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"This is great, I'm so happy for you both, but my companions and I did save you. Twice. And I'd love to be compensated for the work we've done." Tav stood before Oskar Fevras, painter of some renown, and his fiancée, Lady Jannath. The warlock was genuinely happy for the pair, of course, but she'd been looking forward to a more...material reward for all the literal blood and sweat that had gone into first liberating the artist from the Zhentarim, then rescuing him from a vengeful spirit. Nevermind the entire debacle of getting rid of a mummy lord.
"Of course!" the painter assured her, "Come upstairs to my atelier. I promise you'll leave with something priceless: immortality."
Tav very much doubted that Oskar's offer of "immortality" would be as satisfying as a nice pouch of gold, but she rolled her eyes and gestured for him to lead the way. "Yes, alright, we'll join you in a moment."
Oskar disappeared up the stairs, and Tav exchanged an exasperated look with Astarion, whose expression was equally unamused.
"We'll have a private word with Lady Jannath later," he murmured, and Tav nodded in agreement. The woman had a whole floor of valuables stored in safes and display cases, for gods' sakes! Surely she could bear to part with a few pieces of jewelry as payment for the safety of her dear Oskar.
Nevertheless, Tav climbed the flights of stairs to the artist's atelier, with Astarion, Shadowheart, and Wyll in tow. When they reached the top floor, Oskar greeted them with open arms and a wide smile.
"Here she is, the hero of the hour! Brushes are oiled, canvas is prepped, and you, my savior, will make a striking subject."
"You're going to...paint me?" Tav asked, realizing suddenly what Oskar had meant by "something priceless" as payment. She'd assumed he'd intended to let her pick a piece from the countless canvases stacked around his studio, but he meant to capture her likeness in a new painting altogether. The idea was honestly very appealing, considering she'd never in her life sat for more than a sketched portrait miniature. She smirked in self-satisfaction, and turned to gauge her friends' reactions, maybe crack a joke about how the whole of Faerûn should be so lucky to see her face in salons and galleries, when a thought suddenly occurred to her:
He should paint Astarion.
The grin slowly faded from her face, settling into a thoughtful quirk of her lips as the idea took hold, and she looked steadily into the eyes of the man she loved.
Astarion shifted uncomfortably under her unbroken gaze. "What, why are you looking at me? Do you need someone to make sure your hair looks alright before your portrait? Because, darling, a few unkempt strands are the least of your worries, considering the impressive amount of blood and dust you've mopped up today."
"What if he paints you, instead?" she asked.
The vampire spawn scoffed, caught off-guard, "Why would he paint me? You're the hero being commemorated," he waved off her suggestion with one hand, the other reflexively propping itself on his hip.
Tav looked back at Oskar. "Would you paint him instead of me?"
"If that is your wish, I'd be more than happy to accommodate. Any of you would be muse enough to inspire exhibition-worthy work," the painter answered, sweeping one hand in a gesture that encompassed their whole group.
"It's not a bad idea," Wyll offered from a short distance away, where he'd been studying a painting of a patriar. He turned his head and looked at the couple over his shoulder, one hand rubbing his stubble thoughtfully. "You'd cut a very fine figure on canvas, I'd wager. And there's the matter of, well - it might be nice to..." he trailed off, unsure of how sensitively he should phrase the end of his sentence.
"My love, you haven't seen your face in 200 years," Tav whispered, drawing close to Astarion, careful of hinting too loudly at anything that might betray his vampiric condition. She cupped his jaw in her hands, as much to keep him looking at her as to convey the tenderness of her feelings. "Would you like to?"
"Hah," was his response, more of a breathy sob than a laugh. His brows knitted together despite the smile he demanded remain in place. "Always full of surprises, aren't you?" He covered the back of one of her hands with his, turning his face to press a kiss to her palm. "Alright then," he mumbled against her skin.
"Might I suggest a change of wardrobe before you commit to the session?" Wyll chuckled.
"I don't know, the bloodstains feel right, somehow. More honest," Shadowheart added with a smirk.
"As long as you're, erm, comfortable," Oskar chimed in, "Though if you do want to freshen up first, I'm more than happy to wait. After all, it will be seen by generations to come."
"Then we'll be back first thing in the morning," Tav promised, turning to shake Oskar's hand.
"Excellent, I shall await your return," the painter beamed, and went back to his easel.
---
The upper rooms of the Elfsong were bustling the next morning. Astarion normally relished being the center of attention among his friends, but as they fussed over everything from clothes to makeup, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at having ever agreed to sit for a portrait.
"Gale, would you please just settle on something? I'm freezing over here," he groaned through clenched teeth, narrowing his eyes at the wizard in question. Astarion was clad in nothing more than his dressing gown, the relatively thin fabric doing little in the way of insulation against the cool morning temperatures.
"Now now, my friend, a good color story is crucial to the success of an ensemble, and your complexion does pose a bit of an unfamiliar challenge for me," Gale explained, not looking away from the selection of shirts he'd laid out across Astarion's bed, but waving a finger in the air anyway as he made his point.
"Oh gods, just put me in red or something and call it done," Astarion griped, plopping down onto a stool.
Gale finally looked over, regarding him for a beat before replying. "Seems a bit on the nose, doesn't it? Red? For a vampire?"
"Why mess with the classics?" he replied wryly.
"Fair point, but I was thinking something more along the lines of - " he plucked a shirt from the pile, stepping over to Astarion so he could hold it next to the elf's pale skin. "Hmm, yes, I think jade complements you quite nicely."
Astarion fought back a blush. "I'd look good in anything, no need for you to have wracked your brain over it so hard. Now shoo, give me some privacy so I can dress." He flicked his hands at Gale, who threw his hands up with a chuckle and strode out of the room.
---
A gentle knock rapped on the door as Astarion shrugged a jacket on, rich charcoal-colored jacquard fabric accented with silver thread and blue-green gemstone buttons.
"Come in," he called, starting to fasten the front. Tav cracked the door and scooted in, dressed in clean attire suitable for a social call. "Oh good, I half expected you to accompany me dressed either in your leathers or practically nothing at all, but you look surprisingly presentable," he snarked, arching an eyebrow at her as he fumbled with his cuffs.
Tav feigned a look of annoyance. "I could always change, it's not too late to pick something inappropriate for polite society." She stepped across the room to stand toe-to-toe with him, taking over the task of fastening his jacket cuffs. Astarion relaxed at the feel of the warmth radiating off her body. She lifted his hand to her lips when she finished, kissing his knuckles. "You look absolutely dashing," she remarked, lifting their clasped hands overhead and coaxing him into doing a little turn.
"I do, don't I? Someone should paint a picture," he joked, making sure to take his time showing off every angle as he turned, noting Tav's very evident appreciation with satisfaction. "My dear, if you keep looking at me like that, we'll never make it out of this room, much less back to the Jannath Estate," he purred with a smirk, pulling her into a close embrace, free hand finding its way to the small of her back as if he was about to waltz her around the room.
Tav laughed, blushing, "Don't tempt me! We can be on our way whenever you're ready."
"Oh, you're no fun. We'll put a pin in that."
---
The couple arrived at the Estate, welcomed by the steadfast Dragonborn doorman, and then by Lady Jannath herself. After some routine pleasantries, Tav and Astarion ascended once again to the atelier, where Oskar was busy preparing the surface of a canvas. The room smelled of linseed and turpentine.
"Ah, you've returned! And looking splendid, if you don't mind me saying so. Are you ready?" he asked, setting aside a long-handled paintbrush.
"Quite ready, thank you," Astarion assured him, while Tav nodded her greeting.
"I'm just here for moral support," she explained, earning a soft smile from the vampire. "Do you mind if I just do some reading, and perhaps watch you work?"
"I would be honored to have you as an audience. Now, my good sir, if you please," Oskar gestured toward a large backdrop occupying one wall of the small room, its surface softly painted to look like a sunrise. A low platform extended in front of it, and Astarion stepped up, shuffling a bit until he felt like he was squarely in the center. "Yes, stand yourself just there - perfect," Oskar coached from behind his easel, "Now, keep still, this won't take long, but do let me know if you need a break."
Astarion threw a glance over to Tav, who was settling into a high-backed chair in the corner, positioned so she would be able to see him but not so close that she'd be a distraction. She noticed his attention, and gave him an "OK" gesture, accompanied by a small shrug and a tilt of her head. He caught her meaning and nodded, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep breath before settling into a pose, willing the butterflies in his stomach to settle down.
---
A few hours into the session, Astarion realized that he and Oskar Fevras had very different definitions of "this won't take long." His feet ached, his neck was sore, and he longed to stretch out his limbs to relieve the tension that had built in them as he concentrated on remaining still. The only sounds in the atelier were the soft strokes of brush bristles on canvas, accompanied intermittently by the swiff of Tav turning a page in her book. He could only see her from the corner of his eye, but it was enough for him to have noticed that she'd been looking up every so often, gazing silently at his profile for a few minutes before ducking back into whatever she was reading. Just as he was about to relent and call for a break, Oskar spoke up.
"Aaaand - voila!" the painter exclaimed, causing both Astarion and Tav to jump in surprise.
"Ah," Astarion croaked, voice cracking from the long silence, "Ahem, I take it you've finished?"
"Indeed I have, come around for a look."
Astarion hesitated for a moment before stepping off the platform. The time had finally arrived, he'd be able to see his portrait. His own face. He swept his gaze around the room at the other works, unable to deny how detailed and lifelike they all were. Would his picture convey the same sense of realism? Would it reflect how he truly looked? He was excited, anxious, and unsure as he approached the easel.
"I hope you captured my best side. You better have made me look good- " his breath caught in his throat as he came around the other side of the canvas.
Gods, there he was.
He'd almost forgotten, but there he was.
"Oh," he breathed, reaching a hand out to the painting at first, but catching himself before he could mar the wet surface. Instead, his hand found its way slowly to his face, fingertips lightly tracing his cheekbones and jawline as his eyes followed the same contours so beautifully captured in rich, expressive oils before him. The artist had truly outdone himself, soft brushstrokes composing every detail, from the angle of his eyebrows, to his coiffed hair, even the tinge of pink on the edges of his ears, all perfectly and faithfully rendered.
By this point, Tav had crept over from her seat to join the two men, her eyes locked onto Astarion's face, watching him carefully as he took in the sight of the painting. She noticed his eyebrows draw together, his mouth slightly open as he regarded his portrait. She rounded the easel, eager to see the finished piece, and she understood why he'd fallen so silent. It looked exactly like him, down to the last freckle.
Priceless.
Her heart clenched for him, a person who had not seen his own face in two centuries, who didn't remember enough about his appearance to know who others saw when they looked at him. She'd tried many times to imagine how difficult it must be to lose something so taken for granted, and the look in Astarion's eyes spoke volumes. She moved closer to him, shoulders almost touching, and he unconsciously took her hand in his as if he needed to be grounded by the contact.
"My love?" she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.
"Tav, do I...is this me?"
"Of course it's you, my friend!" Oskar broke in, completely unaware of the solemnity of the moment. "And I never embellish, striving to capture the most lifelike visage of my subject. I can't imagine this is any different than what you see in the mirror."
"Oh, believe me," Astarion managed to choke out with a sardonic laugh, "I haven't seen myself like this in ages."
Oskar sighed, nodding sagely, "Yes, well, sometimes it does take an artist's eye to highlight a subject's true beauty, sometimes beauty they themselves cannot see!"
"It's wonderful, Oskar," Tav said, trying to cut his speech short. "Will we be able to take it home today?"
"Well, no - it will need to dry, and then there's varnishing. But what you can do today is give it a name. Something to capture the spirit in which it was created." He looked expectantly at the pair, who in turn looked at each other.
After a pause, Astarion turned to Oskar. "You know, I think a straightforward title is best: Portrait of Astarion Ancunin."
---
He was standing in the foyer again, studying the painting in the glow of candlelight. Tav had spotted him there several times over the past few days, as the others undoubtedly also had, but no one bothered him apart from a few initial comments.
"Truly masterful, it looks exactly like you," Gale had remarked in awe, inspecting the work closely.
"Aw, pal, now you can see how handsome you are, just like the rest of us see you!" Karlach had beamed through her tears of joy.
"Minsc does not know much of art, but Minsc does know a good picture when he sees it. And this, my friend, is a very good picture. It is like there are two Astarions. Hm, but Boo makes a good point that Baldur's Gate probably cannot handle two Astarions," came the glowing review from their Rashemaar friend.
But now he stood in front of it alone, gazing at it with a contented expression. Tav made her way over to stand with the elf, linking her arm in his.
"I think I prefer the real thing," she quipped.
"Oh, shut up, can't you see I'm having a moment?" he countered playfully, but quickly sobered again. "Tav, is this really what I look like? It's the person you see?"
She scanned carefully over the portrait, looking for any flaw or embellishment that didn't match the face she knew so well by now. "It's...you, I don't know that you could get a more realistic representation than this. Although, he always looks quite well-kempt, even when you don't," she teased.
"Rude, I always look this handsome, how dare you imply otherwise?" he pouted, nudging her shoulder.
Tav laughed, "Sorry, sorry, you know I can't help myself. Seriously though, it's you, down to the creases where you smile and the way your hair curls around your ears."
"Yes, you've mentioned those before."
"They're some of the features I find most attractive about you. Well, physically, at least," she mused, laying her head on his shoulder.
"All of this," he gestured to himself with one hand, "and that's what you choose to admire?" his tone was incredulous, but lighthearted.
"They're what make you you, Astarion. I'm so glad Oskar painted you so well."
"Why don't we head to bed, and you can tell me everything else you find attractive, darling. I'm dying to know." He turned them both around and began leading Tav toward their room at a leisurely pace.
"Oh, my love, it's a very long list, it will take all night."
