tav’s attention, pulling her away from conversation with Shadowheart. Wyll was going to have them fighting the rest of the clan if he kept it up.

“What about the slaves?” Tav called out to Elder Brithvar, nodding at the gnomes limping together into a group of pitiful looking individuals, each deeply wounded from the lash.

“Clan property,” Brithvar answered, not turning from his work, looting the bodies of his Absolutist kinsmen, “They come with us.”

“Really?” Tav’s surprise sounded very convincing, “Look at them. They’ll just slow you down.”

“Mm – you got a point,” Elder Brithvar conceded to Tav, finally giving the gnomes his attention. “Likely to be all hobbled up, what with the lashings.”

Brithvar signaled to his kin, who abandoned their gathering of the gnomes and stomped off elsewhere into the compound, looking to gather their things and get out as soon as possible. The Duergar were packing up with military efficiency, seeking to leave the Grymforge compound long before people from Moonrise arrived. Brithvar muttering into his yellowing beard all the while about lashing his own kin to get them out faster. Tav caught Brithvar’s attention one last time, before the Duergar joined his kin at the docks to leave the Grymforge behind for good.

“What makes Moonrise Towers such a threat?” Tav asked, trying to look unconcerned about the answer, but desperate to know it. What about Moonrise had Brithvar in such a lather?

“Your brain going mushy, jargh? That’s where those Absolute-freaks hole up.” Brithvar spat on the ground to emphasize his disgust with all who follow the Absolute. “Goblins, drow, gnolls, even humans – ain’t no one they won’t try to turn. The way I hear tell, some prick there call the shots. The General, Nere called him. And there ain’t no way I’m sticking around long enough to meet him.”

With that, Elder Brithvar stomped off, leaving Tav alone with her companions, the whimpering gnomes and Nere’s body.

Tav returned to her conversation with Shadowheart, the two discussing the pros and cons of returning Nere’s head to the Myconids, of exploring more of the Grymforge versus heading upwards to the Shadowlands. They kept their voices low, pitched to avoid being overheard by anyone, from departing Duergar to gnome slave. She waited until the echoes of Duergar stomping had faded before she ceased the conversation with Shadowheart, nodding towards the gnomes still standing about in shock at their freedom. Shadowheart and Tav moved slowly towards the group of injured gnomes, trying to gauge the mood of the freshly-freed slaves as they did. Wyll was trying to dispense water and food, but the stunned gnomes weren’t paying attention to his efforts. Astarion and Lae’zel, ignoring the gnomes entirely, were discussing the finer points of the battle they just had, each trying to claim the right to cut Nere’s head off.

As Tav drew closer, she could hear the gnomes talking amongst themselves, the truth of their freedom finally settling into their minds. Two of the gnomes were particularly excited over each other, shock having melted from their limbs, releasing them to touch each other in relieved joy. In their actions, Tav recognized the relief a couple felt upon safe reunion. It made her want to reach out to Astarion, to embrace and be embraced as the gnomes were doing. Especially when the gnomes finally noticed her, recognized her dark skin and pale hair. Their fear set pallor in dark faces and broke Tav’s heart. They had no reason to expect her to be anything but another monster.

“Beldron – I was so worried!” A lash-bloodied gnome was saying to one of his brethren who had been trapped with Nere, hands moving quickly over bodies, checking for injury and loving embrace all at once. “Did Nere hurt you?”

“No, no – I’m all right,” Beldron replied, “Did the sergeant hurt you, Lunkbug?”

“Who cares?” Lunkbug replied. Tav cared, the gnomes were so bruised and bloody. They should be healed. “We’re together now, thank Ironhand!”

“We ought to thank someone a little closer by, I think.” Beldron nodded towards Wyll.

“Ah, friends, I think you need to thank the one who leads this little crew,” Wyll threw his arm around Tav’s shoulder the moment she was close enough for the embrace. The gnomes all cringed, some stepping back from Tav with horrified expressions on their tired faces.

“The drow!?” Lunkbug gasped, “Surely she’s one of them!”

“No… I don’t think she is,” Beldron thought aloud, he looked Tav up and down, staring into her blue eyes for longer than Tav felt comfortable. “You’re not one of them, but why help us?”

“We’re seeking to be free of the Absolute,” Tav began to explain, “As I freed myself from the Spider Queen already. Helping you was the right thing to do. But, if you must thank someone, thank Thulla – she’s the one who set us on your trail.”

“Glittering gods,” Beldron swore, “I should’ve known that one was too damn stubborn to die.”

Beldron began rifling in ragged pockets, drawing out a few gold pieces. He held them tightly in his fist for a moment, considering, then held his hand out to Tav, offering what little gold he had. Wyll was already shaking his horned head in refusal before Beldron could even speak.

“Here – the Ironhand Gnomes honor their debts,” Beldron looked defeated as he held out the paltry reward, “with Wulbren gone, that falls to me.”

“No reward needed, frie–”

“Can you make this quick!?” A sharp voice interrupted Wyll’s refusal of any reward. A familiar gnome, younger than Beldron and Lunkbug, pushed his way rudely into the conversation. He was clad in fine but well-traveled leathers, not the ragged cloth of slavery the others wore, looking more like a prosperous merchant than a recently freed slave. Tav suspected this was the gnome they had saved from goblins weeks prior – what had Wyll said was his name? 

“We need to find Wulbren. Now.” The gnome spoke sharply to his brethren, though his fellow svirfneblin didn’t behave as though he had any authority.

“You’re a little late, Barcus my lad,” Beldron answered in a tone that said Barcus was an exhausting person, but beloved all the same. “He’s already been sent to Moonrise Towers. We were just slave-hands to the cult, but not Wulbren. He… knows things. Things they want to know too.”

“What has he gotten himself mixed up in now…” Barcus looked very worried for Wulbren, whomever that was. Tav was more interested in what Wulbren might know, though she suspected she already knew the answer. An answer that was currently on its way to Baldur’s Gate.

“Spare the secrecy,” Tav told Beldron, rolling the dice on her suspicion, “Philomeen already escaped with the runepowder.”

Beldon, Lunkbug and all the recently-freed gnomes regarded Tav with wide eyes, jaws open in surprise. Tav’s guess had been correct; they had all been there for the runepowder.

“It seems you’ve saved us twice over.” Beldron sighed, wiping a tired hand over his face. “Gods above – she bloody did it. Of course she did. Wulbren has a way of attracting true believers – his quest for runepowder was the latest dream he stuffed in our heads. And he was bloody right. He found it – a small cache sitting down here with a manuscript. He’d just made sense of the formula when the cult jumped us – so he burned the damn thing. If there’s a single copy left, it’s sitting in his head. Those Absolutists pull it out and make runepowder…”

“... they could flatten the whole of the Sword Coast.” Wyll finished Beldron’s sentence, as familiar with the legends of runepowder as Astarion and Halsin had been.

“Runepowder?” Tav heard Lae’zel ask Astarion, who proceeded to inform the Githyanki of the legends. She looked grudgingly impressed.

“We can’t let the cult have it,” Tav swore, Wyll nodding along fervently. To Tav’s way of thinking, no one should have runepowder. There were enough ways to kill people out there already.

“Listen, I wouldn’t trust them with a bloody butter knife,” Beldron answered, “But it’s a fight for another day. My people can barely stand. And we have business back in the city. Business that sent us after the powder to begin with. The formula might be gone, but we still have the barrels.”

“And just like that, you’d leave Wulbren behind,” Barcus shook his head, disgust dripping from his every word, “I knew you lot were foolish, but I didn’t know you were cruel.”

“If you knew half as much as you think, my lad,” Beldron returned Barcus’s disgust, “Wulbren might have kept you around.”

“We’re heading to Moonrise ourselves,” Tav stepped in, not wanting the freed slaves to begin fighting amongst themselves. There had been more than enough death that day, “Perhaps we can free Wulbren.”

Beldron laughed, wryly, “He’d admire your resolve. And your optimism.”

“My people will find somewhere to regroup across the lake. Then on to the city.” Beldron took Lunkbugs hand and squeezed tightly, “If you find yourself in Baldur’s Gate, seek us out. We’ll raise a glass to Wulbren together.

“We have a boat docked,” Wyll explained to Beldron, encouraging the gnomes to gather together and head towards the compounds docks, “Give us a moment to secure Nere’s head and you can go back with us to the Myconid grove where Thulla is.”

“I want to explore here more,” Shadowheart finally spoke up, having listened in to everything without sharing her own opinions or thoughts in true Sharran fashion. “This Grymforge used to belong to my Lady Shar, perhaps there is something we could use here.”

“If what Astarion and I have found is correct,” Tav explained to Shadowheart, her mention of Astarion catching the elf’s attention, drawing him back to her side, “There’s an adamantine forge and some kind of hammer.”

A grotesque squelching rip interrupted their conversation. Tav, Shadowheart and Wyll turned to see. Lae’zel cutting Nere’s head off. Astarion pouted at Tav’s side; he had wanted that task. Lae’zel stuffed the bloody head into a bag she tied from her belt.

“Seek your forge,” Lae’zel advised, “I can return the head. Gale can join me, he is no use in the heat here. We will meet back here and seek our cure better armored. Come.”

With a gesture to follow up her command, Lae’zel gathered the freed gnomes, quickly setting out to collect Gale from camp, then head to their boat. She assumed her suggestion was the best course of action and set out to implement it quickly. As the party left the shattered chamber, Tav allowed herself to relax against Astarion, the exhaustion of the battle finally settling into her bones.

Barcus did not follow his kin. Standing beside Wyll, the deep gnome looked lost.

“They’re not even going after him. I wish I were surprised,” Barcus scoffed to himself, “And so… to Moonrise Towers I go.”

“First things first – you look exhausted,” Tav’s words stopped Barcus a few steps into his journey to Moonrise, “You should rest at our camp.”

“Rest at a drow camp?!” Barcus’s eyebrows tried to climb off his face, straight up to the surface. “I’d be safer among mind flayers.”

“Wander off alone and you might meet them,” Astarion replied with a dark chuckle at Barcus’s words. His hand found Tavs and squeezed in comfort before drawing her into his embrace. She leaned her back to his chest with a grateful sigh.

“Hm. Hmmm.” Barcus considered Astarion’s words, before nodding sharply to himself, though all his speech and gestures seemed to be sharp, abrupt, and rude. It made it difficult to guess Barcus’s thoughts. “Fine. Show me where to go and I’ll try my luck. I’ll have a better chance of rescuing Wulbren if I’m at my best.”

Tav regarded Barcus from her place in Astarion’s arms, raising a single, white eyebrow. A dusky rose colour infused Barcus’s cheeks. He cleared his throat, embarrassed at himself.

“And… erm… Thank you.”

*****

When they had returned to camp, Barcus in tow, they encountered a line of freed gnome slaves waiting for treatment from Halsin. Lae’zel and Gale waited nearby to take the healed Ironhand Gnomes back to Thulla at the Myconic grove. Lae’zel answering Gale’s questions about the fight with Nere with her usual lurid descriptions of battle. Karlach and Scratch were doing their best to lift the spirits of the gnomes while they waited their turn with Halsin’s healing magic. 

The gnomes all regarded Tav with some measure of mistrust as she entered the camp with Astarion, Wyll and Shadowheart. Barcus trailed along behind them, muttering to himself about the foolishness of camping with drow. Fearful eyes tracked her movement through the camp. She pretended to ignore it, pretended it didn’t ache, as she beelined for the safety of her own tent. The gnomes had all been under the yoke of drow slavery, of course they would see her and worry they had jumped from the anvil into the forge fire. It made sense.

It still hurt.

Her entire life had been spent in service of Lolth’s ways, no matter if she believed in them or not. She had cared for the slaves of her house, suitable to stand over them as she wasn’t suitable to stand over most drow. Tav understood what the gnomes had gone through under Nere, perhaps better than anyone else could. Lolth’s drow were not kind, were not forgiving or generous. Especially with those they considered lesser and all races were, to a drow’s red eyes, lesser. The mad, xenophobic pursuit of power defined her people, though it did not define her. The gnomes couldn’t know that, though. Eilistraee’s people did not have a large presence on Faerûn, it was understandable that the reputation of the drow was Lolth’s reputation.

Tav hated being seen as meat for the Spider Queen, as a monster.

She hated seeing herself as a monster more. Her argument with Astarion lurked in the back of her mind. Her upset, her rage, her embarrassment when Halsin had helped her see the truth of the matter all swirled in the depths of her thoughts. He had forgiven her, had asked for – and received –  her forgiveness, but she hadn’t quite forgiven herself. It had been such a mess; fear, pleasure then deep rage and hurt. She was still so new at being a surface creature, at interactions of friends and lovers. Now she was contending with mind reading, being unable to keep her thoughts straight due to blood loss, tadpole infections and the general insanity of an adventuring life. Her life had exploded in chaos, but that was no excuse to hurt others. Especially not Astarion, who deserved patience and kindness as he dealt with his own demons.

Tav was glad Astarion had gone to speak with Karlach, to make their Tiefling friend smile and laugh while she struggled with her rage over the condition the gnomes had been in when they entered camp. They both needed a laugh, and Tav needed some time alone. She ducked into her tent, set up on the edge of a shattered floor that stretched out over an abyss of echoing waterfalls. The sound of rushing water was soothing. Tav took the time to remove her clothes, heat water in a bucket and wash herself, contemplating her actions of the past few days all the while. Too much rage, too much reacting – over reacting – too much ignoring her body's needs. 

She resolved to be more mindful of herself and others, beginning with a long meditation and re-connecting with the Weave. It had been too long. She grabbed one of Astarion’s shirts, throwing it on to preserve some modesty, then lay down in their bed to calm her body and seek the weave, reaching both without and within to return her soul to its home.

The weave was warm and welcoming as always. The silver thread dancing along the flow of the weave that Tav had begun to identify as Eilistraee’s magic was there as well. She couldn’t access Eilistraee’s power, not being a cleric, it was simply a comforting feeling, being protected in the embrace of the Dark Maiden. The presence of the weave and her goddess was a double-homecoming, a warm embrace; she really should do this more often.

There were new spells. Tav had no idea how long they had been there, waiting to be discovered and returned to her. She touched each one, played with them, found their parameters and placed them into the front of her mind to be accessed when needed.

“Tav, are you in there?” A familiar voice echoed in the weave. It was so far away.

Yes. I’m here. Don’t make me go.

She didn’t want to go just yet, she hadn’t been home in so long. The weave was healing every tear in her ragged soul, making her complete again. 

“I’ll get food, then.” The voice left. She didn’t like that. It was her favorite voice; she wanted it to join her in the weave, to come home with her. She wanted to keep it forever. She forced herself to surface from her meditations, blinking heavy eyes open to see… nothing. The tent was empty. Perhaps she had imagined it.

Tav sunk back into the embrace of the weave. She danced along its flow as she never would outside her own mind. Her dancing caused the silver thread to sparkle and glow; Eilistraee would always be pleased with dance. The weave began to take on new aspects. Tav had never experienced scent as part of her meditations, but the glowing flow of magic that held her and was held by her had begun to smell of ripe apples.

“Just my shirt?” The voice had returned, Tav’s heart swelled with love for it. “You’re naked under there. Scandalous.”

No body. Just magic.

“Hmm, I see a body, love.” A gentle touch ghosted along her face. She could taste apples now. Meditation had never involved all her senses before. She truly needed to join her soul to the wear more often, there was so much she was missing.

I like the taste.

“I like the taste of you,” The gentle touch left her face, moving lower on her body. “May I?”

Yes, Astarion.

He could always have whatever he wanted. She trusted him. It was why he could hurt her so deeply. Tav had been raised to believe that all trust was foolish. She had been fighting against that teaching for some time, and had triumphed over it by handing her heart over to Astarion. A terrifying prospect at times; what if they were right?

The fear vanished, the weave trembled around her as ecstasy washed over her. Concentration was impossible, keeping still even more so. Her connection winked out as pleasure washed over her body with the strength of a tsunami. 

Tav opened her eyes in the dim tent, confused at what had happened. In an instant, blinding pleasure had her body arching, her hands scrambling for purchase to stop herself from floating away in wave after wave of rapture. Her hand found soft curls and a cool head at the juncture of her thighs.

Astarion.

Gods, he was… he was…

Thought ceased in a white-hot flash of bliss.

Chapter Text

An echoing boom reverberated through the shattered walls of the Grymforge, announcing another mighty explosion of smokepowder. The detonation sent a wave of heat blasting into the companions, followed by a downpour of rocks and pebbles descending from the dark reaches of the Grymforge’s cavernous ceiling. Tav, pressed into a corner of crumbling black granite by her friends, pushed up on her toes, trying to see around everyone, to see beyond the shadows of the oversized helmet Wyll had plopped on her head for safety before they set out to clear another rubble-filled passageway with explosives. 

Wyll and Astarion stood in her way, then Halsin and Karlach beyond them. The explosion sounded like it had been a success, but Tav couldn’t see. It annoyed her.

“More Dark Justiciars,” Shadowheart spoke to herself as the dust of the explosion cleared, revealing a dark stairwell full of desiccated bodies, scraps of dried flesh clinging to bones shrouded in bright silver armor. The black disk of Shar centered on each dusty chestplate still visible as a darker black than the lightless depths of the black passage, leading upwards to unknown heights.

“More what?” Tav called out. Everyone ignored her.

At Shadowheart’s side, much closer to the blast radius, Barcus Wroot dusted his hands, then nodded to himself in satisfaction. He looked around from Shadowheart to the rest of the huddled companions staying well away from the demolition before saying sharply, to no one in particular: 

“Well. Don’t die up there.” Having said his piece, Barcus stepped away from Shadowheart, heading back to the hallway where they had set up camp. A cheerful bark from Scratch greeted him. 

It had been Barcus’s alchemy that had assisted in the clearing of more rubble, the man much more willing to share his knowledge with them than the Duergar who had enslaved his people. While helpful, Barcus wasn’t about to risk his neck in further exploration, especially when his main focus was saving his friend. He had agreed to stay in their camp, so he was of some small assistance, but he was distinctly not a member of their party. The investigation of the Grymforge would have no further assistance from the curmudgeonly svirfneblin.

On his way to camp, Barcus passed the corner where Tav was still confined. The rest of the companions crowded in front of her against a wall as far from the explosion as they could get. Halsin and Karlach stood as the front lines, standing in front of Wyll and Astarion who were pressing Tav into a corner of crumbling black granite. As Barcus passed them, they all began talking, debating what could be found in the newly opened passage, wondering if this would be the path to the forge itself. They were hesitant, wondering if Gale’s hypothesis that the forge had been destroyed by demonic forces had been correct. No one moved. Tav felt forgotten and small, standing behind giants.

“See anything, Shadowheart?” Karlach called out.

“See what?!” Tav cried out, increasingly frustrated. She finally tore the tarnished helmet off her head and used it to gently smack Wyll in the back. “ Hiran! Would you move? ”

“Oh, Tav! There you are!” Wyll smirked as he turned to look down at her in pretend surprise. Beside him, Astarion tried to hide the twitching of his lips as he struggled to hold back his laughter. “Didn’t see you down there.”

“It’s understandable, darling,” Astarion forced out, laughter gilding the edge of his words, “You’re so tiny, it’s easy to miss you.”

Tav narrowed her eyes at both men, before smacking them each with the helmet as hard as she could. For all she used as much force as she had within her, the only result she got was their laughter.

*****

“Shadowheart, what do you make of this?” Tav asked, waving a yellowing letter at the cleric. 

The companions were all rifling through a particularly destroyed room that appeared, once upon a time, to have been a Sharran dormitory. Justiciars, Inquisitors and other unidentifiable skeletons littered the split-level chamber, some still pierced with the weapons that had killed them, others dangling from the high ceiling in chains. Tav and Shadowheart had set themselves to investigate a small library at the bottom of the first sweeping set of stairs. They tore through shelves of dusty books and loose pages of letters and documents, setting aside any scrolls they found for Gale. Karlach, Wyll and Astarion searched above in the remaining two levels of the room. They searched for anything they could find; gold, supplies, and, hopefully, more information about the adamantine forge. 

“Let me see,” Shadowheart snatched the paper from Tav’s hand, turning to hold it close to the glowing Blood of Lathander resting on a large table. While they all had some level of darkvision, even Wyll now, the ability was no help when it came to reading. Rather than light a candle, Shadowheart had simply set her mace down, so she and Tav could rely on its sunny glow to read. After a moment of peering at the old-fashioned handwriting slashing thick lines of black ink on the aged parchment, Shadowheart began to read out loud:

Master Ketheric,

My whip has finally coaxed some particulars from the captive Harper. To wit: she revealed the location of her stockpile, on a rocky overlook. I investigated, but found the chest in question is trapped. Any attempt to open it might break its contents completely.

The spy refuses to reveal how to open the chest, even under threat of death, only crying ‘Lux Splenda!” with every lash. Some type of watchword, no doubt.

The interrogation continues. And, again, please accept my most humble apologies for my earlier oversights. Rest assured, I will not misidentify any more of my fellow Sharrans as spies – may they walk forever in Shadow.

Justiciar Sybil

“Hmm” Shadowheart murmured, staring unseeing at the letter, turning its contents over in her mind, “Ketheric. Wasn’t that the name in the letter we found about Wyll’s Father?”

“You think it’s the same person? A Sharran?” Tav asked, frowning, “Surely you’d know if Moonrise Towers was a haven for Sharrans, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Shadowheart gave a humorless laugh. “Even if I had all my memories, I couldn’t tell you anything about other Sharran cloisters. We’re very good at keeping secrets, even from ourselves.”

“And now it belongs to the Absolute,” Tav added, speaking her musings out loud. “This letter is centuries–”

“Fuck!” Karlach’s roar distracted them from their discussion.

“Close it! Close it!” Wyll’s shouts followed on the heels of Karlach’s rage-filled cursing. “Fucking CLOSE IT, Astarion!”

If Astarion replied, his words were lost in a clash of steel. The sickly green-black light of Wyll’s warlock magic flickered through the chamber, followed by an animalistic scream. Tav and Shadowheart paused for a moment, regarding each other with wide, surprised eyes before a sulfurous smell flowing down the stairs had them grabbing their weapons and running up the steps. The ancient letter fluttered, forgotten, to the ground, slipping under the table to rest against a silvery-gray hunk of melted slag.

Shadowheart ascended the stairs first, skidding to a halt at the top which forced Tav to dodge. They both paused, trying to understand what was happening. Karlach was swinging her greataxe at a mammoth Hellsboar, a demonic pig-creature Tav recognized from their fight on the Nautilus. The sulfurous beast was on top of a large stone table, bringing itself closer to Karlach’s height. Its great, yellow teeth chomped at Karlach, she barely held it at bay with a swing of her axe. Thick growths of natural armor protruding from the boars red skin prevented Karlach’s axe from doing much damage. Beyond the fiery tiefling and her opponent, Astarion and Wyll struggled to hold a great pair of bronze-banded doors shut against the Hellsboars that squealed on the other side. What was more horrifying was the glimpse of a blank, golden face whenever a stronger push managed to open the doors a few inches. Each great thump on the door forced Wyll and Astarion to redouble their efforts to hold the barrier closed, blasting them all with the stench of sulfur.

“Vel’bol…?” Tav breathed out in confusion, trying to take in the scene before her.

“Would. You. FUCKING. HELP.” Karlach punctuated each growling word with a swing of her axe, taking brief moments of her battle to glare at the women standing frozen in shock at the top of the stairs. She managed to slice a hoof off the Hellsboar she fought. The creature stumbled, but didn’t go down, its jaws never ceased snapping, trying to bite at anything in reach. Shadowheart dove in to assist Karlach against the Hellsboar, the warm light of the sun shining in the dark dormitory as she wielded the Blood of Lathander against the hellish boar. Tav saw little she could do while Wyll and Astarion held the majority of their opponents at bay. Instead, she fell into her magic, seeking a spell that could reinforce their efforts. Tav wrapped them in threads of the weave, bolstering their strength with her magic. The door held under their enhanced strength, though it took all Tav’s concentration to keep feeding the weave into her friends.

“Where did they come from?” Shadowheart huffed around near-blinding swings of her sun-radiant mace. The Hellsboar squealed in agony when one of those swings connected with its jaw, shattering teeth and bone. It fell onto its side, struggling to get back onto its three remaining hooves.

“Who cares?! Hurry up!” Astarion cried as the sharpened tip of a halberd pierced the door near his head. The sharp point piercing the brass and wood of the door means their efforts to keep it closed would soon be for naught. 

“I don’t know!” Karlach snarled in reply to the cleric, thunking her axe into the unprotected belly of the Hellsboar. The creature shrieked as death took it when Karlach tore the axe’s great blade through its gut, tearing the beast open with a laceration almost the full length of its body. The boar slumped down, lifeless, its wound spilling black and purple viscera onto the floor.

“Fangs picked a lock on this door–” Karlach began explaining, hefting her bloodied axe and striding towards the doors Wyll and Astarion strained to hold.

“Wyll asked me to!” Astarion snarled, interrupting Karlach with a straining voice.

“Hey–” Wyll’s response was cut short when the doors slammed open. Astarion went flying, knocking into Tav, the two tumbling down the stairs. Wyll was caught between the brass-bound doors and a granite wall, his head knocking hard against stone. Bloodied and unconscious, the warlock slumped to the ground.

“Well…” Shadowheart murmured to Karlach as the two faced down the deep black entryway, a darkness no darkvision could pierce.

Karlach stretched her neck from side to side, rolling her shoulders to loosen up her body. Snorting growls echoed from the dark room heralding the entrance of three Hellsboars into the dormitory. Behind the beasts a large, muscular demon shuffled through the doorway. The demon wore a patchwork of metal and leather armor, the leather oddly pale over its ash-gray body. From its shoulderplates, heavy spikes rose far above the demonic creature's head, making it appear to wear beaten metal stocks around its head. A smooth, golden mask sat upon the brute’s head, making its face appear to be that of a soulless, gleaming doll. The razor-sharp tip of the large halberd it wielded bore more personality than its lifeless yellow eyes.

“... Fuck me.” Karlach finished Shadowheart’s sentence with a resigned sigh.

Pressed behind the door, Wyll groaned.

At the bottom of the stairs, near the neat pile of their packs and bags, Tav and Astarion assisted each other to their feet. Tav groaned in pain, rubbing a bruised shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Astarion asked, having come out of the fall far less bruised.

“Are you?” Tav replied, an enraged roar from Karlach echoed through the dormitory and drew her attention away, “We have to get back up there.”

“Yes,” Astarion nodded absently, his attention on their neatly piled packs. He bent down to dig through his own, searching for something. “I have an idea.”

“Is it going to release more demons?” Tav smirked.

“That was Wyll’s fault,” Astarion insisted, retrieving two seemingly empty bottles from his pack. Clear glass showing nothing inside. “Be good or I won’t share my invisibility potions.”

“Oh, of course,” Tav chuckled, taking a potion from Astarion. “Bad Wyll. Very bad. We should tell Mizora so she can spank him or something.”

“Once we’ve lived through this,” He sighed, his pale hand reaching for Tav’s in the dark of the dormitory. “Hold on so we don’t lose each other.”

They drank the potions then raced up the stairs together, while blinding flashes of sunlight left purple spots floating in Tav’s sight. She tried to stop when they reached the top, assuming they would join Karlach and Shadowheart in their battle. Astarion tugged her onwards. They circled the women, who faced off against three Hellsboars, the metal-faced creature Tav had glimpsed nowhere to be seen. Astarion led her up another set of stairs to the third level of the dormitory, which overlooked their friend's battle. Astarion released Tav’s hand to scoop up the bow and quiver he had left resting on a stone bed, the action breaking his invisibility.

“Can you call an ice storm, darling?” He whispered to the space over her left shoulder, unable to pinpoint her invisible form, before digging through his quiver searching for his frost-rimed arrows of ice.

Tav peered down at the battle below just in time to see the golden-masked demon pop into existence. She reacted with surprise, lashing out with magic. Tav became visible once more when four red darts of Magic Missile launched from her hands to slam into the demon's chest, the force making it stumble backwards into the dark room behind it. Another four darts appeared, striking the boar Karlach struggled against. 

“Can’t: I might kill them,” Tav finally answered, flinching when she watched a boar charge forward, ducking below Shadowheart’s shield, crunching hard at the scaled greaves covering her lower leg. The cleric cried out in pain, but still managed to shatter the boar's skull with the Blood of Lathander.

As Shadowheart cried out, Tav heard another shout coming from just below her. Suddenly, a large black circle appeared on the floor under the battle, erupting in tall black tentacles that grasped at anything within reach. Karlach managed to leap backwards, propelling herself out of the circle before the tentacles erupted, a long black tendril wrapping around the Hellsboar she fought in burning flashes of cold. The boar’s death-squeal was ear shattering. Shadowheart wasn’t so lucky; she was caught in the Hunger of Hadar spell, slimy black tentacles chilling her body, leaving behind burning acidic goo.

“Fuck, sorry!” Wyll called out, realizing he had mis-cast after staggering to his feet and better observing the battlefield. The demon in the doorway turned its blank mask towards Wyll, charging forward with its halberd readied. The weapon pierced Wyll’s thigh, pinning him to the granite wall behind him. The tentacles of the Hunger of Hadar spell vanished, releasing Shadowheart from their grip, leaving behind two dead Hellsboars. The third Hellsboar lunged towards Karlach, then fell to the ground dead, its small, squinting pig-eyes pierced with Astarion’s arrows of ice.  

Karlach’s infernal engine raged with fiery heat as she threw herself into battle with the masked demon. It was unable to pull its halberd from Wyll in time, forced back on its heels, defending itself from Karlach’s axe with its metal and leather gauntlets. A mighty axe swing severed one of the demon’s arms, though no sound emerged from the expressionless mask in reaction to the injury. Sickly green light, a glowing putrescence, flew from Tav’s hands to surround the demon. Its body began to rot at an incredible speed. It fell over, dead, the mask falling from its face to clang against the ground. Where a face should have been was a blank stretch of ash-gray skin.

Karlach handed Wyll a healing potion before wrenching the halberd from his leg. Red skin stitched itself back together once the warlock downed the potion. Both Wyll and Karlach breathed heavily in the aftermath of the battle. Shadowheart whispered prayers to her dark goddess for her own healing, her flesh knitting back together in agony under Shar’s grace.

“All. Wyll’s. Fault.” Astarion whispered to Tav. 

*****

“It really was his fault,” Astarion was still complaining to Tav as they explored the dormitory level of the Grymforge together. Karlach, Wyll and Shadowheart had remained behind to rest and heal from the battle with the Hellsboars and what Karlach had called a Merregon Legionnaire. The group surmised that the demon and its pig-like pets had been trapped during the event that broke the Grymforge centuries earlier. Gale had guessed the destruction had been demonic in nature; the appearance of demons and demonic creatures cemented that guess as fact.

Tav and Astarion had promised not to open any more locked doors, simply scouting the area while they gave their friends the opportunity to recover from their injuries. Really, Tav wanted to get Astarion away from them so he could vent away from Wyll’s hearing.

“You’d think a warlock would know when – careful, darling – there are demons about,” Astarion went on, setting his hands on Tav’s hips to stop her from stepping on a pressure plate, complaining all the while. Once he was certain Tav was safe, Astarion kneeled down to disarm the trap. “Honestly, I think he did it on purpose. Probably trying to show off.”

“Show off to who? Karlach and Shadowheart?” Tav asked, a little confused by Astarion’s ability to complain and scout at the same time, “They’ve been together for a while now, surely he doesn’t need to show off.”

“I’m certain he does, love,” Astarion scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically before striding forward along the distressed hallway of Grymforge’s upper levels.

Tav bit her lip to keep from laughing, finding it all rather hilarious. It didn’t matter to her what had happened; they were exploring and sometimes you stumble across monsters. It was, to her, a fact of life. A small bead of blood welled up on her lip, drawn forward by her bite.

Ahead, Astarion stopped in his tracks. He inhaled deeply, scenting the air, before slowly turning to regard her with widely-blown pupils. His head cocked to the side in a considering manner while his eyes focused on her lips and the single bead of blood she was about to lick away. Tav froze, not knowing what to do with the sudden feeling of being hunted. The blood dripped off her lip, splashing unnoticed to the floor

“What’s this?” He murmured softly, moving forward to take Tav’s shoulders in his hands. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

“Nau … I just–” Tav tried to explain before being stopped by his hand sliding up her neck and into her hair. His sanguine eyes raised from her lips to stare deep into her own. They hung there, for a moment, suspended in time.

“I need–” Astarion broke the moment with a choked whisper.

“Yes,” Tav breathed out, interrupting whatever his request might be. She would give it to him.

His lean towards her was torturously slow, Tav’s heartbeat stuttering in anticipation while Astarion took his time, winding her up with just his presence and the promise of touch. Then his lips were on hers, tongue licking at the small wound on her lips, drawing her lower lip into his mouth to suck every drop of blood from her torn flesh.

Tav groaned in relief at his touch, pressing her body against Astarion's. She hated his armor, that she couldn’t feel his body through the layers of spider silk, the hatred warring with the love in her heart and a growing wetness in her smallclothes.  She felt as though she could fly apart in a million pieces, she knew she would shatter if he didn’t bite her soon. Tav anchored herself with a hand on his waist, curling a leg around his hips, trying to grind herself into his growing erection. Astarion’s gentle hand in her hair felt especially good as he used it to direct the depth of their kiss. Soon his other hand tore out the bit of leather that held her hair back, both hands now making a mess of the white tresses. His lips left hers to journey down her face, stopping at the barely-healed marks on her neck.

Astarion paused there and Tav thought she might die.

“Could we…” He murmured hesitantly against the scars in her neck, dropping a hand from her hair to wrap around her shoulders, holding her close. “Could we just…?”

Tav uncurled her leg from his hip, wrapping her arms around Astarion, holding tight.

“We don’t have to do anything, Aestar,” She whispered over his silver-white curls. “Just feed.”

“I love you,” Astarion mumbled into her neck, before the icy pinch of his fangs overwhelmed her senses and everything narrowed to blood and love.

Chapter Text

“There has to be a lever,” Wyll complained from his cramped position on the very edge of a narrow metal catwalk that hung from thick chains from the unseen heights of the Grymforge’s cavernous ceiling. “The last one had a lever”.

They had discovered the metal grates, the pieces of moving catwalk clearly designed to transport ore forward for processing in the forge, near the dormitory space. Unlike the rest of the Grymforge, the catwalks seemed undamaged and functional. Until the party found themselves hanging over the shattered room where Nere’s headless body had been left to rot. More catwalks could be seen in the distance, but it was too far to jump. A large metal bucket, large enough to fit them all, dangled from the ceiling near the end of the catwalk. It looked like it could move forward, could get them to the other side of the flowing magma to where the forge waited, if only they could find the means to move it.

“What’s that?” Karlach pointed into the shadows from her position behind Wyll. “Tav, you can see better, what’s over there?”

Tav squinted into the shadowed cavern. A jutting bit of rock held a dark metal console. Something jutted from the console. She could barely make it out; what it two somethings? It looked like…

“Yes, levers!” Tav cried, readying herself to jump into the bucket, “Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Shadowheart, standing between Karlach and Tav, turned to put her hand on the drow’s arm, preventing her from making the leap. “We should test it first.”

“Siyo, Shadowheart,” Tav grinned at her friend, “That’s probably wise.”

“Wyll, why don’t you go in there so we can test it?” Astarion drawled from behind Tav. She clapped her hands over her mouth to hold back her laughter. Wyll made a rude gesture at Astarion.

“How are we going to reach the levers?” Karlach asked, “I don’t think we can throw a rock like last time.

“I wish Gale were here,” Wyll sighed, “He could use Mage Hand.”

Tav turned to Astarion, making an exaggerated expression of disbelief and rolling her eyes. He returned the expression, shaking his head. She quietly summoned her own Mage Hand, then sent the glowing blue appendage floating through the air. It moved behind Wyll, unnoticed, then tugged hard on one of his horns.

“The fuck?!” Wyll spluttered, surprised, his hand grabbing onto a chain to keep himself anchored to the catwalk as the magic hand yanked him towards the magma bubbling below. “Tav, let me go!”

“You deserved that,” Karlach chuckled. The Mage Hand released Wyll’s curled horn, then floated in front of the warlock’s face, making the same rude gesture Wyll had given Astarion moments before. 

The hand floated there, fixed in its rude gesture. Nothing happened.

Astarion cleared his throat.

Nothing happened.

Shadowheart cleared her throat.

“Ugh, I’m sorry , Tav.” Wyll apologized as though they were all holding him at swordpoint.

“I forgive you!” Tav chirped. The glowing blue hand flew through the air, reaching for the set of levers waiting at the edge of her darkvision. It pulled the first lever it encountered. A large metallic thunk echoed through the air, then the screeching of rusted chains. The bucket lowered a few meters, then stilled.

“Try the other one!” Karlach encouraged.

The hand moved towards the second lever, then stopped. Tav strained, pushing forward, but it seemed the hand had reached the limit of her magic, mere inches from the second lever.

“Vith…” Tav began cursing in undercommon, holding out her own hand towards the lever, struggling to move her Mage Hand forward just a little more. “Mumbaro… waele rah!”

The Mage Hand winked out of existence.

An arrow slashed through the dark, knocking into the second lever perfectly. Another thunk, followed by more metalic shrieks, and the bucket moved into the dark, over the rivers of magma, towards the other cat-walk so far away.

“Everyone thank Astarion!” Tav called as she stood on the tips of her toes to press a sweet kiss into Astarion’s cheek. No one else saw the soft smile he gave Tav in return.

Wyll heaved a sigh that could make forge bellows proud.

*****

“Oh, fantastic,” Karlach breathed when she made the leap down from the catwalk to the equally-shattered area of the Grymforge that had yet to be explored by Man, Elf or Duergar. “One of those travel thingies Gale likes so much. We won’t have to do all that stuff with the levers to get back.”

A large, and thankfully still-intact wall of the chamber they had found themselves in was emblazoned with a glowing purple rune. The rest of the room was given over to destruction or the remains of forge life. Thick wooden tables, some still upright but most tossed around like children's toys, silver-gray metal slag, and tools of the smithy’s trade were dispersed around the large room like garbage. The occasional pile of bleached-white bones, some still in armor or swathed in a scrap of leather vest, lay scattered about the room. There was an air of decay hanging over the area, a stillness one can only find in death. This place had been empty for centuries.

“What do we do, Tav?” Karlach asked, turning to see her tiny friend staring at yet another ruined chamber with wide eyes.

“I… I think…” Tav stuttered, not knowing the answer. She looked to Astarion, busily copying the rune onto their map. He shrugged; plans were not part of his job. Tav turned instead to Shadowheart, an imploring look on her dark face. “What do we do?”

Shadowheart glanced around the chamber, thoughtfully. She took in the entire space. The rusting tools, the darkened stairwell to her left housing bookshelves barely visible with her darkvision, the blaze of red light to her right where magma flowed beyond crumbling walls. Pulses of heat from the rivers of liquid rock flowed through the room, quickly drenching them all in sweat. Right in front of them, a steep staircase led down very far into something circular and dark. Most likely the forge itself.

“What we need to do is think,” Shadowheart advised Tav, “What do we know about the Grymforge? You and Astarion have mentioned it on and off, but what is everything you both know? It’s an adamantine forge, but where do we get adamantine? How does the forge work?”

“We have all this writing,” Tav dug into her pack to reveal sheets of parchment and a few leather bound books with yellowing pages.

“Alright,” Shadowheart took one of the books from Tav’s pack, “Let’s have a look.”

“The lady is wise,” Karlach grinned at Shadowheart, who blushed in return, “But reading isn’t my job, so you guys call me when it’s time for action.” She moved off with Wyll to explore the magma-lit area to their right. Tav and Shadowheart settled on the stone floor near the rune Astarion was still transcribing, spreading out books and papers around them. Soon, Astarion joined them on the floor, poking at the aging parchment as though re-reading it would give him any more answers into what their next steps should be.

“If only we had fresher dead,” Shadowheart muttered to herself, her eyes glued to the yellowing pages of the book in her hands, “A speak with dead spell would be really helpful right now.”

Tav nodded absently, flipping through her own stash of loose parchments–the writings of drow who had sought the forge and lost their lives in the search, “Talking to someone who lived here would be–”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!” Wyll’s shouting cut off Tav’s thoughts. Tav darted to her feet, and was racing towards Wyll and Karlach as his last curse still echoed off the walls.

“Not again,” Shadowheart sighed, getting to her feet alongside Astarion, both more slowly than Tav.

“What did Wyll do this time?” The vampire spawn smirked at the cleric as they made their way towards the dancing shadows of a battle backlit by the red glow of Faerûn’s hells-hot blood.

“I don’t know, that last one sounded like you,” Shadowheart snarked, taking in the battle before her, Karlach and Wyll facing off against three animated skeletons, Dark Justiciars who had risen from the lightless depths of Lady Shar’s Shadowfell to defend the Grymforge. Tav stood a few paces behind Wyll and Karlach, instinctively using ice magic that melted in the heat before it could do any damage.

“It was Wyll’s fault!” Astarion insisted, sending a smokepowder arrow – one of Barcus Wroot’s vicious alchemical creations – arching over the battle to explode just behind the undead, knocking them forward into Karlach’s waiting axe.

“Are we really talking about this now?! ” Wyll shouted, barely restrained purple-blue magic crackling around his fist, aching to be released. The Shatter spell fought against Wyll’s control. Perhaps Mizora would rather he miscast and hurt Karlach. It finally snapped into place as Wyll ducked the swing of a greatsword, surging forward to wrap around two of the closest skeletal Justiciars, rumbles of thunder, and cracks of metal and bone echoing through the chamber. The spell missed Karlach. Barely.

Another ice shard flew from Tav’s hands to melt away before it struck anything. Astarion realized she must be tired; she always reached for ice and storms when she was too tired to think. It occurred to him, as a swing of Karlach’s axe overbalanced the tiefling and she took a sword to the arm for the mistake, that they must all be tired. He felt great, freshly fed, with Tav’s blood rushing through him with electric energy. Though he had made sure to use the Amulet of Silvanus after his most recent feed, it had been many hours and many battles since they had slept or found reverie.

Beside him, Shadowheart forsook clerical magic and prayers to Shar to dig around in her pack. The flickering red light of nearby magma revealed dark circles under her eyes. She, too, was nearly at the limits of her strength. Shadowheart yanked a lambskin scroll from her pack, unrolling it and reading the foreign words of magic. The scroll vanished in a small conflagration, the magic it contained returning to the weave. As it did, three rays of fire leapt from Shadowheart’s gauntleted fist, darting through the air to blacken bones and char shattered armor. One of the undead crumbled, a pile of bones neatly topped by corroded armor.

A heavy crossbow bolt pierced the thickly padded vest of Wyll’s armor, just above his heart. The force of the bolt sent the warlock stumbling back; he crashed into Tav, sending them both sprawling. Karlach cried out as Wyll fell, then roared her rage at the two remaining skeletons, the sounds of her anger bouncing off the walls, doubling until it seemed an army cried out for blood. She launched into them both, her axe trailing the flames of her anger.

Neither skeleton held a crossbow.

Shadowheart ran towards Wyll and Tav, prayers already falling from her lips. Another bolt appeared, burying itself in Tav’s shoulder. She cried out in pain, her face dark with anger. Electricity began to crackle along her body, answering jolts firing down Astarion’s veins, her anger made her magic wild, barely contained. White strands of her hair floated upwards, dancing in the charged air.

Motion on a broken wall above them revealed a fourth undead Justiciar, skeletal eyes black, mindless caverns, a heavy crossbow clutched in bone-white hands. It took aim again, at Wyll or Tav, Astarion did not know. He shot his acid arrows upwards at what little of the Justiciar he could see. His aim wasn’t the best at that angle, but the arrows forced the skeleton to take cover all the same. The blue glow of healing magic, bright and hopeful even coming from Shar’s black heart, surged in the corner of his eye.

“Where is it?” Tav spat at his side, he was glad to see her healed and returned to him, even as the electricity crackling around her body zapped him, “Where is the orbb xsa'us bastard?”

Astarion nodded upwards, taking aim with another arrow. A sensation of pulling, of something being grabbed within him then drawn out in one long string forced him to drop his bow. Tavs blood within him struggled to add its own meager powers to whatever wild madness her anger had her casting. Electricity crackled and sparked along her body, tiny flashes of light traveling along her form, congregating in her fist. It seemed everything in the room drew towards her, for once, not just his ragged soul. Lightning shot from her hands, connecting her to the undead Justiciar above in a jagged line of white-purple light that left bars across his vision.

Deep in her own battle, Karlach shouted a well-timed “Get fucked, cockhead!” as the lightning winked from existence.

Armor fell, bones crumbled. The chamber returned to silence. Uncomfortably warm silence.

“What’s this?” Wyll’s voice carried over to them, but Tav didn’t respond, wavering on her feet, exhaustion stealing the sparkle from her eyes.

“A mould of some sort?” Shadowheart responded, her voice sounding nearly as tired as Tav looked. Astarion couldn’t tear his eyes away from Tav to check on the rest of them. They sounded alive, that was good enough.

More clanking and crashing echoed through the chamber as Karlach and Wyll rifled through bones and slag for treasure. Astarion scooped his bow off the ground before taking Tav’s hand in his own, smirking when the action caused her to startle, a tiny spark of electricity darting towards him before she could stop herself. She blinked her gorgeous blue eyes up at him, her mind fuzzed by fatigue. 

“You need rest, darling.” He spoke softly to her, pulling her into a one-armed embrace, still a little amazed how it could feel so right to have someone tucked under his arm like that.

“N’don’t.” She mumbled.

“Hey!” Karlach caught their attention, pointing with a clawed hand towards the lake of magma bubbling away nearby, “I can see a vein of something out there. We’re going to check it out. We need metal to forge, right?”

“Tenu…” Tav sighed. She tried to join Karlach, Wyll and Shadowheart, but Astarion held her fast. She gave up easily.

“You go,” Astarion told Karlach. “We’re going to rest a bit. She’s out of magic anyway.”

As the others picked their way to the edge of the magma lake, seeking iron or mithril or whatever Karlach had seen on it’s melting shores, Astarion led Tav in the opposite direction, towards a shadow darkened set of stairs and a quiet, breeze-cooled library, just as shattered as the rest of the Grymforge compound, but quiet and comparatively cool. Books and loose papers scattered the space, along with waxy bits of candle, melted down to nubs. Tav tried to light a candle, but couldn’t get the cantrip to form.

Astarion dropped his pack and weapons to the floor, tearing off his spider silk chest piece and breathing a sigh of relief at the air that kissed his pale skin, once he dropped the armor to the floor.

“We don’t need light, love, we need rest,” He admonished her as she continued trying to light candles. He sat on the floor and opened his arms, “Come here.”

Tav didn’t move, frowning at her hand.

“Tav?” Astarion prompted.

“Hm? Oh, xas.” Tav finally noticed him on the floor. She set her staff down and joined him, snuggling into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin. Almost immediately, she sank into reverie. He knew he should join her, but it felt nice to hold her. Free of expectation, pain or fear, Astarion held his love in the dark.

Later, when peace and quiet had washed over his soul, reverie found him.

*****

“Scale mail mould in the chamber?” Shadowheart called out, her attention fully on the ancient book in her hand. They had discovered instructions on how to operate the forge in the dark library where they had all, eventually, found rest for a few hours.

“Check.” Karlach called back.

“Mithral ore under the hammer?” Shadowheart asked, moving on to the next step in the instructions.

“Check. I think? This is the hammer, right?” Wyll asked, standing before a wide, cylindrical base where they had inserted the mithral ore Karlach had torn from the magma-heated ground with a few swings of an ancient pickaxe.

“OK, it says we turn the wheel to prepare the metal, then open the valve to allow the lava into the crucible, then drop the hammer again to forge. Are we ready?”

“Can I turn the wheel?”

“Darling, with what strength are you going to turn that wheel?”

“Vith’ir, I can do it!”

Shadowheart sighed as Astarion and Tav fell into insulting each other, she waved Wyll and Karlach over to help turn the great wheel secured to one quadrant of the great circular platform that made up the adamantine forge. On the way, Karlach grinned at Astarion and Tav as they ignored the world to mock each other, each smiling with delight as they did so. The wheel was well greased, even centuries after its last use, and turned silently at Karlach’s slightest touch. A soft clink, barely audible, was the only precursor as the hammer – a giant cylinder of pure mithril – descended from the dark ceiling at great speed to smash into its twin where the mithril ore waited.

Tav gasped in fear at the loud clang, launching herself into Astarion’s embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, turning to glare as best he could at Shadowheart and Karlach. The circular platform that made up the forge gave a great shudder and began to rapidly descend. Karlach lost her footing, stumbling into Wyll and Shadowheart, all three falling to the ground. Shadowheart rolled away with a gasp, the end of her braid singed from contact with her hellfire-charged lover.

“Serves them right.” Astarion murmured into Tav’s hair, both elves easily staying upright through the jerking motion of the platform's descent.

“That would not have happened if I turned the wheel.” Tav pouted into his chest. He chuckled.

The platform settled into a larger circular base with a final clang and a shudder of weight settling. The forge had connected to a large valve, grating across its entrance holding back the lava flows. A large spoked wheel nearby, twin to the hammer’s wheel, would need to be turned to release the lava into the crucible.

“Can I turn this wheel?” Tav asked, excited to control the flow of lava and craft something out of mithril.

“Can I turn the wheel?” Wyll asked right on top of her. A after brief staring contest, he offered a compromise, “I’ll play you Fighter-Mage-Cleric for it.”

“What’s that?” Tav asked

“Just a silly hand game children play,” Wyll explained, “I’ll teach you. There are three gestures, each one either beats or is beaten by the other two. Mage beats Fighter, Cleric beats Mage, Fighter beats Cleric–”

“Oh, Malar-Faer-Zanab!” Tav cut Wyll off. “I know that one. You can’t use Cleric, though, they beat everything. You have to use Sneak.”

“Why would Cleric beat everything?” Karlach asked, “That makes no sense.”

For a moment, Tav was overcome. The chants of Lolths faithful echoed in her ears. Of course Cleric would beat everything, how could they not? They had certainly spent enough decades beating her. Astarion’s hand found hers and she clutched it tightly. She used the cool sensation of his hand in hers to center herself; they were discussing a game, they were nowhere near Menzoberranzan, all would be well.

“I guess it would be like saying Fighter-Mage-Zariel, wouldn’t it?” Karlach answered her own question. “A little overpowered.”

“Xas,” Tav smiled wanely at her friend, “Exactly.”

They played on the count of three, Wyll’s Mage defeated Tav’s Fighter. The companions split up, Wyll and Karlach staying near the lava valve, Shadowheart, Astarion and Tav heading to the wheel that controlled the Hammer. Wyll turned the wheel and lava began flowing into the crucible.

It was time to forge some armor.

Chapter Text

Lake Donigarten, the large, freshwater lake at the eastern end of Araurilcaurak, the great cavern which housed Menzoberranzan, was integral to the survival of the city. Its placid, dark surface belied dangerous currents and ice-cold depths. Slaves worked the dark waters with spears and nets to collect fish and crustaceans. The Island of Roth é in the middle of the lake produced Roth é meat and milk, careful irrigation of the lake brought water to the rest of Donigarten, allowing for large-scale farming of mosses and fungi. Without the life-giving waters of Lake Donigarten, Menzoberranzan would not survive for long.

Of late, more fish floated, dead and rotting, upon the water’s surface than wriggled in nets. Roth é were occasionally found dead, scalded to the bone, at the water's edge. The delicate mosses and fungi the city relied upon for the bulk of its food were steaming instead of growing. Something was heating the lake to temperatures that would starve the city within weeks.

House Hunzrin, responsible for the area of Donigarten, the farms, animals and slaves whose labour made everything possible, had tried to solve the problem on their own. Though the other houses mocked them for their agricultural duties, there was always a chance another house wanted the power that came with the duty to feed the entire city. Letting it be known that there was a problem was an untenable risk to Hunzrin’s survival. Instead, House Hunzrin had sent patrols of guards and platoons of goblin and grimlock slaves into the tunnels of the Eastways beyond the lake, trying to find the source of the alarming heat that was destroying the lake.

The patrols did not return.

After a second set of patrols failed to return to Hunzrin with either success or, at the very least, helpful information, Matron Shakti made the agonising decision to raise the alarm with the Ruling Council of Eight. She pleaded for aid from Matron Quenthel Baenre herself; in doing so, she risked death and – worse– Lolth’s displeasure. Thankfully, Matron Quenthel saw beyond the weakness of Hunzrin’s failures and saw that Menzoberranzan itself was in true danger. The First House of Menzoberranzan rallied the council, agreeing to send to the academy of Tier Breche and Arach-Tinilith, seeking to put together patrols of more skilled drow – students of the various houses near to their graduation. Priestesses, fighters, and wizards who could surely deal with whatever was infesting the Eastways with destruction and heat.

Tav’ryneer Melarn, novice priestess and secret sorcerer, found herself in apprenticed service to Mistress Xullnel Barrison Del’Armgo, the teacher who was overseeing Arach-Tinilith’s assistance of House Hunzin. At first, she was tasked with running messages between Mistress Xullnel and the other teachers, but once the battalion arrived at the entrance to the Eastways, Tav’ryneer was assigned to herd the slaves that were to be used as fodder while the students carefully explored the tunnels. It was a task she was almost grateful for, though Xullnel was using it as punishment. No one else wanted the job which helped keep Tav’runeer safe from the whips and blades of her classmates. If someone stabbed her in the back, they might end up on the front lines, herding the goblins and kobolds.

The sweltering heat in the Eastways tunnels increased uncomfortably the farther the battalion of Tier Breche journeyed. Scorchingly hot tunnel walls shimmered the air with heat and scalding mud puddles stymied their path. All evidence of powerful fire-magics. The wizards of Sorcere were forced to expend a great deal of their magic simply summoning ice and water magics to cool the path ahead. 

Tav’ryneer herded the frightened slaves forward, breathing through her mouth and regretting having a nose at all as dozens of goblins, grimlocks and kobolds sweat into the close-quarters of the Eastways tunnels. A soft, red glow appeared in the distance where the tunnel took a sharp bend. The slaves stumbled over small, silvery puddles and blackened hunks of bone; the remains of Hunzrin’s patrols. 

The ground began to rumble, then swiftly it heaved and buckled. The slaves fell to the ground, a few falling into boiling mud pits, their screams lost to the roars of the shifting and cracking of the very ground.

“Vi’sirik!” a masculine voice cried, one of the fighters of Melee-Magthere, just behind Tav’ryneer and the slaves. The fool of a male wasted time giving a warning far too late; the ground was cracking open like a rotten lizard egg, revealing the hot red pulse of magma. Elementals, colossal constructs of molten rock, their bodies seeming to constantly erupt, cool and re-melt, sprung from the cracks in the earth, the heated flow of Faerûn’s blood seeming to birth them at random. Smaller fire elementals, raging infernos with arms and faces full of hate, joined their larger counterparts. Tier Breche’s battalion was surrounded.

The battle was on.

A magma elemental crawled from the depths of the earth to stand before Tav’ryneer, a giant of blazing scarlet heat, its very proximity burning her skin and evaporating the air she breathed. She called upon Lolth as she was taught, as her sister novices were doing behind her, begging the Spider Queen to intervene on behalf of the city that lived only for her. All around Tav’ryneer, Lolth answered the calls of the novices. Fighters were enhanced, wizards were protected, the elementals fell back under the mighty onslaught of Lolth’s faithful. Though she prayed with all her might, beseeching the Spider Queen for assistance, nothing happened for Tav’ryneer. For her, Lolth would not answer.

The magma elemental reached out with a long arm of smouldering liquid rock; it merely brushed Tav’ryneer’s side, but that brush burned the clothes from her body, melted the flesh from her bones. The agony was total, all she could do was scream and reach out with instinct rather than rote lessons. Where Lolth was silent, the Weave answered Tav’ryneer’s call; she was one with the magic, more so than any of Sorcere’s wizards would ever be. The Weave gave her water to match fire, ice to match magma.

The stench of burning flesh choked her lungs. Her entire body was a blaze of fiery pain, surrounded by burning elementals and the screams of the doomed. With Lolth silent and no other choice, Tav’ryneer summoned an ice storm over her own head.

The dream – the memory – ended in a crash of suffering, the burning of fire and ice all along her body.

“We know little of the ones that came before, but we know they worshipped the Lady of Loss.” Shadowheart’s soft voice read out loud. 

It was meaningless to Tav, her body a quilt of burns, agony dancing along each nerve. She swam in the dark waters of her mind, just under the bright glow of consciousness, hidden from the heights of agony she would experience were she awake. Shadowheart’s voice echoed in those unknown depths, a comfort. “We know they constructed the great fortress, and named – I don’t know what that says. Frustrating old book – But from whence they came, and why they departed – this is a mystery even to Ketheric Thorm himself.”

“Are they still out?” Karlach’s voice echoed in the darkness where Tav hid from her pain.

“Why are you up? You should be resting.” Shadowheart replied, without answering Karlach’s question.

“Couldn’t rest much,” Karlach’s voice held a shrug and no small amount of exhaustion, “Guess I’m still fired up from dragging the four of you out of that fucked up forge.”

“You didn’t drag me,” Shadowheart replied gently, a soft thump announcing she had abandoned her book.

“Close enough,” Karlach answered, “Halsin is done with Astarion. He’ll need rest, and blood when he wakes up, but he’ll be fine.”

Relief surged through the dark waters where Tav hid. Astarion was alright, they all were. Thank Eilistraee.

“If Halsin and I rest, we can help Tav and Wyll, then we can get out of here.” Shadowheart mused.

“Surprised you want to leave. This place is Sharran paradise, isn’t it?” Rustling and thumping, then a small wave of heat announced Karlach sitting down to join them, wherever they were. Tav inched closer to the surface, to consciousness.

“Not really. But… that structure we saw from a distance, in the Grymforge. Something about it struck me as noteworthy.”

“How did you have time to notice structures?” Karlach sounded amazed, but also amused. “All I saw was that giant fucking mithril-thing trying to kill us all.”

“I don’t know, but I did. It might all be a coincidence… but between those ruins, and the signs I saw of Dark Justiciars before? It might be much more. As long as I’ve prayed to Lady Shar, I’ve wished to serve her as a Dark Justiciar. There is scarcely a greater way to fully dedicate yourself to Lady Shar – save perhaps if you become the head of her church.”

“What does it mean to be a Dark Justiciar?” Karlach asked quietly. Warm hands tucked blankets around Tav. The pain receded a little, she sank deeper.

“To become a Dark Justiciar is to become the Nightsinger’s sword arm – her implement with which she will cast down the unbelievers and win the final battle to restore her perfect, endless darkness. It’s all I ever wanted. I prayed it was my calling. But… Mother forbid me from seeking to prove myself worthy of the rank. She said I was not ready.”

“... Mother? ” Karlach emulated Shadowheart’s odd emphasis on the word, turning it into a question.

“Not my mother-mother,” Shadowheart explained, “The Mother Superior. Head of Lady Shar’s enclave in Baldur’s Gate. Sometimes I wonder if she would ever deem me ready. I owe her everything, and I only wish to serve, yet she can prove… inscrutable.”

“Well.” Karlach sighed, “Not going to become one today. And not tomorrow. Thank you for sharing, Shadowheart, but right now you need to rest. Go to bed; I’ll keep watch.”

“Yeah,” Shadowheart’s voice was distant, or was Tav distant? 

She sank deeper, descending farther from the pain. Cool, dark waters closed over her head. Tav slept.

*****

Tav slowly came awake, opening her dry eyes to the shadowed walls of their tent. The air smelled different; fresher than the stagnant underdark, but still with a heaviness to it. A draft moving through the patchwork red walls was damp and cool with a hint of bone dust, death, and loss. They were still indoors, wherever they were, but much closer to the surface, perhaps even on it. There was a comforting weight spread across half of her body, legs tangled with hers and a heavy arm thrown over her midriff. Her neck felt cool and wet as someone… repeatedly… licked it?

“Astarion?” Tav groaned, her body pain-free and newly-made, but still exhausted. She stretched languidly, relishing the feel of skin-on-skin, Astarion’s cool chest pressed into her back, both of them wearing pants but little else.

“Mmm,” the man himself replied, alternating between kissing and licking the scars his feeding had left in her neck.

“We’re not in the Underdark,” Tav observed, rubbing grit from her eyes but doing nothing to move Astarion away from her, to stop his mouthing at her neck. “What happened?”

“We forgot there was a guardian at the forge. Someone built a mithril construct – golem? Metal Leviathan? I don’t know, something – it nearly killed us all,” he explained against her neck. Occasionally, as he spoke, a fang nicked her skin, slowly building anticipation within her. “Wyll noticed the lava was heating it, Karlach lured it under the hammer and we flattened it. You don’t remember that?”

“I remember being burned. Reminded me of – no matter.” Tav shuddered. Fighting magma creatures was not her favourite thing to do. “Where are we?”

“Halsin’s ‘Shadowlands’,” Astarion murmured, “or, we will be when we break camp. We’re on the surface, anyway. Near enough. Gale and Lae’zel were there when we came back from the forge, so we moved camp. You and Wyll were hurt the most, we’ve been letting you both rest and heal.”

As he finished explaining, a fang scraped along her neck. She shivered; it would give him no end of delight that she did so. He would probably tease her to death for it. But she couldn’t help it. Injury made her especially vulnerable to the slightest touch from him. She needed the comfort of his embrace, the homecoming of his fangs in her neck. Healing wouldn’t be complete without it.

“You are healed, aren’t you darling?” His voice was a tapestry of complicated feelings. Love, concern, hope, and hunger.

Tav smirked, choosing not to answer and instead moved her head to bare her scarred neck to him. He understood immediately, his arm around her waist gripping her tightly. Fangs sliced into her scars with an icy pinch, then she was truly healed, truly whole once more; one with her love.

The satisfaction of his embrace quickly turned heated. Tav felt desire race through her blood, felt Astarion’s worry and hunger as though it were her own. The reality of their situation set in as the comfort of his embrace relaxed her enough that thought was possible. The Underdark was behind her. Hopefully, for the last time. They had survived the worst place in Faerûn with no losses. A palpable sense of relief surged through her and then, suddenly, she was sobbing.

Astarion quickly removed himself from her neck, backing away. He looked confused, frightened and concerned all at once. Tav wanted to explain, wanted to reassure him, but her own emotions were just too heightened, the relief too strong to control. Astarion’s eyes darted all over her, looking for injury and finding none, all the while tears poured down her face as she bawled harder. Tav's entire body shook with each cry, relief tearing itself from her throat in powerful sobs. She couldn’t stop.

Astarion grabbed a shirt from the corner of the tent, then darted out.

Tav blinked in surprise at the tent flap as it fluttered shut behind Astarion’s quick exit. For a moment, her sobs weakened to quiet snivels as she mentally flogged herself with every axiom about the folly of trust she had ever heard in Menzoberranzan. She was merely crying and he left – no, he ran . Cut to her quick by Astarion’s abandonment, the pain warred inside her with the pure relief of their survival. Not knowing what else to do, she buried her face in a pillow and cried harder.

Tav gave herself over to sadness. It was best to feel weak when safely alone and, it seemed, she was quite alone. She wished Astarion was there with her, she wanted to hold and be held more than anything. But he wouldn’t return just because she wished he would.

Hardly any time had passed – Tav had yet to cry herself out – when swift, heavy footfalls announced the approach of Halsin to the tent.

“Tav, what happened, where are you hurt?” the Master Druid spoke quickly as he tore open the tent and moved inside to kneel down beside her. She couldn’t find her voice, sobs still wracking her body. A large hand on her back was the only warning before a warm wash of healing magic covered her. Silvanus’s blue-green light sped through her body, seeking hurt or illness to cure. It found nothing. Hurt emotions couldn’t be cured by a spell.

“You’re… fine,” Halsin uttered in confusion. He removed his hand from Tav’s back, then sat back on his heels. “Astarion said – Tav, why did he think you were hurt?”

“Naut kam–kampi’un,” Tav stuttered around the hitches of her sobs, pushing herself up from her bedroll to face Halsin. “I don’t know why he thought that. Why would he think that?”

“Could it be the blood covering your chest?” Halsin asked dryly, rolling his eyes to the heavens where he would find no help – Tav had tried that one before as well. He handed her one of Astarion’s black shirts to dress herself.

“He was feeding,” she mumbled as she tugged the shirt over her head, a little embarrassed to be discussing that with Halsin. He had seen worse – so much worse – but still, Tav wasn’t sure what to do with this clinical visit where a druid had come to offer healing she did not need. “It doesn’t hurt me, he knows that.”

“ Something happened, Tav,” Halsin’s voice held the patience of an oak tree. “He was feeding, then what?”

“I realised we weren’t in the Underdark anymore,” Tav answered, thinking through the events of the past few moments out loud. “I was so scared this whole time, Halsin, you have no idea. Usstan dofithus… I fled… I fled my home for a reason. I never wanted to go back down there. When I knew we had made it out, I was so relieved–”

“Tav, what’s wrong, how–where are you hurt!?” Shadowheart cried in panic as she dashed into the tent wearing nothing but Wyll’s quilted jacket, the frosted patina of a fire resistance potion sparkling across her pale skin. The cleric pulled up short at the sight of Tav and Halsin, a dark frown snapping over her face as she took in the perfectly healthy drow. “I’m going to kill him. ”

Halsin calmly reached into the crate where Tav kept her alchemical creations and removed a frosted bottle of fire resistance. Offering no explanation or excuse to the cleric, he simply handed her the potion, sending her back out of the tent with a gentle push. Turning to Tav, humour sparkling in his eyes, Halsin only spoke once Shadowheart was truly gone.

“It seems Astarion thinks he hurt you,” Halsin observed wryly. “Sending myself and Shadowheart here to see to your health.”

“Hurt me?” Tav repeated, confusion thick in her voice.

“You cried, didn’t you?” Halsin asked, leading Tav’s mind down the path towards answers. “People cry when they’re hurt.”

“But I’m not hurt,” Tav argued. “I needed a hug not healing.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Halsin explained, “Astarion got myself and Shadowheart to see to you, did he not? He believes you to be hurt and he believes himself to be the one who did it.”

“Gi… gi nau,” Tav breathed as realisation set in. “Xal orbben plynn ussta solen.”

“Keep your eyes right where they are,” Halsin replied to her curses, reaching for the tent flaps to leave the space where she and Astarion had made a home. He turned back to offer one last piece of advice before returning to his own tent, “Go find him.”

The tent flaps shut behind the hulking druid, leaving Tav alone with her feelings. She cast a quick prestidigitation cantrip to clean herself of her own blood, stuck her nose in Astarion’s shirt to breathe in his comforting smell before leaving the tent herself, on the hunt for her beloved, wayward vampire spawn.

Chapter Text

Tav wandered the camp looking for signs of Astarion and taking in the entrance to the Shadowlands all at once. They seemed to have set up camp in a basement entrance of an old Sharran temple. The large chamber they were in was ringed by two large ramps heading upwards, an iron portcullis nearby leading down to the Grymforge and the Underdark. What could be seen of the stone walls were covered with intricate friezes dedicated to the Lady of Loss, many cracked or broken with age where they were not covered with strange, black roots, pulsating with sickly-green growths jabbing down from the cursed lands above. Vines lay thick on the walls farther up the ramps, until Tav’s darkvision gave out and she could see no more. The darkness above was oppressive, thick and impenetrable. Tav knew she should be able to see farther in darkness – that she could not chilled her. 

Iron sconces were set into the cold stone walls at regular intervals; someone had set torches burning in each one, providing light for the entire party. The circle of light each torch provided seemed small and washed out, the shadows fighting back against the light as she had never seen before. Their tents were set up closely to each other, huddling together cheek-by-jowl as far from the shadows as possible. Tav could understand why; there was something alive about the darkness beyond the camp, a sense of waiting dread. They had yet to truly enter the cursed land, even still, the darkness lived and breathed in a way that sent her heart pounding with fear, cold sweat sliding down her back. In the Underdark, death waited in the darkness. In the Shadowlands, the darkness was death. 

Tav passed by Gale’s tent where the wizard was playing a game of lanceboard with Lae’zel, Scratch leaning into his side. They all looked up as she passed, though Lae’zel immediately dismissed Tav’s presence with a scoffing ‘ tchk!’, returning to attention to the game. Gale watched Tav explore the camp, took in her melancholy expression and tight grip on her borrowed shirt. A few happy wags of Scratch's tail thumped into his side, spurring him into action.

“He went that way,” Gale called out, taking pity on her. Tav spun around to face the wizard, struggling to hide the raw hope from her expression. Surely the entire camp would lose respect for her if they knew how easily Astarion could scramble her mind. They were still infected, about to enter a cursed land, and all she could do was pine for Astarion. To Tav’s surprise, Gale had no judgement on his face. His smile was one of understanding. The smoke-grey mark in Gales’ skin curling up his neck from the Netherese orb in his chest caught Tav’s eye as she passed the wizard to follow where his finger pointed. The brand the Netherese magic had left upon Gale’s tanned skin reminded Tav that, of all the people in the camp, the wizard was probably the most understanding about the tangled affairs of the heart. He was the former lover of a Goddess, after all.

“Bel'la dos, Gale,” she replied to Gale as she passed his tent heading, hopefully, in the right direction to Astarion. She repeated herself in Common, for good measure, “Thank you.”

Tav left the camp, shadows closing tightly around her as she ascended a gloomy staircase, grit and dust making it a challenge to step silently. The darkness held a strange, chilled heaviness that carried a sense of cruel anticipation. She felt as though she stood at the entrance to a monster’s lair, balanced on a knife’s edge between dangers unknown and the dangers of the Underdark behind her. Tav comforted herself with the knowledge that the others would have thoroughly scouted the chamber before setting up camp; the darkness might seem alive, but it wasn’t , it couldn’t be. She was safe.

She peered around, hoping to catch sight of Astarion in the oppressive shadows. Benches and alcoves dotted the chamber walls, surely she would find him on one of those. Shivers wracked her body as she struggled to keep warm in just her leggings and borrowed shirt. She wished she had her winter clothes; the thick, oversized clothing with fur lining and room for layers underneath they had given her upon her arrival at Nors d’Linath. If these cursed lands were always so cold, she would be bunking with Karlach in short order. Tav, distracted with thoughts of how cold she was, took a few careless steps into the thick darkness, sending small stones clattering across the time-ravaged stone floor. The sound was jarring in the silent darkness. 

The shadows came alive. Muscular arms banded tightly around her chest, the cool prick of sharpened steel at her throat. Tav froze in fear, too frightened to even exhale, certain that the next movement would be her last.

So much for safe.

*****

Astarion knew those sobs. He had heard them from many a mark, so often cried out as they were dragged out of bed in the middle of the night by Cazador’s skeletal minions. Get some rest, boy, you’ll do it again tomorrow. Cazador’s version of praise given over cries of terror and agony. He had never wanted to hear those sounds come from Tav’s mouth. He had especially never wanted to cause those sounds to erupt from her sweet lips.

But he did. Of course he did, he was a monster. A couple months playing at being one of the living wouldn’t change that. He knew, eventually, they would run out of excuses. This time there was no creature they were fighting, he didn’t need healing, it was just him. Him and his cursed hunger that would do far worse than just hurt her one of these days.

Astarion paced in the dark confines of whatever alcove he had thrown himself into after the rush of sending Halsin and Shadowheart to see to Tav’s injuries. He knew he had hurt her, but was too cowardly to stick around and find out how bad the damage was. Two healers should be more than capable of putting her back together. Instead, he fled their camp, launching up a dilapidated stairwell to surround himself in the heavy darkness of the cursed Shadowlands. Once safely alone, he mentally flogged himself with every failure he could think of, punishing himself with memory and self loathing. When his unassuaged hunger reared its head, demanded he return to camp and the bliss that could only be found in Tav’s neck, he flogged himself with that too. Failure. Monster. Undeserving.

A soft footfall caught his ears. Karlach and Lae’zel had assured everyone they had scouted and found the area to be quite secure, the only entrances a heavily-fortified door, thick oak banded with iron and barred by a piece of wood more akin to a tree-trunk, and the lift that led back to the thoroughly emptied Grymforge. The camp should be safe, no one should be wandering the strangely living shadows outside the light of their fires. Stones skittered past the alcove where he hid, proving that to be a lie. Something was out there, no doubt putting them all in danger. Nothing that hid in shadows was to be trusted; as a creature of the shadows himself, he should know.

This, Astarion thought, he could at least do something about. His sussur bark dagger slid from its sheath with barely a whisper. He stepped from the darkened alcove with the silent grace of an owl in flight. A slight figure crept through the gloom ahead of him, black clothing seeming oddly grey in the perfect darkness of Shar’s shadows. Bright white hair hung down the figure’s back in a silky braid. Another drow, Astarion thought, like Nightwarden Minthara or Nere. He knew Tav wouldn’t be happy to encounter more of her people. He could slit their throat, then stuff the body in an alcove. She’d never have to know.

He caught up to the drow easily, quickly immobilising them and placing the sussur dagger to their throat. The dark elf froze in his arms, caught entirely by surprise. Astarion was almost proud of himself; the reputation of the drow had him certain that he would never catch one unaware like this. A spark of magic flashed through the shadows, sputtering a quick death under the antimagic of sussur bark, the dagger serving its purpose to protect him. The first prick of his blade at a dark throat sent the stagnant air blooming with the mouth-watering scent of Tav’s blood. Apples and electricity, ice and love.

Tav!

Astarion’s hand sprang away from the handle of the dagger, the knife clanging to the ground as he released Tav and scrambled backwards.

“I –” He could hardly get a word out before his arms were again full of drow. Tav had turned around and launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly and murmuring nonsense about being sorry. Sorry? What did she have to be sorry for, he was the one who had nearly killed her again. “Darling, what are you doing here? Why are you sorry?”

Warm arms tightened around his middle, he could feel the wetness of tears coming from the perfect face buried in his neck. Still , she apologised. What in the hells was happening?

“You didn’t hurt me,” Tav’s voice was choked with tears, why was she lying? She had never done that before.

“Of course I did, I was there, I know what happened,” He sputtered, allowing her to put her weight into her embrace, backing him into the alcove where he had been… resting. The back of his knees hit a stone bench Astarion found himself seated, his lap now full of Tav and his head full of confusion. The scent of her blood was in his nose, his fangs ached. Thinking straight was impossible; the world narrowed to the sound of her blood rushing through her veins and the abyssal chasm of hunger within him.

“Nau, I wasn’t crying because I was hurt, it was because I was relieved.” Tav explained through her tears, finally pulling away from his neck to stare eagerly into his eyes. In the darkened alcove, her eyes were the dark blue of a stormy sea. His mind pulsed in time with the beating of her heart, a distant part of him hoped he wasn’t drooling. “I don’t think I understood how scared I was down there. Waking up on the surface was like… waking from a nightmare. It’s over and I don’t ever have to go back. I was so relieved we survived I just… cried.”

Tav brought a shaking hand up to the wound his dagger had left in her neck, a clean line rather than the ragged wounds his teeth made. He hated it. She would need to see a healer again, he would not have that scar. The only marks he wanted to see on her were from his bites. Her delicate fingers dipped into her own blood, then drifted to his lips.

“I hurt you,” he murmured, shaking his head, trying to avoid the ambrosia she was offering. Perhaps he hadn’t hurt her earlier, perhaps he had overreacted – though he still had his doubts there – but he had certainly been about to slit her throat just now.

“And I hurt you,” Tav replied, painting his lips red with her bloody fingers, “We’re even. Feed, Aestar? Qualla?”

No vampire could resist the call of blood for long and he certainly couldn’t resist Tav. His first, his everything. Even cool, the blood he licked from his lips, then her fingers, was the best thing he had ever tasted. Love and home, passion and sex, a full-bodied, muscle-clenching orgasm on his tongue. No matter how many others he drank from, in battle or offered freely in camp, nothing would ever compare to the taste of Tav. She tilted her head, giving him a shadowed view of his marks on her neck, just under the cut he had made. His darkvision struggled against Shar’s cursed shadows, but he could make out the scars in Tavs neck with perfect clarity. The scars that proved she was his, would be his forever. With a whimper of hunger he would never admit to making, Astarion leaned in slowly, gently kissing away the streaks of blood on Tavs neck, before sliding his fangs home.

His bite wrenched a moan from Tav’s lips, low and wanton. She quickly adjusted herself in his lap, settling her thighs on the bench around his hips. Tav wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold as tightly as he had held her, when he thought she was an enemy to kill. Her hold was firm safety, supporting his body and soul while he gave in to the drive of vampiric hunger and gulped down crimson mouthfuls of the eternal revelation that was her blood.

As had happened so often of late, their minds tangled while her magic charged his every cell with warmth and love. The depth of her fears lay spread before him, the palpable relief she felt at being away from the Underdark. Had this happened before, it would have saved him a great deal of pain. Astarion was steeped in love, the still-foreign feeling of being safe and secure harboured in Tav’s embrace thundered through him like one of her spells. He could feel Tav’s growing lust, and her growing shame at it. She wanted to respect his boundaries, to take nothing he wasn’t ready to give.

But, Gods, how he wanted to give. Her lust was his own, their minds such a tangle he had no idea what they were feeling individually. Astarion’s hands tangled with the laces on her oversized shirt– oh, it was one of his. That should stay on. He untied the laces so the low neck framed her chest, reaching in to playfully tug a nipple as best he could while the bulk of his focus was still on her blood in his mouth. He felt, more than heard, the whine in the back of her throat as she began pushing her body into his, thrusting her core into his increasingly stiff erection.

Love you, love you, love you, need you…

His head spun with lust and blood loss.

No, that wasn’t right.

Ignoring Tav’s faint sound of protest as his hand left her chest, Astarion reached into the neck of his own shirt, searching for the Amulet of Silvanus. Once he had the silver medallion in a firm grip, he pulled away from Tav’s neck, preparing to summon healing magic to set her to rights. Instead, she ground hard into his erection, a delicate hand slipped into his hair to pull him back into her neck.

“Mzild. Nau vrine’winith,” Tav murmured, the quiet tone of her voice not hiding how she slurred her words. The meaning of her request taking shape through their connection. 

More, don’t stop.

“Can’t get enough?” He whispered into her pointed ear, summoning the magic in the amulet to heal her. Blue-green light, muted under the heavy shadows, flashed through the alcove. Tav paused above him, frozen in indecision as clarity returned to her mind. His hands on her hips, encouraging her to resume grinding down on his now very impressive erection, helped soothe her mind. He wanted this, he wanted her.

Gods, he wanted her. Wanting hadn’t been something he could do for himself for so long. Weeks of this and it still felt a little odd. She was his and he could have her, or not have her, as he wished. She listened, she respected him, it was mind blowing that he had found his way into this perfect cocoon of love, webbed together with his little spider.

“Your little what?” The hand in his hair clenched a painfully tight grip. 

Their minds were still tangled. She had heard the pet name he only called her in his mind. If he was lucky, she just hated it.

“Um… well…” How to get out of this one? Surely she wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t , she was grinding into him so perfectly he might just come in his pants.

“Show you what a spider I am…” Tav muttered, sliding from his lap to kneel between his legs. Surely that was a good sign, she wouldn’t be there if she was mad at him. A glowing blue hand sent dim light into the alcove, magic light fighting against the shadows. What was she going to do with a Mage Hand… two Mage Hands… three… oh.

Oh.

Hands were everywhere. He was undressed in a blink, magic hands tearing at his shirt and pants, shredding his clothing to scraps. It was like an orgy – he hated those, nowhere to turn to let yourself rest for even a moment, performing to the hilt at all times – but all the hands were hers. A far better experience; Tav’s wicked little hands, all eight of them, felt like her, felt like her skin, soft and gentle, a tiny callus on one thumb. Hands kneaded relaxation into his shoulders, her own warm hands on his length pumped slowly while she directed still more hands to explore his body, to touch everywhere. One sneaky hand phased through the bench and began a teasing exploration of his backside.

“Spider,” Tav muttered under her breath, “I can’t believe…”

Any words she may have wanted to say were lost in her lowering her mouth to the weeping tip of his cock and dropping a soft kiss. Tav could still be muttering, but words ceased to have meaning. He needed her, he needed to to never stop. Hands everywhere, caressing, exploring, he was lost to the sensation of touch, her mouth dropping sweet kisses along his length. He slid a hand into her hair, destroying the braid someone had worked hard on, directing her mouth back to the tip of him. She said something, asked something, was she even speaking Common? Was he?

He floundered in a world of pure desire, not knowing how to ask her for more. It was all so new, being his own person, seeking his own pleasure. Astarion was overwhelmed.

“Vel’bol xun dos ssri’luin?” Tav whispered, the husky Undercommon words sliding through the dark air like an echo. He was lost to any language, but their connection provided understanding. 

What do you need?

“I…” He had no idea. He needed her, he needed her soft mouth, her tight cunt. Astarion had no idea what to ask for, what he might want, what she might want. Surely she needed something? He should be performing–

“Nau,” Tav answered his thoughts, cut them off and stomped on them. “You should be doing no such thing. Just enjoy.”

The hands resumed their exploration of his body. He fought to relax into the experience, a slow dip into foreign waters that felt increasingly comfortable the deeper he sank. Her mouth enveloped him, all warmth and electric caresses of a clever tongue. A sneaky little magic finger slipped inside to–

Thought ceased. Reality disintegrated under a tsunami of pleasure. The shadowed alcove disappeared in a blinding flash of white. His very soul emptied into Tav.

With the smuggest of smiles possible, she swallowed.

Chapter Text

Months had never before had so much meaning to Tav. In Menzoberranzan, they were a way to mark the passage of time. To note when a delivery would come, or when an event had happened. Time had little meaning for a people who measured their lives in millenia, especially for a people whose city had its own clock and months that disagreed with the method of time keeping all others used. It had always been amusing, before, when the Duergar promised their delivery of raw materials or slaves would come by 10th Kythorn or some other strange name. They would arrive an hour after Narbondel’s black death, insisting it was mid-day. How backwards and wrong the greys had seemed.

Tav knew better now.

In Nors d’Linath, the idea of months had become a strict countdown, each day bringing her closer to promised change. Mother Zeere assured her that the entire surface agreed on what month it was, on what time it was from the position of the sun in the sky. Faerûn shared a giant Narbondel in the sky, as strange as that may seem. The world, the old cleric assured her, would be different soon. Zeere said the ‘weather’ would change in a few months, that this damnable cold would lessen in increments, that the white blanket of snow that covered the ground would melt away. Nym and Sorn agreed that this would happen. They told her the surface would turn from white, to bare and muddy, then finally to a warm, green paradise. The silence outside, she was told, would fill with birdsong and all manner of other sounds. It sounded dangerous, as far as Tav was concerned. Creatures didn’t announce their presence with song unless they were incredibly powerful, unless their song meant death for all who heard it.

Mother Zeere had laughed when Tav expressed her concerns. “You’ll learn, child. You’ll learn.”

For now, Tav was safe and warm in her room. She had a collection of clothing scraps from the other members of the enclave, spending her time sitting in the bright light of her one window, her back to the blinding yet chill glow of the sun, stitching the scraps into a quilt. The pieces of black or grey fabric went into a meaningless mosaic of warmth, layered on top of one another as best she could. Tav lost herself in the work, telling herself she would be warm if she could just finish the quilt.

Stitch and pull. Stitch and pull.

The next bit of fabric Tav picked from the pile was a beautiful blood-red. The colour was rich and deep, the fabric felt as soft as spider silk. She frowned at the fabric. No one in the Mouth of Song wore clothing like this, where had this come from? Tav set the red scrap aside to dig through the pile beside her, wondering if there was more. Everything else was black or grey, soft but not as smooth and perfect as the scrap of red. She picked the red fabric up again, surprised to find it had embroidery on it, red-on-red she must not have noticed before. The jagged letters of Infernal revealed themselves under her questing fingers. Why would someone embroider infernal onto a…

Astarion.

Memory flooded her mind. The Nautiloid, the tadpoles, her little found-family of misfit adventurers. Tav remembered everything and, always, at the center of each memory, stood the pale beacon that pulled at her heart like a lodestone to true north. 

“No…” Tav murmured, horror clenching at her heart. Had she stumbled into the strange realm of dreams and somehow invented an entire life for herself? What new torment was this, her own mind creating family and love, then ripping it away? Had Matron Mother managed to reach her through the dream realm with some sort of curse? Elves weren’t supposed to dream, damn it all!

Tears pricked her eyes, falling onto the red fabric she stared at in horror and longing. Mother Zeere would have answers, Tav thought to herself. The old cleric would know what to do, she would be able to banish the curse and hopefully take these memories from her mind so she wouldn’t torment herself with imagined love. For now, though, Tav mourned. She pressed her knees to her chest, protecting the scrap of red fabric with her whole body and sobbed out her broken heart into her empty bedchamber

“Don’t cry, love,” cultured tones in her ear sounded so foreign to her own accent. Cool arms circled her from behind, a head rested on her shoulder. “You sound as though someone skinned the dog; who do I need to stab to stop your tears?”

“Vel’bol?!” Shock froze her body. The arms around her were real, she could see them, pale and perfect. What madness was this?

“Tav?” the voice prompted.

She struggled in the embrace, red cloth falling forgotten to the floor, turning around to see…

Concerned, wine-red eyes stared into hers from a perfect, sun-framed face. Astarion looked hesitant, not certain what was needed, wanting to act but not knowing how. She threw herself at him as best she could, wrapping her arms around him to sob her relief into his chest.

“Darling, you need to explain,” Astarion’s confused voice rumbled in his chest, “where are we and why are you upset?”

“We’re… we’re…” Tav stuttered, emotion overwhelming all efforts to put events into words. She held him tighter and he returned the embrace with equal fervour. Her tears flowed like a river, soaking them both.

“Breathe, darling,” Astarion murmured, one arm held tight around her waist, the other stroking her back.

Panic wrapped cold tendrils around Tav’s mind. This couldn’t be real. Surely she had lost her mind. Sorn would find her talking to the air; they would have to put her down like a mad rothé.

“What do you mean I’m not real!?” His affronted voice responded to her thoughts, further proof she had lost her mind. “you couldn’t possibly imagine this level of perfection.”

She gave a watery laugh into his chest; he did have a point. She wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, surely it wasn’t within her to invent Mind Flayer tadpoles and a vampiric lover. Perhaps it had all been real after all. Perhaps, against everything Matron Mother had ever told her, love was real and she had earned it.\

“This is… this is delmah,” Tav explained around slow breaths, trying to control the insanity of crying and laughing all at once. “this is home. This is my room at the Mouth of Song.”

“This is your Nors d’Linath?” Astarion asked, his pronunciation of undercommon amusing her. Did she sound like that to everyone else?

“Xas,” She confirmed.

“And they had you in here… sewing?” confusion and doubt dripped from his voice.

“Usstan zhaun lu’oh zarr!” she protested, “I can sew!”

“You’re made of magic, and they had you stitching blankets,” Astarion muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Suddenly he froze as something occurred to him. “This is your room.”

“Xas, we went over that.”

“That is your bed,” a pale finger pointed at her wood-framed bed, blankets piled high.

“Siyo, Astarion, that is my bed.” Tav had circled back to thinking she had lost her mind, or perhaps he had. This situation was nothing she could describe as sane. 

His arms tightened around her, the increased grip her only warning before the room tilted, everything moving as he stood, lifting her in his arms.

“I’m going to fuck you in your comfy little bed, in your comfy little sewing room,” Astarion murmured, carrying her straight to the bed.

“But… we…” any protest she had died as lips and teeth found her neck.

“Do you have neighbours?” he growled into her neck, his hands very busy removing her clothing, “Will others hear you cry out for my cock?”

Insanity. This was all insanity. Why were they even here? What was–

Her clothing vanished, though that had nothing to do with her. She had no time to consider what was happening as dexterous fingers slipped inside her, a palm pressed to her clit.

“Xas, qualla!” Tav cried out, pleasure washing over her, “they’ll… they’ll hear.”

“Are there any lovers you left behind?” Jealousy was surprisingly attractive on him, his fangs scraped at her neck as he demanded answers from her, as he so expertly played her body.

“I…”

“You’re mine, now,” he growled.

“Yours,” She panted in agreement, ecstasy coiling deep within her. He let her go long enough to pull off his own shirt, then dove back to his work on her body, fingers sliding back inside her. Tav tried to keep focus long enough to work on the ties to his pants.

“Gonna make you scream my name,” he panted in her ear when her hand slipped into his pants, stroking warm fingers along his hard length, “you’re mine.”

Her bed morphed into an iron wrack, warmed by the fires of nearby braziers. The wooden panels that walled her room changed to great blocks of crumbling brick. The crack of a whip cut through the air at the same moment bruises bloomed along her hips and back, the lacerations from a scourge spouting opening to weep blood down her body.

She knew this place, they had been there before. The first time he had–

He licked a stripe up her ravaged back.

“I think of this,” Astarion confessed between licks, “When I told you I wanted us to be real. I wanted this again, even when I wasn’t ready.”

Tav could only cry out her pleasure, drawn along in his wake.

“I want to be the one to whip you, to care for you afterwards. I want , Tav, I want forever so bad I can taste our future in your blood.”

Her mind spun. Rapture crawled honey-sweet through her veins.

They were in the remains of the Rosymorn Library now, holding each other in puddles of gremishka blood.

“We’re dreaming?” Tav gasped, Astarions punishing grip on her hips setting her above him.

“Don’t care,” He replied with a grunt, thrusting upwards. 

She couldn’t find it in herself to care either. Nothing mattered but the burning stretch of his length inside her. Still, a teasing thought occurred to her. “You don’t want to fuck me all over the Mouth of Song?”

“Do I want to mark my territory?” His grin was sharp, fangs glinting in the soft light of the dilapidated library.

“Do you?” Tav asked, throwing her head back as she rode him, making certain he could see his scars in her neck.

He sat up instantly, a firm grip in her hair holding her steady, fangs slipped into her neck and bliss flooded her body. His other hand found her clit as she rode him, working furiously to bring her to completion as he neared his own precipice.

The world spun in the rapture of blood loss. Tav may have screamed, she wasn’t certain.

Darkness claimed her.

Later, the dream returned them to the Mouth of Song, to Tav’s simple, wood-paneled room, no evidence of quilting to be seen.

“You know, I’m beginning to have a fondness for dreams,” Astarion admitted to Tav as they lay in her bed at Nors d’Linath , bodies warmed under a stack of blankets thicker than the stack of books in Gale’s tent.

“Dreams can be helpful,” A familiar, aged voice echoed through the room.

“Mother Zeere!” Tav squeaked in surprise, “I can explain!”

“You’ve been caught doing worse,” The voice replied, wryly.

Together, Tav and Astarion sat up in bed, Tav making certain their bodies were fully covered by blankets, to regard the… silver striped tabby cat, sitting primly in the centre of Tav’s bedchamber.

The room darkened under magical stormclouds, a chill wind blowing the first flecks of snow as Tav’s expression turned from shocked to murderous anger in an instant.\

“You’re not Zeere,” Tav accused angrily, “She doesn’t like cats, they make her itch.”

“I am not Zeere,” The cat answered in the old cleric’s voice, “But I like cats and you do not wish to hear my true voice; neither of us would like the result of that.”

“What do you want?” Astarion demanded from behind Tav, a threat hanging in his words and demeanour. The temperature in the room plummeted.

“I wish to speak to my child,” The cat answered with all the confidence of a cat. She licked a black-striped grey paw, unconcerned that an angry vampire spawn threatened her. Sunlight flared in the window, casting a long shadow away from the cat.

The shadow held the shape of a very long sword.

“Lady Silverhair,” Tav breathed, not only releasing her magic, but trying to dispel it as quickly as possible. She trembled, indecision forking through her like lightning. Should they bow? Prostrate themselves? They were naked , did the Goddess care?

The cat simply nodded, as was her due. She didn’t seem very god-like, but she was very cat-like and, really, that was the same thing. Tav stuttered, stumbling over words in a few languages, her eyes growing wider and wider, shock leaving her dark face a pale grey.

“Shall we chat, then?” The small feline asked in a voice that was not hers.

*****

Astarion watched, amused but wary, as Tav attempted to talk to a goddess in cat form. Eilistraee had no hold on him, the entire pantheon had rejected him, so he rejected them in turn, but it was certainly funny watching someone who cared about the mad whims of the divine try to appease them.

“Ussta sor’kui whol l’jouj ulu raq’tar a’Waterdeep,” Tav had given up on any attempt at Common, though, for once, he could understand her. Dreams were funny that way.

“My apologies for the failure to arrive at Waterdeep,” She was shaking, though with fear or excitement it was impossible to tell, “I hope we weren’t all captured by the Illithid, I found no other survivors.”

“I know,” the cat replied. “Some did make it. They worry for you.”

“Can you help us with the tadpoles? Can you translate Astarion’s scars? Does Mother Zeere know where I am? How do we-”

“My child,” the cat cut off Tav’s deluge of questions. The drow’s voice cut off, her jaw snapping shut with an audible click. “Our people know what they need to know. I cannot help you with the infection, though many of us are concerned about this. I came to speak to you of that. There may be an answer.”

No answer for him, of course.

“Have I truly done nothing for you, Little Star?” The cat regarded him with glowing silver eyes, “I’ve brought no blessings into your life at all?”

The only blessing his life had ever had in two hundred years trembled in his lap. Astarion suddenly considered what that might mean as the goddess turned her attention back to Tav.

“Champions are in play,” The cat explained, “Some of them are positioned to help, others to deliver messages. Some do not know they are champions at all.”

“That’s… vague.” Tav cringed, “Not that it isn’t helpful. I’m sure it is!”

The cat smiled, “It is frustrating, my child, I understand. I am trying to prevent frustration by warning you of this: Mystra is sending one of hers. You will meet him soon. Trust his words, respond accordingly.”

“Mystra can’t just pop in to chat with Gale?” Astarion scoffed, the machinations of the divine were ridiculous.

“To speak to that which hungers for all that she is?” The silver tabby replied gently, as Tav widened her eyes at him in a clear message to shut his mouth. “No, she cannot. Soon I will be unable to speak to you as well. You enter the Shadowfell; the realm of Shar beyond my reach. Pray Shar has as much regard for her child as I have for you, else the loss to us all will be great.”

“Yes, Lady Silverhair,” Tav bowed her head to the cat. The cat accepted the obeisance with the same grace any other cat would accept the worship they deserved. “Would it be possible to just–”

Light flared silver from the cat's eyes, washing out the room in a blinding flash.

Tav was warm in his arms, her body heat enough to keep them both snug under the thick quilt. He loved having her in a bedroll, tucked in his arms under piles of blankets, both of them warm enough he could almost pretend to be alive again. The chill air of the chamber nipped at his face, he wrapped the quilt around them tighter.

Wait.

Astarion opened his eyes to regard the decaying stone walls of the chamber the party had made camp in, their last stop before entering the Shadowfell in the search for Moonrise tower.

The dream realm was a faint memory in the back of his mind, but the quilt of soft black and grey scraps neither himself nor Tav had brought on this adventure was proof it had been no mere dream. They were fully dressed, not how he remembered his state of being the last time he was conscious, Tav a comforting weight in his arms. She murmured nonsense, still trapped in the dream realm. He took the opportunity to hold her and think.

Whatever they would be facing in the Shadowfell had a number of gods worried, gods who had decided to play with the situation in the usual way; with mortal proxies. Astarion wasn’t happy Tav seemed to be Eilistraee’s game piece, moved about to fight the Illithid infection of the sword coast. Had he been put in her path as a reward? Or was she an answer to his own prayers? Perhaps both?

Trying to unravel the tangled string of divine machinations was giving him a headache.

Soon, Mystra’s champion would make themselves known. Shar’s cursed lands awaited along with what would no doubt be a harrowing adventure. Too many agendas were at play for Astarion to try to think it all through. Especially not when he had his arms, and heart, full of Tav.

He tucked the strange quilt around her just a little tighter. Smiling softly when she burrowed into his chest.

Everything else could wait.