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Chapter Text

When the Vampire Lord Varcellis seizes the Szarr Palace in Cazador's place, Astarion, Tessira and their companions must steal an important and well-guarded artefact - the Amulet of Sun Resistance - from Varcellis to finally claim a future together.

Tessira, once a renowned courtesan of Baldur’s Gate who enchanted the city’s social elite from Sharess’ Caress with her song and charm, is forced to confront her past when she makes a desperate sacrifice, offering herself as Varcellis’ courtesan in order to get close enough to him to steal the key to her future with Astarion. Astarion, haunted by the shadows of his own history, must learn to trust again, letting love guide him where darkness once ruled.

Amid danger and intrigue, Tessira discovers she carries Astarion’s child, the embodiment of the union of their passion, resilience, and the legacy of the lives they’ve survived. As Varcellis hunts them relentlessly, the couple must fight not only to protect their lives but to safeguard their love, their family, and the fragile future they are building together. In a world of shadows and silk, devotion, desire, and courage intertwine, proving that even in the darkest nights, love can be the brightest legacy.

Hello!! Welcome to my new BG3 fanfic, Heirs of Shadow and Silk.

This story is a lot less angst and hurt than These Violent Delights and is not linked, Tessira is a new Tav and in this story Astarion did not ascend. The plot takes place some time after the canon-events of the game when the group are settling back into their lives. There are plenty of chapters of domestic fluff, romance as well as angst and yearning. I've also added in a few balls, one being masquerade because I LOVE THE TENSION.

I do write to music, so can add in songs I wrote to if you'd like to listen at the same time as it really helped me immerse myself in the scenes.

I do not have a beta reader, I'm the only one of my friends who likes BG3 so forgive me if there are some grammatical errors or plot holes, please feel free to point these out to me and I will amend :)

Content warnings

- Rape/Non-Con elements

As mentioned, Tessira was a courtesan in Sharess' Caress before the events of the game therefore was with men before and this is touched on when discussing her past. There is also a chapter where she goes back into this role with Varcellis. I don't like writing this kind of thing, so it's brief and lacks as much triggering detail as possible. I will highlight in the notes which chapters to look out for, but it won't be many.

Additionally, Astarion's past is touched on as well, and we all know how that went for him :(

- Childbirth

I've never had kids and don't know a whole lot about birth, but I've tried to write it as best I can. I will highlight the chapters of birth, it's not completely traumatic but there is angst around there so just wanted to highlight

- Violence

- Mentions of blood and gore

I hope you enjoy, please do comment feedback and notes I love to read it and thank you for reading!

xoxo

Chapter Text

The fire burned low, embers pulsing like a heartbeat in the hearth of the Elfsong Tavern. Its glow cast long, lazy shadows across worn oak beams and weary faces, a fragile pocket of warmth against the ruin beyond its doors. Outside, Baldur’s Gate still smouldered. Towers lay broken like snapped spears, streets veiled in smoke and sorrow. Grief held the city in an iron grip, but at last, with the Netherbrain’s fall, the screaming had stopped. For the first time in months, silence did not mean death. It meant peace. Or something like it.

In the comfortable silence, Tessira began to sing.

The first note was soft, unassuming, barely rising above the crackle of the flames. But as her voice unfurled, rich and haunting, it smoothed into the air like poured wine. Her fingers moved deftly along the strings of her lute, coaxing a melody that felt older than the trees themselves. The song was neither joyous nor mournful, but something in between – a bridge of sound that spoke of beauty weathered by sorrow, and sorrow softened by beauty.

Her companions stilled, one by one. Even Lae’zel, who often dismissed her “frivolous” music, paused in the act of sharpening her blade. Shadowheart leaned against a log, arms folded, eyes hooded from the wine they’d shared at dinner, yet her breath eased with each note. Karlach sprawled on her back on the plush carpet, wide grin softened into something tender, hands folded over her chest as though holding the song there.

Tessira closed her amethyst eyes as she played, letting the music carry her thoughts away. She did not need words to speak tonight. Words were dangerous – too sharp, too binding. But song… song could hold the truths she dared not name.

She had been born with a voice that brought even the most chaste men to their knees. At Sharess’ Caress, her singing had been her weapon and her armour both. Tonight she played for the simple pleasure of entertaining those she had grown close to. The soft glow of the camp fire caught the pale gleam of her freckled skin, the raven cascade of her hair – an inky veil, shifting with flashes of violet and indigo like a raven’s wing in flight. Slim and lithe in her favourite deep emerald gown, the skirt revealed her alabaster legs so high it was teetering on scandalous, she was an enchantment of flesh and silk. Men had sworn oaths over her voice, women had wept, and more than one lord had emptied his purse simply to hear her sing their name between verses.

They had thought they owned her. None ever had.

Her song faltered for a moment, just a breath, memory pricking sharp as glass. But then she steadied, tilting her head back, curls falling loose from their binding. Tonight she was not in the perfumed halls of Sharess’ Caress. Tonight she was herself: Tessira, wanderer, bard, survivor of nautiloid fire and mind flayer nightmares, companion to unlikely heroes.

When she had awoken on the beach, amidst the wreckage of the alien ship, she had thought herself doomed, just another plaything in some god’s cruel jest. And yet… she had stumbled into others who carried the same burden. Strange souls, all of them, but gods, how they had proven themselves.

Karlach was the first face her mind conjured as the song twisted sweeter. Karlach, blazing like a star even in her moments of grief, who had thrown an arm around Tessira as though they’d been sisters since birth. They had shared laughter, wine, whispered jokes about Gale’s dramatic speeches and Astarion’s vanity. Tessira adored her for it, for her loyalty, her warmth, her refusal to let the world grind her spirit to dust.

Shadowheart, too, had surprised her. The cleric’s sharp tongue and curt manner should have grated, but Tessira saw the cracks in her armour. In her, Tessira found a kindred spirit: another woman who knew the weight of secrets, who hid tenderness beneath barbed words. More than once, she had sat beside Shadowheart in silence, offering no questions, only presence. It was enough. It was also a pleasant surprise to find a woman who shared her love of wine, the night of the Tielfing party they had shared a delicious bottle and many since.

Lae’zel was harder. Their respect had been earned in blood, dueling quips, arguments that bordered on violence, and yet, when steel clashed, Tessira knew the githyanki’s back was guarded as fiercely as her own. Tessira admired her ruthlessness, even envied it. She had grown up wielding charm as a blade; Lae’zel needed no such mask. She also appreciated Lae’zel being the group's strength, along with Karlach. Tessira was more than happy to hide behind Lae’zel as she viciously mocked their enemies, much to Lae’zel’s annoyance.

The melody softened again, turning introspective. Tessira looked to Wyll, who was clearly falling asleep in his well loved armchair thanks to the hearty stew they’d gorged themselves on for dinner. The man – well, Devil now – who treated her as though she were already his sister, scolding her lightly when she pushed herself too hard, teasing her when she drank too much. He had been the first to tell her she deserved better than scraps of affection bought in coin. She’d rolled her eyes at the time, but his words had lingered longer than she cared to admit.

The melody softened, curling around the fire like smoke. Tessira glanced at Gale, whose hands were buried in a book yet whose eyes occasionally flicked toward her, betraying the faintest traces of admiration, of fascination. She could feel it, the subtle pull, the way he seemed enthralled by her in a way no one else had dared. In another life, perhaps, she might have leaned into it, allowed herself to be his partner. He offered warmth, safety, steadiness… everything a fractured soul might need.

But she knew herself too well. She was jagged, sharpened by shadows, and he… he was light and kindness in a world that had hardened her. They would never work. She could not bear the thought of dimming her edges to fit into someone else’s calm orbit, no matter how generous. And his pride – oh, his pride – as Mystra’s former Chosen made him insufferable at times. He explained things that didn’t need explaining, corrected the air like the stars themselves demanded his commentary, and yet… she felt a warmth when he was near, a quiet certainty that in a chaotic world, he wouldn’t betray her.

Her gaze drifted elsewhere, and for a brief, almost cruel moment, she let herself acknowledge why she was drawn to someone like Astarion instead – dangerous, unpredictable, and equally fractured. Someone who could meet her on the knife-edge of her own darkness, someone who could match her shadows rather than try to smooth them away. Gale’s devotion had once stirred a wistful ache, but desire, real, raw, dangerous desire, was elsewhere.

Astarion… Tessira smiled mid-song, a low, secret curl of her lips. They had danced around each other in quips sharp enough to draw blood, each recognising in the other a survivor’s cunning. She’d let him flirt and parry, and she returned it with relish, knowing full well it was a game, a glittering mask to hide the deeper scars. He made her laugh, and for that alone, she’d let him live. She had immediately recognised his ruse, his flirtation a mere mask hiding the desperate need for protection and allegiance. She had indulged him that night of the Tiefling party, slept with him, and continued their dance. But now, as her eyes lingered on her lover – and his on her, with that same searing intensity – Tessira knew there was nothing in all the realms she would not do for him. She had been there on that fragile night after Cazador’s fall, her hand clasped in his as he took his first, uncertain steps into freedom. Since then, they had learned to bare their souls as openly as their scars, no longer fearing the vulnerability they found in each other’s arms, but cherishing it – because it was theirs.

The last notes drifted into silence. For a long moment, no one spoke. Even the tavern walls seemed to listen, holding its breath. Then Karlach sat up with a whoop, clapping her hands together, jolting Wyll from the warm embrace of sleep.

“By the Hells, Tess, that was beautiful! You’re wasted on this lot, you know. You should be singing in front of kings!”

“Kings rarely pay their tabs,” Tessira said lightly, though her cheeks were warm.

Shadowheart’s lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. “Not bad, bard. Not bad at all.”

Gale gave her a mock bow, eyes gleaming. “Truly a master at her craft.”

“You’re too kind, sir.” she grinned, laying the lute across her lap.

Even Lae’zel gave a curt nod, as though conceding the song had merit despite its uselessness in combat. Wyll raised a hand in quiet applause, his expression as fond as an older brother’s.

But it was Astarion’s silence that clung to her. He stood near the fire, hands loose at his sides, eyes fixed on her with a softness that burned hotter than flame. For once, he seemed to have lost his words.

Tessira tilted her chin, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Cat got your tongue, vampire?”

He startled, clearing his throat. “Merely… appreciating art. It is rare to hear something so… incandescent.”

“Careful, lover,” she said, her voice light and flirtatious. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might start charging you.”

The party erupted in laughter, Karlach loudest of all, Wyll shaking his head with a grin. Gale sputtered, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for water. Tessira only sipped her wine, eyes glinting, her mask of effortless composure firmly in place.

Astarion’s eyes flared, and he smirked.

The laughter wound down as the fire settled into embers. One by one, her companions drifted toward their small alcoves within the large room, exhaustion tugging them from camaraderie to solitude.

“Try not to burn the place down while I sleep, eh?” Karlach grinned, giving Tessira’s shoulder a playful nudge before ducking away.

Shadowheart offered a soft smile and a murmured ‘goodnight’ before disappearing into her tent, a woman so guarded and shrouded in secrets, but Tessira knew there was a sisterhood growing there. Tesira had no trouble in developing close bonds with women and Shadowheart would come around to share her frivolity even if Tessira had to dress her in the finest dresses by force.

Lae’zel muttered something about wasted hours and sharpened her blade once more before finally retiring.

Wyll pressed a brotherly kiss to her hair as he passed, murmuring, “Good night, little songbird.” Tessira smiled warmly at the nickname, though her heart seized with grief.

Soon, only Tessira remained by the fire place. She sighed, laying her lute back into its case with careful fingers, as though tucking a child to bed. Her half-finished glass of wine caught the firelight, garnet-red against the night.

“Little songbird now?” Astarion raised a brow at her, smiling gently at the nickname. 

“You like that one?” She asked, voice soft.

“Not nearly as much as you, clearly.” He mused, pulling her into an embrace. She breathed in his scent, decadent and musky.

“My father used to call me that. Little songbird.” She closed her eyes as grief washed over her once again. She steeled herself, allowing her grief to wash around her, as though she was a rock in the stream. “He–he died when I was young.”

“Oh–” Astarion started, unnerved by this sudden vulnerability, he took a step back to face her. “I’m sorry darling, I didn’t know. You’ve never mentioned your father before. Did…did you know him well?”

Tessira chuckled softly, though her tone lacked humour. “As well as you could know a married wealthy merchant that sired a bastard half-drow daughter.” She sighed, “But you didn’t come here to hear that, so shall we retire to your bed or mine.” Her mask fixed back in place. Astarion studied her face intently, crimson eyes flicking across her features.

“No, I want to hear more.” He said softly.

“Of my dead dad?” Tessira raised her brows. “It’s… it’s not a story easily told.”

“I want to hear it.” He rested his cold, pale hand over hers.

“He–he was a patron at Sharess’ Caress. Where my mother worked. He was one of her regulars, and she fell pregnant with his child. With me.” She said softly, her eyes burning. “Shockingly, he was happy to hear about my conception. Something about his wife not being able to conceive, something about it being difficult for High Elves to conceive children, I don’t know.” Tessira sighed deeply through her nose, “He taught me everything I know about music. Paid for an expensive tutor and everything.”

“It sounds like you were fortunate, I don’t suppose the Madam at Sharess’ was too pleased.” Astarion commented, still watching Tessira.

“We were fortunate. He housed my mother in Rivington. Nothing fancy, but better than her room at the brothel.” Tessira smiled softly at the memory of their little house.

She had loved their little house, up on the cliff overlooking where the Chionthar opened to the side sea. Tessira had spent many summer days sitting on the cliff, overlooking the horizon, singing to herself and playing her array of musical instruments. The sun had warmed her skin, the wind caressing her hair. All her troubles, well the troubles that a ten-year-old could have, drifted away with the breeze.

Her mother had made the ramshackle house a home, it was modest compared to where her father lived, but her mother had adorned the one room house in blankets, pillows, candles. A warm fire blazed during the winter, dispelling the chill from her body and soothing her aches. Her mother had bathed her in a tub of hot water in front of the fire when she was really young, singing to her and telling her stories.

At night, or those her mother had off working at the pleasure house, they would cuddle up together against the winter chill. Tessira had loved her life with her mother, had loved her mother deeply. Until it was all taken away from her.

“I don’t know how my father died. I was just told.” Tessira muttered.

“I’m sorry, Tess.” Astarion said softly. “I–thank you for sharing that with me, my love.”

Tessira let out a strained, ironic laugh. “What am I meant to say? My pleasure?”

Astarion’s own laugh was quiet, dry, almost hollow. “Ah, delightful. A sense of humour like broken glass. My favorite.” He brushed a hand across her jawline, “But you know what I meant, my dear. I have been ever so vulnerable with you in recent months, you’ve carried all of our burdens and pushed us to be something more. Now let me be gentle with your heart.”

“We have so much time now.” She murmured as he pulled her into an embrace. She rested her head against his chest. “So much time to learn everything about each other, what if you don’t like who I was before this?”

Astarion’s hand lingered against her cheek, his thumb tracing the faint curve of her jaw as though committing it to memory. “Darling,” he murmured, his voice velvet in the firelight, “I already know you are not perfect. Neither am I. And yet – here you are, in my arms, still choosing me. What could I possibly learn that would change that?”

Tessira tilted her face up to look at him, the flicker of the flames catching in her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he replied, the corner of his mouth curving into something softer than a smirk, though just as dangerous. “We are not the sum of our sins, Tess. Not anymore. We are what we choose now.” His gaze searched hers, unflinching, as though daring her to believe it.

She swallowed, tightening her hold around his waist. “And if who I was before doesn’t deserve you?”

“Then I’ll simply keep reminding you,” he whispered, lowering his forehead to hers, “that I am the undeserving one.” His lips brushed hers, gentle and loving. Many months ago, she would not have even thought Astarion capable of love.

He had been a distraction to the horror of the potential of turning into a Mind Flayer thanks to the damned tadpole. They had relished in their late night trysts, a mixture of unsaid feelings, hushed moans and hurried, sloppy kisses. She had opened her legs so easy for him, it was all she’d ever known since her mother died.

When Virenya Do’Veyra escaped her wealthy Drow House in Menzobarranzen she had run to the surface world, to Baldur’s Gate. It had been hard for her to adjust, but she found refuge at Sharess’ Caress. A beautiful, traumatised family. It had only been a year before she fell pregnant with Tessira, by one of her regular and most devoted clients. Virenya had been nervous to raise a child on her own, especially in a brothel of all places, but the father had been a wealthy merchant with no children of his own and promised to be some kind of father figure.

Tessira had so many fond memories of growing up with the courtesans and prostitutes of Sharess’ Caress. She had not been subject to the knowledge of the sexual pleasures that took place within the building she grew up in, and simply thought her mother entertained men with her singing. That was until her mother died.

When Virenya had been murdered by her sister in an assassination orchestrated by the Do’Veyra House, Tessira had walked away unscathed. Her aunt thought nothing of the bastard half-breed daughter of the heir apparent to the family name, sobbing hysterically over her mothers dead body. Tessira had run straight back to Sharess’ Caress where the courtesans had welcomed her like their own.

She had entertained the clients and patrons with her singing and dancing until she was sixteen, enthralling them, piling them with drinks before they attended the staff in their quarters. But on her sixteenth birthday, Mamzell Amira told Tessira she would need to start offering services when the other girls were otherwise engaged.

Tessira had obeyed. How could she refuse when Amira had given her lodging, fed her, clothed her and cared for her all those years? She had sheltered Tessira when she was orphaned, and Tessira knew she had to pay her dues somehow. Tessira had led on her back, sometimes all fours, and paid her dues.

Being half-drow, she had been very popular with the patrons, gaining her own regular client list. By the time she was twenty, she had perfected her charm and allure. When she turned twenty six, she had perfected dissociating when there was a different man inside her every night. They all meant nothing to her, just coins in her purse and her due paid back to those who had cared for her all these years.

So when Astarion came sniffing around her, clearly for a play for allegiance, she had indulged him. Better than him slitting her throat in the middle of the night.

But now everything was different. They made love because they wanted to, because they loved each other. Learning Astarion had been whored out for his master, it broke a guard Tessira had worked hard to build up against the pale elf. She saw herself in his broken edges, and had loved him for it.

Astarion’s breath was warm against her lips, and for a moment Tessira let herself believe him. Believe in the simplicity of it, in the warmth of his arms and the quiet certainty in his voice.

But when his lashes lowered and he kissed her again – slow this time, unhurried – she felt the familiar ache rise in her chest. The part of her that wanted so badly to surrender, and the part that whispered she was playing pretend.

When they finally broke apart, he brushed a stray curl from her temple, his touch unbearably gentle. “You think too much, my love.”

“And you don’t think enough,” she whispered back, though the words held no venom. Her smile was small, crooked, betraying the truth of her fondness.

He gave a soft huff of laughter, pressing his nose to hers. “Then perhaps together we make a balanced pair.”

Tessira let out a shaky exhale, her arms tightening around him. The fire crackled, casting their shadows long and intertwined against the wall. She closed her eyes, letting herself rest her cheek against his chest. For tonight, at least, she would let herself believe in his version of things – that they were no longer the sum of their sins, but something more, something new.

And yet, even as sleep began to steal over her, she could not silence the thought that lingered at the edge of her mind: how easily trust could shatter, how fragile love could be.

Chapter Text

The Elfsong Tavern thrummed with life, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional cheer as another patron made a fool of themselves dancing near the fire. Candles flickered along the walls, catching the colored glass and casting fractured rainbows across polished wood, a kaleidoscope of light that seemed to follow every movement. The band at the corner – a fiddle, a tambourine, and a lute – paused, waiting for the signal that would ignite the room.

That signal came in the form of Tessira.

She stepped onto the small platform with the confidence of someone who knew she belonged there, every eye immediately drawn to her. Silks of deep ruby shimmered with her motion, the skirt slit daringly high and catching the candlelight as she walked, revealing just enough to send whispers through the crowd. The lute rested against her hip, fingers poised for the first strum. Her eyes sparkled beneath the tavern’s golden light, and her smile – bright, mischievous, utterly magnetic – drew gasps and claps before she had even begun to play.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she called, her voice clear and teasing, carrying effortlessly over the murmur of the tavern. “I hope you’re ready to dance – or at the very least… to blush a little.”

The room erupted. Patrons clapped, feet shuffled in anticipation, and the band leaned in, ready to follow her lead. Tessira’s fingers flew over the lute with effortless skill, striking the first chords of an upbeat, playful tune. The melody bounded across the tavern, light and teasing, perfectly complementing her movement as she twirled and dipped, letting her silks flare with every flourish.

Gale, Shadowheart, Jaheria, Minsc, and Halsin had all gathered near the back, each drawn in by the energy. Minsc’s laughter boomed above the crowd as he clapped along with exaggerated zeal, while Jaheria’s eyes sparkled with delight, tapping her fingers against the table. Halsin leaned back, arms crossed but smile soft, clearly appreciating Tessira’s skill, and Shadowheart’s lips twitched with an amused smirk, eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating every glance she gave the audience. Even Gale’s hand absently traced the rim of his mug as he watched her, brow raised in quiet admiration, caught up in the performance without realizing how fast the time was slipping past.

Across the room, Astarion’s mask of composure was in place, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He leaned against the edge of the wall, arms crossed loosely, eyes tracking Tessira as she moved across the platform with satine-level charm, giving each patron the illusion of intimacy with a tilt of her head, a coy smile, or a flick of her wrist. The firelight caught in her hair as she leaned into a particularly daring note, and for a heartbeat, he felt a twinge of jealousy, sharp and unwelcome. He shook it off, telling himself it was absurd – she was performing, not for him. She was dazzling the room, yes, but admiration was not possession.

Yet even as he forced his gaze to remain neutral, he could not entirely ignore the flutter of longing, the pull of wanting to be closer, to claim her for himself without the eyes of the crowd – or the band – on them. He chewed the inside of his cheek and shifted his stance, trying to refocus on the music, on the way her lute danced with the fiddle and tambourine, on the sheer skill of it.

A subtle movement at his side pulled his attention. A beautiful Elven woman, masked and draped in dark silks that contrasted with Tessira’s ruby flare, approached him with a languid, knowing smile. She stopped a step away, curtsying with a grace born of long practice.

“You are her famous lover, I presume?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk and carrying the faint scent of jasmine.

Astarion blinked, caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?” he said, lifting a brow beneath his mask.

The woman laughed lightly, tilting her head, eyes glinting with amusement. “Do not play coy. I speak of Tessira. One might say she has quite the reputation.”

Astarion’s posture stiffened slightly. “And you are…?”

“Someone who has known her work intimately,” the woman replied, a hint of mischief curling around her words. “I used to work with her at Sharess’ Caress. My name is Elivra.”

Astarion froze for a fraction of a second. Sharess’ Caress? He had known Tessira was a bard; she had told him her history before the tadpole, she had been somewhat famous playing in taverns across Baldur’s Gate, but he had never known the full extent of her experience. His lips parted, a faint flicker of shock crossing his otherwise composed mask.

The courtesan leaned closer, as if sharing a secret meant only for him. “She was one of the best,” she whispered, low and deliberate. “Always sought after by the wealthiest clients. She had… a way about her. Every glance, every movement, every note she played – it was irresistible. And she knew exactly how to wield it.”

Astarion’s hand flexed at his side. “I… had no idea, she told me she was a bard.” he murmured, his voice betraying a flicker of something he did not care to name. Pride, perhaps, and an unexpected sting of unease.

Elivra laughed softly, the sound teasing and cruel. “Ah, you naïve creature. She was a bard, until she came of age. Tessira was Mamzell Amria’s favourite for the wealthiest gentleman needing company to balls, banquets. A beautiful courtesan.” The woman cocked her head, her smile wicked. “A word of advice, loverboy. Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself, no matter how divine she may seem. Desire like hers is as dangerous as fire.”

Astarion’s gaze flickered back to Tessira, now mid-verse, laughing into the crowd, fingers flying over her lute with effortless grace. The charm in her voice, the spark in her eyes – it was irresistible, yes, but the courtesan’s words planted a seed in him. Could he trust that someone who had once offered herself to strangers, even for survival or art, ever truly belong to him?

A flutter of jealousy tightened his chest again, stronger this time, as he forced himself to focus on her performance. Each note she sang, each tilt of her head, each playful glance sent a ripple through the tavern, earning whistles and applause, and each time she passed a patron’s table, she made it appear as if he alone were worthy of that smile.

He tried to admire her as a performer, to push aside the doubt, but the seed planted by the courtesan burrowed deeper with every flourish and twirl. His chest tightened, eyes narrowing just slightly as Tessira arched gracefully over the lute, fingers teasing a chord that seemed to linger in the air like a promise.

“Divine,” Elivra murmured, standing a step away, clearly enjoying his torment. “Absolutely divine. But… remember what I said. A woman who gives herself away to everyone cannot belong entirely to one.”

Astarion’s jaw flexed as he gave a small, polite nod, keeping his mask of calm intact. But inside, he felt the shift – the spark of possessiveness he had tried to smother and the first tendrils of unease, a shadow of doubt seeded by the woman’s words.

Meanwhile, Tessira’s song continued to captivate the tavern, each verse playful, daring, and teasing. Her laughter rang out, her fingers coaxed perfect harmony from the lute, and the room seemed to shrink around her, leaving only the warmth of her presence and the spell she wove.

Astarion forced himself to watch, to admire as a gentleman should, yet a knot of jealousy and worry coiled tighter with every note. He could not stop himself from glancing at her, catching the tiny interactions with the crowd – the quick flash of a wink here, the light brush of a hand there – and wondering if she had always carried this power, this effect, even before he had known her.

The courtesan’s presence at his side was a constant reminder: Tessira had existed before him, in ways he hadn’t fully understood. And as she leaned in once more, voice dripping with mock sympathy, Astarion realised he would have to confront a truth he had never anticipated. Tessira, radiant and mischievous on the stage, was utterly dazzling the room – but could he ever fully claim a heart that had always belonged to the world as much as to him?

The music soared, and the applause broke out once more. Astarion straightened, jaw tight, hands curling into fists at his sides, yet he could not tear his eyes away. Tessira was a storm in ruby silk, laughter and music and light, and even as doubt nipped at him, admiration – aching, impossible, undeniable – flooded him. In that moment, the seed of uncertainty had taken root, buried deep beneath his desire, destined to complicate every stolen glance, every brush of fingers, every whispered word he would share with her in the nights to come.

The Elfsong Tavern buzzed around them, a living thing of music and laughter, but Astarion felt removed from it, as if trapped behind glass. Tessira’s voice floated across the room, rich and teasing, each note carrying that dangerous charm that made patrons swoon. He could see her twirling and laughing, ruby silks flashing, and his chest tightened despite himself.

Shadowheart approached quietly, stepping into the shadowed corner beside him. She was dressed in lightly coloured simple clothes, a fitted blouse and leather pants, it was nice to see her outside of her Selunite robe and not armed to the teeth. Astarion remained devoted to Tessira, but he acknowledged since Shadowheart found her parents and relinquished Shar, she had become more ethereal in her beauty with her pale hair and bright green eyes. Her eyes, usually unreadable, were sharp now, piercing. “You look… troubled,” she said softly, her voice low enough that the music didn’t carry it.

Astarion let out a short, humourless laugh, leaning back against the wall. “Troubled? That would be an understatement.” He gestured, almost helplessly, toward Tessira as she leaned over a patron’s table, fingers brushing a hand, lips curving in a smile that made the tavern sigh. “Do you see her? She’s… dazzling. Every eye in this room, Shadowheart. And it is all for show, of course. But I’ve just learned something unsettling.”

Shadowheart tilted her head, expression cautious. “Go on.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration curling into his shoulders. “Someone – another courtesan – approached me. Elivra or something. She claims to have worked with Tessira at Sharess’ Caress. She… she spoke of her skill, her beauty, the way she commanded attention, the wealthiest patrons seeking her out. And then she laughed at me, Shadowheart. Laughed. Said I should never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. Do you know what that does to a man? To me?”

Shadowheart’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she leaned closer, tone sharp. “And what did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” Astarion admitted, jaw tight. “Because the truth is… I’m terrified she cannot be mine. Not truly. I saw her on that stage – smiling, playing, charming them all – and… it looks like she enjoys it. Every moment, every glance, every cheer. And now, I am consumed by the thought that she might prefer it to me. That I can never claim her wholly because this part of her… this thrill of performance, of seduction… belongs to the world.”

Shadowheart let out a short, incredulous laugh. “My gods, Astarion. You truly are dramatic. Haven’t you ever considered the obvious?”

Astarion arched a brow, a hint of irritation threading through his exhaustion. “The obvious?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart said, arms crossed, voice firm. “You. You know what it is to be a courtesan for Cazador, do you not? You had to surrender yourself, play a role, endure… and yet here you are, staring at Tessira like she’s committing a crime by singing.”

His mask faltered for a fraction of a second. “I… yes, I endured it, but that was survival. She… she chooses this. She plays for them, she teases, she charms… and she looks like she enjoys it. That’s different.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, the tone softening, but the chastisement remained. “It’s not different, Astarion. You are letting your fear of losing her warp what you see. She is skilled, yes. She knows her power, and she wields it. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t belong to you – or that you can’t belong to her. You think the enjoyment is betrayal, but it’s art. And she is brilliant at it.”

He swallowed, gaze flicking back to Tessira as she laughed lightly at a clever line she improvised for the crowd. “Art,” he repeated bitterly. “Art. That’s what it looks like from here, but it doesn’t stop my blood from roaring every time her fingers brush against another’s hand, or when her lips curve in laughter meant for them instead of me.”

Shadowheart softened, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Then relish it, damn it. You both know pain, both of you have had to sell parts of yourselves to survive. You survived Cazador. She survived Sharess’ Caress. You share that trauma – it’s a bond, Astarion. Don’t let your pride, your jealousy, poison it. Use it. Let it deepen what you have. Trust her, and trust yourself.”

Astarion’s jaw flexed, tension running through him like fire. “I… I want to. I do. But every time she smiles at the crowd, every time she twirls and tilts her head – she seems so free, so radiant… how can I believe that she is mine, that any of this –” He gestured, a faint arc toward the stage, “ –is not just a performance? That she doesn’t belong, in part, to every eye that worships her from the tables?”

Shadowheart’s voice hardened, just enough to cut through the doubt. “Because she does belong to you, if you let her. You’ve shared nights in the dark, secrets neither of you could speak aloud. And yes, the show is her domain, but it’s no less true that she trusts you, that she has chosen you. You want to question it, fine. But do not let the fear of losing her blind you to what is right in front of you.”

He looked back toward Tessira, her laughter carrying through the room, a flare of ruby silk spinning beneath the candles. The firelight caught her eyes, bright and teasing, and even through the knot of jealousy and doubt, he felt that pull – the pull that had first drawn him to her.

“Shared trauma,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice rough. “Bonding through survival…”

“Exactly,” Shadowheart said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “If you can endure what you’ve endured together, and still find each other, then you can survive anything. Don’t let envy make you weak. Don’t let pride convince you that she doesn’t feel what you feel.”

Astarion exhaled, jaw loosening slightly, though his gaze remained on Tessira. The laughter, the charm, the teasing – it still cut at him, yes. And yet Shadowheart’s words anchored him, reminding him that what he feared was not betrayal, but the power of her brilliance.

He lifted his chin, pressing his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to admire her as she performed, to take in every detail without letting it wound him. But even as he did, a flicker of jealousy remained, low and dangerous, like a shadow coiled beneath the heat of his heart. Tessira’s brilliance demanded recognition, yes – but his desire, his possessiveness, his love – it would not be quieted so easily.

The song carried on, the room clapping and stamping, but Astarion remained in that delicate limbo – watching, fighting envy, fighting doubt, and still utterly captivated by the woman in ruby silk who sang and laughed as if the world were hers alone.

–

Tessira flopped onto the loveseat in their rooms at the Elfsong Tavern, releasing a dramatic sigh that echoed against the warm, wood panelled walls. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting golden light over the scattered mugs and remnants of wine, while the faint scent of spiced bread lingered from earlier. It had been a month since the fall of the Netherbrain, and the group would be leaving their rooms any day now. Gale would return to his Tower, Shadowheart had found a quiet cottage on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate for her family, Halsin was due to journey back to the Reclaimed Lands to help rebuild, and Jaheria would likely return home with Minsc if he didn’t dash off to the Sewers first. Karlach and Wyll had made their way to Avernus already, seeking a cure for Karlach's missing heart. That left Astarion and Tessira to decide where they would go next – perhaps the Underdark, to oversee the remaining Spawn – but Astarion wasn’t yet ready to relinquish the sunlight, even if it meant enjoying it from the shadows.

The door creaked open and the group trickled in, cheeks flushed with wine and laughter. Their spirits were high, everyone except Astarion.

“Gods, I missed that,” Tessira laughed, the alcohol loosening her voice into a playful drawl. She stretched luxuriously across the loveseat, silks catching the firelight. “Nothing like the thrill of performing for a crowd… besides, of course, fighting the Netherbrain. Now that – that was one hell of a thrill.” She giggled, tossing her hair back with exaggerated flair.

“I am inclined to agree,” Gale hiccupped, swaying slightly. “You are a spectacular performer, Tess.”

“You’re too kind,” Tessira replied, mock-bowing, lips curved in that lazy, teasing grin that had captivated so many that night.

Astarion lingered near the door, arms crossed, mask of composure firmly in place. Shadowheart caught his gaze, giving him a sharp, scolding look, and he shrugged it off with an almost imperceptible smirk, though his jaw flexed as he watched Tessira laugh.

“Yes, quite a night,” he said finally, sauntering over to her with that effortless grace that made casual movement seem dangerous. He bent, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “But I think it is well past everyone’s bedtime. Shall we retire?”

Tessira’s eyes sparkled, and she tilted her head with playful deliberation, brushing her fingers lightly against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m quite finished soaking up the admiration and praise,” she murmured, her voice honeyed and teasing as she flicked a glance at Gale.

The group roared with laughter, spilling into the room like warm sunlight. Gale banged a fist against the table, shouting, “Praise well deserved!” Jaheria chuckled, sipping her wine, while Minsc let out a booming laugh that rattled the rafters. Even Halsin’s smile deepened, though he shook his head at the chaos.

Astarion, however, remained still, lips pressed into a line, jaw flexing ever so slightly as Tessira leaned into her playful antics. He gave a faint, almost imperceptible scowl when she gestured at Gale, letting a mischievous eyebrow raise linger a second too long.

“You do enjoy the attention, don’t you?” he murmured under his breath, voice low enough that only she could hear.

“Perhaps,” she replied, voice soft, teasing, yet careful. She leaned back against the loveseat, fingers brushing his hand as it hovered near her. “But you… you know it’s only part of the fun.”

Astarion exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly, the faint shadow of jealousy flaring before he forced himself to relax. “Of course,” he said, masking the heat in his chest with his usual polished detachment. “I simply admire the art.”

Tessira let out a little laugh, warm and teasing, and nudged his shoulder. “Then admire away, my love. I have no complaints.”

The group continued their boisterous celebration around them, but Astarion’s attention never fully left Tessira. He watched the way her silks caught the firelight as she moved with ease and charm, the way her laughter spilled like music across the room. Even amidst the chaos and merriment, he felt the familiar tug - desire, protectiveness, and a tiny, nagging worry that her brilliance might belong to everyone but him.

He brushed off the feeling, forcing a polite, measured smile as he observed her soak up the praise. But inside, the heat lingered, a quiet ember that would not be extinguished so easily.

Tessira caught his gaze, eyes twinkling, and leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile. “You look tense, my love,” she teased softly. “Don’t tell me the applause frightens you.”

Astarion’s lips twitched. “I am… merely appreciating the skill on display,” he murmured, voice smooth, controlled, but his eyes betrayed him. The faintest flicker of possessiveness lingered, though he pressed it down with effort. “And I would be remiss not to admire it.”

She laughed, leaning back with a lazy elegance, letting the words hang in the air, both a tease and a balm. The firelight caught her hair and eyes, and Astarion couldn’t help but look, despite himself, letting the warmth of her presence brush over the tension in his chest. The room spun with mirth, applause, and laughter, yet in that quiet corner of the tavern room, only two hearts truly measured the space between them – one, fiery and possessive; the other, radiant and untouchable, yet entirely, irrevocably his.

The tavern’s noise dimmed behind the thick velvet curtains as Astarion led Tessira into their room, closing the door with a soft click. The firelight flickered across the walls, casting warm, restless shadows that mirrored the unease coiling in his chest. Tessira sank onto their bed, still radiant in her ruby silks, hair loose and glinting in the firelight.

Astarion’s arms were crossed, his posture rigid, but his gaze never left her. “I cannot shake something from tonight,” he began, voice low, measured. “A woman approached me during your performance, a courtesan. She spoke… of your past.”

Tessira stiffened, a flicker of colour rising to her cheeks. Her fingers fidgeted at the edge of the lute case, twisting the strap as her eyes darted away, then back at him, wide and anxious. “My… past?” she asked, voice tight, a little defensive, as if bracing herself. “What… what did she say?”

Astarion’s jaw flexed. “She claimed to have worked with you… at Sharess’ Caress. That you were… highly sought after, desired by the wealthiest clients. She… warned me never to fall in love with a woman who sells herself. And yet I…” His voice faltered just slightly. “…I saw you tonight, Tessira. You perform with such delight, such abandon. And it felt… as if you enjoyed it. Every cheer, every glance, every smile – you make it impossible to believe that any of you could ever belong solely to me.”

Tessira’s throat tightened. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she took a small step back, as if distance could shield her from the judgment she feared. “A-Astarion… I–” Her voice wavered. She clenched the lute strap, knuckles white. “You… you must understand… I didn’t choose that life for pleasure. It… it was survival. I never thought… I never thought anyone would know. I… I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Her gaze fell, ashamed, and her chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm, a tremor of fear beneath her poise. The casual, teasing elegance she often wore like armour had crumbled, leaving only the raw, vulnerability she rarely showed.

Astarion’s gaze softened slightly, though the firelight caught the sharp edges of his jaw, the tension in his posture unwavering. “Tessira,” he murmured, voice low but firm, “do you think I would abandon you for your past? That knowing… would change what I feel?”

Tessira’s hands shook slightly as she clutched the edge of the loveseat, the ruby silk of her dress crumpling beneath her grip. “I don’t know,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent years… hiding it, pretending it didn’t exist. And I–” She swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet his, wide with fear. “I didn’t want you to think… to think that you could never truly have me.”

Astarion stepped closer, slow, deliberate, letting the warmth of his presence brush against hers. “Tessira…” His hand hovered near her arm, hesitant, almost as if afraid to break the fragile barrier she had erected. “You are not defined by what you did to survive. Every part of you – the past, the choices, the hardships – you carry them with grace. And it is precisely that that drew me to you. Do you understand?”

Tessira’s lips trembled, a mixture of relief and lingering shame. “I… I do,” she whispered, though doubt lingered, a stubborn shadow in her expression. “But it is difficult… seeing you watch me tonight, hearing her words… it made me feel… exposed, like a fraud. I thought you would see me differently.”

Astarion’s fingers brushed her jaw gently, lifting her chin so her eyes met his. “And yet you are not a fraud,” he murmured, tone softening, velvet and danger intertwined. “You are extraordinary, Tessira. Brilliant, daring, alive. And yes, tonight you performed with a brilliance that left the entire tavern enchanted.”

Her breath caught, chest rising and falling rapidly, and for a moment, she let herself believe him, let herself sink into the warmth of his words. But the remnants of shame clung stubbornly, and she flinched slightly as he lowered his forehead to hers, close enough to feel his warmth.

Tessira’s voice was a low murmur. “Do you think I would ever let you believe that I could be swayed by anyone else? By applause, or charm, or fleeting admiration?”

“You are mine, Tessira. Only mine. And if anyone dares whisper otherwise, they will answer to me.” Astarion replied, his voice equally low.

Tessira’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a mixture of fear, relief, and the deepening, intoxicating heat of desire. She reached up, her hands trembling, and touched his chest, feeling the taut strength beneath his shirt. “I… I want to believe you,” she admitted, voice breaking slightly. “I want to trust you as much as I desire you.”

Astarion’s lips twitched into a soft, dangerous smile. “Then let us begin there,” he whispered, lowering his forehead fully to hers, letting their breaths mingle, hearts hammering in tandem. “No more shadows, Tessira. No more whispers. Just… us.”

The firelight danced across their faces as they lingered in that fragile, perfect space – tension, desire, and fear all entwined. Tessira’s hands traced the contours of his chest, his fingers threaded through her hair, and for the first time in months, the ghosts of their pasts felt distant, replaced by something immediate, consuming, and wholly theirs.

She let out a soft laugh, shaky but warm, breaking the tension slightly. “You are insufferable,” she teased, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her still-fragile heart.

“And you,” he countered, voice low, smouldering, “are utterly irresistible. Even with all your fears, all your secrets, you belong to me. And I… to you.”

They stayed there, pressed close, caught between desire and doubt, shame and acceptance, knowing that whatever trials awaited them – whether in Baldur’s Gate, the Underdark, or the fiery stages of the taverns – they would face them together, and this fragile, burning intimacy would anchor them through every challenge.

Chapter Text

The streets of Baldur’s Gate had softened since the terror of the Netherbrain. Life still coursed through its veins, but its wild heartbeat had slowed, as though the city itself was relearning how to breathe. For Astarion and Tessira, the grateful city patriars had given them a gift, a grand townhouse of wide halls and tall windows, where sunlight poured unchallenged across polished floors. It was more space than either of them had ever known, yet sometimes the house felt too large, as though its walls echoed with the hours they spent apart.

Astarion’s days belonged to the Underdark. He threw himself into the work of shepherding the spawn, watching over them with a devotion that was almost fierce. He taught, protected, and pushed them toward the freedom he himself had fought for. But the Underdark knew no mercy for time. One task bled into the next, until exhaustion forced him to break away. Always under moonlight, always unseen, he slipped back into Baldur’s Gate.

The house was dark when he returned. Always dark, save for the faint glow of the hearth or a candle guttering low. He would climb the stairs soundlessly, every motion precise, until at last he reached the bedroom. And there, always there, was Tessira, curled in sleep. The sight of her stilled him. He would pause at the edge of the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the faint spill of hair across her cheek. Sometimes he felt he could stand there for hours, caught in the quiet miracle of her existence.

Then, gently, he would lower himself beside her. With care, he gathered her into his arms, fitting himself around her with the instinct of a man starved. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in the faint sweetness of cherries and musk, letting the scent tether him back from the endless dark. In those moments, he clung to her not as a lover, but as a lifeline. He had faced gods and monsters and cages, but nothing had undone him so completely as the comfort of Tessira’s warmth against his chest.

And when she stirred, when her body shifted instinctively to fit against his, it nearly undid him all over again. Sometimes her hand would find his, fingers curling loosely even in sleep, and Astarion would lie awake until dawn, watching the pale light creep across the floorboards, wishing he could stay in that single moment forever.

Tessira’s days, by contrast, were ablaze with light. She had never been more alive than when she stood beneath the weight of a crowd’s gaze, her voice threading through taverns, her laughter carrying into glittering halls. She was whispered of now not in rumour, but in delight. Her music, honed by years of lessons she once resented, had bloomed into something wholly her own, something that enchanted the city. Yet no matter how loudly the crowds cheered, the ache of Astarion’s absence shadowed her heart.

She often found herself alone after the applause faded, walking the quiet paths to the graveyard. Her parents lay far apart, as though even in death they could not share the same ground. She would kneel at each grave in turn, speaking to them softly, telling them of the life she had carved from ruin, of the love she had found, of the man who had remade her heart. Sometimes she swore the earth listened. Sometimes she almost believed they could hear her.

But even there, beneath the weight of memory, her thoughts turned back to the townhouse, the shadowed bedchamber, the sound of footsteps on the stair, the moment when Astarion’s arms would wrap around her once more. No song, no audience, no fleeting joy could compare to that simple truth: they were halves of a whole, doomed to ache in separation, and yet destined always to return.

Like most evenings, Tessira was at the Blushing Mermaid, her lute cradled with the ease of a long-loved companion, Alfira at her side. The tavern glowed with lantern-light, the air thick with the scent of roasted fish, ale gone stale on the tables, and woodsmoke curling through the rafters. Patrons crowded close, faces upturned, drawn as much by Tessira’s presence as by her song.

She wore silks of deep emerald that caught the light like forest leaves after rain. Every note from her lips seemed to shimmer, laughter spilling easily between verses as she leaned into the crowd’s energy, teasing, charming, enchanting with the practiced ease of someone born to hold a stage. Alfira’s voice rose beside hers, their harmonies twining and parting like sunlight dancing on water, the music filling every shadowed corner of the room.

From the far edge, half-hidden against a wooden pillar, Astarion watched. His fingers curled tight around the stem of his glass, knuckles white in the dimness. He told himself to be proud, to marvel at her brilliance, to revel in the joy that shone from her as she played. But pride warred with the gnawing weight in his chest, a heat that burned every time her smile landed on another. Every time a patron leaned closer, eyes drinking her in, laughter returned in kind.

He knew it was performance, knew it was Tessira’s art to charm and to dazzle. And yet, the monster of old jealousy whispered still, reminding him of chains, of worth measured in the gazes of others.

When her laughter rang out again, warm and bright for someone not him, the tightness coiled too sharply. He rose, silent as shadow, leaving his untouched glass on the table. The tavern’s heat pressed at his back as he stepped into the night.

Outside, the night air was sharp and cool, cutting across his skin like a knife. He drew it in slowly, trying to steady the heat coiling beneath his ribs, trying to soothe the tight ache that had lodged itself there since he’d seen Tessira on that stage. Every laugh, every turn of her gaze toward someone else, every note that drew applause, each one had gnawed at him, fraying the fragile control he’d so carefully cultivated.

He told himself to be rational. She was a performer. Her charm, her laughter, her light, they were part of her art, not a betrayal. And yet, each whispered compliment from a patron, each lingering look, twisted in his chest like a blade. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into palms as though that could anchor him, hold him to reason.

Rounding the corner, the quiet street seemed to close in, pressing him down with shadows. Then came the voices, rough, speculative, leering.

“Think it’d cost much to hire her?” one man whispered.

The other laughed softly. “I don’t care. Heard she’s back. Heard she’s the best. Would pay double just to get a night.”

“Only a night? Hells, I’d sell half my farm for a week with her.”

“Maybe I’ll pay a visit to Sharess’ Caress and see for myself. I bet I can make her sing like she does in these taverns.”

The laughter pricked something sharp inside Astarion. He stepped into the light, hands flexing, fangs glinting. “And what makes you think you could ever have her? That she belongs to you?” His voice was low, cold, carrying an edge that made them pause.

“She’s a performer,” one of the men scoffed. “We’re just saying what everyone thinks.”

“Everyone?” Astarion’s eyes glimmered in the lantern-light. “You mean men who assume the world owes them her attention. You speak of her as if she were coin to be spent, and yet you would break yourselves on my doorstep if you sought her out.”

“Relax–” the first man started, but Astarion cut the tiefling off.

“Relax?” he hissed, stepping closer, predatory grace in every movement. “You speak of Tessira as though she exists for your amusement, and yet you do not even know her. You do not know what she gives, nor what she has earned. You have no claim. None. And if you test me, you will learn exactly why.”

“And who the hell are you anyway?” One of the men stepped forward, a skinny yet tall High Elf. Astarion could smell the alcohol seeping through his pores, the stench twisting his stomach with disgust.

“I am the man she returns to,” Astarion snapped, fists tightening as he took another lethal step toward the bold elven man. “The one who protects her, and you will learn the cost if you dare test that.”

The elven man laughed, insolent. “Clearly not doing a good enough job keeping her bed warm if she’s out here entertaining every man in Baldur’s Gate.”

The tension coiled tight, a spring long held in shadow, and then it snapped. Astarion’s fists moved with lethal precision, each strike measured, each motion predatory. The first man staggered back, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with disbelief, while the second barely had time to duck before Astarion shifted, a fluid, almost dance-like predator, moving again with deadly intent. The narrow street erupted into chaos, boots clattering against cobblestones, curses and shouts slicing through the night, grunts of pain echoing from the walls of buildings that had long known quiet.

Even in the heat of the fight, his mind remained tethered to her. Tessira’s laughter, the light in her eyes, the injustice of these men daring to claim her attention, each thought sharpened his fury. He moved not merely in anger but in desperate protection, a fierce need to shield her, to keep her safe from those who could not see her as she truly was. Rage and longing, love and fury, all merged into a storm that had been building in silence, hidden behind calm, restrained composure for far too long.

The sounds of the brawl carried toward the tavern, where Tessira’s performance had just ended. Alfira’s keen instincts picked up the disturbance immediately, and she rose, alert, every muscle taut with concern. Tessira, still caught in the lingering glow of her music and the applause fading in her ears, followed instinctively, heart hammering. As they pushed through the tavern door, the cool night air met them, carrying the chaotic symphony of grunts, shouts, and the sharp clatter of boots on stone.

“Astarion!” Tessira’s voice rang out, fierce and urgent, cutting through the commotion. She ran toward him, hair swinging, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and fear. “Stop this – now!”

Adrenaline surged through him, his mind still a whirlwind of rage and protectiveness, and he barely registered her call. But then he saw her clearly, Tessira, moving with determination, her form lit by moonlight, her eyes fixed on him. Something froze inside him, a sudden, piercing clarity breaking through the storm of anger.

The second man, a tiefling, stumbled backward into Tessira’s path just as she reached Astarion. In the chaos, she was slammed into the rough stone wall of the tavern. A sharp yelp escaped her lips, and heat flared across her cheek where the impact had grazed her. Alfira’s hand shot out instantly, steadying her, gripping her arm with a firm, protective hold.

Tessira’s eyes blazed, first with shock, then with anger, then with that desperate fear that she tried so hard to suppress. Every instinct screamed to flee, to protect herself, but she remained rooted, glaring at the men who had caused this and then at Astarion, her voice trembling but resolute: “Astarion! Stop this madness!”

The moonlight glinted off his fangs, sweat and tension highlighting the stark lines of his face. His chest heaved, not just with exertion, but with the impossible pull of longing, guilt, and love all tangled together. He wanted to hold her, to shield her, to make the world obey her safety and happiness, but the men, the danger, the rage, they kept forcing his hands to move before thought could intervene.

The street felt impossibly small now, filled with shadows and shouting, the smell of sweat and ale, the sting of stone walls, and the overwhelming need to protect her at any cost. Every step, every strike, every movement was driven not merely by anger, but by the aching, impossible devotion he felt for Tessira, the impossible need to keep her safe in a world that had always tried to take her from him.

“Enough!” Tessira’s voice rang sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. “Leave – now!”

Astarion froze, chest heaving, fingers still twitching from the fight. The men scurried backward, muttering curses, stumbling over each other to escape the storm he had unleashed. For a heartbeat, the street fell into uneasy silence, broken only by the distant hum of Baldur’s Gate at night.

He stepped back, his body trembling, not from exertion, but from the collision of relief, rage, and guilt crashing through him. Tessira’s eyes, fierce and unyielding, held him fast. The blood glinting at the corner of her mouth, the flare of her nostrils, the trembling of her hands, all of it hit him like a blade. He had promised to protect her. He had failed, even if only briefly.

He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to reach out, to touch her, to shield her from the world, and from himself. His chest ached, his pulse thrumming so loudly he thought she must hear it. Finally, he lowered his fists, shoulders sagging as if the weight of the night had pressed him into the cobblestones.

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice low, almost lost beneath the distant echo of fleeing footsteps and fading curses. His eyes held hers, pleading for understanding, for forgiveness, for a reprieve from the storm he had let loose.

Tessira pressed a trembling hand to her lip, wincing at the sting. Her eyes, bright with anger and shock, softened only slightly as she regarded him. There was an unspoken command in her gaze: don’t ever let this happen again. Astarion’s heart clenched, each beat a reminder of how much he feared losing her, even for a moment.

He gave a long, silent nod, a small shudder of acknowledgment, before retreating into the shadows, letting the night swallow him as he tried to calm the fire in his veins. Even as he moved, his mind was tangled with guilt, longing, and the impossibly tender ache of love he could neither voice nor fully contain.

Alfira rushed forward, casting a quick healing spell that sent warmth curling through Tessira’s cheek. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice brisk but laced with concern. “We need to get that cleaned up, you can’t go back on stage looking like you just brawled two men!”

Tessira let out a shaky breath, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “I… I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” she admitted, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Astarion always loved the flair of being with a bard. I thought he knew what he was getting into… he said it was okay.”

“Perhaps it’s his own past, clouding his judgment,” Alfira said gently, resting her hands on Tessira’s shoulders. “He’s… protective, maybe more than he realises.”

“I’ve tried to reassure him,” Tessira said, voice cracking as she ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t undo my past. I accepted him for his. I did not work at Sharess’ for pleasure! And now he’s acting like I’ve been with half the city!”

Alfira raised an eyebrow, teasing lightly. “Have you?”

Tessira shot her a glare, but the edge of a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re not helping,” she muttered, though her pulse was slowing, and the adrenaline that had kept her rigid minutes ago began to ebb.

Astarion lingered in the darkness, just out of sight, chest heaving, mind still racing. He could hear the soft murmur of their conversation, the warmth of her voice even through the distance, and it both soothed and tormented him. His hands itched to reach for her again, to make sure she was unharmed, to swear, silently, fervently, that nothing, no man, no danger, would ever touch her while he drew breath.

“Laaaadies!” Lakrissa called, stepping out of the tavern into the chilly autumn evening. Her eyes widened at the tense scene. “Everything alright out here?”

“Just a few jealous men,” Alfira said, waving her hands dismissively.

“Oh Tess, if anyone’s going to have men fighting over you, it’s going to be you – you saucy minx.” Lakrissa winked, and Tessira laughed.

Astarion lingered in the darkness, just beyond the reach of the lantern light, chest heaving, mind still racing. He could hear the soft murmur of Tessira, Lakrissa and Alfira, the careful attention in Alfira’s voice as she tended to the cut on Tessira’s lip, the slight catch in Tessira’s own words. Each sound was a knife and a balm at once, soothing and stabbing, reminding him of how close he had let danger brush her.

He wanted to step forward, to assure her, to smooth the blood from her cheek with his hand, to pull her into his arms and let her feel that nothing, not these men, not the city, not the world, would ever touch her while he lived. But a knot of fear tightened in his chest. What if his presence escalated things again? What if his own rage, still smouldering, drew more trouble to her doorstep?

The moonlight caught his fangs as he bit back a frustrated growl, the shadows concealing him, and for a long moment, he simply watched. Every instinct in him screamed to move, to reach her, to make her safe, to claim her attention in the way only he could. But another voice, quieter yet insistent, reminded him that his actions had consequences, that protecting her did not always mean stepping into the light. Sometimes, staying in the shadows, unseen, was the only way to truly guard her.

His eyes softened as he watched Tessira straighten under Alfira’s touch, lips still parted in shock but eyes blazing with defiance. The faintest exhale escaped him, almost a whisper of longing. He wanted to step out, to say her name, to see her reaction, to hear her tell him she was unharmed. And yet, he waited, breathing shallowly, counting heartbeats, letting the night wrap around him like a shield.

Finally, he allowed himself a long, silent promise. Not tonight. Not here. But soon, soon, he would hold her, protect her, and tell her without words that no one, no one, would ever hurt her while he drew breath. And with that vow, he melted further into the darkness, letting Tessira and her friends exist in the lantern light, the distant hum of Baldur’s Gate carrying their voices into the night, a lull that teased him with both frustration and the ache of desire.

–

Tessira pushed open the door to their house, boots clicking softly against the polished wood floors. The fire in the living room burned low, flickering against the walls, and there, sitting in the shadows cast by the hearth, was Astarion. His pale features were highlighted by the warm glow, and his posture, calm but alert, made her chest tighten with a mixture of exasperation and relief.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice soft, but there was an undercurrent of something taut, something he rarely let show.

Tessira dropped her lute case by the door and crossed her arms, frustration and fatigue mingling in her posture. “And you’re up waiting for me. Did you miss me, or were you just making sure I hadn’t been devoured by drunken fools?”

He gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Neither,” he said quietly. “I… I wanted to make sure you returned safely. I overheard… what those men said. I couldn’t bear it.”

Tessira’s brow furrowed. “Astarion…” Her voice softened, though her irritation lingered. “You don’t get to decide the world for me. I am what I am. I did what I had to do. And yes, I charm, I perform, I… I’ve survived by doing so. That is who I am.”

He rose from the chair and stepped closer, his movements fluid, careful not to crowd her, but the heat of his presence was undeniable. “And I know that,” he said, voice low, almost breaking. “But hearing them speak of you… as though you were a commodity… I couldn’t… I couldn’t sit there and let it happen. I wanted to protect you, your honour. I… I don’t enjoy hearing men say they want to be with my partner as though she were theirs to buy.”

Tessira’s chest tightened. She reached up, brushing her fingers against his jaw. “Astarion… you’ll have to harden yourself to it,” she said softly, eyes meeting his. “Because I am who I am. I am not ashamed of my past, and I won’t apologise for it. I’ve lived, I’ve made choices, just as you have. You know your own darkness, now accept mine. It is part of me, and part of us.”

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the warmth of the fire washing over them, the quiet of the night holding them in suspended anticipation. Astarion’s hands reached for hers, fingers brushing lightly over hers before clasping them firmly. “I… I will try,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Because you… because we…” His words faltered, but the meaning was clear.

Tessira stepped closer, letting her forehead brush against his. “Then stop trying to shield me,” she murmured. “I want you to see me… all of me. And still… stay.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, vulnerability softened by affection. “I will always stay,” he breathed, and then he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle, searching kiss.

Tessira responded immediately, tension and anger melting into warmth and longing. Fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like he might never let go. The firelight danced across their faces, shadows flickering as they lingered in that perfect, fragile moment.

When they finally parted, breathless, Tessira rested her forehead against his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, a small, amused smile touching her lips.

“I know,” he replied softly, nuzzling her hair. “And yet… I love you, Tessira.”

“And I you,” she whispered, tilting her head up to capture his gaze. “Now… come to bed. We have an early morning, and I expect coffee, not sulking.”

–

The autumnal sun filtered through orange and crimson leaves, casting the countryside in a warm glow. Shadowheart’s cow, Daphne, grazed lazily in the front garden, while chickens clucked around her feet, startled occasionally by the flick of the cow’s tail.

Tessira wrapped her fur cloak tighter against the morning chill as she approached the cosy cottage. It seemed the perfect fresh start for Shadowheart, and Tessira felt a quiet happiness seeing her friend finally at peace with her parents.

A tenday ago, she had received an invitation to breakfast with her companions – everyone except Karlach and Wyll, who were off hunting a cure for Karlach’s heart. It eased Tessira’s mind to know Karlach wasn’t facing it alone. Astarion, meanwhile, had politely declined, citing urgent matters in the Underdark. Tessira knew the truth: he didn’t want to venture into the sunlight, relying on a parasol and shadowed streets for protection. She didn’t press him, though it ached her heart that he wasn’t coming with her.

Tessira stepped onto the porch, her boots crunching against the frosted grass. Shadowheart appeared in the doorway, white hair loosely tied and a warm smile softening her usually guarded expression.

“Tessira! You made it,” Shadowheart greeted, opening her arms. “Come in before you freeze out here.”

The cottage smelled of baking bread and herbs, a comforting scent that wrapped around Tessira like a familiar hug. She stepped inside, shrugging off her cloak, and allowed herself a moment to savor the domestic peace she rarely encountered in their travels.

“I see Daphne has claimed her territory,” Tessira said with a small laugh, nodding toward the cow poking her head through the open kitchen window, sniffing curiously at the bread rising on the counter.

Shadowheart chuckled, brushing flour from her hands. “She’s always hungry. I swear she thinks I put food in the soil for her to grow.”

They moved to the breakfast table, where freshly baked bread, butter, honey, and steaming mugs of herbal tea awaited. Tessira noticed the absence of the boisterous voices of the rest of the group but found comfort in the quiet, familiar company.

“Where’s Astarion?” Shadowheart asked gently, noticing Tessira’s brief hesitation.

Tessira’s fingers traced the rim of her mug, eyes flicking toward the window where sunlight spilled across the garden. “He… he’s tending to the Underdark,” she said carefully. “There have been… incidents with the new Spawn. He’ll return before dawn, always before the sunlight can touch him.”

Shadowheart’s gaze softened. “I see. You miss him.”

A faint smile tugged at Tessira’s lips. “I do,” she admitted. “Even when he’s frustrating or overly protective.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, teasing lightly. “Frustrating, you say? I never would have guessed.”

Tessira laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “He’s… complicated. But I think that’s part of the charm.”

The scent of bacon, eggs, beans, and warm toast filled Shadowheart’s cottage kitchen, mingling with the rich aroma of tea and coffee. Porridge bubbled gently in a pot on the stove, steam curling toward the low autumn sunlight spilling through the windows.

Tessira spooned a dollop of honeyed porridge onto her plate, buttering her toast with careful precision, while Alfira hummed softly to herself, tapping a rhythm on the table. Shadowheart poured tea into steaming mugs, while Gale perched on the edge of a chair, his long fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee.

“Have you all… settled in comfortably?” Gale asked, adjusting his spectacles and glancing over the rim at Tessira. “I assume the journey from the city has not exhausted anyone beyond the usual travel fatigue?”

“Only the usual,” Tessira said lightly, biting into her toast. She cast a sidelong glance at the empty chair where Astarion would normally sit. “Though it is quieter without… some of us.”

Gale nodded knowingly, stirring his coffee. “I was actually going to ask about him,” he said, voice dipping into the curious, bookish timbre Tessira had come to recognise. “Has Astarion returned from his duties in the Underdark? He seems to be… maintaining a rather precarious schedule with the sunlight.”

“Still avoiding it,” Tessira admitted, eyes flicking to the window where the morning sun touched the garden. “He only ventures out under cover, shadows, or before dawn. It pains him almost as much as it pains me.”

Shadowheart tilted her head, sipping her tea. “We should be thankful he comes back at all.”

Gale cleared his throat, setting his notes aside and leaning forward. “On a related note… have any of you heard of the new resident of the Szarr Palace?”

Tessira and Alfira exchanged puzzled looks. “Szarr Palace?” Tessira repeated. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Indeed,” Gale continued, his voice falling into that eager lecture cadence Tessira both adored and groaned at. “Apparently, a Lord Varcellis has taken up residence there. My research suggests that he is a vampire.” Gale’s eyes gleamed with scholarly excitement, spectacles catching the light. “Since the death of Cazador, it seems Varcellis has claimed the position as a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate. From what I can ascertain, he is a True Vampire, as Cazador was. But here’s the catch – he is able to walk in sunlight and brush shoulders with the elites of the City. I assume this ball is another ploy to mingle with the powerful patriarchs of the city and gain footing as Cazador had.”

Tessira paused mid-bite, the spoon suspended in the air. “A vampire in sunlight?” Alfira echoed, frowning. “That’s… unusual, isn’t it?”

Gale leaned back against his chair. “Indeed, even for True Vampires. This Varcellis appears to be consolidating power, and he is known for hosting… social events of note. I have myself been invited to one of his balls in a tenday, as Professor Dekarios.” Gale smiled proudly to himself.

“I received an invitation,” Tessira said lightly, swirling the tea in her mug. “Summoned as a musician to perform at… well, at a ball. Though I didn’t even bother reading it closely.” She smirked faintly, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “I receive so many these days. Didn’t even notice it was for the Szarr Palace.”

Alfira paused mid-butter, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? Tess… that’s a big deal. The Szarr Palace – prestigious, grand, and notoriously selective. That kind of exposure could make your career as a bard even bigger. You can’t just shrug this off.”

Tessira frowned, concern tightening her chest. “I… I don’t think I should go. It would… it would bring back horrible memories for Astarion. He can’t be in the sunlight, we’re not in the best place, and attending a ball in that kind of venue… he’d be on edge the entire night. I don’t want to put him through that.”

Gale leaned forward, voice gentle but firm. “I will also attend,” he said, his eyes bright with quiet determination. “I can be there for you, Tessira. And from my research, the Varcellis family owns quite a number of enchanted heirlooms. I have been researching one such heirloom. An amulet of very powerful magic – and very expensive – that allows one with such affliction to walk in the sunlight. I can only assume through logical estimation that this is how Varcellis walks in the sunlight.” His tone grew serious, almost reverent. “If we could obtain it, Astarion could safely venture into daylight. You know as well as I do how rare such a thing is.”

“Gale, how long have you been researching this?” Tessira asked, sipping her tea.

“Oh– a while. I truly felt for Astarion that day on the docks, scampering away like a wounded animal. I knew there would be something I could find, and Minsc even mentioned Boo said something about arcane strategies – though the hamster and ranger have gone underground. I would like to meet Boo again, I think he would teach me so much.” Gale trailed off.

“Gale – the amulet.” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

“Right! Yes, apologies. The Amulet of Sun Resistance. Forged for the first True Vampire, it has been passed down and ended up in the hands of Varcellis. I doubt he will let it go willingly.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “We’ll need to steal it,” she said bluntly, her voice carrying the weight of practicality. “No other way. That amulet is not simply a gift, and the Varcellis family will guard it fiercely.”

Tessira set down her mug, fingers tightening around the handle. “Steal it?” she echoed, the words hanging heavy in the warm kitchen. “Gale… Shadowheart… this is dangerous. A ball hosted by a True Vampire in sunlight… I’d be performing right under his nose. And Alfira?” She glanced at her friend, the worry plain in her eyes.

Alfira grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Dangerous, yes. But think of the performance, Tess! Everyone will be watching, enchanted by your music. And who knows what connections you could make. The exposure… priceless.”

Tessira sighed, conflicted. Her gaze drifted toward the morning light spilling across the table, imagining Astarion lurking in shadows if she went, tense and restrained, yet always so present. “Alright,” she said finally, a note of resolve in her voice. “I’ll go. But we need a plan. We need to make sure Astarion stays safe, and… we get that amulet.”

Gale nodded, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and seriousness. “Agreed. I’ll be there to watch over you. And the amulet… we must approach with caution. But with preparation and subtlety, I believe it’s possible.”

Shadowheart folded her arms, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “I like it when plans have a thrill. We’ll make this work. Between the three of us – and Tessira’s music – we can handle whatever the Varcellis family throws at us.”

Tessira leaned back in her chair, heart still tight with concern for Astarion, but a spark of determination flaring as well. “Then it’s settled. I’ll perform… and we’ll get the amulet. For him.”

Alfira clapped her hands, practically bouncing in excitement. “And I’ll be there, lending my charm and music. No way anyone overshadows you, Tess.”

Gale chuckled softly, shaking his head at their enthusiasm. “Let’s just make sure we don’t get turned into hors d’oeuvres in the process,” he muttered, voice tinged with scholarly caution.

The morning sun streamed through the window, warm and golden, but Tessira’s mind was already elsewhere – on the grand palace, the ball, the True Vampire who awaited her performance, and the fragile thread connecting her to Astarion, whose safety depended on her and their friends’ cunning.

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not.” The book in Astarion’s lap snapped closed.

Tessira rolled her eyes, coming to kneel in front of her lover. Once breakfast had concluded at Shadowheart’s and their plan solidified, Tess had rushed home to tell Astarion the news.

“Astarion, you’re acting rash. This is the answer we have been looking for. You could walk in the sunlight again, feel it warm your skin, we could have a life again.”

The words struck Astarion harder than any slap Tess could have inflicted upon him.

“Have a life again?” He repeated, his crimson eyes blazing. “Is this not enough for you, dear Tess?”

“That’s not what I meant Astarion and you know it. I want this for you, you seem so unhappy since the tadpole shriveled up and you were forced into the darkness again. I just want you to be happy.” Tessira’s voice broke, tears brimming her amethyst eyes.

“Darling,” Astarion said softly, his anger melting away at the sight of her sorrow, “I am happy. I am…adjusting, but I have everything I need with you.”

“Astarion, please.” Tessira pleaded, “We hardly see each other. You spend your days in the Underdark, I spend my nights in the taverns performing. We’re caving.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “If you won’t do this for you, do it for me. Please.”

Astarion’s garnet eyes softened, the firelight reflecting off them as he leaned back in the chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. His jaw flexed, a faint tension remaining, but the rigid line of refusal had eased.

“I… I do not wish to be swept into another danger, Tess,” he murmured, voice low, betraying both pride and worry. “I am… cautious. You know that. You know why I cannot simply–”

“I know,” Tessira said quickly, kneeling beside him, one hand brushing against his arm. “And I would never ask you to recklessly put yourself in danger. But this isn’t just another gamble. This… this is a way for you to live again. Not just survive, not just hide in shadows, but to breathe in the sunlight without fear.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh. “And yet I cannot help but imagine myself reduced to a spectacle while you – my life, my everything – play the part of a courtesan for a True Vampire.”

Tessira cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the pale skin. “You are my life, Astarion, and I will not allow anyone to harm us. That is why I will perform. I will charm Varcellis, entertain him, and when the moment is right I’ll steal the amulet that will allow you to walk in the sun freely. And then… we leave. We disappear from Baldur’s Gate together.”

He studied her, that quiet, searching look she had come to know so well. “Disappearing…? Where would we go?”

Tessira smiled softly, a glimmer of mischief behind the worry. “We could go to Waterdeep. Close to Gale, where no one knows us as they do here. Gale could protect us. We could rent a quiet home, blend in, live free. Just us, without shadows lurking in every alley. Or we could go to Halsin, in the Reclaimed Lands to start completely fresh, except a few people that might know us, but not as they do here. We’d live off the land, help him rebuild. We would be free, Astarion. No saviours of Baldur’s Gate, no famous Bard and Vampire Spawn, just Astarion and Tess.”

A shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “The Reclaimed Lands…not quite the luxury and glamour I’d once seen myself settling down in,” His expression turned serious, “And you… would you leave your music behind?”

“Never,” Tessira said firmly. “I would perform there too, quietly, carefully. But the crowds, the danger, the constant watchfulness… we would be free. And more than that,” she hesitated, her gaze locking onto his, vulnerable and tender, “we could start our life together properly. Raise a family… a child. You and I, Astarion. A life we choose, not one forced upon us.”

He inhaled sharply, a rush of conflicting emotions playing across his pale features. Desire, fear, hope, protectiveness – all mixing in a storm that only Tessira could navigate. Finally, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “You would have my child? You would even consider that?”

“I would, if it’s possible,” she said, leaning closer, her forehead resting lightly against his. “I love you, Astarion. I love all of you – your darkness, your past, your fears. And I want to share a life with you. I want to protect you, cherish you, and yes… raise a family with you, if you are willing.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. When he opened them again, the usual smirk was gone, replaced with a raw honesty she rarely witnessed. “Then I… I will trust you. Reluctantly, yes,” he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching in a faint, almost shy smile. “But I will go along with this plan. Because if anyone can navigate the webs of a True Vampire… it is you.”

Tessira laughed softly, brushing her lips over his in a gentle, lingering kiss. “You just keep me from getting hurt, Astarion. The rest… the rest I’ll handle.”

“And if you do get hurt?” he asked, voice teasing now, though shadows of worry lingered.

“Then I’ll let you handle it. Always,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, memorising him once again. “We have each other, remember? And together… we can handle anything. Even this Varcellis, even Baldur’s Gate, even the sunlight.”

He leaned into her touch, closing the space between them as their lips met again, slower this time, savoring the certainty in the midst of uncertainty. When they parted, Tessira rested her head against his chest, hands clutching his burgundy doublet, the warmth of the fire and his touch grounding her.

Astarion’s arms encircled her, holding her gently yet possessively, as if letting go were impossible. “For a life with you,” he whispered.

“And for us,” she murmured back, eyes closing. “A life where we choose everything. Together. Always.”

Astarion lifted her then to straddle him, her legs either side of him on the plush armchair. His hands moved to her hips as she kissed him, softly at first, then with passion. With devotion. Each kiss telling him all he needed to know, I’m yours, nothing will come between us.

She trailed her lips from his to his jawline, his neck. His hands gripped her hips and began to rock her back and forth on his hardening member. Tess moaned into his mouth as the pressure moved against her clit, her mind screaming for them to be closer.

Astarion brought her mouth to his in one fluid movement, holding her chin tenderly, his other hand working to untie her leather pants. Tessira’s fingers made quick work of his own trousers, pulling them back slightly to release his throbbing cock. Her slim hands gripped his length, moving up and down with fluid grace. Astarion moaned as he reached into her underwear to her wet slit. He moved his hand against her, the knuckle of his thumb grazing against her clit as he kissed her deeply. Tessira moaned into his mouth.

He slipped one finger inside her, pumping in and out of her at a deliciously slow pace. Then another finger, curling them slightly inside her to hit that sweet spot that made her back arch.

“I need you.” She panted, hand picking up the pace on his length.

Astarion didn’t need any further direction, he withdrew his fingers from inside her and led her down gently in front of the fire, removing his clothing quickly as Tessira undressed below him. She opened her pale legs for him as Astarion trailed kisses down her freckled body, his mouth catching on her erect nipples and sucking gently. Tessira’s back arched and Astarion took the opportunity to slip a digit inside of her wet folds, his teeth grazing her nipple.

He continued trailing kisses down her body, Tessira’s hands in his white curls as he found the apex between her thighs. He kissed her clit, before moving to kiss the tender flesh of her thighs.

“Yes, Astarion.” She breathed, eyes closed and back arched. She knew what he wanted, and she’d always willingly give it.

Astarion’s fangs sank into the gentle flesh of her thigh and Tessira gasped. He drank softly from her, relishing in the sweet taste of her blood, his erection growing harder.

“Fuck me.” Tessira begged.

“Patience, little love.” Astarion rasped, removing his mouth from her leg. He licked his lips clean before returning to her clit, his tongue swirling around it, finger pumping inside of her. Astarion sucked gently, he knew how she liked it at times as intimate as this.

“Astarion, please.” She whined. Astarion chuckled against her sex.

“Because you asked so nicely.” He cooed, removing his finger from inside of her and lining up his throbbing cock to her wet entrance. She watched as he slid the head inside of her, stretching her deliciously. Tessira moaned at the first feel of him, it had been so long since she felt him inside of her.

Astarion groaned as he pushed himself further inside of her, thrusting in rolling strokes of his hips. His hands placed next to Tessira’s head as he locked eyes with her, his thrusts speeding up slightly as she adjusted to the length and size of him.

“Does that feel good, darling.” Astarion murmured, lowering to kiss her neck.

“Yes.” Tessira sighed, closing her eyes as his lips danced across the tender skin of her neck. She felt his fangs graze her skin again before sinking into her flesh. Tessira moaned loudly, arching her back into him. Astarion groaned into her neck, drinking deeply from her.

She gripped his back as he licked her neck clean, his thrusting picking up the pace, pushing into her to the hilt.

“You’re taking me so well, darling.” Astarion murmured, bucking his hips into her so her whole body moved with each thrust. “You always take my cock so well. My good girl.”

“I want you–I want you to give me children.” Tessira rasped, kissing Astarion’s neck as he rolled his hips into her. Astarion’s cock quivered at her voice, her ask of him.

“Do you truly want to bear my child, sweet Tess?” Astarion’s voice was a whisper in her ear. “Swollen and round with the ultimate consequence of our lovemaking?” He murmured, taking her earlobe in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Yes.” Tessira sighed, nails running down his back as he thrust into her, the head of his cock kissing her cervix.

“Have you any idea how I yearn to fill you? Your womb filled with my undead seed, everyone to see what I’ve done to you? What you allowed me to do to you?” He moaned. “Everyone would know then, when you are round with my offspring – you’re mine.”

Tessira’s orgasm ricocheted through her body, her walls tightening around his thick cock. Astarion groaned at the feel of her milking him of his seed as he almost immediately came inside of her. He did not stop thrusting as her walls continued to flutter around him.

“That’s it, darling. Milking my cock for as much of my spend as you can.” He rasped in her ear, his thrusts slowing as Tessira came down from her orgasm.

“Gods Astarion.” Tessira moaned, kissing his neck as he came to a halt, resting on top of her warm, lithe body. “I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you.”

–

They lay in front of the fire, skin to skin, wrapped in fur blankets from the bedroom. The flames flickered and danced, casting a warm, golden glow across the room, while the dim light of scattered candles added a soft intimacy to the space. Outside, the night pressed dark against the windows, cool and silent, making the warmth of the fire and each other all the more comforting. Astarion had brought in their best bottles of wine, along with smoked meats, cheeses, and fresh fruits, the scent mingling with the firewood and candle wax.

Astarion reclined on his back, neck propped against the armchair, fingers drumming lightly on the wood, while Tessira draped herself over him, their legs entwined. Her chin rested on his chest, her gaze locked on his crimson eyes, glowing faintly in the firelight.

“I am ridiculously in love with you, vampire,” she murmured lazily, drunk on the warmth of both wine and the post-orgasm euphoria.

“As am I you, bard,” he replied softly, fingers threading through her tangled dark curls as he sipped his wine.

“Did you mean what you said?” Tessira asked, voice gentle yet insistent, watching him closely.

“Darling, you’re going to need to be more specific,” he teased, lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

“About us… having a baby. I thought you might not want a family after everything you’ve been through,” Tessira pressed, careful not to spook him, her voice barely above the crackle of the fire.

He exhaled softly, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. “There was once a time when the thought would’ve repulsed me,” he admitted, smile softening. “But now… with you, with what we have together, it feels like the natural next step. After this whole amulet business, of course. What kind of father would I be if I couldn’t take my children into the sunlight to play?”

“Is it… possible for Spawn to produce offspring?” Tessira asked, reaching for her own wine goblet, the firelight reflecting in the amethyst of her eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it. I think I read somewhere, long ago, that after consuming a considerable amount of blood it could be possible,” Astarion mused, downing the last of his wine.

“So you need to drain me dry first?” Tessira teased, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a wicked grin.

“Well, not you, dearest. Perhaps some unfortunate soul,” he smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, I do believe you keep me well-fed. And with my regular… excursions into the prison for supper, I am adequately provisioned.”

“You what!?” Tessira cried, laughing despite herself.

“Oh, come now, darling. They’re all criminals, destined to rot there anyway – a waste otherwise,” he tutted, mock-serious.

“I won’t pretend I care for the criminals of the city,” Tessira said, eyes sparkling, “I’m just glad you’re fed.”

Astarion smiled warmly, the firelight glinting off his pale skin. If there was one thing he adored about Tessira, it was her delight in the same wicked things he found amusing. She had never hesitated to devastate the Goblin Camp with her bardic magic, paired with the Eldritch Blasts her Patron had granted her – a kindred spirit in mischief. He recalled when she had boo’d Volothamp Geddard when he was performing, albeit terribly, for the Goblins, or when she had tossed the Worg shit in the goblins faces and proceeded to decimate them all. Tessira had seen the monster others saw within Astarion, and yet still saw the male beneath. The one worthy of her love.

“But to return to your point,” he continued, tone softening, “yes, darling. I want to raise a family. With you. In Waterdeep, the Reclaimed Lands, wherever we go… my home is with you.”

Tessira tilted her head, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The fire’s warmth seeped into them, the quiet crackle of logs and the gentle flicker of candlelight creating a cocoon around them. Outside, the night lay thick and still, but inside their little sanctuary, everything felt right, safe, and full of promise.

She leaned down, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss, tasting the faint tang of wine, the smoky fire, and the unspoken love between them. When they parted, their foreheads touched, breath mingling, hearts beating in tandem.

“For a life with you,” Astarion murmured, voice low, but brimming with sincerity.

“And for us,” Tessira replied softly, eyes closing as she nuzzled against his chest. “A life we choose. Together. Always.”

His hand was trailing along her back as they lay in front of the fire, completely naked and vulnerable, when he felt her hand snake down his torso.

“Oh? Up for another round already, darling?” Astarion smirked, his eyes glinting with desire.

Tessira giggled, biting her lip, “I will never get enough.”

Chapter Text

The autumnal morning air was crisp, carrying with it the tang of fallen leaves and the distant scent of woodsmoke from chimneys. Tessira tightened her fur cloak around her shoulders, the soft, warm pelt a comforting barrier against the chill as she made her way through the winding streets of the marketplace. She had braided her hair today, the long dark plait resting on her shoulder. Orange and crimson leaves swirled along the cobblestones, caught in small whirlwinds created by the busy throngs of shoppers and merchants. Each gust sent a shiver up her spine, but the warmth of the crowd around her, alive with chatter and laughter, kept her spirits bright.

The marketplace was a riot of color and sound. Vendors called out their wares in melodic voices, advertising fresh-baked breads, salted meats, fragrant cheeses, and spices that perfumed the cool air. Tessira inhaled deeply, savoring the mingling aromas of roasting chestnuts, warm pastries, and citrus from a traveling merchant’s cart. The clink of coin and the shuffle of boots on cobblestone added a lively rhythm to the morning, punctuated by the occasional neigh of a horse or the cry of a hawker selling brightly painted trinkets.

Stalls wound like a labyrinth through the marketplace, some stacked with silks and velvets, their rich colors catching the morning light. Others displayed intricate jewelry, delicate glassware, and hand-painted miniatures that glimmered in the sun. A cart overflowing with freshly carved wooden figures drew Tessira’s eye, and a burst of laughter from a nearby stall filled with children playing with small toy instruments reminded her of the joy and chaos that life could hold.

Alfira and Lakrissa flitted along beside her, each wrapped in woolen scarves and gloves, carrying lengths of silk and lace draped over their arms. Tessira’s fingers brushed the smooth, luxurious textures as she paused to admire a deep sapphire velvet, letting the fabric slide through her hands with deliberate care. She held it against herself, tilting in the pale sunlight to watch how it caught the light, the shimmer dancing across her skin. “This would look perfect for Varcellis’ ball,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips as a soft breeze teased the edges of the bolt.

Her eyes wandered over the intricate embroidery, imagining the sparkle of gemstones at her throat, the delicate sway of gold-trimmed sleeves, the way a finely cut dress could make every movement seem deliberate, elegant, irresistible. She inhaled, catching the faint scent of the velvet – soft, earthy, intoxicating – and let herself imagine it mingling with a new perfume, her favorite cherries perfume, sweet yet daring, leaving a trail of her presence behind her in every room she entered.

“I could pair it with those gold earrings we saw yesterday, Alfira,” Tessira continued, almost to herself, tracing a fingertip along the fabric. “And perhaps a bracelet. And a hairpin to match…” Her voice trailed into a soft, delighted hum as she imagined the ensemble complete, each piece a small triumph of taste and elegance.

Alfira and Lakrissa exchanged amused glances, knowing well that Tessira’s indulgence in such details wasn’t vanity – it was a craft. Every dress, every perfume, every jewel was a tool, a way to captivate, command attention, and charm. Yet she allowed herself the simple, almost childish joy of it, the pleasure of wrapping herself in beauty and refinement, letting the richness of the materials and the sparkle of gold and gemstones lift her spirits in the crisp autumn air.

Tessira twirled slightly, letting the velvet fall around her, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Gods I missed shopping,” she sighed, glancing at the market stalls laden with silks, ribbons, perfumes, and trinkets. “I suppose some could call it frivolous… but a lady must have her treasures, after all.” She smiled wickedly to herself.

Tess lingered a moment longer, fingering a delicate golden chain on a nearby stall, imagining it sparkling against her skin under the flickering candlelight of the masquerade. It wasn’t just clothing or ornamentation – it was the art of being seen, of presenting oneself fully, and, admittedly, of indulging in the luxurious pleasures of life.

Alfira clapped, eyes sparkling. “Exquisite! You’ll dazzle Varcellis without even trying. A legendary entrance, I’m telling you. You’ll have everyone falling at your feet!”

Lakrissa rolled her eyes but smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You two and your drama. I’m just here to make sure Tess doesn’t end up in something she can’t sit in without causing a scandal.”

Tessira laughed, the sound blending with the market’s symphony. “Oh, Lakrissa, you wound me! But fine, practicality matters. Comfort and flair. I can be deadly and elegant at the same time.”

The bustle of the marketplace carried on around them – shoppers haggling over the price of hand-dyed fabrics, the clatter of coins exchanged, the cries of merchants advertising pastries, fruit, and roasted meats. Tessira paused at a stall adorned with golden trinkets and delicate filigree, running her fingers over an intricate bracelet as she imagined Astarion’s crimson eyes lighting up in the candlelight.

“I sometimes dream about leaving all this behind,” she murmured, almost to herself, feeling the fur of her cloak warm against her skin as a small wind teased the ends of her hair. Alfira’s gaze softened as she glanced over, smiling knowingly.

“Don’t tell me you’re already plotting an escape plan, Tess?” Alfira teased, though her tone was gentle, full of affection.

“Not escape, exactly,” Tessira said, rolling the fabric between her fingers. “A new life. Once we have the amulet, I want us – Astarion and I – to leave Baldur’s Gate behind. A quiet home somewhere in the Reclaimed Lands, or Waterdeep. A place where we can simply be, away from Varcellis, from all this intrigue and danger. Away from our history, and start anew.”

Lakrissa’s eyes softened, her lips curling into a smile. “What about with a garden?” she asked lightly. “Sun on your face, flowers, maybe even some cats?”

Tessira laughed, the sound carrying above the marketplace hum. “Exactly! Cats everywhere. A sprawling garden with herbs, roses, and vegetables. Maybe a little orchard if we’re lucky. No prying eyes, no masquerades, no danger… just us. We even discussed…starting a family,” Tessira blushed, “A family with Astarion, making a life together that doesn’t revolve around shadows, but laughter, sunlight, and love.”

Alfira grinned, tugging gently on Tessira’s cloak. “Oh Gods, me an aunt? You know those little half-vampires would be spoiled rotten. It sounds perfect.”

“You really think it’s possible?” Tessira asked, a small flicker of doubt in her eyes.

“I know it is,” Lakrissa said firmly. “You’re clever, you’re careful, and you’ve got Astarion wrapped around your finger, even if he won’t admit it.”

Tessira twirled the velvet around herself, imagining the soft life she craved – the sun filtering through leaves in a quiet garden, laughter echoing through their home, cats curled up on the hearth, and Astarion at peace in the sunlight. The marketplace bustle faded slightly in her mind, replaced by the warmth and hope of a life just beyond reach.

“Alright,” she said, lifting a bolt of midnight-blue silk with a decisive grin. “I think we’ve found the dress. Something dazzling enough to catch Varcellis’ attention, but elegant enough to say, ‘I am in control here.’ And after that… the world will be ours.”

Alfira clapped her hands, Lakrissa beaming. Tessira let the sunlight glint off the fabric, dreaming of freedom, love, and a soft life far from the shadows of Baldur’s Gate.

–

The Underdark air was thick with the iron tang of blood and the damp, fungal musk of its caverns. Torches guttered along the rough-hewn walls of the fortress his siblings had found a home in, casting jittering shadows over the thousands of pale forms that lingered and shifted in restless clusters. The spawn. Seven thousand of them, their number dwindling daily.

Astarion stood upon a jagged ledge that overlooked the cavern, the sea of hollow eyes and gnashing teeth below reminding him of what he had unleashed. He held himself tall, his crimson-lined cloak sweeping about him like a warning.

Dalyria lingered at his side, the folds of her robe drawn close as though to shield her from the endless hunger wafting up from below. Petras, more grim, leaned against a stalagmite, his mouth twisted with distaste.

“They fight amongst themselves,” Petras said, voice sharp as broken glass. “The thirst tears them apart. Packs forming, then breaking within hours. They’ve begun to cull their own number. Already dozens lie shredded in the caverns below. It is… chaos.”

Astarion’s jaw flexed. His gaze swept over the writhing masses, the echo of their snarls rolling up the stone like a chorus of madness. “They were never taught restraint,” he said at last, his tone clipped. “Only obedience. With Cazador’s chains broken, their thirst is all they know.”

Dalyria’s voice was soft, almost wistful. “They look to you now, brother. Not as thrall, not as master, but… as something else. Do you mean to shepherd them? Or let them devour one another until only the strongest remain?”

The question hung heavy between them, heavier than the cavern air.

Petras pushed off the stalagmite, stalking closer, his boots crunching on bone fragments scattered across the stone. “Mercy?” he spat, glancing at Dalyria with open disdain. “They are beasts, sister. You hear their shrieking, yes? That is not a chorus to be led – it is a pack to be thinned. Better to cut them down until a manageable number remain. Strong, loyal, blooded.”

Dalyria’s fingers curled around her sleeves, eyes glinting in the low firelight. “You speak of culling as if we are butchers. These are our kin now, Petras. Bound to us by more than Cazador’s cruelty – by blood, by suffering. They are lost, yes, but not beyond saving.”

“Saving?” Petras barked out a hollow laugh. “Do you see salvation in those jaws, in those wild eyes? They will tear apart everything, everyone, until only rot remains. You would cradle them like babes while they sink their teeth into your throat.”

“Perhaps,” Dalyria whispered, tilting her head, her gaze slipping back toward the restless spawn below. “Or perhaps we teach them. Guide them. Give them a chance at something Cazador never did. Would that not make us better than him?”

Astarion let the words wash over him, his eyes still fixed on the writhing tide of spawn. His siblings’ voices were sharp against his ears – Petras’ cruelty bristling with logic, Dalyria’s softness coiled with something dangerously persuasive.

He thought of freedom. Of choice. Of the endless, gnawing thirst that once ruled him too.

“Enough,” he said at last, voice low, but it cut through their bickering. He turned, red eyes catching the torchlight, a predator’s gleam. “We will not be Cazador’s shadows, bickering over his scraps. But neither will I let this spiral into mindless ruin.”

He descended a few steps toward the cavern floor, cloak trailing, his presence commanding as hundreds of hollow eyes turned up toward him. “They will learn. Or they will perish. And it will be by my hand – not chaos, not your blade, Petras. Mine.”

Petras’ lip curled, a snarl rumbling low in his chest. “And who made you their saviour, brother? Who gave you the right to decide their fate?” His eyes glowed faintly red in the dark, and for a moment he looked less man, more beast.

Astarion stopped mid-descent, turning slowly to face him. His smile was cold, deliberate, the kind that never reached his eyes. “The right?” His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “It was I who broke Cazador’s ritual. I who tore open his cage and freed every last one of them from slavery.”

He stepped forward, the cavern heat thickening between them. His fangs bared as his voice sharpened. “I did not ask to be their leader, Petras. But make no mistake – it was my choice that delivered you from chains. You would do well to remember that before you question me again.”

Petras growled, shoulders squaring, the scent of iron rising in the air as if his thirst surged with his temper. The spawn below began to stir, sensing the predator’s challenge above, their snarls echoing, amplifying the tension.

Dalyria’s voice sliced through like silk on steel. “Brothers,” she said, though there was a strange satisfaction glittering in her eyes. “Must you bare your fangs at one another, when the real danger lies below?”

But neither of them looked at her.

Astarion and Petras locked eyes, crimson on crimson, fangs gleaming in the torchlight. The silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

Astarion’s snarl broke it. He lunged a step forward, close enough for Petras to feel the brush of his breath, and hissed. “Respect is not optional. Not for them–” his head tilted toward the writhing spawn, “–and certainly not for you.”

Petras stiffened, the fight in him still sparking, but under his brother’s stare he finally looked away, fangs retracting.

When Petras finally lowered his eyes, Astarion exhaled, slowly, carefully, and turned his back to him. The gesture was deliberate, a sign of dominance, though his shoulders were tight with restraint. The snarls of the spawn below echoed faintly, but his mind was already elsewhere.

He could still see Tessira twirling through a sun-dappled garden, silks catching the light. Cats by the hearth, laughter in her throat, her hand warm against his. The Reclaimed Lands were no paradise, but gods – they promised freedom. A life unshadowed by hunger and chains. Perhaps even the family they had discussed, if fate were kind. A family that was truly his, not built on bloodshed. He imagined Tessira round with their second child, their first toddling around their home. He knew she would be happy there, content, safe.

But the fantasy unraveled as quickly as it came. His gaze swept over the cavern again – the gaunt faces, the restless twitch of fangs, the scent of spilt blood thick as fog. Seven thousand souls, cursed and broken, many of whom had been led to Cazador’s lair by him. Whispered promises, seductive smiles, honeyed lies meant to draw them down into the dark.

Their eyes haunted him. Every throat he had bared for his master’s teeth was another chain he himself had forged. And now, with Cazador gone, those chains still clinked in his mind.

To walk away – to leave them to devour one another – would be easy. Easier than staying in the filth and madness. But was that not just another form of cruelty?

Astarion’s hand flexed at his side, nails biting into his palm. His thoughts splintered between two futures: Tessira’s warmth, their freedom beyond the Gate, their soft life in the sunlight… and this endless cavern, this army of broken spawn who looked to him with eyes both hollow and expectant.

He wanted both. But to claim one was to lose the other.

His jaw tightened. What kind of man would I be, he thought bitterly, if I enslaved them to despair as Cazador once enslaved me?

The cavern seemed to constrict around him as he descended, spawn scuttling aside, sensing the predator’s approach. Among them, one figure lingered, more still than the rest.

Sebastian.

Astarion froze for the briefest moment, taking in the gaunt, hollow-eyed figure who had once smiled for him under the lanterns of Baldur’s Gate. The same face, now sharpened by hunger and suffering.

“Sebastian,” Astarion began, his voice careful, almost soft. “How… how have you been holding up?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered, crimson in the torchlight. A hint of melancholy softened the otherwise hardened lines of his face. “Surviving,” he said after a pause. “That’s something, I suppose. The cell… it’s gone, at least. I am free from that… cage. I am grateful for that much, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Astarion’s expression tightened imperceptibly. He knew the freedom had been bitter and cruel, the spawn were prey to one another, and Sebastian was no exception. “And the others?” he asked gently, letting his gaze sweep the thronging mass of pale forms around them.

“They fight,” Sebastian admitted, voice low, bitter. “But I survive. That… counts for something, doesn’t it?” He gave a thin, ironic smile, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Thanks, I suppose. For letting me out of that cell. If only the rest had been as lucky as I.”

Astarion nodded slowly, fighting the surge of guilt that threatened to twist his stomach. “You’ve done well to endure,” he murmured. “I… I can’t undo what’s been done, Sebastian. But knowing you’re still standing, still yourself, makes some small difference.”

For a heartbeat, Sebastian’s expression softened, faint gratitude in the hollow of his eyes.

Astarion drew a slow breath, forcing calm into his voice. “Sebastian… I have been thinking of leaving Baldur’s Gate. A new life, elsewhere. Away from the shadows that have clung to me for far too long.”

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes flashing crimson. “Leaving?” His voice cracked, anger spilling over. “You… you led me to this! You promised safety, guidance, and look at me now! And you get to walk away, to leave it all behind like it means nothing?”

Astarion’s fangs glinted as he stepped closer, careful to keep his tone steady. “I did not ask to lead them, Sebastian. I did what I had to – to give as many of you as possible a chance. But I am not their master. Their lives are theirs to fight for now.”

Sebastian’s hands trembled, fists clenching. “Chance? Do you call this chance? I am hollowed out by hunger, by fear, by what you dragged me into. And yet you speak of a life beyond all this, while I–while I am still chained in your shadows!”

Dalyria glided forward, voice smooth but firm. “Sebastian, you must understand… Astarion bears far more than you see. He is not abandoning you. He carries responsibility for every one of them, yes, but he has not forsaken you.”

Astarion’s mind spun. He could feel her support, but Sebastian’s words dug deeper, twisting with every memory of his deceit, the seductions, the lies. “I… I wish there were another way,” he whispered, more to himself than to Sebastian. “I wish I could undo it all.”

Sebastian’s gaze was unyielding. “You can’t,” he said sharply. “And yet you get to claim a future – while I remain trapped in the ruin you led me to. You ripped it from me, and now… now you get what should have been mine.”

Before Astarion could respond, Sebastian turned and stalked off, swallowed by the mass of spawn, leaving only the echo of his anger behind. Dalyria placed a hand lightly on Astarion’s shoulder, but he did not return her look, his mind reeling with guilt, regret, and a desperate yearning for a life he knew might never come without leaving devastation behind.

Astarion emerged from the cavern, the cool night air washing over him like a fragile balm. The sharp scent of wet stone and the iron tang of blood were replaced by something altogether different — the rich, sour sweetness of spilled ale, the acrid bite of tobacco, and the faint tang of the sea carried on the wind from the harbour.

From the alleys below, laughter rang out, boisterous and unrestrained. Drunken voices shouted over one another, clinking mugs and stumbling boots echoing against cobblestones. Torches flickered along the city walls, casting long, dancing shadows that licked at the edges of tavern doors and the faces of those spilling into the streets. Baldur’s Gate was alive tonight, ignorant of the horrors he had left behind below, alive in a way that felt distant and almost alien.

Yet even amidst the revelry, the weight of the Underdark pressed down on him, heavier now for Sebastian’s words. The bitterness of guilt, the sting of the man’s anger, gnawed at him. A knot of unease settled deep in his chest – Sebastian might not simply let this go. The thought of the spawn hunting him, hunting Tessira, turned the warmth of the night into ice crawling down his spine.

Astarion’s hand flexed at his side, the city’s light catching the edge of his fangs. He clenched his jaw, resolve hardening. No one – he thought, voice tight and deadly in his mind – no one will harm her. Not him, not any of them, not anything I cannot control. She will have the life I could never have. And I will protect it, even if it costs me everything else.

The sounds of the city, drunken laughter, shouting, the slap of boots on cobblestones, faded slightly in his awareness, replaced by the thrum of his own heartbeat and the shadow of his guilt. Night after night, the city would go on, and he would walk its streets carrying the memory of what he had done, and the promise of what he must do: keep Tessira safe, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

The scent of roast chicken and roasted vegetables filled the warm kitchen of Astarion and Tessira’s home, mingling with the earthy aroma of thyme, rosemary, and garlic. Steam curled from the golden roast, potatoes crisped to perfection, and a rich, herby gravy waited in a porcelain jug. Tessira had insisted on a hearty spread; the slow decay of daylight outside, the scent of autumn leaves drifting in through the open window, and the nervous energy surrounding their plan made the meal feel almost sacred.

Gale leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing crumbs from his notes as he sipped a goblet of red wine. Shadowheart poured herself a second cup of tea, a soft smile on her lips. Alfira, ever energetic, was passing platters of buttery potatoes and vibrant roasted carrots to Tessira and Astarion. She had become an integral part of the group since their return to Baldur’s Gate, though she did not travel with them Tessira felt a sense of sisterly protectiveness over the naive Tielfing girl. That and they liked to perform together wherever they could, Alfira could harmonise perfectly with Tess.

Tessira reached for a crisp slice of chicken, letting the warmth of the food and the home settle her nerves. Astarion sat across from her, elbows resting on the table, crimson eyes full of passion as flashbacks of their lovemaking from a few nights before interrupted his every thought. Tessira knew exactly what he was thinking by the look alone, her own mind filled as she had been. Secretly, she had hoped his seed would quicken within her and they’d be blessed with the family she desperately wanted for them. However she also knew deep down, now really was not the time. They needed the amulet first, everything else had to wait.

“So,” Gale began casually, carving a slice of chicken, “this ball in six days – it’s quite the event, you know. I’ve read Varcellis is precise, meticulous, and appreciates… charm.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mild mischief. “Which brings me to a certain detail of Tessira’s past. You were a courtesan, weren’t you? Surely someone with your particular skillset could – ”

Astarion’s hand tightened around his wine goblet, knuckles whitening. Tessira noticed the flash of tension ripple through him, and placed her hand lightly over his, squeezing reassuringly.

“Gale,” Shadowheart cut in sharply, voice low but full of warning, “that is quite enough. You’re treading dangerous ground.”

Tessira laughed nervously, brushing a lock of hair from her face and leaning closer to Astarion. “Astarion, love,” she murmured, “it will go no further than flirting. All of it. For show, and for the greater good. I promise you that.”

He exhaled, letting some of the heat drain from his shoulders, though his eyes still burned with protective intensity. “For show,” he echoed softly, tone clipped but not unkind.

“Yes,” Tessira affirmed, the faint sparkle of amusement in her amethyst eyes contrasting the gravity of their plan. “Varcellis is the target, the amulet is the prize, and I will give my best performance. Charm him, entertain him, and ensure our objective succeeds. That is all.”

Gale leaned forward, a curious grin tugging at his lips. “Then you’ll have the perfect excuse. A performance that leaves everyone captivated – music, wit, beauty – and a deft hand to retrieve an item of considerable magical value.”

Alfira clapped her hands softly. “And don’t forget, Tess, I’ll be right there with you. Support, distraction, backup. Nothing escapes me, you know that.”

The table hummed with a quiet intensity as they worked through logistics: entrances and exits, timing, contingencies, even the likely placements of the palace guards. Tessira’s mind kept flicking to Astarion, watching the way his crimson eyes darkened at the thought of her close to Varcellis, even as she tried to reassure him in subtle glances and the brush of her fingers across his hand under the table.

“I think we should also consider what to do if Varcellis notices anything amiss,” Shadowheart suggested, her voice smooth and clipped. “He will be a True Vampire, no doubt sharp and suspicious. We’ll need plausible cover – every gesture, every word, rehearsed.”

Tessira nodded, swirling her fork through the roasted carrots. “I can flirt, charm, even provoke just enough to gain his attention, but nothing more. And if he reaches out–” she glanced at Astarion, soft and determined, “I step back. Always.”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he inclined his head slightly, accepting her plan.

Alfira nudged Tessira playfully. “You make it sound so easy! I’ll be there, keeping an eye on every glance, every whisper. No True Vampire will get the better of us.” She beamed. Tessira smiled, cringing inside. The poor girl had seen enough bloodshed, Tess hoped this ball did not result in further traumatising the young bard.

The warmth of the kitchen, the rich aroma of roasted meats, and the dimming glow of candles lent the room a cocoon-like comfort against the darkening night outside. And yet, tension threaded through the air, a delicate web of strategy, desire, and trust.

Tessira reached across the table, taking Astarion’s hand once more, fingers intertwining. “For the amulet,” she said softly, “and for us. No games beyond what’s necessary. I promise.”

His crimson gaze softened, and he allowed a faint smile, finally relaxing into the warmth of the room, the food, and her presence. “For the amulet,” he agreed, voice low. “And for us.”

Gale, oblivious to the silent intimacy, waved his wine goblet. “Then let us feast, strategise, and prepare. Only six days until the ball, and plenty of plans to perfect.”

The room had grown quieter as the meal wound down. Plates were cleared, but the warm scent of roasted chicken and herbs lingered, mingling with the flickering candlelight. Tessira poured herself another glass of wine, still brushing crumbs from her lips, while Alfira tidied the table. Gale was reviewing a sketch of the palace layout, muttering to himself about guard rotations and hidden corridors. Shadowheart leaned back in her chair, arms folded, eyes sharp and unblinking.

Astarion’s gaze, however, was fixed on Tessira. His crimson eyes darkened, the quiet of the room amplifying the tension he carried like a coiled spring. Finally, he spoke, voice low but firm.

“And what,” he began, his tone measured, “happens if Varcellis wants more from you than mere flirtation? If he expects… favours beyond what is… strictly performance?”

Tessira froze mid-sip, the wine glass paused in her hand. She set it down slowly, fingers lingering on the stem, and went quiet. The words he hadn’t wanted to hear – but feared – hung between them like smoke.

Shadowheart tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Would you, Tessira,” she asked bluntly, “take it that far?” Her voice was calm, but edged with curiosity and scrutiny.

Tessira’s gaze flicked to Astarion, softening in a way that made his chest tighten. She swallowed, steadying herself, voice barely above a whisper.

“For you, Astarion…” she said, the faintest quiver in her tone betraying her own fear and certainty, “…I would.”

Astarion’s wineglass slipped slightly in his hand. Crimson eyes blazed, the shadows of hurt, jealousy, and protective fury mingling into something sharp and raw. He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping softly against the floor.

“You would?” His voice was tight, clipped, disbelief and anger bleeding through. “You… you would put yourself in such a position for me?”

Tessira reached out, hands shaking slightly. “Astarion, please,” she said softly, trying to calm the storm she had stirred. “I would do whatever it takes to protect you, to save you from the sun. This – this is only for the greater good. You are the one I love.”

He stalked toward the fireplace, pacing a few steps, fists clenched. “Do you understand what you just said?” His voice was low, dangerous, yet threaded with pain. “You’d place yourself at his mercy? At a vampire’s – Varcellis’ – mercy? For me?”

“For you,” Tessira whispered, rising and stepping closer, her fingers brushing his arm, trying to soothe the heat and tension radiating from him. “But only as far as necessary. Only enough to get the amulet. And I swear I am yours. Always.”

Astarion’s chest heaved, eyes glinting like coals in the firelight. “I do not forgive lightly, Tessira,” he said, tone tight with both love and fury. “I cannot stop myself from being protective. From being furious at anyone who dares to even look at you the way I do. I cannot sit by while you go and whore yourself for me. There are other ways.”

Tessira smiled softly, brushing her lips against his cheek. “There are not. Use that protectiveness, Astarion. Let it drive you, keep you sharp. But trust me. I will not betray you. I will not give him anything beyond the performance.”

Shadowheart shifted in her chair, voice calm but pointed. “Good. That is a boundary, Astarion, and one she intends to keep. You must remember this isn’t about desire or weakness – it’s strategy.”

Astarion exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he took Tessira’s hand in his. His eyes still held the fire of anger and worry, but now tempered with trust, a fragile acknowledgment of her promise.

“For you,” he murmured, voice low, “I will try to accept it. But know this – I will be watching. And if he dares to cross even a step…”

“You’ll do what you do best,” Tessira said with a teasing lilt, pressing her forehead against his. “Protect me. And I will do what I do best – and win us the amulet. Together.”

The candle flames flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, quiet and cool, but inside, the tension between love, trust, and fear burned brighter than any hearth. And in that fragile light, they both understood – the ball in six days would test not just their cunning, but their hearts.

The clatter of plates and the warm scent of leftover roast lingered in the kitchen as Tessira and Shadowheart stood side by side at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water. Steam curled upward from the dishwater, carrying with it the mingled aromas of garlic, rosemary, and roasted chicken. Outside, the night pressed dark and cool against the windows, but inside, the flickering candlelight painted long shadows on the walls, making the room feel small and private.

From the corner of the room, faint laughter and muted curses drifted across the floorboards – Astarion and Gale, locked in an intense game of lanceboard, completely unaware of the conversation unfolding nearby.

Shadowheart’s voice was low, careful, almost a whisper over the clinking dishes. “Tessira… would you really take it that far? You’d sleep with this Varcellis, for the amulet?” Her sharp eyes met Tessira’s in the reflection of the soapy water, searching for the truth beneath the playful exterior.

Tessira paused, one hand hovering over a plate, her fingers tightening slightly. The words were heavy on her tongue, but they carried the weight of necessity. “Yes,” she admitted softly, the sound almost lost in the hiss of warm water. “I… I would. But I could never tell Astarion. He would never forgive it, and it would destroy him.” She swallowed, a bitter taste to her words. “It pains me to even say it, Shadowheart. But… as long as I get the amulet, we can leave Baldur’s Gate behind. We can start over. Astarion doesn’t need to know what I’ll risk for him.”

Shadowheart’s hands stilled for a moment, the sponge suspended in mid-air. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Tessira,” she said gently, almost reproachfully. “And as your closest friend, I support you – I will do everything I can to help you succeed – but I cannot condone going behind Astarion’s back.” Her eyes softened. “If things take a turn… you must be honest with him. Secrets like this… they have a way of surfacing, and when they do, the consequences are harsher than you imagine.”

Tessira nodded slowly, her shoulders tight with tension, the warmth of the candlelight illuminating the shadows under her eyes. “I know. I’m aware. But this… this is for us. For our future.” She dipped her hand into the suds, letting the water slip through her fingers as though it could wash away her anxiety, even momentarily.

Shadowheart reached out, resting a reassuring hand over Tessira’s. “I’ll be there for you. But promise me – promise me you’ll tell him if the line is crossed. Even if it hurts you both.”

Tessira met her friend’s gaze, the pain and resolve mingling in her amethyst eyes. “I promise,” she whispered. “But not until I have no choice. Until it’s truly necessary. Until the amulet is ours and we’re free.”

The quiet clatter of plates resumed as Tessira returned to washing, each movement measured and deliberate, the weight of her secret pressing on her chest. Shadowheart’s presence beside her offered some comfort, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in this gamble, but even so, Tessira felt the ache of isolation, the knowledge that the man she loved would never willingly endure the truth of what she was willing to do for him.

From the corner, Astarion’s triumphant laugh rang out, breaking the tension momentarily. Tessira allowed herself a faint, fleeting smile, but her heart remained heavy, shadows of the coming masquerade already stretching long in her mind.

Chapter Text

The night air was brisk as Astarion wound through the cobblestone streets from another night in the Underdark, the hum of Baldur’s Gate settling into its familiar nocturnal rhythm. Torches flickered along the alleys, casting playful shadows that leapt across walls slick with rain. The smells of roasting meat and spilt ale drifted from the taverns lining the street, tempting him with warmth and revelry he rarely allowed himself. He had been pacing the city for some time, thoughts heavy from the confrontation with Sebastian a few nights ago, guilt and worry coiling tight around him everytime I stepped into the Underdark.

Yet, when he reached the Elfsong Tavern, the strains of a familiar melody pulled him inside, soft at first but growing as he pushed open the door. The warm glow of lanterns and torchlight spilled over the wooden interior, bouncing off polished tables and the faces of patrons whose laughter rang clear and loud, often off-key, over the melody. The smell of roasting meats mingled with the yeasty tang of beer and the faint tang of spilled wine, heady and comforting.

Tessira was on stage, her hair braided tightly to keep it from falling into her eyes, the strands catching the light as she moved with a fluid elegance. Her tight leather trousers and form-fitting top left little to the imagination, but she carried herself with confidence and joy that commanded attention without demanding it. Her fingers danced across the strings of her lute, pulling out a rhythm that was lively and infectious.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she called, her voice carrying over the murmur and cheer of the tavern, “you have been the most amazing audience! If anyone needs me after this, I’ll be at the bar!” Her smile was bright, playful, a sunbeam in the dim tavern light. The crowd cheered in response, mugs raised high, some tipping over in their excitement, and Tessira’s song picked up pace, upbeat and fast, the notes bouncing and twirling through the air like sparks.

Shadowheart and Gale were already circling near the center of the floor, linked by their arms and laughter. Shadowheart’s usually reserved features were softened by amusement, and Gale’s boisterous energy matched her movement as they spun together in perfect rhythm. Minsc, clapping his hands and stomping along to the beat, danced alone near the edge, a grin stretching across his broad, boisterous face. The other patrons sang loudly, many off-key, shouting lyrics that didn’t quite match the song, but the energy was contagious, the tavern alive with music and joy.

Astarion paused near the door, watching Tessira. The sight of her, hair braided, eyes shining with life, fingers flying across the lute, made something in his chest loosen. He lingered in the doorway, quiet, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled in from the evening. But the sight of Shadowheart spotting him across the floor changed that. The cleric beckoned him over with a tilt of her head, eyes glittering mischievously.

“I don’t think so,” Astarion murmured to himself, trying to resist, the weight of his guilt still pressing at his shoulders.

Before he could step back, Minsc clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to nearly throw him off balance. “Come now, lad! There’s room for two more on the floor!” he bellowed, his laughter booming. Before Astarion could protest, the half-giant tugged him forward, and suddenly he was spinning into the circle of dancers, linking arms in the same playful rhythm Gale and Shadowheart had established.

The tavern seemed to swell around him, the voices, the clatter of mugs, the scrape of boots on the wooden floor, the bright firelight dancing over faces all blending into one living, breathing thing. Astarion felt himself stiffen for only a moment before the infectious energy of the dance began to seep into him, pulling at the tension he had carried all night. Shadowheart’s steady presence beside him, Gale’s booming laugh echoing through the circle, Minsc’s wild, exuberant energy – it was impossible to resist.

As they spun and turned, he began to match their pace, his movements gradually loosening, becoming less guarded. The music rose higher, faster, notes tripping over themselves in a celebration of rhythm and sound. He could hear Tessira’s laughter over the melody as she glanced down from the stage, fingers never pausing on the lute strings, her eyes catching his for a fleeting second. A smile curved her lips as she saw the subtle shift – the way he loosened his jaw, let his shoulders drop, allowed himself to be swept into the merriment rather than standing apart from it.

Astarion’s footfalls fell into sync with the others, the circle spinning faster, the tempo urging him onward. His fangs glinted in the firelight as he let out a small, unguarded laugh, muffled by the clamor of the tavern. The thrill of motion, the camaraderie, the sheer life surrounding him pressed against the dark weight he had carried from the Underdark, softening it just enough that he could almost imagine a world outside his guilt.

Tessira’s melody soared, a cascade of bright, intricate chords that seemed to lift the roof of the tavern, the crowd erupting with claps and calls in response. Patrons stomped their feet, shouted encouragement, and some even tried to mimic the complicated rhythms on tables or mugs, often out of sync but perfectly in the chaotic harmony of the room. The warm scent of roasted meats and spilled ale clung to Astarion’s senses, grounding him in the moment, pushing back against the shadow of Sebastian and the spawn that gnawed at his conscience.

He caught glimpses of Tessira out of the corner of his eye, the way her hair braided tightly against her head caught glints of torchlight, the way her fingers moved in perfect rhythm, the subtle sway of her body that made the music feel alive. Every note seemed to tug at something he had hidden away, every smile she threw the crowd and him, small but luminous, a reminder of the life he could still protect, the life he wanted.

And yet, beneath the joy, the weight of his guilt lingered. Sebastian’s anger was a shadow at the edge of his mind, a warning that the past was never truly behind him. He could not allow harm to come to Tessira, not from him, not from any spawn, not from anything he had touched or unleashed. The thought settled over him, sharp and resolute: he would guard her at any cost, he would carry every burden to ensure she could live, laugh, and dance freely, even if the rest of the world sought to drag them both into darkness.

For now, though, the circle of dancers, the rise and fall of the melody, and Tessira’s radiant smile kept him anchored. His movements grew freer, more instinctive, the music pulling him entirely into the present. The laughter, the cheer, the chaos of the Elfsong Tavern – it all wrapped around him like a balm, a fleeting moment where he could be just Astarion, just a man among friends, letting himself be carried by the joy Tessira brought into the room.

And for the first time that evening, he allowed himself a small, honest smile, meeting Tessira’s gaze on stage. She returned it, bright and teasing, and something in him lightened just enough to dance fully, to laugh quietly under his breath, to feel the life of Baldur’s Gate buzzing warmly around him. The night was theirs for a little while, and in that fleeting moment, he could almost believe that even he could have a happily ever after.

The music shifted subtly as Alfira stepped onto the stage, her fingers dancing confidently across the lute strings. Her voice rose, clear and melodic, taking over the melody Tessira had begun. The tavern cheered, some even clapping along, and the energy of the room didn’t falter – if anything, it grew more vibrant, more raucous. Patrons stomped and sang, mugs raised high, and the firelight danced across every gleaming eye.

Astarion felt Tessira’s hand slip into his, a soft, familiar tug that drew him from the spinning circle of dancers toward the open floor in front of the stage. She grinned, braids catching the light, her eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Come on,” she said, voice low, almost a purr, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before he could protest, she pressed closer, guiding him in a simple turn. Her movements were confident, teasing, and the sway of her hips, the glint in her eyes, pulled at something buried deep in him. Every glance she cast was magnetic, every smile a spark. Astarion found himself matching her rhythm, cautious at first, then freer, letting the music carry him as Alfira’s lively playing filled the tavern.

Tessira’s laugh was soft, teasing, brushing against his ear as she leaned in, guiding their steps with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to draw him out. She spun, letting him catch her in a playful dip, fingers brushing, eyes locked on his. Every movement was a flirtation, a game, and he couldn’t help but respond, letting his guard slip just enough to lose himself in the dance.

Around them, the tavern continued in its joyous chaos. Shadowheart and Gale’s linked arms spun in perfect, carefree rhythm, Minsc clapped and stomped enthusiastically, and Alfira’s voice carried the melody like a warm, driving tide. Patrons shouted, sang, and cheered, creating a living, breathing background of celebration.

Then Tessira gave a daring grin, spinning away for just a heartbeat before sweeping back into his arms, closer this time, letting her gaze linger on his with a mixture of challenge and seduction. Astarion caught himself grinning, a small laugh escaping despite the lingering weight of his thoughts from earlier. The night, the music, the laughter – it all blurred into a perfect, intoxicating moment.

As if drawn by the infectious joy, the other party members converged, linking arms and forming a wide circle around Astarion and Tessira. The group moved together, spinning and weaving through the floor, the music driving them faster, brighter, every footfall ringing in time with Alfira’s strumming. Astarion’s initial stiffness melted entirely, replaced with ease and laughter as Tessira leaned into him, guiding him in playful, teasing steps.

Her eyes never left his, glinting with mischief and warmth, drawing him into a dance that felt both thrilling and intimate. For the first time that evening, he allowed himself to be entirely present, the shadows of guilt and fear receding under the bright, unrelenting joy of the tavern, the music, and her company.

In that moment, the world outside – the Underdark, Sebastian, the spawn – seemed impossibly far away. Here, in the swirl of firelight, song, and laughter, there was only this: Tessira, Astarion, and the music that bound them all together.

The circle of dancers erupted into chaos, spinning faster and faster as Alfira’s fingers flew over the lute strings. Laughter and cheers echoed off the walls, mugs clattering and patrons shouting encouragement. Gale and Shadowheart whirled together, arms linked, Minsc clapped with unrestrained energy, and even the clumsier revelers stumbled with perfect, accidental timing into the rhythm.

Astarion and Tessira moved at the heart of it, weaving through the merry throng with teasing precision. She twirled under his arm, dipping low with a mischievous grin, and he caught her with a deft lift that drew a delighted squeal from her. The air buzzed with energy, warm and intoxicating.

A collective cheer went up as the final flourish of Alfira’s song hit a crescendo, feet stomping, voices shouting, the tavern alive in a blur of movement and sound. Astarion spun Tessira one last time before she slid playfully past him, only to loop back into his arms with a wink. He allowed himself a genuine laugh, her joy infectious, the thrill of the dance loosening the last twinges of tension clinging to him.

Then, as if sensing the need for a moment’s reprieve, Alfira shifted to a slower, still lively tune, the tempo mellowing but the beat still bouncing, inviting gentle steps and closer turns. Tessira’s hand found his, and he led her to the centre of the floor, guiding her through spins and dips with effortless grace. The tavern seemed to fade around them, patrons still moving and laughing, but the chaos receded to the background as they became their own little world.

He spun her under his arm, dipping her low before drawing her close, her braids brushing against his chest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re very good at this,” she said, eyes sparkling, voice teasing.

“And you,” he countered, spinning her again, holding her just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, “make it impossible to look anywhere else.”

She laughed, light and melodic, leaning into his guidance, letting him lead while her own steps kept pace with a teasing rhythm of her own. He dipped her once more, and she arched slightly, letting her laughter spill freely. Her eyes flicked up to his, gleaming with mischief and something softer beneath it, something that made his chest tighten with a warm, unfamiliar ache.

The slower song carried them through spins and steps, playful and intimate all at once, a dance that was both a celebration and a quiet confession. In the glow of torchlight and the mellow strum of Alfira’s lute, Astarion found himself lost entirely in the rhythm of Tessira’s laughter, the press of her hand in his, and the exhilarating, unspoken connection that bound them together on the tavern floor.

The song slowed to its final notes, Alfira letting the last chords linger in the air. Astarion guided Tessira into a gentle stop, catching her hands in his, their laughter still mingling with the fading echoes of the tavern’s revelry. Patrons cheered and clapped, some hollering for encores, but for a moment the noise faded around them, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the press of their hands.

Astarion brushed a stray braid from Tessira’s face, his fingers lingering against her cheek, and she tilted her head into his touch with a soft, playful smile. Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight, the same glint that had first drawn him to her, teasing and alive.

“Come,” he murmured, guiding her toward the bar where a small glass of wine waited, its rich aroma inviting. Tessira plopped onto the stool, lifting the glass and knocking it back in a single, graceful motion. Astarion chuckled low in his throat, leaning against the counter.

“I do love a woman who knows her wine,” he said, voice teasing, eyes dancing with amusement.

Tessira smirked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “And I love a man who knows how to appreciate it.”

“Careful,” he replied, leaning closer, “you might spoil me with that kind of charm.”

“Hmm,” she said, tilting her head, “I was thinking I already have.”

Their flirtation flowed easily, a comfortable, electric back-and-forth, drawing small, satisfied laughs from both. They leaned closer, exchanging quick glances, smiles, and subtle touches, the intimacy of the dance now spilling into playful words.

Jaheria, perched a few stools down the bar, let out a knowing laugh. “Ah, would you two look at that,” she teased, voice loud enough for them to hear. “Sickly sweet, are we? New lovers, completely smitten.”

Astarion threw back his head and laughed, low and genuine, the sound carrying warmth. He reached across and pressed a gentle kiss to Tessira’s cheek. She turned her head toward Jaheria with a grin, lips tugged in amusement.

“You see this, Jaheria?” he said, mock seriousness in his tone. “I can handle the sweetness. Do not worry. All is… under control.”

Tessira rolled her eyes, still smiling, but the playful glint never left her gaze. “Clearly,” she replied, “but don’t let it go to your head.”

Astarion chuckled again, brushing a thumb along her hand. “Never,” he said softly, “though I may allow a little indulgence now and then.”

The tavern’s revelry swelled around them again, the clatter of mugs, the rise of laughter, the hum of music, but for Astarion and Tessira, the chaos only framed their small, intimate world at the bar. Wine, laughter, teasing, and the gentle press of warmth against warmth made the night feel endless, a rare, perfect pause in the wild, unpredictable currents of their lives.

The tavern’s laughter and music swirled around them, but Astarion and Tessira seemed to exist in a small, private bubble. He leaned closer, resting a hand lightly on her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin as his gaze locked onto hers. The warmth of the torchlight painted her features in soft gold, and for a moment, the weight of the world felt impossibly far away.

“Tessira,” he murmured, voice low, intimate, “do you know how much you mean to me?” His eyes searched hers, earnest and unguarded, the teasing charm replaced by something softer, fiercer.

She tilted her head, eyes shimmering in the firelight. “I think I have some idea,” she said softly, but there was a hint of wonder in her voice, as if she wasn’t entirely certain she could imagine the depth of his words.

Astarion’s hand curved to cup the back of her neck, drawing her a little closer. “I love you,” he said, the words deliberate, heavy with feeling. “Completely. You are… everything I never thought I could have. And I would do anything for you, anything to keep you safe, to see you happy, to give you the life you deserve.”

Her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp slipping out, and she reached up to rest her hand over his. “Astarion…”

He shook his head gently, pressing a kiss to her palm before lifting it to brush against his lips. “No words can ever capture it fully. But I will spend every day trying. You are the light I chase, Tessira. And I will protect that light, even if it costs me everything else.”

Her eyes glistened with a mixture of emotion and mischief, but she did not pull away. “You make it impossible to stay worried about anything,” she whispered, her hand lingering on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

Astarion smiled, a soft, genuine curve that reached his eyes. He leaned closer, forehead resting against hers, breaths mingling, the world outside the tavern dissolving completely. “Then stay with me,” he murmured. “Stay here, tonight, and always. Let me show you, in every way I can, how much you mean to me.”

She laughed softly, a breathy, happy sound, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I thought I already knew,” she said, “but I like hearing it anyway.”

He laughed too, low and warm, pressing another soft kiss to her brow before resting his cheek against hers. “And I will never tire of telling you,” he promised. “Never.”

The tavern carried on around them, alive and vibrant, but for Astarion and Tessira, the world had shrunk to this moment – a shared heartbeat, whispered promises, and a love that burned fiercely and quietly, just for them.

The tavern’s warmth and noise swirled around them, but Astarion’s world had narrowed to Tessira, the glow of torchlight painting her in gold and fire. He could feel every brush of her hand, hear every shallow breath, the rhythm of her pulse somehow matching his own.

The moment broke gently with footsteps approaching – Minsc’s booming cheer, Gale’s easy stride, Shadowheart’s precise step. They leaned on the bar, eyes bright and curious, hair sticking to their foreheads with sweat, slightly out of breath. “How is everyone?” Shadowheart asked, voice light but warm. “Everything going well?”

Astarion didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not yet. His gaze was locked on Tessira, the world outside reduced to a blur. Every heartbeat, every nerve, every thought pointed to her. And then, soft and deliberate, he whispered the words that had been forming for nights and days, words heavier than any blade:

“Marry me.”

Shadowheart’s squeal cut through the tavern’s hum, high-pitched and delighted. Minsc whooped so loudly a few patrons jumped in surprise. Tessira froze, eyes wide, breath catching in her throat. Her hand trembled slightly as she stared at him, disbelief painting her features.

Astarion’s expression softened, yet his eyes held a depth of longing that stole the room’s light for him alone. Without another word, he sank to one knee before her, fingers brushing her hand with reverence. Tessira’s gaze fell to him, still seated on the bar stool, heart pounding so loudly she feared he could hear it.

“Marry me, Tessira,” he said, voice low, resonant, every syllable weighted with sincerity and passion. “I will be yours forever.”

The tavern seemed to hold its breath. Alfira’s fingers faltered slightly over the lute, the hum of patrons dipping into a hush, Minsc frozen mid-clap. Shadowheart leaned forward, eyes wide and gleaming. “Say something, you fool!” she shouted, laughter and exasperation mingling in her tone.

Tessira’s lips quivered. Tears welled, blurring her vision with shimmering joy. Her voice, barely a whisper at first, trembled through the space between them. “Yes… yes, Astarion.”

Astarion’s hand closed gently over hers, lifting it to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss that sent shivers through her. His eyes never left hers, glimmering with a mixture of mischief, devotion, and absolute awe. “Forever, then,” he murmured, his voice a vow, a promise carved into the night itself. “Through everything, Tessira – you and I, together. Always.”

Her tears spilled freely now, warm and blindingly bright, but her smile was radiant, the kind that ignites the soul. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, fingers entwined, heart hammering in tandem. “Always,” she breathed.

Shadowheart clapped and cheered, Minsc whooped again, and Gale chuckled, shaking his head. But all Astarion could see was her – the woman who had claimed his heart, softened his soul, and became the reason he could imagine a future worth living.

For a moment, the tavern faded into nothing but their shared breath, the clasp of hands, the promise of love fierce and unyielding. And in that instant, amidst laughter and torchlight, the world felt entirely, achingly theirs.

Chapter Text

The tavern erupted. Cheers, claps, and shouts filled the air as Shadowheart practically leapt onto the bar stool next to Tessira, bouncing slightly with excitement. Minsc whooped so loudly a few mugs rattled, and Gale laughed heartily, shaking his head in amusement.

Gale raised a hand, calling to the barkeep with a grin. “A round of wine and ale for everyone here! Let’s celebrate this… glorious occasion!”

Minsc practically danced in place, stomping his feet and clapping. “YES! Wine for all! To the brave lovers!” he bellowed, nearly tipping over a chair in his enthusiasm. Alfira’s lute strummed an impromptu fanfare, and the patrons joined in, clanging mugs and shouting, the tavern alive with revelry.

Amidst the chaos, Astarion and Tessira remained locked in their own world, hands entwined, foreheads occasionally brushing as they laughed softly, hearts still hammering from the proposal. The noise of the celebration swirled around them like a warm current, but it couldn’t reach the bubble of quiet intimacy they’d created for themselves.

Shadowheart, unable to contain herself, jabbed a finger at Tessira. “Gods, we need to start planning! Dresses! Flowers! Seating arrangements! Do you know how fun this is going to be?!” Her voice sped up with every word, practically tripping over itself in excitement.

Tessira laughed, brushing a loose braid from her face as she shook her head at the cleric’s babbling. “Shadowheart, calm down… I think we have a moment of peace first.”

“Peace?” Shadowheart scoffed, a grin spreading across her face. “Oh, please. We’ve got wedding plans to make! And cake tasting! And I will not let Astarion get away with any excuses!”

Astarion smirked faintly, brushing his thumb over Tessira’s knuckles. “I imagine I will be at her mercy, then,” he murmured, voice low and private for her alone.

Tessira leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “You will. And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she whispered.

Around them, the group’s laughter and shouts continued, glasses clinking as Gale waved a mug for another refill, Minsc dancing in place, and Shadowheart continuing her excited chatter about flower arrangements and veils. Yet for Astarion and Tessira, the world had shrunk to the warmth of their hands, the press of their bodies in the moment, the slow, steady beat of a love that had survived darkness and danger to bloom so brightly here.

–

Hours had passed. The tavern’s revelry had dwindled to a few lingering patrons, some slouched against the bar, others swaying slightly on their stools, murmuring half-forgotten songs. The fire burned lower in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Empty mugs and the faint scent of spilled wine mingled with the lingering aroma of roasted meats, the chaotic energy of earlier replaced by a warm, slightly drunken calm.

Astarion and Tessira sat side by side on the bar stools, hands still intertwined, faces flushed from laughter and wine. Shadowheart perched nearby, animatedly waving a hand with ideas, and Gale leaned back against the counter, rubbing his hands together in thoughtful amusement. Minsc, still slightly boisterous but quieter now, chewed on a piece of bread with a contented grin, occasionally raising his mug in mock toasts.

“So,” Shadowheart said, voice still buzzing with excitement, “we really need to start nailing down details. Flowers, seating, music – oh, and favours! Who even does favours anymore?”

Astarion’s gaze lingered on Tessira, voice soft but deliberate as he spoke, “I would like the ceremony to be after we have the amulet. The sunlight… it should be bright when we do this. Truly bright.” His fingers brushed hers lightly, the words carrying more than just practicality – a promise, a vision of a perfect day, unshadowed by darkness.

Gale raised an eyebrow, leaning forward, the firelight glinting off his silver hair. “Much higher stakes on retrieving the Amulet now, I’d wager,” he said. His voice carried a mixture of amusement and gravity, aware of how easily things could go awry.

Tessira’s eyes hardened, a determined glint shining in their depths. “I will get it,” she said, voice low but unwavering, “whatever it takes.”

Astarion’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, a faint bristle of tension crossing his features. He forced a smile, keeping his tone light, but the memory of the night’s duties – the Courtesan play, the unavoidable exposure to the risks of Varcellis – pressed uncomfortably against him. “Of course,” he said smoothly, “whatever it takes.” He squeezed her hand, masking the flicker of unease.

Shadowheart, ever oblivious to subtlety in matters of romance, leaned forward and nudged Tessira playfully. “I fully expect your wedding day story to outshine any tale I’ve ever heard. But first, let’s not get carried away plotting assassination attempts, hmm?”

Tessira laughed softly, a spark in her eyes as she leaned into Astarion. “I’ll manage, as I always do. And I’ll get the amulet. You just… promise me the sunlight,” she said, voice softening, her gaze holding his.

Astarion’s lips curved into a gentle, private smile, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I promise,” he said, letting the warmth of the moment anchor him. Whatever challenges awaited, whatever duties pressed on him, for now, the night was theirs. And he would not let anything – not the True Vampire, not the amulet, not the shadows of the past – steal this from them.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, the last of the patrons murmuring good-nights, and the group continued quietly plotting, teasing, and laughing. But for Astarion and Tessira, wrapped in the soft intimacy of a night that had survived chaos, danger, and revelry, the world had shrunk to the steady pulse of each other’s presence.

As time slipped into the early hours of the morning, Astarion and Tessira bid their friends goodnight and headed home through the quiet streets of Baldur’s Gate. Their hands entwined, Astarion’s thumb stroking Tessira’s knuckles as they entered their large house, just a few streets away from Jaheria. The silence was heavy as they removed their cloaks, Tessira struggling slightly untying hers as her hands shook. Astarion came up behind her, hands gently moving over her shoulders to untie the cloak, letting it fall to her feet.

He lightly kissed her neck as his hands wandered over her body, gripping her breasts gently. Tessira moaned softly as his hands moved to pull her already low cut top lower, her breasts falling out over the hem. Astarion’s hands immediately covered them, too large for a handful, her soft skin bulging around his grip. His tongue grazed her neck as he played with her nipples, Tessira moaning again, louder this time.

“My future wife.” He murmured into her ear, grinding his erection against her. Tessira’s lips curved into a soft, contented hum. “Tessira Ancunín. Mrs Ancunín.”

“My future husband.” Tessira whispered, her eyes flitting closed in pleasure as the words rolled from her tongue. Astarion groaned softly at her husky voice.

His hands gripped her top, ripping it open so her breasts bounced. Tessira gasped, smirking slightly. “I liked that one.” She murmured.

“I’ll buy you another.” He growled with desire, spinning her to face him. He removed her garments as she hastily removed his tight, muscle hugging, raffish garb. They stood before each other, both naked from the waistline up, before their lips crashed into each other. Their tongues roamed each other's mouths, possessive and passionate. In one fluid moment Astarion lifted Tessira, her legs wrapping around his hips. He pushed her gently against the wall of the hallway of their townhouse. Tessira broke the kiss, her eyes playful as she rolled her neck, exposing it to him. Astarion’s smirk was laced with desire before he sank his teeth into her, eliciting a gasp from Tessira’s swollen lips. She moaned as he drank from her.

Astarion withdrew, sealing her skin with a lick of his tongue. He moved them to the bedroom, up the slim staircase in their entryway.

Tessira gasped slightly as she was dropped onto the bed. Astarion wasted no time removing her trousers and lacy underwear, crawling to be above her – his own trousers discarded.

“My favourites.” He grinned, eyeing the black and red lace of her panties as he removed them from her gently.

“I aim to please,” Tessira teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You do more than please me, darling,” Astarion murmured, lips brushing hers in a whisper. “You are utterly bewitching."

Tessira kissed him then, hard, full of passion. Astarion’s hands found the apex of her thighs, fingers adding pressure to her sensitive clit. Tessira’s legs quivered at his intimate touch as he worked her in circles.

“I want to taste you.” Astarion murmured huskily, moving between her legs. Fingers were replaced with his tongue, setting Tessira’s body on fire as his tongue worked her clit. His fingers slipped inside of her wet folds, pumping at a steady pace, curling as he knew she liked it. Tessira’s back arched, a moan escaping her lips as her eyes flitted closed.

Astarion’s tongue moved across her sensitive spot, relishing in the taste of her. Perfectly sweet, he was drunk on her.

Tessira whined as Astarion removed his mouth and fingers from her, as he lined up his throbbing cock to her slick entrance.

His lips found hers again as she felt him push inside of her, moaning from the feel of him and the taste of her on his lips. Her tongue dancing across his. She let out a breathy sigh as she felt him push deeper into her, her inside walls adjusting to his length and girth. Astarion began to thrust inside of her, she gripped his back with her hands, mouth locked with his as he fucked her.

“Wait,” She moaned, “Lay down.”

Astarion obeyed, withdrawing from her. Tessira’s body cried at the emptiness, moving swiftly to straddle her lover, aching for him to be inside her once more. She lifted herself over him, practically dripping with need as he wrapped a hand around her waist, squeezing slightly. His eyes filled with desire as he watched his lover lower herself onto him. He was buried deep in seconds, slipping into her with ease. Tessira moaned at the feel of him filling her again, his hand gripping her waist, the other coming up to massage her large breast.

Tessira grinned seductively, placing both hands on his alabaster chiseled chest, bouncing up and down on Astarion’s cock. They moved together, in sync, his hips moving to meet hers as she moved down on him, her breasts bouncing freely with every thrust.

Their panting and moans filled the room, Astarion’s mouth slightly agape as he guided her down onto him, Tessira locked eyes with her betrothed as she moved.

“I’m yours.” She moaned, her voice thick with pleasure.

“And I am yours, my beautiful woman. My body and soul belong to you. It’s you and me, forevermore.” Astarion moaned, eyes closing as he felt his release building.

Tessira cried out in pleasure, her back arching and neck bending back as her walls clenched around Astarion. Their hips snapping into each other as desire rolled through her body.

That was all it took for Astarion’s spend to fill her, grunting as his cock twitched within her warmth, filling her so much Tessira could feel it leaking around him.

She collapsed onto his chest, enjoying the feeling of him still pumping his seed inside her. Their panting was the only sound in the room.

“I love you.” Astarion whispered, kissing her head and stroking her hair softly.

“I love you.” She murmured, cheek resting against his cold chest.

“I wish to never be parted from you from today.” Astarion rested his cheek against the top of Tessira’s head, eyes closing as he breathed in her intoxicating scent of cherries.

“We will always be together.”

Chapter Text

The night of the ball arrived sooner than Astarion would have preferred.

Tessira sat at her dresser, eyes fixed on the ornate mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, scrunching into her curls to add volume, then adjusted her sapphire dress. The corseted bodice pressed her breasts perfectly against her chest, just peeking over the sweetheart neckline. Her bare shoulders caught the flicker of candlelight, a glittering diamond necklace resting above her collarbones. The corset cinched her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure, while the skirts flared into a full, flowing sweep. The room smelled faintly of her perfume – a sweet musk of cherries.

Astarion remained just behind her, her cloak draped over one arm, eyes dark with tension. He watched every movement with a mixture of pride and unease, admiring the fearless precision in her posture even as he braced for the eyes of strangers to fall upon her.

“You’ll be magnificent tonight,” he murmured, voice low, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. “But…” His lips pressed into a thin line. “…I wish it weren’t necessary.”

Tessira turned, catching his gaze in the mirror, a small, understanding smile playing at her lips. “I know, love,” she said. “But I can handle this. You’ve taught me too well to be afraid.”

Astarion’s jaw clenched, fingers twitching as if to reach for her, to pull her into the safety of his arms. “I hate that I can’t shield you from it all,” he admitted, voice rough with restraint. “Every glance, every whisper… I’ll imagine the worst. And yet… I cannot stop you. I will not.”

She stepped closer, warmth brushing him. “Then do this,” she murmured, lifting a braid from his shoulder. “Stay here, stay close, and know I’m thinking of you. I’ll play the part they expect… but it will be for them, not for me. My heart is yours.”

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of her hair and perfume, letting the tension bleed out in a shiver. “And mine is yours,” he whispered, voice catching. “Only yours. Always.”

Tessira’s fingers traced his jawline, gentle and grounding. “Go on, Astarion. Enjoy the night, even if it worries you. Trust that I’ll return, and we’ll have… everything we’ve dreamed.”

He allowed a small, private smile. “Everything we’ve dreamed,” he echoed. Then, voice darker, protective, and fierce, he added, “And no one will harm you while I can prevent it.”

Tessira gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before taking her cloak.

As she left to prepare for her performance, Astarion lingered in the shadowed room, hands loosely clenched, mind racing with every possible danger – but also filled with the memory of her smile, the weight of her hand in his. Tonight, she would perform. Tonight, he would endure the gnawing worry and remain watchful. And tomorrow… they would take another step toward the life they had promised themselves.

The quiet crackle of the hearth was his only companion, a fragile calm before the storm of masked faces and veiled intentions.

–

Tessira stepped through the grand double doors, entering the vast ballroom in a single, fluid movement. The scent of polished wood, candle wax, and delicate perfumes mingled in the air, carrying the subtle warmth of a fire from the hearths along the walls. The room was already alive with movement: nobles in rich silks and velvets conversed in tight clusters, their laughter and chatter weaving a soft background to the gentle strains of a string quartet tucked into a corner, bowing and plucking as their music flowed over the gathering. Servers moved gracefully among the guests, balancing platters of roasted meats, delicate pastries, and glistening goblets of wine.

Gale walked just ahead of Tessira, his rich doublet a deep forest green, embroidered in threads of gold that caught the candlelight with every subtle shift of his shoulders. Alfira glided beside him in a flowing purple gown that shimmered with a faint iridescence, the fabric catching the soft glow of chandeliers overhead.

Tessira’s heart beat faster at the spectacle, but a hand brushing lightly at her arm drew her attention. Gale’s eyes met hers with a calm, assured glint.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and steady, meant only for her. “I’ll be keeping watch all night. No one will come near you unnoticed.”

She gave a small, grateful smile, letting his presence anchor her. “I know,” she whispered, smoothing the skirts of her ultramarine dress, letting the rich satin catch the light with every step.

Alfira’s gaze swept over the room with quiet appraisal, a soft hum of excitement in her chest. “It’s busier than I expected,” she murmured, nodding toward the mingling elites. “Baldur’s Gate spares no effort for this kind of gathering.”

The three of them moved further into the room, weaving gracefully among the clusters of nobility. The music rose and fell, a gentle tide that seemed to encourage conversation, laughter, and the subtle glances of intrigue. Candles flickered in ornate sconces along the walls, casting warm light on polished marble floors, gilded mirrors, and tapestries depicting heroic tales of the city’s past.

Gale stayed close, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with careful vigilance, as though mapping each potential threat and each opportunity to intercept it. Tessira’s steps were measured and assured, yet every now and then her eyes flicked to him, reassured by the familiar presence of a friend and protector in the midst of this glittering chaos.

A ripple of attention drew the trio’s gaze as a tall, impeccably dressed man moved through the crowd toward them. Dark hair, perfectly combed and glinting under the chandeliers, framed a sharp, angular face with high cheekbones and piercing crimson eyes that seemed to assess everything in a single glance. His tailored doublet – midnight blue with subtle silver embroidery – clung to broad shoulders and a trim waist, hinting at both refinement and strength. Polished shoes clicked softly on the marble floor, and the subtle scent of fine cologne – a mix of cedar-wood and citrus – announced his presence even before his voice did.

“Professor Dekarios, welcome,” he said smoothly, extending a gloved hand to Gale. “It’s an honour to have one of the Saviours of Baldur’s Gate in attendance this evening.”

Gale clasped the offered hand firmly, bowing his head in acknowledgment. “The pleasure is mine, Lord Varcellis,” he replied, voice steady, carrying just enough warmth to be courteous without losing the air of restraint.

Varcellis’ dark eyes then shifted to Tessira, and he offered a bow that was precise but gracious. He lifted her hand, brushing his lips lightly against her knuckles. “And you, my lady,” he murmured, “the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate neglected one crucial detail… your beauty surpasses even the most daring of legends.”

Tessira’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, letting a hint of flirtation linger in her eyes. “Legends do have a tendency to omit the most interesting details,” she murmured, letting her fingers linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary before withdrawing her hand.

As she spoke, her gaze flicked toward Gale briefly, then – faintly, almost imperceptibly – to the side where Astarion lingered in her mind’s eye. A tiny shiver of warmth reminded her that while she played this charming part for Varcellis, her heart was already elsewhere. She let the smile for Varcellis deepen just enough to amuse him, keeping her thoughts of Astarion safely tucked beneath the practiced grace of her mask of elegance.

Varcellis’ lips quirked in appreciation of her wit, and he inclined his head slightly. “A lady of wit to match her beauty, then. How rare…”

Tessira tilted her chin, letting the faintest sparkle of mischief enter her gaze. “I do try to live up to the stories, my lord,” she said softly, her tone smooth, light, and teasing – a perfect balance of charm and subtle control. Yet beneath it all, her mind remained anchored to Astarion, to the quiet knowledge that no matter the masks or whispers of the night, her heart was his.

Varcellis’ eyes lingered on Tessira a fraction too long, a faint, knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Ah, but a lady of wit and beauty… one so gifted in song and story,” he said smoothly, his voice a velvety purr that slid into the ear like silk. “I have heard whispers – perhaps tales exaggerated by the city’s more colorful tongues – of your talents as a bard. It would be… most delightful to hear you perform this evening.”

Tessira inclined her head slightly, keeping her smile practiced, letting the attention brush over her like a soft caress rather than allowing it to linger. “I suppose the night is full of music, my lord,” she said lightly. “But one can always make room for a single, appreciative audience.”

Varcellis’ gaze darkened ever so slightly, the sparkle of charm now tinged with something more possessive. “Appreciative? My dear, I am more than appreciative. I am… intrigued.” He leaned forward just a touch, lowering his voice, so that only she could hear. “I am also aware, of course, of your past… at Sharess’ Caress. Such a unique and, shall we say, intimate education in the arts. It must have honed your… talents in ways few can imagine.”

Tessira’s breath caught, though her expression remained calm, poised. Her fingers flexed subtly at her side, thinking of Astarion even as she returned his gaze with a flirtatious lift of her brow. “Sharess’ Caress does have a way of… shaping one’s skills,” she murmured, letting the ambiguity hang just enough to amuse him, while her mind quietly traced back to the warmth and protection of Astarion.

Varcellis’ lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, eyes glinting with that unsettling mixture of charm and hunger. “I would love to see you dance, then, my lady. To see the grace behind the stories, the rhythm behind the beauty.” He allowed his hand to hover near, almost offering, but not quite, a guiding gesture – a silent assertion of expectation masked as polite interest.

Tessira’s smile deepened, a subtle blend of amusement and controlled caution. She gave a delicate tilt of her head. “Perhaps, my lord. But one must be careful not to steal the spotlight from the other performers – or from the eyes that truly matter to one’s heart.”

Varcellis’ smile faltered just a fraction, though the charm never left his voice. “Ah, a mystery wrapped in elegance,” he murmured. “How… captivating.”

Tessira allowed her smile to soften, her eyes briefly flicking toward Gale, a silent reminder of the vigilance surrounding her. “The night is young, my lord,” she said, her tone smooth and teasing, “and the hall is filled with many melodies already. I would not want to leave the others waiting while I bask in… singular attention.”

Varcellis’ brow lifted, a flicker of disappointment passing beneath the veneer of charm, though his smile never wavered. “Ah, prudence and courtesy, too,” he murmured, taking a step back, his gaze still locked on her. “Very well, my lady. I shall be patient… though I confess, the anticipation makes the wait all the more delicious.”

Tessira inclined her head gracefully, letting the faintest hint of mischief linger. “Then I shall do my best to exceed your expectations, my lord,” she said, voice light, measured – her words carefully walking the line between flattery and control.

Varcellis chuckled softly, the sound low and silk-wrapped, as if pleased with her clever deflection. “Indeed,” he said, “I shall look forward to it. And rest assured, I will watch eagerly from the perfect vantage.”

She gave him a faint nod, subtly signaling that the conversation had reached its polite limit. Turning her attention back to Gale and Alfira, Tessira felt the familiar comfort of Astarion’s presence shadowing her thoughts, a quiet warmth that anchored her in the midst of Varcellis’ unnerving charm.

With a delicate sweep of her skirts, Tessira moved further into the crowd, letting the gentle pull of the music and the swirl of masked faces carry her along. Varcellis’ eyes followed her, ever so slightly too intently, but she kept her posture poised, her smile effortless, and her mind quietly tethered to the one she truly cared for.

The room hummed around them – wine goblets clinked, murmurs of conversation floated through the air, and the band’s melody rose and fell like a tide – but Tessira walked through it with the grace of a practiced performer, already planning how to command the attention of the room, while letting her heart remain safely with Astarion.

Tessira let her eyes sweep over the audience with a hint of teasing mischief. She caught Varcellis’ gaze immediately, noting the way it darkened with desire and appreciation, and she allowed the faintest tilt of her chin, a flutter of her lashes, and a subtle, playful smile as he approached her again.

“I have heard that your voice,” Varcellis murmured, leaning slightly closer, “it carries… everything. Even the tales of the city pale in comparison.”

Tessira’s lips curved, smooth and deliberate. “Flattery,” she murmured, “is most effective when subtle, my lord. And yet, I admit, yours borders on… excessive.” Her tone was light, teasing, but underneath it lay a quiet command: she chose what to allow, what to deflect, what to tease.

“Excessive,” he repeated, voice low, almost a purr, “or perhaps… inspired by the truth.” His eyes lingered on her with the same intensity a moment longer before he blinked. “Perhaps a drink, dear Tessira?”

Tessira laughed softly, letting the sound ripple through the space between them, and then inclined her head as if conceding a small victory. “Very well,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting. “Perhaps a moment’s respite is in order. One cannot perform endlessly without… refreshment.”

Varcellis’ eyes glimmered with satisfaction, and he extended a hand, subtly possessive, yet polished in charm. “Then allow me the honour of escorting you, my lady.”

Tessira accepted with grace, placing her hand lightly in his, letting him guide her from the stage to the edge of the banquet table where glasses of wine and platters of fruit waited. Her skirts swirled elegantly with each step, her posture regal, her expression composed, and yet the flicker of amusement in her eyes betrayed how much control she still held over the dance between them.

As they passed, her gaze met Gale’s across the room. He gave her a reassuring wink, subtle but unmistakable. I’m close by, it said without words. You’re safe. Tessira allowed herself a faint smile in return, the brief exchange grounding her as she navigated Varcellis’ subtle possessiveness.

Tessira allowed herself to linger a fraction closer than necessary as Varcellis guided her toward the banquet table, her fingers brushing lightly along his forearm in a gesture that was at once playful and seemingly intimate. The soft touch sent a faint shiver through him, and she caught the glint of something on his chest – a finely wrought silver amulet, intricate in design, catching the candlelight as it swung ever so slightly with his movements.

“You wear a curious talisman, my lord,” she murmured, letting her gaze trail over it. “A piece with… history, I imagine?”

Varcellis’ eyes darkened, not with mere charm this time, but with a predatory gleam that sent a thrill through the air between them. “Curious indeed,” he said, leaning close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Then, voice low and smooth, he added, “I can smell a male upon you, my dear.”

Tessira’s pulse quickened, though her tone remained light, teasing, as if brushing off a careless observation. “A passing admirer, perhaps,” she murmured, her fingers brushing his arm again, soft and disarming.

But Varcellis’ smile deepened, and a dangerous spark danced in his grey eyes. “No, it is no passing scent,” he murmured, letting the words hang like a challenge. “It clings… like a claim. And yet,” he added, voice dropping, velvet-soft, “it pleases me that you could belong to another. That you are… not mine by right.”

Tessira’s throat tightened, her heart flicking involuntarily to Astarion, the thought of him both warm and constraining. “The owner… is nothing to me,” she said, carefully measured, letting her hand brush his again in a gesture both tactile and commanding. “Just another member of my companions.”

Varcellis’ eyes glimmered with amusement and hunger. “Nothing?” he repeated, the single word carrying delight, intrigue, and something almost predatory. “Ah… I like that,” he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer. “The fact that you could be claimed, yet are not. The challenge… it makes you far more irresistible.”

Tessira met his gaze evenly, concealing the small sting behind her words. “Nothing,” she said again, firmer this time, her composure intact even as her thoughts lingered on Astarion.

Varcellis let the moment linger, savouring both her denial and the subtle, teasing touches of her hand. “Interesting,” he murmured, a faintly hungry smirk tugging at his lips. “So very interesting.”

Tessira’s posture remained poised, her eyes sparkling with mischief, but beneath the playful surface, her mind was firmly anchored to Astarion, knowing that no matter the charm, the music, or the veiled possessiveness of Varcellis, her heart was already claimed.

Chapter Text

Astarion’s pacing had slowed, but the tension in his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw betrayed the turmoil churning inside him. He sank back into the chair again, fingers drumming against the polished wood, trying and failing to quiet the storm in his mind.

Her perfume still lingered faintly, teasing him, reminding him that she was out there – moving among other men’s eyes, hearing their praise, basking in attention he would never allow himself to give. The image of her on the stage, Alfira at her side, laughing and charming, teased at a growing unease. She thrives on it. She revels in the thrill of the performance.

A cold pang of fear twisted in his chest. Does she enjoy the game more than she enjoys me? He imagined her with Varcellis, his sleek charm, the way he leaned in, the way Tessira had let her touch linger - a deliberate tease that should have been for him alone. A part of her had been for someone else, and Astarion hated it with a ferocity that made his blood sing.

He ran a hand over his face, gripping at his temples. Would she choose Varcellis over the danger? Over the desire she sees in another man’s eyes? Could she… betray me? The thought burned like acid, and he shook his head, trying to banish it, trying to tell himself that he had trained her, taught her to be careful, that she knew where her loyalties lay.

But another part of him – the part that knew her, that knew the thrill that sparked in her eyes when she was admired, when she had the world’s attention – could not quiet the suspicion. She could prefer him. She could see me as… predictable. Safe. Boring. And that man… that predator… could take what I cannot.

The thought was unbearable. His fingers flexed into fists on the arms of the chair, nails digging into the wood. He rose suddenly, stalking to the window again, staring out into the dark city beyond. No one touches her. No one claims her. I won’t allow it.

But even as he whispered the words to himself, the gnawing, torturous doubt remained: the knowledge that Tessira’s brilliance, her charm, her fire… could be swayed, even if just for a fleeting thrill. And the mere possibility, the mere thought that she might ever choose anyone but him, left a raw, aching tension lodged deep in his chest.

Astarion sank to the floor, back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. His heart raced, every beat a mixture of longing, possessiveness, and fear. He had trusted her, he had believed she would be careful, but now, that trust felt fragile, slipping like fine sand through his fingers.

She is mine. She must be mine. And yet… what if she isn’t?

The question haunted him, echoing in the stillness of their home, and he realised with a shiver that tonight, more than ever, he could not rest until she was back in his arms. Safe. Completely his.

–

Gale’s eyes never left Tessira as she moved among the guests, her laughter spilling over the notes of the music, light and teasing, a melody in itself. He watched as she leaned slightly toward Varcellis, her fingers brushing his arm just enough to draw his attention, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Varcellis hung on every word, every gesture, his attention absolute, yet there was something almost… frustrated in the way his eyes flickered toward the amulet resting against his chest. Gale caught the subtle shift, the way Varcellis’ fingers flexed near it, the faint tightening of his jaw. The man was clearly aware of how precious the trinket was, and Gale seemed to realise there was no easy opportunity for Tessira to claim it as she might a bauble from another suitor.

Tessira’s smile widened, a perfect blend of flirtation and subtle control, and she leaned just enough to whisper something that made Varcellis tilt his head, his gaze darkening with both desire and the spark of challenge. Gale noted the intensity, the way Varcellis’ eyes lingered a moment too long, assessing, calculating, intrigued by her restraint.

She laughed softly at something he said, the sound like a bell, teasing and lilting, and Gale saw the way Varcellis straightened imperceptibly, every movement precise as he tried to maintain the composure of a gentleman while clearly consumed by the desire to possess her, even if only through attention and influence.

Gale’s chest tightened. It was subtle, but unmistakable: Varcellis wanted her, and he knew the thrill of the chase was part of the draw.

And all the while, Gale felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle heavier on his shoulders. Tessira could handle herself – he knew that – but watching this dance, seeing the subtle, dangerous pull between them, reminded him just how careful he needed to be. Every glance, every touch, every flirtatious tilt of her chin was a thread in a web Varcellis would happily weave around her if given half a chance.

Tessira, however, remained perfectly poised, her mind entirely her own beneath the sparkling surface of charm. Her laughter rang again, light and carefree, but Gale could see the tiny flicker in her eyes – the awareness of Varcellis’ desire, the subtle game of control and tease she was playing, keeping him hooked, yet never letting him claim more than a glimpse.

Gale exhaled softly, steeling himself. He would stay close, watchful, ready. Tessira might be dazzling the room, capturing the attention of Baldur’s Gate’s elite, but he would ensure that no one – not even a charming predator like Varcellis – took what was hers.

Varcellis leaned just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur that only Tessira could hear. “The night is long, my lady,” he said, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “Would you do me the honour of a private drink? Away from all these eyes?”

Tessira tilted her chin, letting a slow, teasing smile spread across her lips. Her fingers lingered lightly on his arm as she responded, voice smooth and playful. “One drink, then. But only to hear more of your charming words, my lord,” she said, her tone equal parts flirtation and subtle control.

Varcellis’ eyes darkened with satisfaction, the faintest spark of hunger in their depths. “You honour me,” he murmured, offering his arm in a polite yet possessive gesture.

Tessira allowed him the illusion of leading her, pressing her fingers to his lightly, almost caressing the pulse at his wrist as they moved toward the ballroom doors. The touch was delicate, teasing, yet entirely her own, an unspoken claim of control beneath the pretense of submission.

Gale’s eyes immediately snapped to them as they left the room. Tessira’s absence struck him like a physical blow. The crowd, the music, the swirling masks and gowns – it all became a blur as he realised she was slipping from his sight entirely. His chest tightened, every instinct screaming that he needed to be closer.

Where is she going? The question gnawed at him as he watched the door close behind them. His fingers flexed into fists, the tension in his shoulders rising. Every step Tessira took with Varcellis was a step further into a situation he could not control, and the gnawing worry in his chest burned hotter with each passing second.

As they disappeared from the ballroom, Tessira’s hand brushed along Varcellis’ arm once more – a fleeting, tactile assertion of her presence, a spark of teasing mischief – while Gale’s mind raced with every precaution he could possibly take. Her skill, her charm, her sharp mind: he trusted them all, yet the knowledge that he could not see her, could not intervene immediately, left him raw with unease.

The grand hall behind them hummed with music and conversation, the lights flickering over the polished floors and sparkling gowns, but Gale’s attention remained fixed on the spot where Tessira had been. She had left the ballroom, guided by a man whose intentions were clearly far from innocent, and every instinct in him screamed that the night’s dangers had just grown far more personal – and far more urgent.

–

Astarion’s pacing had become frantic, each step sharper, louder than the last, echoing off the walls of their home. Candlelight flickered across the room, casting shadows that danced like silent specters, but the sight offered him no comfort. The faint, lingering trace of Tessira’s perfume, cherries and warm musk, permeated the air, and it both soothed and tormented him.

He stopped abruptly, pressing his palm to his forehead as his mind raced, a torrent of imagined scenarios flooding in. Every laugh, every glance she had cast across the ballroom, every subtle touch of her hand lingering on Varcellis replayed like a cruel refrain. She’s laughing with him. She’s leaning in. She’s letting him think… The thought twisted in his chest.

A sharp, bitter pang of jealousy gripped him. Does she enjoy it? Does she enjoy his attention more than mine? He had trained her, watched her grow, taught her the dangers of the world, and yet, here she was, thriving in it, dazzling others with the same brilliance that belonged to him.

He grabbed the edge of a table, knuckles white, and leaned his forehead against it. She could choose him. She could… betray me. She could decide he is more exciting, more dangerous, more… intoxicating than I am. The thought alone was a knife at his heart.

Astarion’s breath came fast, shallow, uneven, and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands in frustration. No. She is mine. She must be mine. But even as he whispered the words aloud, the gnawing doubt remained, bitter and insistent: that thrill she found in the attention of another man, the subtle, teasing flirtation she was capable of, might one day tip the scales.

He sank to the floor, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees, and pressed his forehead against them. I cannot see her. I cannot protect her right now. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he rocked slightly, as if the movement could steady the storm inside him.

Every memory of Tessira’s laughter, her mischievous tilt of the head, the sparkle in her eyes when she commanded attention – it all became a maddening loop. He imagined Varcellis leaning closer, his hand brushing hers, the subtle power of a man used to getting what he wanted. And Astarion could not stop himself from picturing Tessira responding, laughing, teasing – playing the dangerous game of charm that belonged, in truth, only to him.

The perfume hung in the room, and every breath he drew was a reminder: she was out there. She was with someone else. And until she returned, every heartbeat, every nerve, every thought was consumed by jealousy, worry, and the agonising ache of wanting her back – completely, utterly, irrevocably his.

–

The corridor was quiet, a sanctuary away from the glittering chaos of the ballroom. Tessira settled gracefully into the wide window seat, the cool stone beneath her skirts a sharp contrast to the warmth of the candlelight from the hall behind them. The vast skyline of Baldur’s Gate stretched beyond the glass, city lights twinkling like scattered jewels, the river glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Varcellis leaned casually against the edge of the window frame, one arm draped along the back, angled toward her with a casual dominance that was both deliberate and magnetic. His crimson eyes reflected the city lights as he regarded her, a faint, approving smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You know,” he began, voice smooth as silk, “I have been a bachelor for some time. The life has its pleasures, of course, but it is… lonely at the top.” His gaze lingered on her, measuring, assessing, hungry. “I seek a woman of power, intellect, and… presence. One capable of standing at my side as I take Cazador Szarr's place among Baldur’s Gate’s elite.”

Tessira tilted her head, letting a soft laugh escape, a low, musical sound that danced teasingly in the air. “Is that so?” she murmured, eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “And what makes you think I am that… powerful woman, my lord?”

Varcellis’ smirk deepened, leaning just slightly closer, the faintest warmth from his body brushing against hers. “You, my lady, possess a brilliance and a command that would put many of Baldur’s Gate’s finest to shame. Your beauty is matched only by your wit, and your… talents… are precisely what I require at my side.”

Tessira’s lips curved into a slow, coy smile, her fingers brushing along the edge of the window seat as if to anchor herself, but her gaze never left his. “And how flattering,” she said softly, voice light, teasing, “that a man of your… distinction would notice me. But surely, you must meet many… extraordinary women in your search?”

He chuckled, the sound low and velvety, like a promise wrapped in danger. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but none who have captured my attention quite like you. None who could match the combination of subtle cunning and elegance that you possess. You would be… perfect, Tessira. Perfect.”

She let the word linger between them, a teasing note in the charged silence of the corridor. A soft, knowing sparkle entered her gaze, coy yet deliberate. “Perfect, you say?” she murmured, leaning back slightly, letting her hand trace a lazy arc across the windowsill. “I do enjoy a challenge, my lord… but I am not so easily claimed.”

Varcellis’ eyes darkened with intrigue, a faint flicker of hunger in their depths. “Ah,” he said softly, leaning closer, “but the challenge is precisely why I am so interested. One who could belong to another yet still chooses to stand beside me… now that is irresistible.”

Tessira allowed herself a soft, teasing laugh, her body angled just enough to draw him in while keeping control of the space between them. The city lights glimmered across her face, highlighting the spark of mischief and calculation in her eyes, and Varcellis leaned in, drawn in by both her charm and the thrill of the game she offered. His hand brushed the hair from her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her pale collarbone. Tessira tried to mask her sudden tension as he withdrew to lock eyes with her.

“You’re too generous with your flattery, my Lord.” Tessira looked up to Varcellis through her dark, thick lashes. Varcellis’ smile was wicked, laced with desire. His face inches from her, she could smell his scent, feel his breath on her.

The charged quiet of the corridor was broken by the soft knock of a servant at the far end. “My lord,” came the timid voice, “there is… an altercation near the main hall. Some guests are… disputing–”

Varcellis’ eyes darkened instantly, the brief flicker of charm and composure vanishing, replaced by sharp irritation. “Of course,” he snapped, his voice low and clipped, the smooth veneer cracking. He straightened, brushing off the momentary tension with a flick of his hand. “Very well. Duty calls.”

Tessira allowed a small, amused smile, her fingers brushing his arm lightly in a teasing echo of their earlier intimacy. “Seems even you must occasionally bow to the chaos of your… admirers,” she murmured.

Varcellis gave her a sharp look, his lips curling in a faint smirk, but there was no mistaking the underlying annoyance. He inclined his head once, acknowledging her, then strode back toward the ballroom, each step precise, purposeful, the faint scent of his cologne lingering like a shadow behind him.

Tessira followed, graceful and composed, letting her hand rest lightly on his sleeve as they reentered the grand hall. The music and chatter washed over them again, the glittering lights and swaying gowns a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the quiet corridor just moments before.

Gale’s eyes immediately found her among the crowd, relief flashing across his face. Tessira moved toward him with a deliberate, measured step, her composure intact. “Gale,” she said softly, voice low enough for only him to hear, “my attempt was… unsuccessful.” Her lips curved faintly in a small, private smile. “The amulet remains beyond my reach.”

Gale exhaled sharply, tension in his shoulders easing slightly, though the edge of worry remained. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, scanning her for any signs of trouble, his hand gently grazing her arm.

Tessira’s expression softened, eyes flicking briefly toward the crowd before returning to him. “I am,” she said firmly. “And now… I want to go home. To Astarion. Tonight has been… enough of this game.”

Gale’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. “Then we go,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. Every instinct in him was alert, still wary of the danger Varcellis represented, yet finally focused on getting her back safely into familiar, secure hands. He signalled Alfria to follow, she nodded and made her excuses before slipping through the crowd towards them.

Together, they slipped away from the glittering ballroom, Tessira graceful and composed, Gale watchful and tense, the distant echoes of music and laughter fading behind them as they made their way back toward the quiet of home, and the comfort of Astarion’s waiting embrace.

Chapter Text

The walk back through the city was quiet, Tessira cloaked in thought and Gale wrapped in vigilance. By the time they reached the familiar doorway of her home, the muffled sounds of the ball felt a world away. The air was cooler here, calmer, carrying with it the faintest echo of river mist and the comforting hum of night.

Inside, the scent of her perfume still lingered faintly, an ache that had gnawed at Astarion for hours. He had been pacing the length of the room, restless, consumed by every vile possibility that his imagination could conjure. At the sound of the door, he turned sharply, eyes flashing, his body coiled with tension.

Then he saw her.

Tessira stepped into the candlelight, her sapphire gown flowing around her, curls a little loosened, eyes tired but steady. Relief cracked through his composure, yet so did jealousy, suspicion, fear. His voice was rough when it finally emerged. “You’re back.”

Tessira’s lips curved in the faintest smile, her eyes softening. “I told you I would be.”

Astarion moved toward her in a few swift steps, stopping only when he was close enough to breathe in the familiar sweetness of her perfume. His hands hovered for a heartbeat before resting at her waist, as though reassuring himself she was real. “And yet,” he whispered, voice taut, “I feared every moment that you wouldn’t.”

Before Tessira could respond, Gale quietly cleared his throat. He remained just inside the doorway, watching the two of them with a mixture of fondness and concern. “She was magnificent,” he said simply, his tone calm, grounding. “And she is unharmed. I thought it important you knew.”

Astarion’s gaze flicked to Gale, sharp and searching, but there was gratitude in it too, unspoken but clear. He nodded once, curt, then looked back at Tessira, his hold on her tightening fractionally. “Good. Because if anything had happened to her…” His voice trailed off, edged with a promise he didn’t dare finish.

Gale inclined his head, his own smile faint but reassuring. “You won’t lose her tonight, Astarion. She wanted only to come home to you.”

That truth seemed to settle between them, dissolving some of the harsh tension in Astarion’s frame. Tessira lifted a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin, and his eyes closed at the touch.

“I’m here,” she murmured. “Yours. Always.”

The words were for him alone, but Gale caught them, felt the sincerity in them, and let out a quiet breath of relief. With that, he turned discreetly toward the door, giving them the privacy they both deserved, satisfied he had fulfilled his role, for the night at least.

Behind him, the faint sound of Tessira’s laughter, soft and tired but genuine, followed him into the cool night air.

The door closed softly behind Gale, leaving Tessira and Astarion in the quiet glow of their home. For a long moment, Astarion said nothing, his hands still at her waist, his crimson eyes searching hers as if trying to read every unspoken truth in them.

Then the words spilled out, low and unguarded. “You laughed with him.” His voice trembled between accusation and anguish. “You leaned close, you smiled - Gods, Tess, I could see it, even from here in my mind’s eye. And I—” He broke off, a sharp breath dragging through his chest. “I couldn’t stop imagining you enjoying it. Enjoying him.”

Tessira’s heart clenched at the rawness in his tone. She lifted a hand, threading her fingers through his pale curls, coaxing his gaze to hers. “I didn’t,” she whispered. “It was a mask, Astarion. A role. For him, for everyone there. Nothing more.”

His jaw clenched, but he leaned into her touch despite himself, like a starving man too proud to admit his hunger. “And yet… the way he looked at you,” he rasped, “like he already owned you. Like you’d already chosen him over me. And I–” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper now. “I was so sure you’d prefer him. That you’d betray me.”

The words cut deep, but Tessira stepped closer, until their bodies touched, her voice steady though her heart ached for him. “I could never prefer him,” she said firmly. “Never. He’s nothing but shadows and tricks, Astarion. You are my heart. My freedom. My choice.”

His eyes widened slightly, as though the words pierced through a wall he’d braced around himself. His hands slid from her waist to her back, pulling her in tightly, almost desperately. “Do you know what it does to me?” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough with need and fear entwined. “The thought of you in his arms, his world, his bed… I cannot—” He broke off again, shuddering. “I cannot bear it, Tess.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, grounding him with each touch. “You don’t need to bear it,” she soothed. “Because it will never happen. Tonight, every word, every look, every smile I gave was an act. But this–” She drew back just enough to press her palm to his chest, over the heart that had once been so long denied him. “This is the truth. You are mine. And I am yours.”

Astarion swallowed hard, the tension in him unravelling into something softer, more fragile. He captured her mouth in a kiss that trembled with relief, jealousy, devotion, all of it tangled together. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath unsteady.

“Yours,” he whispered, almost reverently. “Only yours. Always.”

Tessira smiled, her eyes glistening, and whispered back, “Always.”

The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the room, but now it was mixed with something warmer, the comfort of home, of safety, of knowing they had survived another test. Together.

–

The early morning autumn sun slipped through a narrow gap in the thick curtains, its pale gold light edged with a chill clarity. The beam cut across the room in a sharp stripe, cool and clean against the shadowed warmth of the bed. It carried the faint bite of the season, a reminder of frost-tipped mornings and the crisp air waiting beyond the walls, yet here it only sharpened the sense of comfort – the contrast of cold light and shared warmth beneath the covers.

Tessira stirred, her head resting lightly against Astarion’s chest.

He had barely slept. His schedule was a mess as he tried to relearn life in the shadows. Back in Cazador’s palace, his days had been spent in slumber – or worse, at Godey’s mercy in the kennels. He couldn’t quite bring himself to embrace a nocturnal rhythm again, preferring to spend the daylight within the safety of the Underdark instead. But this morning was different. After the ball, he wanted nothing more than to remain with Tessira. She had been tense all evening, and even in her sleep she clung to him as though afraid to let go. He didn’t mind. Holding her close steadied him too, a quiet reassurance after the chaos of the night before.

Tessira stirred again, a faint sigh slipping from her lips as she blinked against the crisp morning light spilling through the curtains. The air was cool, edged with the sharp clarity of autumn, but the bed was warm, cocooned in their shared closeness. She shifted slightly, her cheek brushing against the hard line of his chest, and opened her eyes.

For a moment, she simply watched him. Months ago, she might have mistaken his stillness for calm, his silence for detachment. Now she knew better. She could see the tension in the set of his jaw, the faint crease of his brow, the restless flicker of thought behind his crimson eyes. He was brooding, and she knew it without him saying a word.

“You haven’t slept,” she whispered, her voice still heavy with dreams, but softened with concern. “You’re thinking yourself in circles again.”

Astarion’s lips curved into a faint, practiced smirk, though it lacked its usual bite. He tilted his head, crimson eyes sliding toward her as if to dismiss the observation.

“Brooding? Me? Hardly,” he drawled, his tone light, almost bored. “I was simply… enjoying the view. One hardly gets mornings like this in the Underdark.”

But Tessira caught the slight twitch of his fingers where they rested against her hip, the way his gaze lingered too long on the ceiling before meeting hers. He was trying to be aloof, to brush it away, but she knew better now.

“Astarion,” Tessira said softly, shifting against him, “I like to think that after all this time together, I understand the way you work now.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” His smile was small, touched with a weary kind of fondness.

“So tell me – what’s wrong?”

He gave a little sigh, crimson eyes flicking toward her. “Well, I am worried about what happened last night.”

“Why?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“You’ve hardly spoken of it beyond what Gale told me. No amulet, and no story.” He raised his brows pointedly.

Tessira let out a soft huff, looking away for a moment. “In truth, I worried it would drive you mad to hear it.”

Astarion’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Then spare me the finer details, love.”

Tessira’s lips pressed together, her gaze lowering as though the pattern of the sheets had suddenly become fascinating. “He… spoke of me,” she said at last, voice quiet.

Astarion tilted his head, his expression caught between curiosity and suspicion. “Spoke of you how?”

She hesitated, then met his eyes. “Of my music. My… past. He wanted me to play for him, to dance.”

Something flickered across Astarion’s face, pain, sharp and brief, gone as quickly as it came. He masked it with a dry laugh. “Of course he did. Men like him always think they deserve to be entertained.”

Tessira reached out, her fingers brushing along his jaw. “It was nothing more than performance, love. Smoke and mirrors, as you’d say. I laughed when I was meant to laugh, I smiled when I was meant to smile. But none of it touched me.”

“Mm.” Astarion closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch despite himself. “And yet…” He opened them again, crimson depths gleaming with unease. “And yet his scent clung to you when you came home. His voice in your ears, his eyes all over you.”

Her chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone. “Astarion.” She whispered his name like a promise. “It was an act for him, but for me? It was only ever for us. For the future we want.”

Tessira drew in a slow breath, then shifted to sit up a little straighter, still keeping one hand on his chest. “He spoke of more than music. He told me he’s been a bachelor for years, and now he seeks a… powerful woman to stand beside him. Someone to share his place among the city’s elite, to replace Cazador in the games of status and influence.”

Astarion’s jaw tightened, crimson eyes narrowing. “And naturally, he thought of you.” His words came sharp, though the pain beneath them was unmistakable.

“Yes,” she admitted. Her voice softened, edged with disgust she didn’t bother to hide. “He said I’d be perfect. That he could see me at his side as he carved his place into Baldur’s Gate’s nobility.”

Astarion gave a brittle laugh, humourless and cold. “Perfect, indeed. What man wouldn’t want you as a jewel to drape on his arm?”

Tessira caught his chin gently, forcing his gaze back to hers. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew it would wound you. But I want you to hear it from me, not from whispers, not from Gale, not from anyone else. He offered me a throne beside him.” Her lips curved into the faintest, defiant smile. “But I already have what I want. You.”

For a moment, the mask slipped. Astarion’s breath caught, his hand reaching to cover hers. “You say it so easily, love. But gods, I fear—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I fear he can offer you everything I cannot.”

Tessira leaned closer, her voice low, steady, unshakable. “He offers me power. You give me freedom. He offers me jewels. You give me love. There’s no comparison.”

Tessira hesitated, her fingers tracing idle circles on Astarion’s chest. “There is something else,” she admitted quietly.

Astarion arched a brow, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Go on.”

“He… noticed you,” she said. “Or rather, he noticed your scent on me.”

Astarion froze, the faintest hitch in his breath betraying the sharp flare of jealousy beneath his calm exterior. “Did he, now?” His voice was silken, but it carried an edge like a blade just barely sheathed.

Tessira nodded. “He said it clung to me like a claim.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “And he liked it.”

For a moment, Astarion was silent. Then his lips curled in a dangerous smile, crimson eyes glittering with a predator’s satisfaction. “Of course he did. Men like him, men who think they can own everything, they relish the idea of stealing what belongs to another.” He exhaled, the sound half a laugh, half a snarl. “The fact that he could scent me on you is a small triumph I’ll savour.”

She let him have that moment before adding, gently, “I couldn’t get the amulet, Astarion. We were interrupted by a servant, and I wasn’t going to risk drawing more suspicion. After that, I only wanted to leave.”

His smile faltered, unease creeping back into his expression. “So he still wears it.”

“Yes,” Tessira said softly. “But it wasn’t the right time. Next time will be different.”

Astarion looked away, jaw working as though he wanted to argue, to tell her not to go back. Instead, he only muttered, “Next time.”

–

Two mornings later, soft sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, spilling a crisp golden glow across Tessira’s bedchamber. She sat at her vanity, hair loose and tousled from sleep, a steaming cup of tea beside her – courtesy of Astarion – when a firm knock sounded at the front door.

Astarion, already prowling the room in restless circles, muttered something under his breath and swept away. Moments later, he returned, a folded letter sealed in dark wax held delicately between two fingers.

“Another admirer, no doubt,” he said, voice smooth but tight at the edges. He handed it to her, his crimson gaze lingering as she broke the seal.

Her eyes skimmed the elegant script, lips curving faintly at the flourish of Varcellis’ hand. She read aloud:

“My dearest Tessira,
It would be my greatest pleasure to host you once again at my masquerade ball in a month hence. You and your companions are, of course, most welcome. I would be honoured to host the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate themselves. Until then, I remain… ever your most attentive admirer.
— Varcellis”

The parchment crinkled in her hands as Astarion all but snatched it from her, his crimson eyes narrowing as he read the lines himself. “Of course,” he hissed, pacing again, his every movement sharp with agitation. “He dares invite you back – openly flaunting his obsession as though you were some bauble he could simply… acquire.”

Tessira rose and moved to him, laying a calming hand against his chest. “Astarion,” she said softly, “this is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity for him to get his claws deeper into you,” Astarion snapped, though his hand instinctively covered hers, gripping tightly as though afraid she might vanish if he let go. “I can smell his intent in every word. And you would walk right back into his den?”

She tilted her chin, her voice steady, though her heart squeezed at the torment in his eyes. “I didn’t get the amulet last time,” she reminded him. “If I am to succeed, I must try again. He’ll expect me there, and if I refuse now, he’ll grow suspicious. This way, I can keep the mask on, play the part he wants, and get close enough to take it.”

Astarion’s jaw clenched, his fangs just visible as he wrestled with his anger and fear. “And if he takes more than you offer? If his charm, his wealth, his false promises of power—” His voice cracked, low and harsh. “What if they tempt you away from me?”

Tessira cocked her head to the side, her gaze hardening slightly with annoyance. “Do you think my love so fickle, Astarion?”

Astarion’s jaw tightened. “And you think walking straight back into his arms is the wisest course of action? Gods, Tess – how easily do you forget what he wanted of you?”

Her eyes flashed, the letter still clutched in her hand. “Forget?” she snapped, incredulous. “Do you think me so shallow, Astarion? That I’d trade you away for silk and sweet words? For some trinket of power?”

He faltered, lips parting, but no reply came.

“I chose you,” Tessira pressed, her voice quieter now but edged with hurt. “And I’ll keep choosing you, no matter how many times you doubt it. Don’t mistake my determination for disloyalty.”

A silence stretched between them, tense but fragile, until at last Astarion inclined his head ever so slightly. His voice was low, tentative. “Then… forgive me. Old habits die hard.”

Tessira exhaled, the sharpness softening. She reached for his hand, though her frown lingered. “Just remember who you’re dealing with, love. My heart isn’t some prize for Varcellis to claim – or for you to fear losing.”

Astarion’s hand twitched at his side, fingers flexing restlessly. “You don’t understand,” he said at last, voice rougher than he intended. “When you came back that night, I could smell him on you. His perfume, his touch, the air of his house clinging to your skin. It drove me mad, Tessira. Mad with the thought that I might lose you to him.”

Her brows drew together, hurt flickering behind her eyes. “Lose me? To Varcellis?” She scoffed, incredulous. “Astarion, do you truly think me so weak, so easily swayed, that I’d throw away everything we’ve built for a gilded smile and borrowed luxury?”

“I don’t want to think it,” he whispered, his gaze dropping, shame pulling his shoulders taut. “But the fear – it festers. I’ve been someone’s plaything before, Tess, and I know how the lines between performance and desire can blur.”

Tessira shook her head, frustration spilling into her tone. “And yet you still think I would let them blur with him.” She stepped closer, eyes burning into his. “This is all an act, Astarion. Every laugh, every smile, every touch – it’s to secure our future, away from Baldur’s Gate, away from the shadows that keep chasing us. And every moment I spend with Varcellis makes me long for you more, not less.”

He looked up at her then, stricken, the rawness in his expression tugging at her anger but not erasing it.

“Trust me,” she said firmly, softer now but still edged with irritation. “Because I won’t keep proving my love to you every time another man dares look my way.”

Chapter Text

Wyrm’s Crossing was always bustling, and today was no different. Tessira slipped between merchants’ carts and jostling travelers, her mind already fixed on the errand ahead – Shadowheart’s little sanctuary lay just beyond the city’s edge, and Tessira had promised to bring her fresh produce from the market, Tessira had not been able to resist buying her friend a new backless extravaganza from Facemaker’s Boutique. It was mundane work, almost soothing in its simplicity, far removed from the battles and bloodshed that had once defined her days.

She was halfway across the bridge when a familiar voice, rich with laughter, cut through the din.

“Tessira? Sharess, bless me, it is you!”

Tessira froze. Out of the crowd swept Nym Orlith, her old confidante from Sharess’ Caress. Draped in a gown of crimson silk that shimmered like poured wine, gold bangles chiming with each step, Nym seemed unchanged by time or war. Her smile was radiant, her eyes alight as she caught Tessira’s hands in her own.

“And here I thought you were too rich and popular to head back down here with the creatures of the underworld.” Nym shook her head, warmth spilling into her voice. “Yet now here you are, looking every inch the goddess you always were.”

For a moment Tessira could only hold her gaze, memories rising sharp and sweet – late nights drenched in candlelight and perfume, laughter between silken sheets, secrets traded like jewels. She had left that world behind when the war called, but here it was, alive in Nym’s smile. For a heartbeat, the bustle of Wyrm’s Crossing blurred, and Tessira felt herself teetering between who she had been and who she was trying to become.

Tessira returned the smile, though her chest tightened. “I survived,” she said gently, letting a pause linger before adding, “and life… it has changed. But I am well.”

Nym’s gaze sharpened, curious. “How have you been? I’ve heard tales of you bouncing around taverns in Baldur’s Gate, capturing audiences. Tell me you’ve not gone completely lonely in this city of shadows.”

Tessira hesitated, then found herself speaking more freely than she had expected. “Not lonely,” she admitted, a small laugh escaping her. “Astarion… he’s… different. He’s attentive, devoted. He loves me not for what I can give, or what he can gain, but… just for me. And I never thought I would find that, not after Sharess’ Caress. It’s… strange, and wonderful.”

Nym’s smile faltered almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something unreadable passing in her eyes. Tessira caught it, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she added softly, “I haven’t… come back to see any of you since the end of the war. I know I should have.”

Nym waved a hand dismissively, brushing it off with easy grace. “Do not fret, Tessira. We all have our paths to walk. Though…” She leaned in slightly, voice dropping conspiratorially, “your regular clients often ask if you will be returning. It seems no one can quite satiate their lust as you could. Mamzell is desperately trying to find a replacement for you as adept in song and dance as you were. We have all missed you around the brothel. It has not been quite the same without your infectious energy and laughter.”

Tessira felt the weight of both nostalgia and relief, of the life she had left and the life she had found. She squeezed Nym’s hands in return, warm but measured, careful not to let the past overtake her present. “I missed you too,” she whispered, “more than I realised.”

“Something is different about you, dear one.” Nym assessed Tessira with her pale eyes, fair haired brow arching is speculation. “You are guarded, as you were nights before you’d entertain one of your wealthier clientele. What are you up to?” Nym’s smile was mischievous.

“I cannot discuss it here.” Tessira smirked, checking their surroundings subtly.

“Come, I’m sure everyone would love to see you again!” Nym grabbed Tessira’s hand and lead her back to where it all began.

– 

“Tessira!” Naoise Nallinto’s voice rang out like music, full of joy and disbelief, as the lithe nymph practically tumbled down the stairs of Sharess’ Caress, fumbling with her silken robe. Tessira looked up from her armchair, heart skipping at the sight of her old friend.

Naoise launched herself forward, arms wide, and Tessira rose to meet her. They collided in a fierce embrace, laughing and clinging as though they had never been apart. To Tessira, in that instant, they were family, the kind you chose and who chose you back.

They had been close in age when they first began attending to patrons at the brothel. Tessira, with her natural Bardic charm, had quickly adapted, while Naoise had been shy, careful, hesitant. Yet it hadn’t taken long for them to become inseparable, many nights had been spent in the girls dormitory laughing at the size of patrons' genitalia and sharing whispered dreams of running away, of a life beyond the gilded walls, free of expectation and obligation. Naoise had been a dab hand at sweet talking the cooks, always bringing Tessira sweets at the end of long nights serving Baldur’s Gate upper classmen.

Naoise’s cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling, and she could barely contain her happiness. “I cannot believe it’s you! I thought after everything – I thought…” Her voice faltered, but the grin never left her face.

Tessira felt a twist of guilt in her chest. She had run away, leaving her closest friend behind, chasing a life of her own. And yet here was Naoise, full of warmth and delight, as though the years and distance had done nothing to diminish her love.She had taught Tessira all about providing patrons with rapture.

“I’m so happy to see you.” Tessira grinned, admiring her friend. Naoise was beautiful, and had also been very popular at Sharess’ Caress. 

“You must tell me everything!” Naoise said animatedly, pulling up a chair at the table where Tessira had been sitting. Around them, Nym, Sorn, and Elivra waited. All had once been her found family, and though Tessira still considered them that, a flicker of worry whispered that they might not feel the same.

“Well, I was just telling everyone how I’ve been invited to Lord Varcellis’ masquerade ball a few nights from now,” Tessira said with a wicked grin.

“I do hope he’ll pay handsomely for your time,” Elivra quipped, a faint edge of jealousy in her voice. Found family or not, Elivra and Tessira had always shared a kind of sibling rivalry. Elivra’s mother had once worked at Sharess’ Caress, and Liv had lived in Tessira’s shadow her whole life, never missing a chance to remind her of it.

“He’s not paying me,” Tessira snapped, brushing her hair from her shoulder.

“Oh? You, the most popular courtesan in Baldur’s Gate, just happen to be invited to the new Lord’s masquerade?” Elivra pressed. Tessira was about to snap back when Sorn jumped to her defense.

“Oh, hush, Liv. You’re just wounded that Tessira is making something for herself. I didn’t see you up there fighting that damned Mind Flayer Brain.” He rolled his eyes, then offered Tessira a small, knowing smile. Nym snorted a laugh.

“I’m heading there on… business,” Tessira confirmed, giving Sorn a grateful smile.

“Hmph,” Elivra crossed her arms in mock triumph.

“I am using my many charms,” Tessira winked, “to retrieve an artifact from him, an Amulet of Sun Resistance.”

“No doubt for your vampiric lover?” Nym mused. Tessira recalled the compliments Nym had once given Astarion, back before he knew the truth of her employment.

“Yes, so he can finally walk in the sun again. I just have to get it first.” Tessira sighed, leaning back in her chair. “The plan is simple: charm him, incapacitate him, swipe the Amulet, and get as far away as possible until the dust settles. No doubt he’ll hunt me down, but by the time he comes around, I’ll be a whisper on the wind.” Her smile was triumphant.

“And you think it’ll be so easy?” Elivra drawled.

“Unlike some of us, I’m a natural with wealthier, more esteemed clients.” Tessira waved off her rival’s hostility with a delicate flick of her hand.

“For once, I don’t doubt you,” Liv rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “But what I mean is, he will expect something of you. No doubt he’s heard of the Bard of Baldur’s Gate, the glittering Onyx Gem hidden in Sharess’ Caress.” Tessira flinched at the old nickname – the Onyx Gem, for her dark curls, a name she had once worn like armour.

“He’ll expect more than just songs and honeyed words, Tess,” Liv continued, her voice low and warning.

“It won’t get that far. I cannot betray Astarion,” Tessira snapped, chest tightening with fury.

“Ha!” Liv’s laughter rang out, sharp and teasing. “The handsome vampire I met in the Elfsong not a few tenday ago? Gods, he is delicious. I warned him, you know, falling for a woman who sells herself is dangerous.”

Tessira’s eyes blazed. “It was you! You told him about my past here? Something that was mine to share, you stole it from me!”

“Oh, please,” Liv said, voice cold and cutting, as it had always been with Tessira. “I assumed he already knew. That’s beside the point. You know I’m right. Varcellis will expect the full package – charm, wit, allure, the physical aspects too. Only then will you sneak away with your precious trinket.”

Tessira’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Every word reminded her of the life she had left behind, of the people who had watched her leave, of the envy and rivalry that lingered even among those she had called family. Yet beneath the fury, a thread of defiance thrummed. She would prove them wrong – for Astarion, for herself, for the life she had chosen.

“Liv may be right, Tess,” Naoise said softly, her hand gently covering Tessira’s.

“I can’t,” Tessira muttered, sadness threading her voice. “It would break Astarion.”

“He knows what he signed up for,” Liv rolled her eyes.

“It’s not that simple, and you know it, Elivra,” Nym scolded, turning to face Tessira. “Dearest, he must understand. Sometimes we have to do what we must for others. Once it is over, you’ll be free.”

“I would do it, but I don’t think he could overcome it,” Tessira whispered, hanging her head slightly.

“Implore that he must, little songbird.” Sorn’s tone was soothing, as he always had been whenever Tessira had been upset in the years they lived closely.

“I’ll find another way.” Tessira’s voice full of steady defiance. 

–

Hours later, Tessira finally walked into Shadowheart’s cottage. The smell of freshly baked bread caressed her senses, and she could hear Shadowheart humming in the rustic kitchen. Her father slept in a battered, well-loved armchair, snoring softly. His dark raven hair was braided, and the rags Tessira had last seen him in had been replaced with a deep green, comfortable-looking shirt that tied at the neck and leather pants.

Her mother sat at the dining table, brows knit in concentration as she knitted. Her grey hair was cut short and neat, and she wore a soft, warm dress to ward off the autumnal chill.

“Is that you, Tess?” Shadowheart called from the kitchen. Her father stirred slightly in his armchair by the warm fire, her mother too focused on her knitting to look up.

“I’m here,” Tessira said softly, stepping into the kitchen where Shadowheart bustled about preparing dinner. The smell of roasted meat and herbs filled the air. Tessira set the new clothing and produce on the counter, leaning against it slightly.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Shadowheart asked, eyeing the two wrapped parcels, though she had only requested one.

“No, thank you. I bought you something!” Tessira’s eyes lit up with excitement as she handed the gift to her friend.

Shadowheart beamed as she opened it neatly, running her hands over the rich ruby fabric of the backless set – a popular item from Facemaker’s, no doubt expensive.

“Tess, you didn’t have to,” Shadowheart said softly, admiring the garment all the same.

“I know, that’s why it’s a gift,” Tessira grinned. “You live such a humble life now, Shadowheart. I wanted to bring a taste of luxury to you.”

“Well,” Shadowheart laughed softly, “thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” Tessira beamed.

Shadowheart bustled over to the stove, where a small teapot simmered gently. She lifted it with care and poured the warm spiced tea, apple and cinnamon, into two mugs, the sweet aroma filling the kitchen. She handed one to Tessira.

“Here,” she said softly. “Autumn’s own comfort. Now, I know that look on your face.” Shadowheart smiled teasingly.

Tessira took the cup, inhaling the sweet, spicy scent. The warmth seeped into her fingers. She glanced over at Shadowheart’s parents – her father still dozing by the fire, her mother’s hands resting briefly on her knitting as she offered a quiet, reassuring smile. For a moment, the bustle and danger of the outside world felt far away.

“What look?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she sipped the fragrant tea.

“Tessira, don’t even try it,” Shadowheart laughed softly. “Something’s gnawing at you. Tell me, is it Astarion again? I’ve told him before, he needs to trust you. Without trust, there can be no love.”

Tessira sighed. “Sort of, but also… sort of not. I stopped by Sharess’ Caress on the way here.”

“Ah yes, you held out on that little detail of your past, didn’t you!” Shadowheart teased. “While we bore our souls and tragic backstories to you, you kept yours to yourself.”

“Yours were in urgent need of attention. Mine was just sad,” Tessira rolled her eyes as she sipped her tea.

“Well, what of your visit to your old family?” Shadowheart pressed, sipping her own tea.

“They made me realise the best, and perhaps only, way to get the Amulet without raising alarm is to sleep with Varcellis. Become completely a courtesan once more,” Tessira sighed. Shadowheart’s eyes fluttered for a second.

“And here I thought you were coming over to talk wedding plans, not sleeping with someone that is not your intended.” Shadowheart sighed.

“The wedding is on hold until we get the Amulet, Shadowheart.” Tessira smiled softly at her friend’s enthusiasm for her upcoming wedding to Astarion.

“Oh, but it will be sickeningly romantic when you finally wed him. I for one cannot wait. If you are willing to do this for Astarion, what’s one night compared to forever together?” Shadowheart cocked her head to the side.

“That’s another thing. It’s not forever. Astarion will outlive me, unchanged by the harshness of aging, with no way to turn me. And even if he could, we’d outlive our children.” Tessira murmured sadly.

“Don’t dhampir children stop aging after a certain age anyway?” Shadowheart asked.

“I’m not sure; I’d have to ask Gale. But either way, the bigger issue is the night with Varcellis.” Tessira straightened her back, shaking her head and letting her curls fall behind her shoulder.

“Indeed, you will need to discuss it with Astarion. We’ve talked about this before, at dinner. I knew you’d always want to take this step, but you have to be honest with him,” Shadowheart reminded her.

“Yes, you’re right. I’d like to discuss it with him with all of you present.”

“Not a problem. I’ve already requested a dinner party to celebrate your engagement! Karlach and Wyll will be on this plane within the next day. Lae’zel sends her regards but cannot make it - something about negotiations with some Lord in the stars with Voss. Minthara also sends well wishes, equally busy down in Menzobarranzen as a rebel drow.” Shadowheart chatted animatedly.

“First of all, you never told me about this dinner party!” Tessira smirked.

“Well, it was a surprise. Astarion knows,” Shadowheart waved her hands dismissively.

“Charming.” Tessira laughed. “I’m flattered, but is that the best time? We’re celebrating our future wedding, and I’m going to drop on him that I need to seduce and fuck someone else for the wedding to even take place?”

“Hmph, perhaps not, but I’m not sure when we’ll get another chance before the masquerade.”

“That reminds me.” Tessira dug a crumpled parchment from her satchel. “You are also invited to the ball, so you’d better find a dress – I’m not going with just Gale again.”

“Absolutely no problem!” Shadowheart squealed.

Chapter Text

The cold wind howled against the townhouse windows, rattling the panes, but inside, the large dining room was alive with warmth and laughter. The fire blazed in the hearth, casting golden light across the long oak table, piled high with steaming platters and brimming goblets.

Tessira sat beside Astarion, the soft gleam of her satin white dress catching the firelight. Its delicate sheen and flowing lines marked her unmistakably as a bride-to-be, while her dark hair was slicked back into a bushing ponytail, elegant yet understated. Astarion, in a tight-fitting doublet that hugged his torso and hinted at every muscle, leaned casually toward her, a faint smirk on his lips. Together, they were the picture of poised, practiced elegance, yet laughter and joy softened their edges.

Around them, their friends and companions filled the room: Halsin’s booming laughter echoed against the walls, Karlach’s mischievous grin caught in mid-story, and Wyll leaned back in his chair, chuckling at something Gale had just said. Shadowheart moved gracefully between the table and the sideboard, topping up wine and ladling food onto plates. Gale, ever the showman in the kitchen, had ensured every dish was perfectly spiced, aromatic steam curling up into the cozy room.

Jaheira’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she listened to Minsc animatedly recount one of his many heroic – or disastrous – adventures, Boo perched on his shoulder, squeaking in agreement. Every so often, the hamster’s tiny squeak punctuated a laugh, drawing delighted glances from everyone at the table.

“This is absurdly good!” Karlach declared, stabbing at a roasted vegetable with enthusiasm. “Shadowheart, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“And Gale, don’t think I’ve forgotten your fancy little sauces,” Wyll added, raising his goblet. “Perfect as always.”

Astarion leaned close to Tessira, whispering, “I think our friends are plotting to keep us here all night, my love.”

Tessira laughed softly, pressing her hand to his. “Let them try. I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

Outside, the winter chill bit at the townhouse walls, but inside, the fire, the food, and the laughter made the world feel impossibly warm. Tonight, there were no worries of masquerades or stolen amulets, only friends, family, and the kind of joy that made even the coldest night feel like a memory waiting to be treasured.

Jaheira leaned forward, a sly smile on her face. “Do you remember the first time we saw Astarion playing for Tessira?”

“Oh yes,” Karlach said, snorting. “None of us thought he’d end up marrying her, that’s for sure!”

A chorus of laughter rose around the table. Even Tessira grinned, feeling warmth for the memories.

“Him, pining and sighing every time she looked at him!” Wyll added, shaking his head. “I swear, it was like watching a lovesick bard in a tavern.”

Shadowheart chuckled, pouring another glass of wine. “And yet here we are, celebrating their engagement. I think he still gets that look sometimes.” She nodded at Astarion, who raised a brow, pretending to be offended.

“I did no such thing,” Astarion said, voice smooth, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He reached for Tessira’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently.

Tessira leaned toward him, laughing softly. “We all know better, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Halsin agreed, raising his goblet. “To love that sneaks up on you, even in a vampire’s heart.”

The group raised their goblets, wine sloshing inside as they bumped together. Astarion gazed lovingly at Tessira as she laughed.

Gale took a sip of his wine, a sly smile on his face. “Do you remember the nights we camped in the forest, hunting to be rid of the Mind Flayer tadpoles? I for one thought Astarion would play our friend here like a fiddle and leave her high and dry.”

“Oh, yes,” Karlach said, grinning wickedly. “We’d just set up tents and barely get settled before he’d start hovering outside hers. You could see him pacing and sighing like a lovesick bard in the moonlight.”

“And during the fights?” Wyll added, shaking his head with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many times we caught him staring at Tessira while swinging his blades, completely forgetting the enemies at hand. Half the time I thought the Mind Flayers had more chance than he did!”

“Alright, alright!” Astarion chuckled, sipping his own wine.

Karlach’s eyes twinkled as she regaled another tale. “Do you remember the very first time Tessira met Astarion?”

“Oh, that moment!” Wyll exclaimed, nearly choking on her wine. “He practically dragged her to the floor with a dagger at her throat, interrogating her about the Nautiloid!”

Gale laughed so hard he had to set down his goblet. “And I promised, right there and then, that I’d incinerate him if he so much as breathed wrong toward her! It’s so crazy to look back and remember how we knew nothing about each other.”

Tessira shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “I suppose I was smitten from the very first moment. I couldn’t help it. Even with a dagger at my throat, he had this… this ridiculous charm.”

Astarion raised a brow, mock-offended. “Ridiculous charm? I call it efficient interrogation.”

“Oh, sure,” Tessira replied, nudging him lightly. “Deadly and efficient, but still smitten with me.”

Wyll shook his head, grinning. “I still can’t believe she didn’t cut his head off right then. And now you’re here, engaged to him. Look at you two.”

The laughter slowly died down as Astarion stood, letting the room take notice. The firelight danced across his sharp features, and his dark eyes glimmered with something both mischievous and tender. He straightened his back, clearing his throat lightly, though a faint smile played on his lips.

“If I may have your attention,” he began, his voice smooth and commanding, yet carrying a softness that only Tessira truly saw. “Thank you all for gathering tonight. Truly, it means more than I can express, to have each of you here, friends, companions, family, to celebrate something so rare, so precious.”

He paused, glancing down at Tessira. Her fingers twined with his on the table, and she met his gaze with a gentle, encouraging smile.

“And Tessira,” he continued, lowering his voice just enough that the words felt intimate, even in the warmth of the room. “From the moment I first saw you, yes, even when I… well, I know we all remember my rather dramatic first approach – I knew there was something extraordinary about you. Something I couldn’t and wouldn’t let go.”

A soft murmur of appreciation ran through the room, and Tessira’s cheeks warmed as she squeezed his hand.

“You’ve bewitched me, Tessira, in every sense of the word. Your courage, your brilliance, your laughter that can turn the darkest hour into light – it has changed me in ways I never thought possible. And now, I get the honour of calling you my fiancée, my partner, my heart’s desire.”

He took a slow breath, scanning the room again. “Tonight is not just a celebration of an engagement. It is a celebration of love that survived danger, trials, and time itself. A love that, I promise, will only grow stronger in the days and years to come. Tessira, you are my sun in a dark world, my home, my everything. And I vow to stand by you, to cherish you, and to face whatever comes next – together.”

A hush fell over the table for a brief, perfect moment, broken only by a soft squeak from Boo on Minsc’s shoulder, drawing a ripple of affectionate laughter.

“And I vow the same,” Tessira whispered, her voice catching slightly with emotion. “Through every challenge, every victory, every mundane and magnificent moment – together.”

A cheer rose from the table, glasses clinking and friends calling out their congratulations.

Karlach whooped, slamming her hand on the table. “Oh, I love this! It’s like something out of a bard’s most romantic tale! You two are disgusting in the best way!” She laughed, pointing at them both, her grin wide and unabashed.

Jaheira rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Yes, yes, enough with the dramatics before I need dental surgery for all this sweetness. My teeth are aching.”

Shadowheart leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Ah, but isn’t it lovely? Finally seeing the vampire pining so thoroughly for his lady? I’ve waited to see him squirm like this for years.”

Gale raised a goblet with a playful smirk. “I’ll toast to the sheer audacity of love that survives Mind Flayers, vampires, and perilous quests alike.”

Minsc let out a hearty laugh, Boo squeaking along in agreement from his shoulder. “Boo approves! Yes, yes, love and friendship conquering all!”

Astarion chuckled, leaning closer to Tessira and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “It appears, my dear, that while our love may be perfect, our friends enjoy tormenting us in equal measure.”

Tessira laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. “Perhaps. But I’d endure all their jabs a thousand times over, if it means I get to be with you.”

Halsin nodded, a proud smile on his face. “Then it seems we’re all witnesses to something quite remarkable.”

Plates clinked and the rich aromas of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced vegetables filled the dining room. Laughter and chatter swirled around the table as everyone dug into the feast. Karlach was animatedly recounting a tale from one of their previous adventures, Wyll chiming in with mock dramatics, and Halsin quietly enjoying the camaraderie with a warm smile. Even Boo seemed delighted, perching on Minsc’s shoulder and squeaking happily whenever he reached for a morsel.

Tessira lifted her fork, taking a small bite of the tender meat, but her attention kept drifting. Across the table, she caught Shadowheart’s eye. A subtle, knowing glance passed between them – Shadowheart’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and a faint nod gave Tessira the courage she needed.

She swallowed, forcing a smile, and continued to partake in the conversation, all the while dreading the moment she would have to bring up the subject that had been weighing on her. She knew the only way to obtain the Amulet of Sun Resistance was to convince Lord Varcellis that she desired him… to return, in essence, to a life she had long left behind.

The thought tightened her chest. This celebration, this warmth and laughter around the table, felt so perfect, so delicate, that Tessira hated the idea of shattering it with dark necessities. Yet she also knew there would never be a better moment than now, surrounded by friends who would support her, guide her, and, if needed, stand by her through the consequences.

As Astarion leaned toward her to whisper a teasing remark, she met his gaze, her eyes reflecting both love and hesitation. She reached subtly for Shadowheart’s hand under the table. The quiet squeeze was reassurance, a reminder that she was not alone in this, even if the truth she had to speak threatened to complicate everything.

Tessira took a deep breath, lifting her goblet. She knew the laughter would quiet soon enough, that words of necessity would follow, and that courage would have to replace the ease of the evening. But for now, she allowed herself a fleeting moment to savour the happiness around her, gathering the strength she would need to speak honestly to Astarion, and to everyone, when the time came.

Laughter simmered to a comfortable murmur, Karlach leaned back, sipping her wine. “So… have you two decided where this wedding of yours is going to be? I need to start planning my dramatic entrance.”

Gale smiled, swirling his goblet thoughtfully. “Waterdeep, of course, would be a most fitting setting. A city of grandeur, magic, and opportunity, it would be unforgettable.”

Halsin chuckled softly. “I’d be happy to host you in the Reclaimed Lands. The forests, the open skies… it’s peaceful, and the nature there would honor both of you. Something more intimate, surrounded by those who have seen the world change.”

Astarion’s eyes flicked to Tessira, his fingers brushing hers beneath the table. “We have something more immediate to consider first,” he said lightly, though the faint crease of worry betrayed his calm. “Before any decisions about where or when, we need to secure the Amulet.”

A hush fell over the table as all eyes shifted toward Tessira. She felt the weight of the moment, the perfect warmth of the evening contrasted sharply with the necessity of what she had to say.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze, meeting Shadowheart’s encouraging smile across the table. “Yes… about the Amulet,” Tessira began softly, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. “The only way to obtain it without raising alarm is… I would have to convince Lord Varcellis that I desire him. Essentially, I’d need to return – briefly – to the life I left behind as a courtesan.”

A small pause followed, the clinking of silverware momentarily suspended as the gravity of her words settled. Then, one by one, familiar faces softened with understanding rather than judgment.

Shadowheart leaned forward, resting a hand over Tessira’s on the table. “We’ve all seen the lengths you go to for those you care about. We’ll support you in this, Tessira, whatever it takes.”

Astarion froze, his eyes darkening with a mixture of dread and disbelief. His fingers, which had been lightly touching hers under the table, tightened instinctively. “I… I’m not happy with that,” he said quietly, each word heavy with tension. “You don’t have to do that. There has to be another way… some other way.”

Tessira took a slow, steadying breath, her hands still resting under the table. “Astarion… it’s not enough to simply charm him,” she began softly, her eyes meeting his. “The Amulet… it’s worn around his neck. To get it, I need to be close, and yes… intimate. Only then will I have the upper hand to take it without raising an alarm.”

Astarion’s eyes widened, his hands clenching into fists on either side of his plate. His voice, usually so smooth and controlled, trembled with anger. “You… you’re telling me this here, at our engagement party?” He leaned back, his face pale with a mixture of shock and fury. “You can’t be serious! Why… why would you even bring this up tonight? The idea of you whoring yourself to someone else, sleeping with them, saying the things you say to me – Gods I can’t take it Tessira!”

A heavy silence fell over the table. Plates sat half-eaten, wine glasses paused mid-air, and every pair of eyes seemed to focus on the tense couple. Even Boo’s tiny squeak seemed timid in the sudden stillness.

Shadowheart leaned forward immediately, hand gripping Tessira’s still. Her voice was calm but firm, cutting through the awkward tension. “Astarion, stop. Tessira is right. She’s doing this to protect you – and everyone else. You know her. She wouldn’t put herself in this position lightly. She brought it up now because we are here, all of us, to support her.”

Tessira glanced at Astarion, her expression pleading yet resolute. “I didn’t want to ruin tonight. I wanted us to celebrate… but it’s best you know, and the others know, so we can approach this together. I couldn’t do it alone.”

Astarion ran a hand over his face, his jaw tight, the firelight casting shadows that mirrored his turmoil. The table remained quiet, the usual warmth and teasing paused as everyone absorbed the weight of the revelation, yet even in the stillness, Shadowheart’s steady presence and the group’s silent solidarity gave Tessira the courage to continue.

Before Astarion could speak again, Karlach slammed a hand on the table, leaning forward with a fiery grin. “Enough! Tessira’s doing this for you, Astarion! For you! You think she’d take this on lightly? Do you even realise the courage it takes?”

Astarion’s eyes flicked to her, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

Wyll cleared his throat, hesitating before speaking. “I… I understand her intent, but asking him to be okay with this… it’s a lot for you, Astarion. You’re being asked to accept the impossible here. I’d feel the same if I were in his position.”

Halsin nodded in agreement, his calm voice carrying quiet authority. “Yes. It is a heavy burden to place on anyone. Tessira’s plan, while necessary, asks much of you, Astarion. Your feelings are valid.”

“Tessira, you’re asking me to be no better than Cazador. Do you understand me?” Astarion’s voice dripped with anger.

“Astarion it’s not like that–” Tessira began.

“Yes it is!” Astarion slammed his fist onto the table, crockery rattling upon impact. “You’re choosing to do this for my benefit. You’re using your body for me. I can’t let you do that, I will not.”

“Choosing, Astarion. That’s the key word there, we were forced. We had no choice. This is my choice.” Tessira said softly, though her eyes shone with determination.

The room held a tense hush, Tessira looking down at her mug, wishing she could make her words lighter, gentler. Shadowheart, however, wasn’t about to let Astarion’s feelings overshadow the courage Tessira had already shown.

“Excuse me,” Shadowheart said sharply, leaning forward so her voice cut through the murmurs. “Do you think for a moment that what she is doing is easy? You speak of impossibilities as if only Astarion is being asked to endure them, but Tessira… she is stepping into danger, risking everything, for him. And yet she’s doing it, anyway!”

Karlach leaned back triumphantly, nodding in agreement. “Yeah! Don’t act like she’s not the brave one here. She’s doing it because she loves you, and you’d better realise it!”

Astarion’s hands dropped to the table, his gaze flickering between Tessira’s determined eyes and the fierce support surrounding her. The warmth and laughter of the evening had quieted, replaced with the gravity of the conversation, but in the firelight, he saw not just the impossibility of the plan, but the love, loyalty, and courage backing it, and the stark reality of what Tessira was willing to do for him.

Astarion’s gaze dropped to the table, his hands still tense. “You don’t understand,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight. “How can I be expected to… to accept this? To watch her—”

Gale held up a hand, his tone calm, measured, cutting through the rising tension. “Astarion,” he said gently, “I understand your feelings completely. You’re angry, hurt, and frightened – and you have every right to be. This isn’t easy. No one is asking you to simply shrug it off.”

He paused, letting his words settle, then leaned forward slightly, meeting both Astarion’s and Tessira’s eyes. “But understand this as well: what Tessira proposes… it is necessary. The Amulet is the key to walking in the sun, to freedom, to a life you can truly share. Without this, your future together remains uncertain.”

Astarion exhaled slowly, a shadow of conflict passing over his features. “I… I see that. I do. But that doesn’t make it any less infuriating,” he admitted, his voice low.

“And that’s fair,” Gale said with a small, approving nod. “Your feelings are valid. But so is hers. Tessira is doing what must be done, not because she wants to hurt you, but because she wants the both of you, your life together, to exist fully. That’s the measure of her courage.”

Tessira’s hand found Astarion’s under the table again. He finally looked at her, and though his expression was still troubled, a flicker of understanding passed between them. The tension remained, yes, but Gale’s words reminded them both that love sometimes demanded impossible choices – and that they would face those choices together.

Karlach let out a relieved, dramatic sigh. “Finally! Some rational voices in this madhouse.”

Shadowheart smirked, shaking her head, but her eyes softened as she added, “Yes, but let’s not forget – it’s still Tessira who’s bearing the real weight. Astarion may object, but she is the one stepping into danger. And she’s doing it for love.”

​​Wyll shifted uneasily, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve. “I… I get it,” he said slowly, glancing at Astarion. “But asking someone to just accept this? To watch another risk themselves for your sake? That’s… that’s asking the impossible.”

Halsin nodded in agreement, though his gaze lingered on Tessira with quiet respect. “It’s not a slight against him, Tessira. It’s a very natural protective instinct – to want to shield those we care about. But sometimes Astarion… courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s stepping forward despite it.”

Karlach’s fists clenched on the table, her voice low and fierce. “Exactly! You don’t get to sit there and judge her bravery when she’s the one who’s literally putting herself on the line for you! You want easy? You want safe? Well, love isn’t always that!”

Astarion’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The room seemed to hold its breath. Finally, he let out a humourless chuckle, almost bitter. “Easy, safe… yes. Words I thought I’d left behind long ago. And yet, here I am, wishing for them again.”

Shadowheart leaned back, crossing her arms. “And yet, you’ve both chosen this path, haven’t you? That’s what makes it… real. Messy, terrifying, yes, but real. Tessira is proving that by stepping into the fire. What will you do, Astarion? Will you stand with her, or let fear dictate your love?”

Gale’s gaze softened, his voice barely above a whisper. “Love, Astarion, is never without risk. And sometimes the bravest thing we can do is let those we love be brave in their own way.”

Astarion’s eyes flicked between Gale and Tessira, the storm of frustration and fear swirling, but beneath it, a pulse of something steadier: admiration, trust, and an inkling of surrender. “Perhaps we have asked too much of each other in the face of this new quest,” he admitted quietly, voice rough. “And yet… how can one not?”

Karlach slapped the table, a bark of laughter escaping her. “Because, my sharp-tongued friend, that’s what love really is. Not just holding hands in sunlight, but standing in the storm together – even if one of you is slightly singed!”

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of Astarion’s mouth. Tessira squeezed his hand, her own eyes glinting with fierce determination. “Then let’s face it together,” she said simply. “No more pretending the impossible is easy.”

The room exhaled collectively, a fragile truce forming around shared understanding, and somewhere between fear and hope, Astarion felt the first real stirrings of peace.

Chapter Text

The clatter of plates had long since faded, replaced now by the gentle splash of soapy water from the kitchen. Gale and Halsin were tidying up, working side by side with quiet efficiency. The warm glow from the kitchen lanterns cast a soft light over the counter, highlighting the steam rising from the freshly rinsed dishes.

In the sitting room, the remnants of the dinner party still lingered: empty wine glasses, a few crumbs on the coffee table, and the soft hum of conversation. Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, and Minsc were hunched over the table, cards spread in front of them. Laughter and teasing bounced through the room, punctuated by Jaheria’s sharp, amused voice.

“You all are absolutely hopeless at this,” Jaheria said, shaking her head. “I’ve seen goblins with better hands!”

Karlach laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Hey! I’m trying! It’s the cards’ fault, not mine!”

Wyll groaned, tossing his cards in mock frustration. “I think some dark magic is at work here. It’s impossible to lose this badly otherwise.”

Minsc leaned forward eagerly, squinting at his hand. “I do not understand this game! Yet, I will persevere!”

From their corner of the room near the north wall, Astarion and Tessira remained apart from the chaos, cocooned in quiet intimacy. Astarion reclined in a plush armchair, his posture relaxed, one arm draped casually over the side. Tessira sat on his lap, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, her eyes half on the card game, half on him.

The fire along the west wall cast flickering shadows across the room, warming the polished wood of the bookcase behind them. The east double doors led to the quiet entryway, while the south-facing windows showed the darkened street outside, the last hints of sunset fading into night. The central loveseats, surrounding the coffee table, were the stage for the card players’ antics, the room alive with warmth and light despite the encroaching darkness.

Astarion’s fingers brushed Tessira’s, a small, private smile tugging at his lips. “Do you ever tire of watching them fumble at cards?” he murmured.

Tessira chuckled softly, leaning closer, her cheek brushing against his. “Not for a second. They’re… chaotic, yes, but endearing in their own way.”

He smirked, glancing at her in the firelight. “Endearing, yes… chaotic, always. But I suppose that is the nature of our strange little family.”

Outside, the street lay quiet under the night sky, unaware of the warmth and laughter contained within the townhouse walls. Inside, the evening stretched lazily, filled with gentle banter, soft glances, and the quiet comfort of shared company.

Astarion’s hand traced idle patterns along Tessira’s arm as they sat together, the low murmur of the card game and the occasional clatter of dishes washing up in the background. The firelight flickered across the room, casting warm shadows on his sharp features. Tessira leaned into him, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glinting with determination.

“The masquerade…” she began, her tone soft but firm, “it’s the only way to get the Amulet. Varcellis won’t part with it willingly, but… I can entice him, charm him, and make it ours.” Her fingers laced with his, a touch both tender and urgent. “But Astarion… I need you to promise me something. No matter what happens, you will not intervene. Not for me, not for him, not even for… yourself.”

Astarion’s brow furrowed, a shadow of conflict crossing his face. “You mean… watch from the sidelines while you risk yourself?” His voice was low, strained with that familiar mix of desire, protectiveness, and fear.

Tessira lifted his chin gently, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I know you hate the thought. But I need to do this. For us. For our future.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes darkening with a swirl of longing and worry. Then, after a long moment, he nodded. “I promise,” he said finally, his voice husky. “I will not interfere. Not as long as you… you are certain this is what must be done.”

Tessira’s lips curved in a small, grateful smile. “I am certain.”

Astarion leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, lingering near her lips. “Then consider me your silent guardian,” he murmured, voice rich with promise. “I will be there, in the shadows, watching over you, ensuring your safety… even if you never see me. You will move as freely as you wish, Tessira, and I will move only as the whisper of protection at your back.”

A flicker of warmth passed through Tessira, and she pressed her forehead lightly against his. “I… trust you,” she admitted softly.

His lips brushed hers briefly, a ghost of a kiss, tender and fleeting. “Good,” he whispered. “Because when you dance with danger, I will be right here, holding nothing but the certainty that you will return to me.”

The fire crackled, and outside the windows the street lay quiet, but in the townhouse, warmth, trust, and unspoken devotion wrapped around them, a fragile shield against the chaos to come.

Tessira lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his with quiet determination. She pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips, a brief touch that carried all the trust, courage, and love she felt.

Astarion’s eyes lingered on hers, dark and intense, and a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know how much that means,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “To see you so sure… so brave.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering at the curve of her jaw. “And yet…” His lips curved into a teasing, yet tender smile. “I cannot wait for you to be my wife. To know that after all this – after every danger, every impossible choice – you will still choose me. Always.”

Tessira’s heart fluttered at the words, warmth spreading through her chest. She pressed her forehead against his again, letting the moment linger, letting it anchor them both against the uncertainty to come.

“I will be yours,” she whispered, voice steady despite the tension of the evening. “Always.”

Astarion’s arms tightened slightly around her, just enough to ground them without trapping her. “Then I will be here,” he murmured, “watching, waiting, and counting the moments until I can call you mine – officially, utterly, completely.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, the room wrapped in shadows and golden light, but for them, time seemed to still. Outside, the world remained unaware of the whispered promises and quiet devotion exchanged in the corner of the townhouse, the calm before the storm of the masquerade night.

Chapter Text

Four weeks had passed since the engagement party, and the evening of the masquerade had finally arrived. The townhouse hummed with the quiet, anticipatory energy of preparation. Shadowheart adjusted her hair, white strands swept into an elegant updo, inspecting every curl with a critical eye. She wore a periwinkle satin gown that flowed like water with each step, her mask framing her petite face like delicate frost.

Across the room, Gale fussed with his cloak and gloves, muttering about last-minute adjustments. He had chosen a deep purple doublet that accentuated his bookish yet strong frame.

Wyll paced the sitting room, his sword belt catching the lamplight, muttering half-formed plans under his breath, while Karlach tested the weight of her hairpins and bracelets with exaggerated gestures. Both had visited Facemaker weeks ago, returning with matching ensembles: Wyll in a tight, raffish outfit embroidered in crimson and burnt orange, and Karlach in a flowing gown adorned with similarly fiery embroidery.

Beside the fireplace, Astarion and Tessira were putting the final touches on their outfits. Tessira’s dress was a striking black number, the corset tightly laced to accentuate her figure. She had sheer sleeves that hugged her arms delicately, and the skirt was made of a fine mesh that allowed glimpses of her legs without being entirely revealing – elegant, seductive, and perfect for moving through a crowd unnoticed when needed. Her hair had been left down for the evening, though had tightened her natural curls to cascade elegantly past her shoulders. Her amethyst eyes shone beneath darkened lashes.

Astarion adjusted his doublet, a deep black accented with blood-red embroidery along the seams. The fabric was tight, tailored to his lithe form, and designed to conceal the faint bite scars along his neck. He caught Tessira’s gaze in the mirror, a hint of pride flickering across his sharp features.

“You look…” he began, his voice husky, and then he smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “…absolutely lethal.”

Tessira chuckled softly, running her fingers along the embroidered edge of his collar. “And you look ready to charm the entire room and remain untouchable while doing it,” she teased, though her eyes flickered with a shadow of concern for the plan ahead. She placed her elegant masquerade mask on, the gold and black metal looking like delicate lace across her piercing eyes.

Shadowheart’s voice cut through the quiet. “Time is short. Masks on, and let’s move before the carriage arrives.” She swept past them, adjusting her own mask, a mixture of impatience and amusement in her eyes.

Gale handed out cloaks to everyone, his smart black mask firmly in place, and draped one over Tessira’s shoulders before ensuring Astarion’s collar sat perfectly. “Remember,” he said gently, “the success of tonight depends on subtlety. Keep your wits about you, and trust each other.”

Karlach laughed, adjusting her fiery mask with a flourish. “Subtlety? That’s not exactly our strong suit, but I suppose we can try!”

The townhouse hummed with the final preparations – the shuffle of shoes, the soft click of clasps, the murmur of last-minute instructions. Outside, the evening air was crisp, and the city streets were already alive with the glow of lanterns and the faint echo of music from distant gatherings.

Astarion took Tessira’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, his crimson eyes pining her beneath his gold and black mask. “Whatever happens tonight,” he murmured, voice low, “I am here. Watching. Protecting. Your silent guardian, as I promised.”

Tessira smiled, leaning into him for a brief, reassuring kiss. “And I will make it count. For us.”

As the carriage wheels began to creak and the horses pawed impatiently at the cobblestones, the group moved toward the door, stepping into the night – elegance and purpose intertwined, ready to face the glittering danger of the masquerade.

–

The carriage drew to a halt before the grand steps of the masquerade hall, lanterns casting a warm, golden glow over the polished stone. Music spilled into the street, a lilting symphony of strings and brass, mingling with the murmur of arriving guests. Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Astarion, and Tessira stepped down, their cloaks brushing the ground, masks in place, anticipation threading through the air.

The interior of the ballroom dazzled: crystal chandeliers hung like frozen constellations, reflecting light across polished floors and ornate walls. Nobles in extravagant masks and gowns moved in graceful patterns, laughter and conversation blending with the music into a living tapestry of elegance and intrigue.

Varcellis was already there, a figure of commanding presence, his dark mask and tailored coat setting him apart from the swirling crowd. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the newcomers, settling first on Tessira. A faint smile curved his lips.

“Tessira,” he said, stepping forward, voice smooth, “I am so pleased you are here, and your companions.” He halted for a second, dark eyes scanning the group, “Ah, I recognise that scent, it’s a pleasure to meet the male whose scent decorated Tessira like a perfume upon our first meeting.” His gaze flicked to Astarion with a subtle, knowing glint, lingering just long enough to test the waters.

Astarion remained perfectly still, expression unreadable, eyes narrowing slightly as he inclined his head but said nothing. The firelight from the chandeliers caught the curve of his fangs, a reminder that he was no ordinary courtier.

Tessira, however, met Varcellis with a teasing tilt of her head, letting a faint smirk play on her lips. “Oh, as I assured you, Astarion is nothing but a close friend,” she said flippantly, giving him the satisfaction of taking her delicate hand, which he lowered to brush gently with his lips. Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes – Ah yes just a close friend, not her husband to be. His inner thoughts snapped.

“The honour is entirely mine, Lady Tessira, to have you hear once again” he said, lips brushing the back of her hand with practiced elegance, before letting it go. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, then shifted to Karlach and Wyll, bowing slightly. “And what a pleasure it is to meet the Blade of Avernus and the Demonsbane. Karlach, I was delighted to hear that your… infernal engine has been restored. And Wyll, your reputation precedes you as Ulder Ravenguard's son. Perhaps someday soon you can make an introduction for me.”

Karlach exchanged a quick glance with Wyll, eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Wait… how does he know all that?” she whispered under her breath, barely audible over the murmuring guests.

Varcellis’s smile widened, faintly predatory. “I make it my business to know, my dear Karlach.”

His eyes flicked back to Astarion, the warmth in his tone fading like a mask slipping. “And you, Astarion… I know exactly who, and what, you are. The vampire spawn who escaped Cazador Szarr. Clever, elusive… yet perhaps we have some catching up to do.”

Astarion’s hand twitched ever so slightly at his side, but he remained silent a moment longer, then spoke, voice low, sharp, threaded with bitter resentment. “So one power-hungry vampire lord merely replaces another. Cazador, Varcellis… and the world goes on, as if nothing matters.”

Tessira’s fingers tightened around his arm, sensing the tension in his tone. She shifted slightly next to him, concern flickering in her eyes.

Varcellis let out a soft, amused laugh, tilting his head. “Ah, I had hoped you would be… spirited, Astarion,” he said, eyes gleaming beneath his mask. “I will enjoy seeing more of you tonight, watching that fire you keep so well hidden. You and I, we will have… interesting discussions, I think.”

Astarion’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk, predatory yet restrained. Tessira exhaled quietly, leaning in close to his ear, grounding him with a whispered, “Stay with me. Remember your promise.”

Astarion inclined his head subtly, his gaze never leaving Varcellis, and murmured softly, “Always, my love. Always in the shadows, watching.”

With measured grace, the group followed Varcellis further into the ballroom, golden lantern light dancing across masks and gilded walls. The music swelled, laughter and murmured intrigues mingling with the scent of perfume and candle wax. Tonight, every glance, every gesture, every word could shift the delicate balance of power, and Astarion’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, ensured he would not let Tessira face it alone.

The ballroom stretched before them like a sea of glittering masks and whispered intrigue. Tessira moved with effortless grace, weaving through clusters of nobles, her laughter ringing lightly like a bell over the music. Varcellis kept pace beside her, a hand lightly at the small of her back, his eyes attentive, calculating, but amused by her teasing flares and witty asides.

“Perhaps a drink, Lady Tessira?” Varcellis’ voice dripped with desire.

“I assure you, I am no Lady, but I would enjoy a refreshment.” Tessira smiled coyly, her gaze catching on Astarion as Varcellis led her to the drinks table. Astarion’s hand balled into a fist at his side, his jaw clenched.

“Relax, Astarion. We’ve all got her tonight, you need to focus.” Wyll soothed, sensing the tension radiating off Astarion’s body.

From his vantage near the edge of the dance floor, Astarion’s gaze never left her. He leaned against a carved pillar, posture rigid, every muscle taut as if prepared to spring at the slightest provocation. Shadowheart and Wyll flanked him, their masks obscuring expressions that still betrayed subtle awareness of his tension.

Karlach and Gale moved across the ballroom’s polished floor in a waltz, swirling through the dancers in practiced rhythm. Gale’s hands rested lightly on Karlach’s waist as they twirled, her laughter carrying across the hall. The movement, the joy, the music, it all contrasted sharply with the coiled rigidity of Astarion’s form.

“She’s… captivating,” Astarion muttered under his breath, eyes tracking Tessira’s every gesture, the sway of her mesh skirt and the glint of her black corset catching the lantern light. His jaw tightened, fangs just barely visible in the corner of his mouth.

Wyll leaned slightly closer, voice low and meant to calm. “It’s all an act, Astarion. She’s charming the nobles, yes, but she’s not alone. You’re here, watching. Nothing she’s doing surprises me.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, simply folding his arms across his chest. His attention flicked to Varcellis every time the man leaned just a little too close or let a hand linger a beat too long. Each laugh Tessira shared, each whispered word, tightened the coil of tension within him.

Shadowheart’s arms were crossed, mask tilted slightly as she observed him. “You do realise,” she said in a low murmur, “that being tense and rigid isn’t going to make her safer. You’re not exactly blending into the scenery.”

“I am observing,” Astarion replied, voice clipped, a flicker of irritation crossing his sharp features. “I am ensuring she is not threatened. There is a difference.”

Shadowheart offered a small, reassuring grin. “I know, I know. But trust me, trust her, she has a plan. Every laugh, every move she makes across that floor, it’s exactly what she intends. You don’t have to intervene, as promised. You just… stay the guardian, silently.”

Astarion’s jaw tightened again, but he allowed himself a brief exhale, shifting his stance slightly. “A silent guardian,” he murmured, more to himself than to Wyll or Shadowheart. His eyes, sharp and dark, never left Tessira as she glided past Varcellis, the two of them laughing lightly, drawing attention from the surrounding nobles without ever seeming obvious.

From across the room, the sway of the dance, the clinking of glasses, and the faintly perfumed whispers of the crowd created a web of motion and distraction. Tessira was in the center of it, commanding attention with charm and confidence, while Astarion remained on the periphery, taut, coiled, and ready should any threat arise.

Shadowheart smirked slightly, voice low. “You’re going to have a lot of fun tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am ready for what must be done,” Astarion murmured, lips pressing into a thin line. “And nothing will reach her. Not while I am here.”

Wyll clapped him lightly on the shoulder, voice softer now. “Good. That’s exactly the spirit. Now try to relax a little… at least enough to enjoy the view.”

Astarion’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile, but his posture remained rigid. His eyes tracked every move, every gesture Tessira made across the ballroom, and in the shadows of the masked crowd, he waited – silent, vigilant, a predator coiled around the woman he loved.

A sudden shift in the orchestra’s tempo caught the attention of the ballroom. The flowing waltz and swirling melodies gave way to a sharp, sultry rhythm: a tango. Brass and strings cut through the air with staccato precision, the music demanding focus, heat, and controlled tension.

Varcellis’s gaze locked onto Tessira, and with a small, deliberate gesture, he offered his hand. She accepted, rising gracefully from her place among the nobles. The crowd seemed to part subtly around them, as if sensing the electric tension between the two.

He led her onto the polished dance floor, his hand firm at her back, guiding her into the rhythm. Tessira’s mesh skirt swirled, her sheer sleeves catching the light as they moved in tight, precise steps. The tango demanded coordination, control, and intensity, and they moved with effortless synchronisation, each glance and brush of skin accentuating the dangerous intimacy of the dance.

From the sidelines, Astarion’s jaw tightened. Every controlled sway of Tessira’s body against Varcellis was a knife-edge of anxiety for him. Finally, unable to remain on the periphery any longer, he turned toward Shadowheart.

“Shall we?” he murmured, extending a hand, the flicker of a smile teasing his lips.

Shadowheart’s smirk was sharp, amused, but she accepted. They moved onto the dance floor together, her hands sliding over his shoulders as he guided her into the tango’s exacting rhythm. Step, pivot, dip, turn – muscle memory and careful control made the movements appear natural, yet precise.

Even as he executed the tight, sensual moves with Shadowheart, Astarion’s eyes never left Tessira. Every twist, every close step she took with Varcellis, pulled his focus like a magnet. He adjusted his hold, tightened a turn, keeping the dance flawless, all while keeping Tessira in his gaze.

Tessira, aware of Astarion at the edge of the floor, allowed herself a fleeting, private smile. His presence anchored her, even across the crowd, even as the heat of the tango pressed her body close to Varcellis’s. Their steps were fluid, passionate, but measured, a show for the elites, a dangerous game where every motion was calculated.

The couples moved in parallel, mirrors of controlled sensuality. Wyll and Karlach circled nearby, weaving through the crowd in their own fluid rhythm, while the orchestra’s sharp strings and emphatic beats carried every step with urgency.

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line as he guided Shadowheart through a particularly close pivot, his arms rigid with barely restrained tension. Shadowheart, sensing his focus, let a teasing glint enter her gaze, playing along with the choreography but aware of his divided attention.

Tessira’s laugh, soft and musical, reached him across the floor, and his fists clenched ever so slightly around Shadowheart. He adjusted a dip, keeping her balanced, all the while his eyes tracking Tessira’s every glance and tilt of her head. The ballroom seemed to shrink around him; every motion on the floor was a thread in a web of desire, danger, and careful observation.

Varcellis’s gaze lingered on Tessira, but he, too, moved with calculated control, the intensity of the tango making the dance both a performance and a test. Tessira matched him step for step, the mesh of her skirt brushing subtly against his legs, her laughter and tilt of the head hiding the precise intent in her movements.

Astarion, feeling the heat of both the dance and his own vigilance, murmured under his breath to Shadowheart, “Stay close. Watch carefully. I cannot take my eyes off her.”

Shadowheart’s smirk widened, but she tightened her hold and matched his rhythm. “I’ve got you,” she murmured back, understanding the tension underlying every movement.

And so the two couples moved, a pair of carefully choreographed storms across the ballroom, sensual and precise, every step a combination of performance, protection, and the quiet, burning intensity of unspoken devotion. Tessira in Varcellis’s arms, Shadowheart in Astarion’s, yet Astarion’s gaze remained firmly, painfully, on the woman he loved, as if the tango itself had become a battlefield of desire, restraint, and silent vigilance.

The orchestra shifted again, a subtle, melodic change threading through the sharp tension of the tango. Brass softened, strings rippled with a lyrical fluidity, and the choreography of the ballroom adapted. With a practiced flourish, the music dictated partner exchanges, and the female dancers were spun elegantly into the arms of new partners.

Tessira found herself guided away from Varcellis’s firm hold and, with a practiced pivot, landed in Wyll’s arms. He was an exceptional dancer, every step precise, his movements strong and confident, yet careful not to overwhelm. His eyes flicked to hers with a quick, silent check. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, the words carried in the subtle movement of the dance rather than spoken aloud.

Tessira allowed herself a brief smile, tilting her head to meet his gaze behind his black mask. “I’m fine,” she whispered, her hand brushing lightly against his as they moved seamlessly through the intricate steps. “Just enjoying the music… and keeping my balance.”

Wyll’s expression softened slightly, satisfied, but he didn’t let his focus waver. The ballroom’s swirl of motion required attention, and every turn, every pivot had to be precise. Tessira matched him perfectly, her mesh skirt flowing in sync with the music, and the sway of her corseted body making her movements appear both effortless and deliberate.

“Astarion is on edge,” Wyll warned softly, dipping Tessira smoothly.

“I expected as much, considering he’s now on the dance floor and that man does not dance.” Tessira smiled softly, moving with Wyll in time with the music.

“I’ve got him, it’s natural for him to be worried – you’re his future wife in the arms of another man.”

“I know,” Tessira bit her lip, “I can’t make this easier for him.”

“Like I said, we’ve got him. You focus on your task, and after tonight everything will be as it should be.” Wyll smiled softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Across the floor, Karlach spun into Astarion’s arms, her weight landing lightly but firmly against him. His jaw tightened at the sudden closeness, but he remained composed, guiding her through the steps with a measured control that belied the tension in his body.

Karlach’s eyes flicked to his, concern clear despite the elegance of the tango. “You’re tense,” she murmured with a half-smile, letting her voice ride the music so only he could hear.

“I am observing,” Astarion replied, his lips curving just faintly into a smirk, his eyes never leaving Tessira’s direction as she moved with Wyll across the floor. “As I must.”

Karlach’s smile softened. “Good. Just… don’t forget to enjoy the dance,” she teased lightly, adjusting her step to match the rhythm more closely, her hands firm on his shoulders but understanding the silent vigilance in his movements.

The two pairs moved across the floor in a swirl of silk, mesh, and finely tailored doublets, spins and pivots timed perfectly to the melodic shift. Tessira allowed herself a flicker of confidence, leaning into Wyll’s hold with a subtle grace, all the while keeping her eyes aware of the distance to Varcellis, reading every glance.

Astarion, despite the precise choreography with Karlach, kept his gaze sharp on Tessira, every movement she made, every step she took, weighted with his silent watch. Even as the tango demanded closeness and fluidity, his presence was taut, protective, coiled around her in invisible threads.

Wyll’s quick check-in had reassured her, letting her relax fractionally, but she still felt the electricity of Astarion’s attention, the undercurrent of tension that kept her aware of every shadow, every gaze, every subtle threat across the ballroom.

Karlach’s hands adjusted slightly on Astarion’s shoulders, noting the coiled strength in him, the focus in his eyes. “I’ve got your back, just as you’ve got hers,” she whispered, letting the rhythm guide her words, and he responded with the faintest nod, lips tightening, eyes still locked on Tessira.

The music continued to swell and ripple, guiding the dancers in a delicate, sensual ballet. Partners changed, spins flowed into pivots, and yet through it all, Tessira and Astarion were acutely aware of each other, even across the floor, their silent communication threading through the music and movement, each step a balance of elegance, danger, and devotion.

The orchestra shifted once more, the music weaving through intricate rhythms that called for swift pivots and daring spins. Tessira, in Wyll’s stronghold, felt the current of the tango sweep her into the next maneuver, a spin designed to pair her with another partner.

Tessira twirled across the floor, the music weaving around her, and somehow, as if drawn by an invisible thread, she found herself in Astarion’s arms. There was no pause, no conscious thought, only the gentle certainty of his hold, the strength of him grounding her. Her body fit against his with a familiar ease, and the warmth radiating from him made her forget the world beyond the dance. Every subtle shift, every shared breath, felt perfectly synchronised, as though the room had arranged itself for this single, suspended moment.

Gale, noticing the natural shift, took Shadowheart’s hand without hesitation, letting the rhythm sweep them onward, while Tessira remained quietly enveloped in Astarion’s steady, reassuring presence.

Tessira’s body leaned naturally into him, the close press of their torsos masked by the elegance of the tango. He led with subtle shifts of weight, guiding her through intricate turns and sweeping steps, their feet tracing precise, synchronized patterns across the polished floor.

At a sudden, fluid motion, he swept her into a slow, dramatic dip. Her head tilted back, hair cascading like a river of silk, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Their lips brushed – an almost-kiss, electric and fleeting – both painfully aware they could not indulge here, not in front of Varcellis and the gathered guests. Yet the hunger, the longing, was undeniable, charged in every inch of their bodies pressed together.

Leaning slightly, voice low and intimate, he murmured against her ear, words meant only for her:

“I love you. The way you move, the way you dance, it’s poetry, and it takes my breath every time.”

A flicker of a smile curved her lips as she responded, just barely audible over the music, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder. “Keep playing along, my love. You’re doing wonderfully. Truly… it’s almost too easy to watch you.”

He allowed himself the faintest indulgence of satisfaction, eyes locking with hers for a heartbeat before returning to the steps of the tango, guiding her with flawless precision. Each turn drew her closer, each dip sent a thrill racing through her, and their rhythm became a private language: daring, fluid, intimate. The ballroom blurred around them, gilded walls, sparkling masks, and the swirl of dancers were nothing more than background to their connection, subtle, electric, and filled with the tension of unspoken desire.

“I just can’t stop loving you, you are so beautiful Tessira. Truly, a vision.” Astarion murmured.

“Astarion,” she warned playfully, “don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Oh but perhaps I take delight in knowing you cannot kiss me, but so desperately want to.” He whispered, lips brushing against her ear and sending a current of electricity through her body.

Tessira shivered at the brush of his lips, though she held her composure, feigning exasperation. “You are insufferable,” she whispered back, letting her hand drift just slightly along the line of his chest, teasing, testing.

Astarion’s grin was wicked, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. “Insufferable? My love, I prefer irresistible.” He guided her into another tight spin, pressing just enough for the friction to make her pulse race, then eased her back into his arms with the elegance of a practiced predator.

Her laughter, soft and melodic, slipped past her lips despite herself. “I suppose that is true,” she admitted, leaning into him deliberately, the curve of her body pressing lightly against his. “But it is terrible of you to make me feel like this in front of everyone.”

He lowered his forehead to hers, voice a teasing murmur against her temple. “Terrible? Or… delightfully tormenting? Perhaps a little of both, my dear Tessira.” He traced a fingertip along her arm, following the line of her shoulder, each touch sending sparks where it lingered.

She tilted her head, daring him, letting her breath mingle with his, feeling the heat of his body as the tango carried them seamlessly across the floor. “You are wicked,” she whispered, half warning, half confession.

“And you… irresistible,” he countered, his lips dangerously close to hers, brushing against her jaw with every movement, eyes glinting with mischief and desire. “But alas… here we are, dancing while the world watches. You, my love, are mine for these stolen moments alone.”

The music swelled, and their steps became more daring, spins and dips executed with a fluidity that left Tessira breathless. Every brush, every whisper, every calculated touch built the tension between them, unspoken yet palpable, a private storm of desire hidden in plain sight among the glittering masquerade.

The music shifted again, pulling Tessira toward Varcellis for another spin. With effortless grace, she allowed herself to be spun away from Astarion, letting the rhythm carry her back into Varcellis’s hold.

Astarion’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he didn’t move after her.

Tessira, now with Varcellis, allowed herself a brief, private glance over her shoulder at Astarion. His dark gaze, sharp and unwavering, followed her across the floor. The tension in his posture, the silent promise in his eyes, was as much a part of the dance as her own carefully timed spins and curves.

Varcellis, unaware of the subtle communication passing between the lovers, held Tessira close, moving in perfect harmony with the tango, yet she felt the invisible tether of Astarion’s attention, steady and unyielding.

For a fleeting moment, amidst the swirl of silk and mesh, the heat of the music, and the eyes of the ballroom, Tessira allowed herself to savor the sensation of being both in control and under the watchful protection of the man she loved. Every spin, every pivot, every brush of fabric across the polished floor was part of the delicate game they were playing, a dangerous ballet where desire, vigilance, and strategy intertwined seamlessly.

Astarion followed the rhythm, positioning himself carefully to meet the next partner rotation – and froze as he found himself spun into the arms of another female. His eyes widened in instant recognition.

“Elivra,” he breathed under his mask, tone low, almost a hiss.

The courtesan from Sharess’ Caress regarded him with a sly, knowing smile, her movements perfectly timed to the tango’s rhythm. “Astarion,” she purred, voice dripping with practiced charm. “What an unexpected… pleasure.”

Horror rippled through him. Elivra was not just any courtesan; she knew Tessira’s plan. She knew the stakes, knew the objective of tonight, and her proximity now – dancing with him so closely – was a dangerous threat. Every step, every turn, every brush of their bodies carried the risk that she might reveal, or sabotage, what Tessira had worked so carefully to conceal.

Astarion’s jaw tightened, fangs just visible beneath his mask, and his eyes flicked once toward Tessira, who was moving smoothly across the floor with Varcellis, laughter ringing out as if nothing were amiss. His protective instinct coiled like a steel spring.

Elivra’s gaze lingered on him, amusement glinting behind the mask, as if she already sensed his inner turmoil. “You look… tense,” she said, letting her hand rest lightly on his shoulder, guiding the steps with flawless precision. “Relax. Enjoy the dance, Astarion. Or perhaps you’re worried about someone else on this floor?”

Every fibre in Astarion’s body screamed caution. He maintained the measured, tight movements required by the tango, but his mind raced, calculating, Elivra could not, would not, compromise Tessira tonight. He needed to anticipate her, to control the dance without revealing his awareness of her knowledge.

“Always in motion,” he murmured, his voice low enough to be lost to the music, but sharp enough to send a clear warning beneath the velvet tones. His hold tightened just slightly, ensuring that the dance remained under his guidance, every pivot a silent assertion of control.

Elivra’s lips curved in a predatory smile, clearly aware of his recognition and the subtle warning in his posture. “Ah, still as vigilant as ever,” she murmured, her eyes glinting with unspoken amusement. “I’ll admit, I rather enjoy the tension.”

Astarion’s gaze flicked to Tessira again, ensuring she was still manoeuvring safely, still in control, still unobserved in her private game with Varcellis. His lips pressed into a thin line, mask hiding the storm of protective instinct and dread that threatened to show through.

Even as the tango carried them in seamless, sensual movements across the floor, Astarion’s mind was alert, every sense tuned to Tessira, to Elivra, to the subtle threats that could unravel their carefully laid plans. The dance had become more than a performance, it was a battlefield of glances, intentions, and unspoken danger, and Astarion was determined to ensure Tessira emerged unscathed.

Chapter Text

The tango’s music carried the dancers in tight, precise sweeps across the ballroom. Tessira, now back in Varcellis’s hold after a spin, allowed herself to be led toward the eastern side of the floor, moving under the chandeliers’ glittering light. She noticed around Varcellis’s neck hung the amulet, its chain catching the glow and a brilliantly cut gem resting just above his chest, radiating an almost imperceptible warmth.

Astarion’s eyes tracked Tessira instantly, muscles coiled as Elivra guided him through the tango. He felt every deliberate step she took, every sway of her hips, and his grip on the slim woman tightened subtly, even as he moved with flawless precision.

Tessira, letting the rhythm carry her, allowed her fingers to brush lightly against the amulet, careful to keep the motion casual. Her eyes flicked up to meet Varcellis’s, a mixture of amusement and intrigue curling her lips. “Ah,” she murmured, barely above the music, “so this is the famed Amulet.”

Varcellis’s gaze followed hers, a faint, predatory smile curling his lips. “Indeed,” he said, voice smooth and low, meant only for her ears. “A relic of considerable power. It grants the wearer the ability to walk unburned in the sun – a treasure long sought, coveted only by those clever enough to reach it.” He leaned slightly closer, the scent of fine perfume and leather masking the faint undertone of something darker. “Few have touched it. Fewer still understand its value.”

Tessira’s fingers lingered for a fraction longer, grazing the amulet with deliberate care, careful not to draw attention. “I can see why,” she said lightly, masking the tension tightening around her chest. Her eyes flicked toward Astarion, scanning for any sign that he had noticed her private acknowledgment of the amulet. His dark gaze met hers across the floor, every inch of his posture radiating silent, watchful vigilance.

Elivra, sensing the subtle tension, let her hand linger a beat longer on Astarion’s shoulder, her sly smile playing at the edges of her lips. “I see Tessira watches you closely,” she murmured, voice teasing, glancing toward Tessira. “I rather enjoy watching her squirm… though, of course, I would never—” Her words trailed, leaving the implication hanging.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, but he did not break rhythm. Every turn, every pivot with Elivra was calculated, controlled, each movement precise, yet his attention never wavered from Tessira. His jaw tightened imperceptibly as he watched her fingers trace the Amulet, noting her subtle gestures, her careful control, the way she masked intent behind the grace of the dance.

Tessira, feeling his gaze, allowed herself a small, reassuring smile, tilting her head just slightly. The moment was brief, intimate despite the distance, a reminder that his silent protection surrounded her, even here in the swirl of dancers and masked intrigue.

Varcellis’s voice dropped again, a low murmur meant only for her. “Do you understand its significance?”

“Yes,” Tessira said, voice light but controlled. “I do. And I can see why it is so… desired.” Her fingers withdrew, and she allowed herself to be spun away, carried along the current of the dance back into Varcellis’s arms, her composure flawless.

Across the floor, Astarion’s dark gaze never left her. Even as the steps with Elivra demanded his perfect attention, the tiniest twitch in her fingers, the subtle brush of silk against metal, registered with his predator’s precision. Every measured move, every glance Tessira made toward the Amulet was cataloged in his mind, and his body coiled like a spring, ready to act should anything threaten her.

The orchestra’s music swelled, the dance building into a fevered, urgent rhythm. Every note demanded precision, intensity, and heat, carrying the dancers across the ballroom in a blur of swirling skirts, polished shoes, and tight embraces.

Tessira, still in Varcellis’s arms, felt the crescendo of the dance through the tips of her fingers. Her movements remained flawless, but a subtle tension began to coil in her chest, one she could not entirely mask. Across the floor, Astarion, in Elivra’s hold, was a coiled storm of control and restraint, but the courtesan’s deliberate closeness, the way she leaned into him during spins, the way her hand lingered on his back with just a touch more pressure than necessary, began to test his composure.

Elivra’s movements were fluid, precise, and teasingly intimate. Every pivot, every dip, every tight step pressed into him a little more than etiquette demanded, and she let her laughter, low and musical, brush against his ear. “You dance beautifully, Astarion,” she purred. “So strong, so controlled… yet still vulnerable to the rhythm.”

Astarion’s jaw clenched, fangs barely catching the light beneath his mask. He maintained his control, his steps flawless, but the heat rising in his chest, the irritation, and the undeniable tension at her calculated closeness radiated outward.

Tessira’s fingers twitched ever so slightly against Varcellis, the faintest flicker of jealousy tightening her chest. She had seen Astarion intercept her spins earlier, had felt the heat of his attention even across the room, but now, watching him manoeuvre so intimately with Elivra, the sting of possessiveness prickled at her. She allowed herself a controlled, deliberate tilt of her head, letting her laughter carry a little sharper, a little brighter, subtly reminding Varcellis, and the ballroom, that she was still very much in command of her own charm.

Elivra, sensing the subtle ripples of tension she stirred, leaned in even closer during a spin, whispering teasingly, “Your companion watches closely, doesn’t she? So fierce, so protective…”

Astarion’s grip tightened fractionally, every move with her perfectly executed, but his eyes flicked with burning intensity toward Tessira. “She always does,” he murmured under his breath, voice low, a promise and a warning. The words were lost to the music, but their meaning reverberated across the floor.

Tessira’s lips pressed together briefly, a sharp inhale betraying her reaction, though her smile never faltered. She adjusted her steps with Varcellis, the tiniest glimmer of steel behind her eyes, asserting herself as the centre of his attention even as Astarion danced under Elivra’s teasing hold.

Astarion, even as he maintained the tango’s perfection, felt his pulse hammer with unspoken fury and protective instinct. He was coiled, controlled, yet every deliberate move Elivra made to provoke, to tease, to press into him, sent a flicker of white-hot desire and warning toward Tessira. She, in turn, responded with a flick of her eyes, a subtle shift in posture, letting him know she was aware, alert, and just as fiery in her jealousy as he was in his vigilance.

And in that moment, the crescendo of music, the perfection of steps, the heat of proximity, and the electric undercurrent of desire, the ballroom became a battlefield of control, affection, and silent, dangerous games. Tessira in Varcellis’s arms, Astarion with Elivra, both lovers acutely aware of the other, the tension stretching to its breaking point as the final notes of the tango approached.

The orchestra’s final notes of the tango surged through the ballroom, the crescendo of strings and brass carrying the dancers into a final, dramatic pivot. Tessira’s skirt swirled around Varcellis as he held her close, the glow of chandeliers glinting off the Amulet’s pedestal nearby. Every eye in the room was on the dancers, but none more focused than Astarion’s, coiled in Elivra’s arms across the floor.

As the music cut to a lingering, suspended note, Elivra leaned in, her lips crashing deliberately against Astarion’s in a kiss designed to provoke, intimate and teasing. A sharp intake of breath escaped Tessira, frozen in place for a heartbeat as her hand twitched against Varcellis. Her heart clenched, a flicker of raw, possessive jealousy igniting behind her controlled expression.

Astarion’s dark eyes widened in surprise for the briefest instant – but his instincts, honed over centuries, took over. He pushed Elivra away with a controlled, swift motion, his fangs just catching the light beneath his mask. The force of his movement was enough to startle her without breaking the elegance of the dance, leaving the ballroom oblivious to the personal clash.

“What are you playing at?” Astarion demanded, voice low, sharp, a dangerous undertone threading through the words. Every muscle in his body radiated tension, protective fire burning for Tessira even across the floor.

Elivra’s sly smile didn’t waver. She tilted her head, letting the mask hide the full glint of her amusement. “I’m playing my own game tonight, darling,” she purred, voice dripping with practiced charm. “The tango allows for… liberties. And I intend to take mine.”

Astarion’s jaw clenched, his posture alert and tense like a coiled spring. Across the room, Tessira’s eyes flashed, the brief moment of jealousy coiling into determination. She allowed a light, teasing laugh to escape, brushing it as a casual sound into Varcellis’s ear, but every line of her posture and every spark in her gaze screamed that she, too, had her own game.

Elivra’s smirk deepened, sensing the tension she had ignited between the pair, yet she maintained perfect composure, spinning lightly to regain her poise in the final moments of the dance. Astarion’s hands remained at her waist, guiding yet ready, muscles taut like drawn steel. His gaze flicked once to Tessira, brief, fiery, protective, and then back to Elivra, warning and measured all at once.

Tessira’s lips pressed into a thin, knowing line. She had seen enough. The kiss, the teasing, the danger – it only sharpened her resolve. She allowed herself to be spun again in Varcellis’s orbit, masking her racing heartbeat with perfect composure, all while Astarion’s vigilance remained fixed across the floor.

Elivra’s eyes lingered on him, a challenge in their depths, but Astarion did not falter. The dance ended, the music fading, and the ballroom erupted into polite applause, oblivious to the private storm that had just unfolded. He gave Elivra a final, controlled shove back, lips pressing into a tight line, and whispered under his mask, “Do not forget who I am, or what is at stake tonight.”

Elivra tilted her head, voice soft but teasing, as if sharing a secret with no one else. “I never forget, Astarion. But tonight… I play my own hand.”

Astarion’s eyes darted once more toward Tessira. Her gaze met his, sharp and searing, a flicker of anger flashing behind her carefully composed expression. In that single exchange, unspoken words passed between them – warning, frustration, and the tension of love tested by the dangerous games unfolding around them.

The dancers gradually dispersed, returning to polite mingling or retreating to the sidelines. Tessira excused herself from Varcellis’s hold with a practiced grace, though a storm of anger simmered beneath her composed exterior. Astarion immediately stepped back from Elvira, releasing her, his jaw tight, eyes still flicking toward Tessira, every muscle coiled.

Wyll, having noticed the tension across the floor, approached Astarion with an incredulous glance. “What in the Hells was that kiss all about?” he asked, voice low but edged with disbelief.

Astarion’s gaze flicked toward him, calm but controlled, tone measured. “I… don’t know,” he admitted, letting the ambiguity hang. “I did not seek it.”

Before Wyll could respond, Tessira stormed toward them, skirts swishing in a hurry, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Astarion! What in the world were you thinking, dancing with her – and kissing her?!” Her voice cut sharply, carrying over the faint murmurs of the departing dancers.

Astarion, caught off guard by the force of her approach but maintaining his composure, raised a hand in a subtle attempt to calm her. “Tessira – she kissed me,” he said quietly, his voice smooth, almost measured, but edged with warning.

Her eyes narrowed, the anger coiling tighter. “That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “You – did you respond? Did you kiss her back?!”

Astarion shook his head slowly, crimson eyes locking onto hers. “I did not seek it,” he repeated, emphasising the truth, though his posture remained tense, ready for any interference. “She made the move. I did not reciprocate.”

Tessira’s hand pressed briefly to her chest as if to steady herself, but her gaze remained sharp and furious.

Wyll stepped back slightly, hands raised in a half-apologetic gesture. “Look, Tessira,” he said cautiously, “it’s… complicated. But Astarion’s not the one playing games here. That was her move.”

Tessira’s glare didn’t waver, though a hint of uncertainty flickered in her eyes as she processed his words. Astarion, taking a measured step closer, let the intensity of his gaze convey what words could not. “I am here, and my focus is on you. Nothing else,” he said, voice low, controlled, but charged with the weight of his devotion and the silent warning to anyone who might threaten her.

Tessira’s lips pressed into a thin line, anger still simmering, but the tension between them softened slightly at the edges.

Tessira’s fists clenched lightly at her sides, jaw tight, as she glared at Astarion. “If this is your way of flaunting how good you are at flirting… because you’re jealous,” she snapped, voice sharp and cutting.

Astarion’s eyes darkened, the edges of his fangs catching the candlelight beneath his mask. “Careful, my love,” he shot back, voice low, controlled but charged with warning. “You’re treading a very fine line.”

Tessira opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Karlach stepped between them, hands raised slightly in a calming gesture. “Hey, hey,” she said, voice steady but firm. “Let’s cool it down, yeah? No need to make a scene in front of everyone – especially Varcellis.”

But Tessira’s glare remained fixed, her lips curving into a sharp, deliberate smile. “Let him look,” she said, voice carrying, yet perfectly controlled. “Let him see and think that Astarion means nothing to me.”

The words struck Astarion like a blow, and for a heartbeat, the tension coiled tighter in his chest. His crimson gaze flickered, raw emotion barely masked by the perfect composure he’d honed over centuries. Defense rose like a steel wall, and he responded with the faintest trace of snark, voice cutting though laced with hurt:

“Ah, yes, let him see, and let him wonder why a woman of such ‘indifference’ holds the most exquisite sway over my every thought.”

Tessira’s lips pressed into a tight line, satisfaction flickering across her features at the flicker of frustration she’d provoked, but she did not linger. With a graceful, practiced turn, she moved away from the small group, skirts swirling as she returned to Varcellis’s side, composure flawless, anger tempered by the knowledge of the game she was playing.

Astarion’s jaw clenched, hands tightening at his sides as he watched her go. The words, the glare, the intentional display – each cut sharply, yet his defenses rose instantly, coiling around the flicker of jealousy, the protective instinct, and the simmering desire to ensure Tessira remained safe at all costs.

Karlach, sensing the tension still radiating off him, gave a small, knowing shake of her head. “She’s a handful,” she murmured, just loud enough for Astarion to hear.

He gave a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, lips pressing into a tight line. “That she is,” he muttered, eyes following Tessira as she slipped back into the swirl of the ballroom, the Amulet and Varcellis’s presence looming at the center of her carefully orchestrated attention.

The air between Astarion and Tessira remained taut, a storm of unspoken words and simmering emotion, the heat of their bond sharper than any tango, more dangerous than any whispered threat – yet neither could step back from the game they were playing, both on and off the dance floor.

Tessira’s skirts swirled around her as she made her way back to Varcellis, her heels clicking lightly against the polished floor. Her eyes immediately caught sight of Elivra leaning close, whispering something in his ear with a practiced, seductive smile. A flicker of irritation and rivalry tightened Tessira’s chest, but she masked it behind a coy tilt of her head, voice light as she approached.

“Interrupting?” she asked, letting her words carry the perfect edge of playful challenge, her eyes locked on Elivra’s with a sparkle that was equal parts amusement and warning.

Varcellis looked up from the whispering pair, hands resting lightly on the small of Elivra’s back, his own grin smooth and predatory. “Of course not, darling,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “I believe you two know each other?”

Elivra’s smile widened, sharp and precise, the friendly veneer covering the undercurrent of challenge. “Oh, we know each other well,” she replied, tilting her head slightly, letting her gaze linger on Tessira with calculated intensity. “Though I must admit, it’s been some time since we last danced together in such… close quarters.”

Tessira’s eyes narrowed just fractionally, a glint of fire in her gaze. “Yes, well, I do hope your memories are fond, Elivra. I wouldn’t want them to be tarnished by a lapse in… etiquette,” she countered, voice honeyed but edged with steel.

Elivra’s laugh was soft, a teasing purr that carried across the small space between them. “Oh, I’m certain not,” she replied, letting the subtle undercurrent of menace thread through her words. “But one does enjoy a bit of… competition, doesn’t one?”

Tessira’s lips curved into a careful smile, eyes flicking toward Varcellis, ensuring he caught the tension, the spark of rivalry, without revealing any genuine weakness. “Competition,” she repeated lightly, letting the word hang in the air, “is always… invigorating.”

Varcellis’s laugh rang out, low and amused, as he watched the subtle joust. “Marvellous,” he said, swirling the goblet in his hand, “I do love watching clever women spar. The tension, the banter, the delicate threat of wit – it’s delightful.” His gaze flicked between the two, a predator clearly entertained by the display. “I suspect tonight’s entertainment has only just begun.”

Tessira tilted her head slightly, the faintest edge of steel behind her charm, eyes never leaving Elivra. “Then I shall ensure my moves are… memorable,” she said, voice a careful mix of challenge and civility.

Elivra’s smile widened, teeth just catching the candlelight. “Oh, I would expect nothing less, darling,” she replied smoothly, the rivalry between them sharpened yet perfectly under control. Friendly on the surface, but with every word and glance carrying the weight of unspoken contest.

Tessira allowed herself a delicate curtsey toward Varcellis, masking the spark of irritation behind a veneer of elegance. “Well,” she murmured lightly, “I suppose I should reacquaint myself with the object of our… attention.” Her hand moved just slightly toward the Amulet now on Varcellis’ chest, careful, measured, yet sending a subtle signal to Astarion that her focus was on the prize.

Varcellis’s laugh followed her movement, warm, predatory, and entirely entertained. “Splendid,” he said, voice low and teasing, eyes gleaming as he leaned back slightly. “Let the games continue.”

Elivra’s gaze drifted toward Astarion, just across the ballroom, and she leaned in, voice low but loud enough for Tessira to catch. “Your friend, Astarion, is remarkably attractive. So elegant, so skilled at dancing… and, I must say, quite a good kisser.”

Tessira’s jaw clenched, and her fingers pressed lightly to her side, her composure tested. She forced a casual, airy laugh, masking the flare of possessive anger. “Go ahead, then,” she said lightly, the words concealing the sharp edge beneath them. “Have at him.”

Elivra’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Oh, I just might try,” she said, letting the last word linger like a promise. “I could even take him home… see just how receptive he is in bed.”

Varcellis chuckled lightly, swirling the goblet in his hand. “I see no reason not to,” he said smoothly. “Two extraordinary creatures such as yourselves would make quite the pairing.”

Elvira’s laugh was like nails against Tessira’s skin.

Her teeth ground together at the words, lips pressed into a tight line as she seethed silently. She smiled faintly at Elivra, forcing her composure to remain flawless. “Well, if you think so,” she murmured, voice clipped, yet carefully courteous.

Elivra leaned in just a little closer, voice soft and provocative. “He was quite… receptive on the dance floor, you know. When I kissed him.”

Tessira’s chest tightened. For a heartbeat, disbelief and anger tangled together. Receptive? Her mind flashed back to the kiss and the tight, controlled way Astarion had pushed Elivra off. Her stomach sank. He lied to me. He said he did not reciprocate.

She clenched her hands at her sides, forcing a laugh that carried only the slightest trace of steel. “I see,” she said lightly, letting her words hang as she masked the storm of jealousy, possessiveness, and betrayal roiling within her. Varcellis chuckled again, entertained by the display, oblivious to the silent battle simmering between the two women – and the real depth of Tessira’s feelings for Astarion.

Tessira’s eyes flicked toward Astarion, still dancing across the room, and she felt the sharp sting of doubt creep in. But she could not falter – not here, not now. Composure was everything. With a subtle tilt of her head, she adjusted her skirts and moved closer to Varcellis, hiding her jealousy behind a veneer of elegance and purpose.

Elivra’s smirk lingered, sensing the undercurrent of tension, while Varcellis leaned back, utterly entertained. The dance of words, glances, and hidden emotion continued – each step a game, each glance a calculated strike – and Tessira’s mind whirred with plans to keep her eyes on the Amulet while her pulse raced over Astarion’s perceived betrayal.