Chapter Text
The Elfsong Tavern was as busy as ever. Tankards knocked against scarred oak, drunken laughter rose above the scrape of a bard's fiddle, and smoke curled through the air, carrying the scents of ale, sweat, and roasted meat.
Tucked into a corner was Astarion and his friends, celebrating the defeat a nasty wizard name Lorroakan. The arrogant fool had threatened the safety of their ally, Dame Aylin. He wanted to steal her power to make himself immortal. If only the stupid bastard knew how much of a burden eternal life truly was. Astarion knew it all too well, being a vampire. He tried not to scowl as he thought about the man and focused on his friends. It had been exhausting fight, and the drink and conversation was a welcome relief. They needed some respite from their troubles. The real adventure was far from over. Illithid tadpoles still infected most of the group, and they had yet to challenge bigger enemies. Tonight, however, was for fun. At least, Astarion would try to have fun. He forced a smile when Karlach raised her ale and sloshed drink down her chest and Gale's sleeve. Everyone was smiling and laughing, exchanging witty barbs and stories, but beneath the joviality, Astarion was caught in a quieter battle of his own.
To his left sat Tav, their brave and often insufferably self-righteous leader. Tall and wiry, he was all long limbs and sharp angles, knocking into Astarion whenever he laughed too hard. He lounged back in his chair with careless ease, utterly absorbed in the group's banter. Every grin was effortless, every laugh unguarded. His grey eyes gleamed with mirth beneath dark, unruly hair. He had the sort of face that never seemed aware of how often people stared at it. Astarion had certainly stared enough in the beginning, and not out of affection. At least, not back then. Survival had been his only concern. Vampires were creatures out of nightmare tales made to frighten children and justify sharpened stakes. Some of their companions had wanted him dead the moment they learned what he was, and Astarion didn't blame them for it. Tav had stepped in immediately. Confident and commanding, he had simply decided Astarion would remain with the group and that had been the end of it. They were all infected with Illithid parasites and desperately needed every ally they could find. He attached himself to Tav quickly after that, all flirtation and easy charm, eager to secure his favour and protection. It worked beautifully. For a few glorious weeks, Tav had been thoroughly wrapped around his finger, right until his attention drifted toward Lae’zel instead. Astarion hadn’t taken it personally. His intentions had hardly been pure either. Love was something he’d long ago convinced himself he would never feel again. However, life had a habit of hurling unexpected cruelties into his path.
Directly opposite him sat the wise druid, Halsin. Good old Halsin. Endlessly patient and infuriatingly kind, the man had initially earned nothing but Astarion’s scorn. He was another altruistic do-gooder, eager to mend wounds and save strays. It was all very tedious, and he kept his distance. Then there was a night where they were the last pair around the campfire. Full elves like themselves did not sleep and simply needed a few hours of trance to restore their energy. Halsin began to talk, and to Astarion's surprise, he found himself captivated. He learned of the man's past. The druid carried demons of his own and understood what it meant to endure enslavement and every cruelty that came with it. Where the others often struggled to understand Astarion, Halsin seemed to read him effortlessly, recognising the pain and fear beneath honeyed words, flirtations, and scathing jabs. He would soothe and reassure Astarion when possible, and it was kind, it was frightening. It was lovely. The battles became another turning point, as he witnessed Halsin's ferocity first hand. There was savage strength beneath his gentleness. Flashes of barely restrained rage that sent shivers racing beneath Astarion's cold, pallid skin. It certainly helped that Halsin was handsome. By the gods, Astarion had never been blind to that fact. None of the group had ever seen another elf so fucking big. Even now, cramped into the tavern booth, Halsin’s worn doublet strained across his broad shoulders whenever he moved. He was built like an ancient oak: wide, powerful, solid with muscle softened only slightly by the healthy weight around his middle. His presence alone made Astarion feel unusually safe. Halsin made him feel sheltered in a way he had long since forgotten was possible. And yet, despite his size, there was nothing harsh in him. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to taking up space, but his voice, his expressions, and even his touch were impossibly gentle, warm as summer air.
It began subtly enough. A flutter of giddiness whenever those deep green eyes settled on him. The ridiculous urge to linger close by, hoping for another smile, another brush of attention. Before long, Astarion found himself gravitating toward Halsin without thinking, drawn in like some lovesick fool, and how he hated it. He felt like a pathetic little dog following at its master’s heels. He had belonged to a monster once already. He had sworn never again to hand someone that kind of power over him, but Halsin was different. Halsin was good. Gentle. Safe. Sometimes, in his weakest moments, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the druid’s lap, bury himself against that broad chest, and let those tree-trunk arms wrap around him and hold him there forever. Unfortunately, Halsin had barely looked at him all evening. He barely looked at him, ever.
The party had only arrived in the city the day before, and when the inevitable discussion of sleeping arrangements arose, Astarion managed to weasel himself into sharing a room with the big, handsome oaf. No one seemed particularly suspicious of it, though Shadowheart’s raised eyebrow suggested she was far less oblivious than the others. Not that his devious little plan worked. They never did. Halsin was infuriating generous, offering the entire bed to Astarion because he was perfectly content to sleep before the hearth in wild shape. Very irritating indeed, especially considering all of Halsin’s lofty talk about “embracing nature’s gifts” and “appreciating beauty in all its forms,” only for him to remain utterly unmoved whenever Astarion wandered about the room half-dressed. Shirt unlaced, pale skin bared, sometimes clad in little more than his skimpy underwear. It was practically criminal. He knew perfectly well that he was attractive. Cazador had made certain of that. His master had treated beauty as both weapon and currency, praising Astarion’s appearance with the same mouth that delivered endless cruelty. Even now, those poisonous compliments lingered in the back of his mind, tangled inseparably with old scars.
Halsin’s complete lack of visible temptation was beginning to feel personal. It bloody well stung. Instead, the druid's eyes, softly lit by the flickering candles, drifted helplessly to Tav. Tav, of all people. It would be fucking Tav.
Laughter and bubbly conversation ensued, while Astarion kept one pale hand curled around his untouched wine. He chimed in with a few remarks here and there, and tittered at whatever humorous remark was thrown around, but it was hard to relax when Halsin was casting pining looks at oblivious Tav. How the others couldn't see it amazed him. The druid lingered too long on Tav's smile and it made Astarion want to scream. If only Halsin was aware of what was happening under the table. Their leader was tracing circles around Lae'zel's thigh with his thumb. His left hand even seemed to wander a little too close to Astarion's leg. The tips of Tav's fingers sometimes brushed against his trousers, but he assumed it meant nothing.
Halsin's heart eyes fixed themselves on said man once more, because Tav was mouthing off about some travelling tale from his younger years. He had so many tales, all of them exciting. Whether a story is true matters nought, so long as it's funny, and Tav knew how to entertain. Astarion used to enjoy hearing about them as well, but as he finally knocked back a swig of wine, the drink tasted worse than ever, and Tav's voice was like the buzz of a pesky mosquito.
"He doesn't want you!" He wanted to yell at Halsin. "I'm right here! You flirted with Shadowheart, wanted to fuck drow prostitutes, now you're ready to fall at Tav's feet, but I'm not good enough?"
Jealousy coiled low and bitter beneath his ribs as he watched those hopeless, yearning expressions directed elsewhere, and the cramped booth became suffocating. Before he fully realised what he was doing, Astarion was on his feet. He snapped for his friends to move along and let him out, and his tone was far harsher than intended.
"Say please, and we might," Jaheira said sternly, but one look at the vampire's face made her rise from the bench.
The others blinked up in surprise before hastily shuffling aside to let him out of the booth. Tav nearly spilled his drink in the process, muttering something indignant under his breath, but Astarion barely heard him. His pulse thundered too loudly in his pointed ears as he stalked toward the bar, weaving through the packed room with quick, rigid strides. It was a poor show, really, making a fuss of ordering another drink when half of his wine was undrunk at the table, but he needed a chance to smother the envy twisting in his chest before it clawed its way onto his face for everyone to see.
He sensed the leery stares from two dwarfs as they muttered about the pretty elf at the bar, and Astarion was zapped back to his life under Cazador's rule. His master did not care for the smaller races, deeming them lesser and dirty, but when times were desperate, he brought home anyone that was willing to follow him. It was better to lure something home than return empty handed. The ugly knot in his stomach twisted tighter, and his sharp nails cut into the edge of the counter, splintering the wood. Astarion shut his eyes. He was not under Cazador's enthrallment. He was free.
"Care to tell us what's got your knickers in a twist?"
The familiar voice made him flinch, but he didn't turn around. Astarion stood as stiff as a board, facing forward, as Tav's looming shadow appeared in his peripheral vision. His friend leaned an elbow against the bar, observing him with keen interest, and it took a great deal of willpower to resist snapping at him.
"I don't know what you mean, darling," he said dryly. "The bottle you ordered just doesn't appeal to my palate. Worry not, I'll make my own selection."
Tav snorted before replying, "Of course, you prefer something with a richer body, eh?" His smile quickly faded, however, and he leaned in closer. "But come on, fangs, don't bullshit me. You know I can tell when you're lying."
Astarion kept his expression blank, but privately, he continued to seethe. His conscience willing him to settle down. Starting a fight with his friend was a bad idea for many reasons. He still needed the group's help if they were to confront Cazador. The tadpoles were still a problem. There was an impending Illithid invasion to thwart. Plus, there were very strong men that guarded the Elfsong. He didn't want to risk being thrown out and losing his cosy, comfy room upstairs. If there was one thing their epic quest had taught him, he was not built for camping in the wilds.
Tav was watching him expectantly, so he opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't need to pluck an excuse. His friend frowned and leaned his face even closer, stopping mere centimetres from Astarion's cheek.
"If it's about, you know, Cazador," Tav said quietly, and he whispered the vampire lord's name like it was a curse, "I promise we'll do everything that we can to keep you safe. The bastard is going to die. Actually die this time. We'll take him down."
For a split second, Astarion almost made an incredulous sound, but there was an earnest strain in his friend's voice, and he saw the concern in his eyes. It made him freeze.
There was a beat of stunned silence, but he quickly covered up his surprise with a clipped retort, "Well, that is - it's all well and good wanting to kill a powerful vampire, but it won't be that simple."
"I know, but we have to try, don't we?" Tav said sheepishly.
A waitress sauntered past, carrying a tray laden with bread, cheese, and fresh fruit. She almost collided with Astarion's shoulder, but he was quick to press himself against the edge of the bar. Tav also darted to help, and his warm hand came to rest on the small of Astarion's back. It hovered there a tad too long, a gesture that was far intimate than it ought to have been, and the vampire wriggled away.
"Best not let Lae'zel catch you putting those mitts on me. She'll cut your arms off," he said, partially as a joke, but it was a genuine warning. Second-hand gossip from Karlach told him that the gith did not share.
Tav's eyes widened, and he looked bashful as he took a step back. He rubbed his neck, tittering uncomfortably.
"Ah, yes," he mumbled, and the ale must have gone to his head because he clumsily confessed, "I just forget sometimes. Hard not to fall into old habits when, well," and with a hand, he gestured to Astarion, blushing a deeper shade of pink.
It was yet another surprising remark from the man, and although Astarion suspected he understood the implication and feared what it meant, his curiosity always got the better of him.
"Well what?"
Tav visibly squirmed in discomfort, but in his loose-lipped state, he clarified, "I'm not unaffected by you. I love Lae, truly. You just look especially good," and his eyes quickly glanced down the vampire's lithe form, "and it makes me think -"
"Don't think!" Astarion snapped. "We have our fun, darling, that was all. I know I'm beautiful, but think about Lae'zel's puppy eyes if she heard you. Then think about her stabbing you in the chest with her sword."
"Is it a bad time to serve you?" the barman interjected, looking from one man to the other, smiling awkwardly. "Because if you aren't actually wanting a drink, we'd appreciate if you left the bar clear for other customers."
"I'll take a bottle of your finest red," Astarion answered smoothly, as if a tense conversation hadn't just occurred.
While he handed over a handful of gold, Tav stepped away and headed back to the rest of the group. One person was watching them from the corner, tilting their head, because they could see that Tav looked guilty, whereas Astarion wore a deep frown.