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This isn’t like Shar’s trial. Tav doesn’t have hatred or rage to fall back on, friends to protect, or any idea what’s even happening. He’s never been so confused in his life.
The only thing he understands is this: there’s a man wearing his face who is currently trying to kill him.
Fortunately, Tav’s had a lot of experience with people trying to kill him lately.
Heat sears the side of his neck as Tav jerks away from his double's knife, but it isn’t a deep cut. It won't slow him down. He retreats behind the surgery table, the Blood singing in his grip and his pulse thundering in his ears.
He must have dropped his shield when he and Shadowheart fell, but his double doesn’t have one either, just a sword with a jagged blade the same resinous jet-black as his armor.
“Hold still,” his double snarls. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”
There’s a wild look in his double’s eyes, a far cry from the hollow stare of the facsimile Tav fought in the temple. Tav’s stomach lurches at the sight. His double doesn’t have a copy of the Blood of Lathander, so that crazed battle fog is all his. Tav remembers what it was like before he had the Blood to carry him through a fight; well, more accurately, he barely remembers. It’s mostly a blur of red and black.
“Are you real?” Tav demands. “Did Shar make you?”
He darts a quick glance from side to side, looking for something he can use for cover. There—a metal tray. Better than nothing. Tav snatches up the tray and its contents clatter to the floor: rusty scalpels and an old, stained bonesaw.
His double lunges over the table and Tav parries with the tray. It’s more of a clumsy swat than anything else; the sword shrieks across the metal with an awful, earsplitting noise, leaving a white gouge.
“Pathetic,” his double says. “What, aren’t you going to fight back?”
“I thought you wanted me to hold still!”
This double can’t be any more real than the one from the trial. He doesn’t have thoughts. He’s just regurgitating things Tav would say. Making moves Tav would make.
Tav can win this. There’s no Astarion here to distract him.
Tav sidesteps the table and his double comes after him with a furious shout. Tav holds his ground. His flimsy, makeshift shield won’t take another blow, but he can use it as a distraction. Tav has the weapon advantage—his mace is a better match for an opponent in armor than his double’s sword. All he has to do is stay upright and outlast—
His double flicks his sword in a sinuous movement Tav’s never seen before. A feint, he realizes, a second too late.
The blade takes him right beneath the hem of his mail skirt, slicing across his thigh. Tav stumbles—tries to catch himself on the table, misses. Even as he falls, he lashes out with the tray and the Blood at the same time; he hears his double grunt in surprise.
Tav hits the floor and both shield and weapon fly out of his grip. Fuck, he’s done for. He drags himself on hands and knees under the table, smearing fresh blood over tiles already stained with a century’s worth of gore. Then a hand closes around his ankle and Tav’s yanked out from cover. Hissing, he rolls onto his back—just as his double throws himself down, knees bracketing Tav’s hips, the killing edge of his sword braced at Tav’s throat.
No. No. Tav won’t die like this. He wants to kill him, not the other way around.
Alight with fury and desperation, Tav swings a gauntleted fist at his double’s snarling face. A gauntleted fist blazing with pure, radiant flame.
He feels the punch land true and hard , harder than any punch he’s ever thrown in his life. Bone cracks under the impact. His double reels, dazed, and Tav flings him off. Now. Now is his chance.
Something glistens on the floor nearby. A scalpel. Tav snatches it up and hurls himself after his double—who’s already recovering, but not quickly enough. Tav pins him, a knee on either arm. Panting, bleeding from the neck and thigh, he raises the scalpel.
“Do it,” his double slurs, the words mangled by what must be a fractured jaw. “Coward. Do it.”
Tav’s ears are ringing. His pulse hammers in his chest. He hesitates.
“Why?”
This isn’t a trial. The trials are over, and Tav was never the one undergoing them to start with. Shar doesn’t care about him. He’s not special. Not like Shadowheart.
So why in the hells is his double here and trying to kill him?
Blood gleams on his double’s lips. And now that Tav’s looking down at him, face to face, he sees more than he did before. More than the silver hair and the fresh scar next to his double’s eye. He looks starved, the skin drawn tight over his bones, the way Astarion looks when he hasn’t fed for days. Even if Tav could see color in the Shadowfell, he doesn’t think he’d see any in his double’s complexion. He’s ashen, sickly, miserable.
“Just find him,” his double says, ragged with hatred and exhaustion. “Find your way back. Don’t leave him alone. I’m all he has.”
The scalpel trembles in Tav’s hand. “Don’t leave who alone?”
But he already knows. There’s only one person his double could mean.
His double’s lips move, shaping the name like a prayer, like it’s the last time he’ll get to say it.
“Astarion.”
Tav knows then. He hears that familiar, aching chord in his double’s voice like a hand reaching through his ribs to close around his heart. No trial, no reflection, no shadow could imbue a name with that much longing. That much agony and desperation and love.
He's real.
And with Tav's realization comes horror, welling up from deep inside him.
If the Tav underneath him is the real one, then Tav isn’t.
“Gods.” Tav scrambles away, bile rising in his throat, and bumps the leg of the surgery table. “How—how is this… how can you be…”
His double sits up. He touches his broken jaw; his hand glows faintly, muted by the clinging shadows, and relief shudders through his eyes.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to die. I thought I’d gotten enough practice to tip the odds. But you’ve learned a new trick or two while I was away, haven’t you?”
“Please,” Tav says. “For the love of all the gods. Can you just explain what’s happening?”
His double sighs, eyeing him with an expression of disdain. Tav’s reminded, oddly enough, of Astarion. Gods, it’s bizarre to see that look on his own face. It feels so much more personal than seeing it in a mirror. Tav’s almost offended.
“You haven’t gotten smarter,” his double says. “I suppose that would probably take longer than… how long has it been? For you?”
“What do you mean, for me? How long since when?”
“Since Moonrise, idiot.”
Tav stares at him. The pieces fall into place—not all of them, just enough to leave him even more confused.
“Something happened that night,” he says slowly. “Something I can’t remember. It made you. Am I right? What was it—a spell? The shadow curse?”
“Close enough,” his double says with a shrug. “Some blasted combination of the two, I think. I don’t remember that part either. But you’re catching on. Good. I hate trying to explain things.”
Tav grinds his teeth, seized by a wave of irritation. A moment later he wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. For fuck’s sake, how is he supposed to sustain any kind of anger in this situation?
He might as well see how this plays out. Clearly there’s no rescue coming, from Lathander or any other quarter. Who knows how long he'll be stuck here?
“Let me think.” He counts in his head, keeping a wary eye on his double all the while. “It’s been five days.”
“Five days?”
His double laughs, harsh and painful. Tav cringes. Does he sound like that? Gods, what an awful noise. He watches his double’s hands clench over his knees—and that’s when Tav has to look away, even though his blood still sings with the promise of danger. It’s just too grotesque to see his own mannerisms on display. Bad enough to exist in his own skin, worse to see it on someone else. If Shar devised this torture for him out of spite that Shadowheart escaped her grasp, she’s certainly done her research.
He shouldn’t have hesitated. He should have used the scalpel when he had the chance and killed his double before he knew he was real. Now what in the hells is he supposed to do?
Tav realizes with a fresh wave of repulsion that he’s clutching his knees, too. He lets go and asks, “What’s so godsdamned funny?”
“Five days,” his double repeats, his laughter dying away. “Five days on the Material Plane. It’s different here. Remember the swamp?”
Tav grunts in assent, still refusing to look his double’s way.
“No sun. No moon. No way to tell time. It just stretches, on and on. It’s felt like… gods, I don’t know. Weeks. Maybe even months.”
No. Tav is not going to feel pity for this—this wretch, whether he’s the real one of them both or not. He’s not going to think about the way he’s felt since Moonrise: insubstantial, incomplete, like he’s lost a limb and everyone but him can see it. He’s not going to imagine being stuck in the Shadowfell for weeks, completely alone. Calling for help, maybe. Begging for salvation that just won’t come.
Tav growls, low in his throat, and turns to face his double again. He stares into those dull gray eyes, trying to recall his blinding hatred from the mirror trial. Hatred doesn’t leave room for pity or pain or hesitation. It’s what he needs.
But he can’t find it. Gods damn it.
“Do you remember what happened that night?” he asks through gritted teeth.
His double gives him a guarded look. “Yes.”
“Can you tell me what happened that night?”
“I can,” his double says, “but I won’t.”
Tav hurls his scalpel. It soars past his double’s head and lands somewhere in the shadows with a clatter. His double glances over his shoulder, lip curled.
“You missed.”
“Are you trying to get me to kill you?” Tav asks.
“Well, asking nicely didn’t work.” His double stretches, massaging his shoulder with a grimace. That must be where Tav’s clumsy strike with the Blood landed earlier. “By the way, why didn’t it work?”
Tav doesn’t want to answer that question. But what’s the point of keeping secrets from his own copy? Not that that’s stopping him. Gods, this is the worst and most confusing day of his life.
“Astarion,” he says gruffly, looking away again. “That’s why.”
The way his double said Astarion’s name… Tav knows the other Tav loves him. And Tav’s love for Astarion is the best thing he has, the only part of himself worth saving. He can’t kill that love. Gods know he's tried.
“Astarion,” his double repeats—and for once, the sound of his voice doesn’t make Tav’s skin crawl. Not when it’s low and gentle like that, cradling the syllables of Astarion’s name like they’re holy relics. “Is he safe?”
Tav nods curtly. He doesn’t owe him any more than that, not when the bastard’s refusing to give up his own secrets.
His double exhales. “Good.”
Tav did his best. Astarion’s back on the Material Plane, at least. As for whether he’ll stay safe, Tav truly doesn’t know. Once his friends realize he isn’t coming back, they’ll have to assault Moonrise and kill Ketheric Thorm without him. Gods willing, none of them will die, and Astarion will find a way to control his tadpole and stay free.
Too many unknowns: a vanishingly narrow path to the future where his friends survive and Astarion keeps the sun—and a hungry abyss on either side, piled high with the broken corpses of people Tav loves. He needs to be there, leading the way. Guiding them across. But he won’t be—because he got himself stuck here—because Shadowheart cried out for him and Tav couldn’t turn his back on her—
What choice did he have? How could he have done anything else?
Tav feels faint. His vision is flickering, and he doesn’t think it’s the creeping shadows. He shifts, and heat lances through his thigh where his double cut him. Oh. He’s been bleeding this whole time. His breeches are soaked. It’s so godsdamned cold here, he didn’t notice.
He lifts his gaze to find his double staring at him, smiling faintly.
“You still don’t feel it, do you?” his double asks. “The pain. I was counting on it. I’m also guessing you’re fresh out of healing for the day. Am I right? Both counts?”
Tav threw the scalpel. The Blood’s ten feet away where it skidded from his hand when he fell, glowing faintly, the only light source in the room. No other weapons within reach. He’s such a trusting fool—he thought it was over. All he did was give his double a chance to heal himself and catch his breath, while Tav grew ever weaker.
He braces his palms against the sticky floor and lurches upright, only to slump back down with a gasp.
“One of us leaves,” his double says. “One of us has to stay. That’s how it works.”
He rises to his feet and walks slowly toward Tav, sword tilted lazily in his hand. The tip of the jagged blade hovers an inch off the floor.
“I know exactly what you want, because I want the same damned thing. Two great loves: death and Astarion. We could never have them both, except now we can. You take one. I’ll take the other. And I’m not cruel—I know there’s oh-so-many flavors of death, and they aren’t all to our taste. So I’ll give you the one you want. The closest we can get. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”
He rests the tip of his sword against the hollow of Tav’s throat. Tav freezes, his chest rising and falling with quick, distressed breaths. His double’s taking his time. Maybe Tav can still escape this. But he can’t see a way out.
He doesn’t know if he wants a way out.
Isn’t this what he’s longed for all along? Someone else to take his place. To take command and make all the hard choices Tav hates to make. Someone else to play Astarion’s game, play it better, keep him safe and break him free.
A better man than he is.
But if Tav’s following along—and he's not sure if he is—this Tav is just the same as him, no more or less real. A Tav who remembers what happened that night after Moonrise and then spent weeks trapped in the Shadowfell.
A Tav who doesn’t know what Tav knows: that he’s been hurting Astarion all along.
“You can’t have him,” Tav says, a hand clamped over his bleeding thigh. “He doesn’t want you. Me. He doesn’t want anything from us, not even our blood.”
His double stares down at him, his eyes growing black and furious. The blade digs into Tav’s throat, a sharp, cold sting.
“What did you do?”
“What I had to do. He never wanted me to touch him—he was lying from the start.” Tav’s eyes are burning; he aches like his double’s already impaled him. “Even if you go back, he won’t be yours. He never will be.”
His double descends on him with a choked roar. The sword clatters to the ground; it’s his double’s hands around his throat, his hateful face an inch from Tav’s.
“You wretch. You worm. You ruined it, didn’t you? You drove him away. You made him stop loving you.”
Stop?
Tav writhes, gasping soundlessly for air, black stars popping in front of his eyes. He claws at his double’s arms to no avail.
Astarion couldn’t have stopped loving him. He never started. Tav’s always, always known that. His love wasn’t made as a set of two. It doesn’t have a match. He can never love someone who might love him back, or else—
He’d be doomed. Left behind. Left alone.
Like this Tav.
Tav’s dying. He’s bleeding out, cut and strangled by his twin. But before he goes, he has to know.
For the first time in days, he calls on the tadpole.
It squirms in his skull, neglected and eager. Tav hasn’t felt this sickening sensation since he had to bluff his way into Moonrise. The tadpole’s pulsing aura expands, seeking its own twin. There—an identical worm, wriggling in his double’s brain.
Tav forces his way inside.
the world slows on its axis, casting everything into shadow
all the way down into the dark
He wakes, naked and gasping, in a world without color.
The shadowy ruins of an inn surround him in charcoal streaks of black and gray. It’s cold here. Freezing. But he has bigger problems to worry about.
The tadpole spasms. Ceremorphosis. He’s changing—turning illithid, becoming a monster who’ll kill everything he loves—
But he doesn’t have a knife. No way to end this on his own terms. He claws at his face, his eyes, but all he does is blur the world and make himself bleed. No, no, no. Astarion was supposed to save him. End him.
Astarion, please—Astarion—kill me—
Astarion isn’t here. No one he loves is here. He’s alone.
So he’ll turn into a monster. At least he’ll be gone. No trace of the Tav who used to be, just an unfeeling mindflayer.
He curls up on the floor, trembling, and waits to die. He holds Astarion’s face in his mind’s eye and imagines his cold, clinging weight in his arms. Gods, at least he tasted Astarion’s love, if only for a single night. He knew how it felt to say the words, to kiss him, to hold him. The only good thing he’s known in so long. The last good thing he’ll ever get.
It was worth it. It was.
He waits. And waits. Until certainty fades and fear rushes in.
Astarion?
He calls out. First for Astarion, and then for Lathander. Then, desperately, for anyone who might be listening.
Shadowheart? Wyll?
The darkness drinks in his voice and gives nothing back. Not even an echo.
No answer.
“Oh, you little beast."
The grip on Tav’s throat loosens. He chokes and gasps in a lungful of air. His double’s face swims above him, silver-haired and seething with rage, and for a moment—just a moment—
He looks like Astarion. Sounds like him, too.
“We had a rule,” his double says, mocking him. Easy enough, when they have the same voice. “Your rule. Never to use the tadpole on each other without permission.”
“Never promised you,” Tav spits.
His head’s spinning, and not just from blood loss. He was in his double’s mind just now. Remembering what he remembers. Gods, could it have been real? So much of it didn’t make sense—ceremorphosis? Why?—but the parts that did…
“You don’t get to remember.” His double’s voice is desperate. “I’m the one who goes back. Not you. Your job is to die. That’s it. Bleed and die. That’s all you’re good for.”
He’s not wrong. But first, Tav needs to see more. He needs to see all of it.
He commands the tadpole to reach out and touch, take, taste. There’s resistance, a pulsing mental barrier, but Tav pushes as hard as he can. He’s never done this before, never wanted to do it to anyone else, even an enemy. It always felt like a violation. Unforgivable. Now he doesn’t care. It's only himself he's hurting.
His double rears back, a hand flying to his temple, and hisses, “I’ll kill you.”
“Then kill me faster,” Tav says. His voice is strained. He’s almost through.
There—
Hours pass. At least, it feels like hours. The shadows slide and congeal in the corners of the room like black oil. Tav shivers helplessly, wracked by cold and grief.
They left him here. His friends left him here. How could they have chosen this over killing him? This was Shadowheart's better way?
He's been used up and thrown away. Forgotten. They've reached into his nightmares and plucked out the very worst one.
Gods, he wants to die. Why won’t he die?
Finally there’s nothing else to do but rise to his feet and stagger downstairs like a walking corpse. He’ll walk until he finds something that’ll kill him.
It doesn’t take long. Whatever shadow realm he’s in might be desolate, but it’s not devoid of life. Tav hears them before he sees them: eerie hunting calls out in the dark. They sound like wolves, but when they appear he realizes they’re people. Pale-haired, gaunt, clad in black armor that glistens like resin.
Shadar-kai, they call themselves. The place Tav’s in has a name, too. The Shadowfell.
They’re fascinated by his scars. Tav stands still, naked and trembling, too numb to protest as they circle him and whisper hungrily to each other. It doesn’t feel real. Not until one of them reaches out to touch his neck, fingers brushing over the constellation of bite scars there, and Tav’s vision flashes red. The first color he’s seen here.
He comes to with their bodies strewn around him, bleeding black into the corrupted earth. His chest seizes with terrible agony. Like someone’s hollowing out his insides, carving out his heart. What’s happening to him?
The pain is unbearable. But this, too, refuses to end him.
This is his punishment. He dared to love, dared to steal something he could never have earned, not in a thousand years. Death wasn’t enough. He’ll wander the Shadowfell forever, burning with a poisonous fire he can’t douse. Empty and undying.
And he’s grateful for it.
It could have been Astarion in his place.
“Stop, stop, get out—”
Tav’s double looks terrified now. His face is pale, stricken. But anger burns in his eyes, too. There’s still blood on his lip from Tav’s punch earlier, the blow that broke his double’s jaw. That’s Tav’s blood, same as the blood staining his breeches and pooling on the floor beneath the both of them.
“You know how to make me stop,” Tav says, pushing forward, straining in his double's grip. “Do it. Kill me. You aren’t even trying anymore. You’re pathetic.”
“I survived. I didn’t give up—I kept going. For him.”
“You’re lying. I saw. You just wanted to die. You killed those people.”
“You haven’t seen anything. I’ve been trying to find my way back and you—you’ve been pushing him away. I love him. He knows I love him. And you destroyed it. Of course you did.”
His double reaches for his throat again, and Tav doesn’t think. He lunges at those grasping fingers like an animal and bites. He doesn’t have Astarion’s fangs, but it wasn’t the fangs that broke his fingers all those weeks ago. Anyone can bite as hard as Astarion. They just have to want to.
His double yelps in shock and pain and—yes, pleasure. The sound jolts Tav to the core. He wasn’t expecting that. But he should have been. After all, he knows himself, doesn’t he?
Tav spits out his double’s fingers and tastes his own blood. Gods, it’s familiar. Not just from all those times he’s choked on it, but from more heated moments, too. Astarion’s mouth on his, lips and tongue and teeth.
“Oh, you are like him,” Tav’s double hisses, clutching his bleeding hand. “He was right, you know. It was in us all along. The killer. It took weeks alone in utter hell for me to see it. Not centuries, not even close, but we aren’t as strong as—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Tav grabs the neckpiece of his double’s lacquered armor and drags him down.
Kiss me like you want to kill me.
Astarion never did. Because he’s never wanted to kill Tav; Tav knows that now. Astarion couldn’t even pretend. But Tav’s double doesn’t have to pretend.
Neither of them have fangs, but this kiss is all teeth. Tav wants to hurt him. Wants to be hurt. He’s been starving for this since the mirror trial. No, since well before that . It’s been building since the last time he died to a choking poison cloud. He couldn’t ask Astarion for this, never again, and even fantasies of being crushed by rubble didn’t quite do the trick.
This is all he has left. His only deliverance, the pain he can inflict on himself. He wants to tear himself down to the studs, carve flesh from bone, drown in his own viscera. No one else will do this for him.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been hard and aching under his armor, pinned beneath his double. Now he rocks his hips, growling into his double’s mouth, desperate for friction. Too much metal and cloth in the way. He’s bleeding already—a moment ago he was about to pass out—but now his body roars with renewed fire. Tav’s had plenty of experience riding the razor edge between pleasure and fatal blood loss. If this is the last time he’ll ever get to do it, he’s not going to faint early and miss it.
His double breaks away, panting, his lip cut. “You’re sick.”
“Pot, kettle.” Tav’s nails scrape over his double’s lacquered armor. “How the fuck do you take this off?”
“You let me do it. Bastard.”
His double twists, reaching behind his back for fastenings Tav can’t see. Tav watches him, roiling with disgust and hunger. This is definitely wrong—but it’s not the same kind of wrong as touching Astarion. Tav’s only hurting himself, and he knows he can take it.
The armor falls away, piece by piece, and Tav’s pulse quickens at the sight of his own scars. Astarion’s name, carved into his double’s chest. He reaches for the scar and shudders at the warmth of his double’s skin.
“Did he really love you?” he chokes out.
“Us.” His double’s hand closes around his wrist, cruel and bruising. “He loved us. Until you ruined it.”
Tav felt his double’s certainty in his memories. He saw the consequences of that love: himself, bereft, in torment. But he didn’t hear Astarion say the words.
Those memories are still locked in his double’s head. Tav needs to pry them out. He will. Later. Once he’s done all the damage he can. Once there’s nothing left.
“Get off me,” he says, shoving at his double’s chest.
There’s a moment when Tav doesn’t think he will. His double’s eyes darken with anger and he trembles like he’s going to grab Tav by the neck all over again. But then he backs away. Tav sits up and starts pulling off his own armor.
His double laughs, harsh as ever. “You’re making it easier for me to kill you, you know. After. Guess it’s only fair if I fix you up.”
He touches Tav’s bleeding thigh with a glowing hand. Pain sears through the wound as it closes. Tav bites his lip, refusing to surrender a single sound of pleasure. Not yet. He’ll make his double do it first. Well, again. He already gave himself away when Tav bit him.
At least some of his strength’s returned. Tav yanks off the last pieces of his armor and pushes his double to the floor.
“Look at you,” his double says, breathless, his face flushed. “Thought you’d get on your back and whimper your way through it. Like we always did.”
Tav grinds against him, tongue pressed between his teeth to keep himself silent. His double’s as hard as he is, and they’re both so wet Tav finds it more than a little ridiculous. He’s always been embarrassed by how much he leaks, but how can he be ashamed of it now? How can he be ashamed of anything? He loathes his reflection and yet here he is, rutting against him like an animal in heat.
“I remember,” Tav says, his voice ragged. “I deserved it. And you deserve this.”
“You think I’ll just let you have your way with me? You?”
Tav snatches the wounded hand trying to crawl up his waist and pins it to the floor, reveling in the crunch of fractured bones and his double's gasp of pain. “Yeah. I do. Stop touching me.”
“You would too, if you’d been alone for weeks.”
His double touches him again, with the other hand this time, and Tav doesn’t bother stopping him. His hand’s busy, wrapped around the thick heat of their cocks, moving in rough, ungentle strokes. Tav squeezes hard, gripped by sudden vicious impulse, and his double throws back his head and whimpers. The corded muscles in his neck quiver. Tav wants to bite them. Sink in his teeth and tear his double’s throat out.
That’s how his double was going to kill him, wasn’t it? The death Tav wants. Tav doesn’t know how he was going to do it—his teeth aren’t any sharper than Tav’s—but he feels a queasy rush of something almost like gratitude. It’s softer than anything Tav wants to feel right now. He buries it with a snarl and bites down on his double’s right nipple instead.
“Ah.” Fluid rushes over Tav’s fist as his double’s cock throbs. “Don't.”
“Beg,” Tav growls. He crushes his double’s broken hand, his heart racing, his body aflame. “Beg me to stop.”
His double spits at him. Bloody saliva spatters Tav’s face, blurs his vision. “Fuck you.”
Tav bites down hard and feels flesh give way between his teeth. His double spasms, thrashing in his grip with a sob of agonized pleasure. Gods, he’s not ashamed of himself either, is he? Filthy wretch.
“Astarion,” his double gasps the next time Tav bites, arching his back. “Astarion.”
Tav jerks his head away from the scarlet ruin of his double’s chest and grabs him by the jaw, smearing sticky fluid over his throat. “Don’t say his name. He never wanted this.”
“What—what in the hells are you talking about?”
Tav grips him harder. “If you go back, you can’t make him do this. You can’t. Do you hear me?”
His double wrenches his face free. “I’d never make him do anything he didn’t want.”
“He’ll lie. He’ll say he does.” Tav holds still, even though he’s burning with need, desperate to lose himself again. “You have to keep him safe. You can’t hurt him and you can’t let him hurt himself. Swear it.”
Tav’s double stares up at him, eyes clouded with lust. But Tav sees love burning through the fog like a lighthouse. Pure devotion.
“I swear. You know I do.”
Despair and relief tangle in Tav’s chest like twin serpents. He’s going to do it. If there’s a way out of the Shadowfell, he’ll let his double take it. Someone needs to repair the damage Tav’s done, and it can’t be him. He doesn’t know how. All he can do is make things worse.
His double earned Astarion’s love once, somehow, in that single night Tav can’t remember. He’s paid the price, wandered the Shadowfell desolate and alone for weeks. If either of them can make things right, it’s him. Not Tav.
It doesn’t matter how much Tav hates him. How much he wants to kill him. All that matters is Astarion.
Tav can't leave him alone.
“You’re giving up?” his double whispers, and his hand moves to Tav’s chest, resting over his heart. “You’re staying here?”
“I thought—I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I do. I just…” His double shakes his head, looking dazed. “You don’t know what it’s like here. You don’t know what you’re signing up for. Use the tadpole. Let me show you.”
“Don’t,” Tav says. “I don’t want to know.”
“Gods, you’re an idiot,” his double groans.
He twists, locking his arm around Tav’s waist, and flips Tav before he can react. Tav’s head thunks against the stone tiles. That’s his move. But the protest dies in his throat as his double kisses him a second time.
It’s nothing like the first. Tav can feel Astarion in this kiss, even though he isn’t here. His smoldering hunger, the softness of his lips, the flicker of his tongue. Tav doesn’t know where it’s coming from, whether his double’s doing it or he is, but his body responds like a flower opening to the sun. He moans, pulling his double closer with desperate, clutching hands.
His double’s scarred back is like a foreign landscape beneath his touch, all ridges and knots and hard muscle, and a confused, nonsensical thought works its way into Tav’s brain—beautiful.
Astarion said that, didn’t he? When Tav was almost too sodden with wine to understand him. He called Tav’s scars beautiful, and Tav didn’t believe him. Just another line. A sweet lie. But hells, Tav was wrong.
Astarion wasn’t lying. He was just talking to someone else. This other Tav, the one sighing in Tav’s arms. The one he’s been waiting for.
Tav should be envious. He should hate the other Tav, but he can’t. His double’s not the worthless wretch Tav thought he was.
Nothing Astarion loves could be worthless, not completely.
His double pulls away and trails open-mouthed kisses down Tav’s chest, his stomach. Tav’s mind fills with traitorous memories of Astarion doing the same. Now he’s sure; his double’s doing this on purpose. Trying to make it up to Tav, to thank him. That damned grateful streak.
It’s what Tav would do.
He almost pushes his double away. He doesn’t deserve this, not even from himself. It’s too confusing. It isn’t right.
But then his double takes Tav’s cock in his mouth and Tav promptly forgets—well, everything. His thoughts dissolve like sugar in water. His hips lift off the ground, seeking more of that wet, smothering warmth, and his double holds him down with practiced hands, rubbing circles over his hips to soothe him. That’s Tav’s move, too. And it works. Gods, does it work.
He’s never been on the receiving end of treatment like this before. He’s had Astarion’s mouth on his cock, but Astarion always has to watch his fangs. He’s never taken Tav deep like this, massaging him with his throat, moaning like this is his favorite place to be—
It takes him by surprise, far more quickly than he expected: his desire burns to a fever pitch and he hardly has time to tangle a hand in his double’s silvery hair before he’s coming, rocking into an eager mouth as his muscles contract and quiver. There’s no keeping silent anymore. Tav whimpers through it, just like his double said he would, and he’s not even ashamed.
He is good at that. Astarion said so, and Tav was almost certain he wasn’t lying. But it’s nice to know for sure.
His double comes back up, a dazed little smirk on his lips, and Tav realizes he isn’t the only one pleased to be proven right.
“This isn’t really how I thought things would go,” his double says. “To be honest, I thought you’d be dead by now.”
Tav scowls at him. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
“It’s the Shadowfell. It does that all on its own.”
Tav’s never thought of himself as particularly amusing, and for good reason. He’s almost disgusted enough to call the whole thing off. But he’s also never left a lover unsatisfied if he’s had any say in the matter. It’s rather a point of pride, actually. His godsdamned copy isn’t going to make him break that streak.
And for some perverse reason, Tav’s feeling competitive.
“Remember when we came up from the Underdark? The sunset?”
His double eyes him warily. “Yes. Why?”
Tav takes him in two hands: one on his cock, the other on the shell of his ear, and in the span of a minute or two he reduces his double to a quivering, gasping mess, sobbing Astarion’s name in pure delirium. Tav doesn’t scold him anymore. What use would it be? He knows how it feels.
Astarion’s carved into him, too—deeper than blood and bone, written into the sinews of his soul.
Tav holds his double close until he tumbles over his peak, coating his chest in hot pulses of seed, his whole body convulsing. His voice is hoarse, flayed raw with pleasure and relief.
Tav’s satisfied. He kept his wits about him the whole time, give or take a few mindless moments, and his double certainly didn’t. His double’s wits still aren’t back, either, given the way he clings to Tav like Tav’s the warmest, best thing he’s felt in weeks. It’s pathetic, but Tav can’t hate him for it, much as he wants to.
The House of Healing falls quiet, filled with nothing more than silent shadows and Tav and his double’s uneven breathing. Tav pushes him away—not roughly this time, but firmly enough for it to stick. There’s only so much he can take.
“So.” His double leans back on his palms, chest rising and falling. “What now?”
“You’re not going to thank me?”
“Already did.”
Tav snorts. He hates him again. Good.
“I guess I help you get out of here. No idea how to do that, by the way. Did you have a plan?”
His double shrugs. “Don’t need one. You’re here now.”
“Explain,” Tav says through gritted teeth.
“They’ll come for you. Astarion and the others. Well, maybe not Astarion, if he’s as pissed as you say he is. But the rest of them will.”
Tav stares at his double, anger welling up in his chest.
He can’t be this stupid, can he? Has he just been sitting in the Shadowfell all this time, waiting to be rescued like a—like that maiden Raphael keeps talking about? Even if it were possible, Tav’s friends have better things to do. They know the mission. They have to kill Ketheric Thorm and take down the cult of the Absolute to save themselves. Tav is not the priority.
And his double knows that. When Tav was in his memories, he felt his grief, his certainty that no one was coming. What changed?
“You absolute idiot. They’re not coming here. Why would they?”
His double gives him a look of half exasperation, half pity.
“Of course they’re coming to save you. They already did once. You just don’t remember. Now come on. Get dressed.”
He stands up and grabs an old, bloodstained rag from the cart next to the surgery table; Tav grimaces, a little disgusted, as his double starts cleaning himself off. Once he’s finished, he takes another rag and wraps his broken fingers in disciplined silence. Tav feels the tiniest flash of regret. Apparently his double’s out of healing, too. He used the last of it on Tav’s cut thigh.
Tav hasn’t been in the Shadowfell long, but so far, it seems even more hellish than the shadow-cursed lands. He’s shocked his double made it this far. Tav’s nearly died four times in the last tenday alone, and he had his friends and a pack full of scrolls to keep him alive.
“Where are we going? I thought you didn’t have a plan.”
“There’s someone you should meet.” His double’s voice softens. “A friend.”
Tav’s double leads him through a shattered, twisted, confusing landscape with the resigned intimacy of a prisoner navigating a cell block. All Tav can do is stumble along, disarmed by the constant parade of familiar landmarks and mystifying differences. That hill should be a chasm. There’s a ruin he remembers, but it has three walls instead of two. A whole heap of skeletons glistens in the Blood’s weak light; that definitely wasn’t there in the Material Plane.
It’s almost impossible to keep directions straight, but he thinks they’re heading east. He follows his double, eyes fixed on that black lacquered armor. Part of him is still convinced that this isn’t real. It’s a fever dream. He’s finally lost his mind. It’s a Sharran trick.
But if it is real, Tav can be certain of one thing. His double is never going to tell anyone what they just did. And thank the gods for that.
Finally they stop in front of a house Tav’s never seen before. The air is sweet with the fragrance of something he hasn’t smelled in ages: flowers. Lavender blooms. He sees them growing from the shadowy cracks, pale and colorless but still recognizable for what they are. And a memory stirs, of Halsin in Last Light. I think I know where Thaniel is.
“You found him,” Tav says, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
“Lucky I did,” his double replies. “He saved me.”
Tav doesn’t know what to expect when they step into the house, but it isn’t this. Vines twist across the dirt floor and up the walls; bushes and trees fill the space instead of furniture. Fruit glimmers among the foliage. And in the middle of it all, cradled in a nest of leaves, is a sleeping boy who can’t be older than seven or eight. Tiny antler-like horns twist back from his forehead, peeking through untidy black hair.
Tav takes a step closer, without consciously realizing it. “Is that…”
He stops short at the cold touch of steel against his neck. He didn’t even see his double draw his blade, but there it is. Tav carefully turns his head to meet his double’s eyes. He’s never seen that look on someone else’s face before, but he knows it well. Quiet, seething resolve. A wordless promise of pain if Tav makes a single wrong move.
“You know I wouldn’t,” Tav says, exasperated.
Another second passes before his double gives a curt nod and sheathes his sword.
“Can’t be too careful. Shadar-kai come by from time to time, trying to force their way in. You’ve no idea how many of them I’ve had to kill. I don’t think they used to be so obsessed with him, but ever since I’ve been here, it’s been getting worse. He’s using more energy, I think, drawing more attention to himself. To keep me alive.”
Tav glances at the fruit trees. “He grew these for you?”
“I told him to stop.” His double gazes at the sleeping boy with a soft frown on his lips. “I don’t know if he hears me half the time. He’s almost never awake.”
“I don’t understand.” Tav’s blood is slowly starting to simmer in his veins. “You found him. He saved you. He’s been keeping you alive… and you were just going to kill me and leave him?”
“Of course not,” his double snaps, turning on him. “When I leave, he’s coming with me. Which is exactly why I told you that you don’t know what you’re signing up for. The Shadowfell’s a godsdamned awful place and he’s the only good thing in it. You won’t last without him. You’ll die, or become something even worse than you are now. Like I did.”
Tav stares at him, his heart pounding. “Show me.”
“Now you want to know?”
“I want the choice,” Tav says. “The choice you should have given me. Stay or die.”
His double crosses his arm, his glare dark and furious.
“I already know what you’ll choose. We’re the same. But fine—have it your way. Just… don’t you dare change your mind after.”
“I won’t.”
Oathbreaker.
Tav doesn’t know how he knows, but the name throbs in his chest like a tainted crystal, growing, pushing everything else out. Lathander never answered his call because he knew the measure of Tav’s soul before Tav knew it himself. Tav didn’t kill his friends—they threw him into the Shadowfell just in time—but he became a killer all the same. A murderer.
The shadar-kai weren’t hurting him. Maybe their intentions weren’t pure, but all they did was touch him and Tav slew them all. He knelt in their blood and stole their armor and weapons. In the gleaming black lacquer, he sees his reflection: scarred, twisted, soulless.
You’re becoming quite the terror. Don’t fight it, my treasure. You’ll come out the other side even more gloriously beautiful than before.
Astarion was wrong. He and Tav were forged in different crucibles, from different steel. Astarion became something broken and beautiful; Tav’s just broken.
He wanders beyond the grip of time. No sun or moon.
Just darkness.
Until he finds a light. Not the sun’s flame, but something paler, weaker, like starlight slanting through the branches of a great tree. A boy asleep in a bed of leaves. He’s wounded, fragile—but strong, even in slumber.
He calls to Tav: a gentle whisper, at last, after all this screaming silence. Come. Rest. Heal.
Tav doesn’t deserve this. There’s never been anyone less deserving. But he’s still a wretch, desperate and clinging. So he goes. He kneels, offering himself, all he has, all he ever was. It’s nothing. Worse than nothing.
Vines curl around his body, and Thaniel whispers, You made a vow once. You can make one again.
To him? Fine. Tav will trade a god for a spirit; in the end it’s the same. Tav cutting his wrists to bleed over the altar of anyone who’ll take him. Anyone strong enough to bear his weight.
Not to me. Swear an oath to yourself, to what you cherish most. Any promise can be broken, but the strongest ones are made for love.
What love? The only love Tav ever knew was torn away. Astarion kissed him and let him fall into shadow. No one came for him. He’s lost.
You know the truth. Look deeper.
Tav trembles but obeys. He pulls himself apart and looks inside.
He thought he was alone in Moonrise, but he wasn’t. Lia was there. He called for Astarion and he came. They all did. Not because they needed him; no one needs him enough to die for him. Because they wanted him.
They loved him. Maybe they still do.
If his friends did this to him, it’s because there was no better way. Because killing him would have been permanent, and this isn’t. Because they’re going to come for him.
Astarion will tear a hole in the veil and drag him back. He marked Tav because he’s valuable enough to keep. He wants him back, no matter what shape he’s in, no matter how bruised and broken and bleeding. Tav’s his.
He had Astarion's love. He can't know for sure if he still has it, but he has to take it on faith. He has to try.
Tav clasps his hands over the scar on his heart and whispers a new vow.
I’ll find my way back. No matter what it takes. I’ll live for you. Always for you, only for you.
Yours.
Tav pulls out of the memory to find himself on his knees all over again, trembling before the boy in the leaves, his double’s sword resting on his shoulder. He touches his own face and his fingertips come away wet with tears. He wept all the way through.
He’s weeping still.
“You see?” his double asks, his voice brittle. “I made a promise.”
Tav hunches over, curled around the blinding pain in his chest. He knows now; he still hasn’t broken his oath to Lathander. The agony he feels isn’t his. It’s like nothing he’s felt before, not in this body.
But gods, it hurts. Not just the memory, but the fresh anguish it brought. It’s true. Astarion loved him once. He saved him, even if Tav can’t remember why.
And Tav’s never going to see him again.
“I can’t,” Tav sobs. “Kill me. I want to die.”
He can’t live like this, knowing. Knowing what he had and let slip through his fingers, never to grasp it back again. The only thing that can save him now is death. Oblivion. The void where he can float forever and feel nothing at all.
Please, let his double take pity on him, like he planned to from the start. Let him find mercy or hatred or whatever he needs to end this. Let him see Tav for the loathsome creature he is and put him out of this misery.
But his double sheathes his sword instead and kneels next to Tav.
“I know you do,” he says, quivering, uncertain. “It’s what we’ve both wanted for so long. I thought I could do it. I thought I could kill you, easy as anything. Like stepping on a worm. But gods, it’s just not fair.”
“What?” Tav asks through his tears. “What isn’t fair?”
“I had a chance. I had time. This place is awful, but Thaniel kept me alive long enough to remember the truth—and to realize what I want. I want to find out what happens next. I want to know if it can be different. If I can love Astarion without killing him. If he can love me.” His double’s voice breaks. “You deserve that too.”
“Don’t say that. Please.”
“I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want you to die. But we can’t both go back.”
“Why not?” Tav asks, his voice small. He hates himself for asking, but he's helpless.
“Because we're mortal. Thaniel has a copy too, back in the Material Plane. But he's a spirit. They can both exist, in two bodies or one. We can't.”
Tav’s in pain. So much pain. And his double is too; he hears it in his voice. Is he burning, turning to ash from the inside out, just like Tav? It feels like someone’s carving into his flesh with a knife. Oh, it hurts.
“You’re bleeding,” his double says.
Tav looks down. Black blood drips from his sleeve, across the back of his hand and into the soil. It’s enough to shock him from his grief, his longing for death. He unbuckles his vambrace and slides it off, rolls up the sleeve of his undershirt.
Fresh dark lines are carving themselves into the scarred flesh of his forearm, oozing blood. An invisible hand with a knife, writing runes into Tav’s skin.
“Astarion,” Tav hisses, his chest clenching with horror. “No. Stop.”
“Astarion?” his double asks. “What in the hells are you talking about?”
Tav grits his teeth. His double’s not the only one who hates to explain himself. But fortunately, there’s a better way. Tav wrestles the tadpole into submission and reaches out, touching his double’s mind just long enough to transmit a memory: the rings and how they work. Sliding a band of silver onto Astarion’s finger, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Astarion’s fist bunching under Tav’s collar, yanking him down—
“Oh, you bastard,” his double says. “You can’t stop there. Show me the rest.”
“More important things,” Tav says. “Look.”
The pain’s dulled; no more fresh carvings. Astarion must be finished with whatever he was writing. Tav blots away the welling blood on his forearm with his other sleeve, trying to make out the runes underneath.
Astarion wrote in Common this time. Thank the gods he remembered Tav can’t read Elvish. Tav prays desperately that Astarion drank a potion as soon as he was finished, that he won’t scar from this. Please, gods.
LAST LIGHT
COME BACK TO ME
“See?” Tav’s double whispers. “I told you they’d come.”
“I thought you said time works differently here.” Tav feels numb. He can’t quite process what’s happening; he can’t let the truth sink in, or he’ll beg his double for death all over again. “It’s only been a few hours.”
“It passes quicker when you’re talking to someone, I think. Don’t ask me to explain why. Gale would know—” His double sucks in a breath. “Never mind.”
Tav won’t see Gale again, either. None of his friends.
He’ll never sweat through his shirt in one of Karlach’s blazingly hot hugs. Never fumble a drill on purpose just to hear Lae’zel curse him in her native tongue. Never ask Gale about his favorite books and pretend he’s going to read them someday. Never accuse Wyll of using his magic eye to cheat at cards, knowing he’s the last person who’d try. Never show up at Shadowheart’s tent with his hands behind his back and a sheepish grin.
He never knew he had so much to lose. No—he did know. He just never let himself think about it.
So much easier to chase death, endlessly playing the martyr, giving himself away part by part and telling himself it’s necessary, because the only way his friends won’t leave is if Tav chains himself to them with blood.
Astarion’s never been the parasite. It’s been Tav all along.
Tav takes in a shuddering breath of his own. None of the sacrifices he’s made in the past have ever meant a thing, but this one will.
His life is finally worth something, just in time for it to end.
“Go,” Tav says. “Take Thaniel to Last Light, and… here. You need this.”
He slips his ring off his finger and offers it to his double, all while a voice desperately howls inside him to put it back on, put it back on right now, if you take it off he’ll never be yours again—
His double plucks the ring from his palm and slides it on. Then he looks at Tav and bites his lip. “Come with us. I’ll need help protecting him. You can stay with us until… Until the last moment.”
He doesn’t say it, but they’re both thinking it. Maybe Tav will catch a glimpse of Astarion, one look to last him for the rest of his life.
Tav hopes he won’t. It’ll just make it harder to die.
But his double’s right; Tav should defend Thaniel until he knows he’s safe. Once Thaniel’s back in the Material Plane and the shadow curse is lifted, Tav’s oath will be fulfilled, too. What happens after that, he doesn’t know. Lathander bade him to live, but for how long? Tav was always going to die one day. The gods and Astarion might live forever, but Tav won’t.
How is he supposed to live with nothing to live for?
Tav’s double carries Thaniel, cradled against his chest, and Tav leads the way with the Blood shining in his hand. His heart never stops pounding the whole way to Last Light. He doesn’t even feel cold anymore. There’s a raging inferno inside him, desperation he’s never felt before. A fire he can’t feed.
He wishes so badly to be numb again. It was easier when he didn’t feel. But Astarion lit the flame and now it won’t go out.
This kind of love is different. New. It wants to stay alive.
But Tav can’t.
“Godsdammit,” Tav’s double hisses. “Shadar-kai. We need to move faster.”
He must be able to see better than Tav can in the dark, or else his hearing is better. Only now does Tav hear the faint hunting cries of wolves out in the shadows to the left and right, drawing closer.
He breaks into a run, and his double follows. Thaniel doesn’t make a sound; Tav doesn’t know if he’s even aware that they’re moving. Hopefully he wakes up once he’s back on the Material Plane.
Buried in all the agony is yet another tiny seed of grief: Tav won’t see the shadow curse lifted. He’ll never feel the sun on his skin again. If he’d known that the single sunset he watched with Astarion was the last one he’d ever get, he would have turned around to see it.
No. That’s a lie. He watched Astarion’s face instead and he’d do it again. Every time.
It’s strange to see Last Light dark and abandoned, without the glowing silver corona of Isobel’s protection spell. Tav remembers waking up in those shadowy ruins, freezing and disoriented and convinced he was about to die, and he shivers. It’s not his memory. But it is his memory now. He might as well have lived it.
“We’re here,” Tav’s double pants as they cross the bridge. “Now what?”
“I have no idea. Astarion didn’t—”
Light flares in the distance, on the other side of the inn.
“I just got an idea,” Tav says.
Astarion didn’t tear a hole in the veil after all. But someone else did.
The light pouring through the rent in the Shadowfell’s dark fabric illuminates a tall, broad-shouldered figure. Halsin. Tav can’t see his features as he races toward the portal—they’re still too far away—but who else could it be?
In his double’s arms, Thaniel stirs for the first time and whispers something. Tav can’t hear it, but it makes his double stop short, heaving for breath. Tav skids to a stop as well.
“What? What?”
“Take him. Now. They’re coming.”
His double thrusts Thaniel into Tav’s arms; Tav nearly drops the Blood, but he finds a configuration that lets him hold both. Thaniel's head falls softly against his shoulder, one horn bumping Tav's chin, and he thinks of Arabella. Then his memory stirs even deeper, back to those years he locked away, to a different weight in his arms, another clinging to his waist.
He spent so long trying to cut those memories out like tumors, thinking he didn't deserve them. Gods. He robbed himself and now he has nothing to show for it.
The Blood’s weak light illuminates his double’s scarred face and the reflective obsidian of his sword as he pulls it free of the sheath.
“What are you doing?” Tav demands.
“I’ve been fighting them for weeks. You haven’t. I’ll cover us both. There’s no more—”
No more time. Tav doesn’t need him to finish the sentence; pale-haired figures spring from the darkness all around them, howling in a language Tav doesn’t understand. The portal’s still a good distance away. Tav can’t see Halsin anymore; the shadows are too strong, overwhelming the light he carries. And now the Blood sings in his ears as his double leaps into battle, snarling in wordless rage, night-black blade spinning with lethal grace.
And Tav’s stunned to realize: he is beautiful, like that. Not the same as Astarion. Different. He might not be carrying a shield, but he fashions himself into one all the same. Strong, swift, and unyielding.
Slowly, painfully, they inch toward the portal. Tav’s in the thick of the fight, but he feels like he’s in a solid glass dome. Nobody ever gets close to him or Thaniel. His double won’t let them. Every flick of his wrist, every whirling parry is a promise: Not while I breathe.
Gods, he deserves to live. Tav’s never been so certain.
“Tav!”
In a burst of light that flings a screaming shadar-kai aside, Halsin’s there. The portal’s right behind him, but still there are so many enemies. They keep coming, pouring out of the darkness. No time for a greeting. Tav thrusts Thaniel into Halsin’s arms without ceremony.
“Go. Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
Halsin’s eyes flicker between Tav and his double, his brow furrowed. But Tav doesn’t hear whatever he says next. The Blood’s shrieking in his ears. It’s time to fight. Fight and die. Nothing else matters.
He’s done his job.
I want to live. Tav swings his mace, a scream of agony searing his throat, and shatters a shadar-kai’s breastplate. I want to go home. He charges past his double, right into the path of a sword blow aimed for his double’s back. It takes him in the ribs; Tav doesn’t feel it. I want to see my friends.
His vision’s blurring. Not from blood loss or battle rage or the smothering shadows. Tav fights through the tears. He doesn’t feel his wounds, but gods, he feels the pain. It’s exquisite. It’s all he ever wanted and he despises it.
He wants to be safe. Warm. Curled up in bed with Astarion’s head on his chest, listening to his heart.
I want to know if he still loves me.
A hand grabs his shoulder, yanks him around. Tav almost smashes his mace through his skull before he sees his double’s blood-streaked face and wild eyes.
“It’s about to close. The portal. It’s time.”
Howls rise from the dark, all around them. They’ve killed so many and still they’re coming. Tav doesn’t know why the shadar-kai hate Thaniel so much. Why they want him back. He’ll never know. It doesn’t matter.
His double sways, and Tav reaches out on instinct. He feels warm blood flowing over his hands as his double collapses into his arms. What is this? His hand bumps something. The hilt of a shadar-kai sword, buried in his double’s back.
“Oh, fuck,” Tav says. “Hold on. I’ll get you there. Shadowheart can fix you on the other side.”
“Gods, you’re stupid.” His double gasps for breath, the sound labored and wet. His face is buried in Tav’s shoulder, his arms clinging weakly to Tav’s waist. “You really thought I’d let you do it?”
Tav’s blood runs cold. “What?”
“I—I want to live, you bastard. I wanted to be a better man. So do it. Be better.” His double’s voice weakens, every word punctuated by a rattling breath. “Live for me. Take him to the sun.”
Tav feels the tadpole stir.
Everything. His double gives him everything.
Moonrise. The cold water. The docks. The cell. Lia’s blood-soaked chest. Lathander. Ceremorphosis. Araj. Suspended, bleeding, dying. Calling out. Astarion. Astarion. Astarion…
I heard you. I’m right here. Look at me darling, look at me, please, let me see your eyes. Let me see.
The killing words. Regret. Karlach shouting. Gods, do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Lia, Cal, and Rolan, reunited. Astarion in the inn room. Astarion, quietly breaking down on Tav’s chest. Holding him. Holding him so tightly. Don’t let go. I want to stay.
I won’t let go. I’ve got you.
Astarion in trance. His lips. His promise. You can have more in the morning.
(He’s still here. They’re both still here.)
Change.
Screaming, writhing, fighting for death. Ceremorphosis. He won’t change. He’ll die first. They won’t let him. Lia and her knife.
There is another option, actually. It won’t work forever, but at least we won’t have to kill him or wait this out. It'll put him back on the board.
Tav’s sisters. Old pain, tearing him apart. He did this. He took too much. He ruined it. Gods, he’s sorry. So sorry. It’s too late.
I don’t believe I could do without it. Without you.
(He has Astarion’s love. The love that kills.)
His poisoned kiss. Falling into the dark. The Shadowfell. Grief. Betrayal. The breaking of fragile things. Wandering alone, robbed of the sun. Thaniel. A new vow. Burning purpose. Desire.
He’ll live.
He’ll kill whoever he has to.
He’ll find his way back.
But he doesn’t.
He wants to live, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get to. The world doesn’t play fair. Tav’s life is worth something after all, but he still only has the one. He has to decide how to spend it. Who to spend it on.
It’s not about who deserves it.
This is a gift. And it doesn’t come with strings.
Tav reels, overwhelmed. It’s too much. Weeks’ worth of memories pouring in at once, an ocean in a single swallow. He can’t process it all. But something cuts through the flood.
His double’s last gasp. His limp weight in Tav’s arms.
Tav goes to the ground with him. He cradles his double’s head and stares into those unseeing gray eyes. His heart flutters in his chest. He aches, but he doesn’t weep. His double isn’t dead.
Tav doesn’t have a double anymore. That’s a silver-haired husk in his arms. One more death. One more resurrection.
He’s more than he was: two collapsed into one. Whole. New.
“Thank you,” Tav breathes. “I won’t forget it.”
A heartbeat before the portal snaps shut, Tav steps through.
The stench of blood and smoke hits him first. He’s on the lakeshore north of Last Light, same place as in the Shadowfell. Isobel’s spell glows radiant silver in the eternal night.
Not so eternal, maybe. Soon.
Familiar faces turn toward him. Karlach, Wyll. Shadowheart. Lae’zel and Gale. Halsin, clutching Thaniel tight in his arms. Tav can see colors again. Gods, they’re beautiful. All of them.
“Tav! Thank Silvanus. You made it through. Where is—”
“I knew you’d come back—”
“Are you all right? Fuck, he’s hurt. Shadowheart?”
Drenched in his own blood, Tav heaves for breath. Past his friends, he sees a figure kneeling on the ground, draped in a midnight-blue cloak. An ichor-soaked dagger quivers in his right hand; the other’s empty.
Astarion doesn’t move as Tav draws closer. Doesn’t look up. Tav doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s gone, withdrawn somewhere far away. Why?
“Astarion?”
A shudder passes through Astarion, like he’s just heard a ghost call his name. He lifts his face—and Tav sees shock splinter him, cracks in a glass window. He rises to his feet without a scrap of his usual grace. He looks unsteady on his feet. Drunken.
“No. I heard your heart stop. You’re dead, love.”
Tav stares at him, bewildered. Then he sees the glint of a moonstone on Astarion’s finger and he glances down at his own bare hand. His ring. He never took it back from his double. It’s gone now, locked away in the Shadowfell.
Tav’s chest draws tight. Gods, let this be the last time he hurts Astarion. Please, never again.
“I’m okay.” He holds out his filthy, blood-covered hand. “Here. Feel.”
Astarion reaches for him, white-lipped, his crimson eyes wide. His cold fingertips brush against Tav’s palm, testing whether he’s solid and warm and real, and he makes a noise—a choked sob, a sound of pain.
Now, finally, Tav remembers what he’s supposed to do. He’s done it before.
He grips Astarion’s hand and draws him close, into his arms. All Tav’s strength, all that fighting and dying, it was made for this. He wraps his arms around Astarion and presses his face to the crown of Astarion's head. Astarion doesn’t hug him back, but that's okay. Tav’s not hurting him, so it's okay.
The words come welling up inside him in a ferocious wave. The killing words. The words that lit the flame and brought him out of the shadow. He’ll never bury them again. Let him die; let everything die, if it must. This love is worth the cost.
Tav’s done reliving the same day over and over. He wants to know what happens after.
“I love you,” Tav whispers into Astarion’s hair, and he feels Astarion’s body seize against his and go utterly still. “I finally found my way back.”