Work Text:
Sometimes, Tav forgets.
They’re in an unexplored section of the sewers, only a tenday or so after destroying the Netherbrain. It’s not easily reached from the main sewers, but a thorough search of Bhaal’s temple for any stragglers or valuable items had led to them stumbling across a half-destroyed wall hidden behind a bookcase, leading back out again. And while it’s not precisely – all right, fine, not at all what they came down there for, Astarion can rarely resist a good secret passage. And Tav can rarely resist a happy Astarion.
They’re under the Upper City, now, Tav thinks, and isn’t it just utterly unsurprising that the wealthy merchants and patriars of the Gate wouldn’t share even a sanitation system with Lower City scum? That this place none of them will ever see is so much better maintained and – well, working, than its equivalent being used by five times as many people?
“Is that a mural?” Astarion scoffs, incredulous, and shakes his head. “You know, darling, I do love needless extravagance as much as the next vampire, but… what’s the point? What’s it even supposed to be of, for that matter?” He picks his way across the grate covering the sewage channel cautiously – unnecessary, the metal’s showing barely even a hint of rust – and lifts his torch, leaning in to peer at the wall. “I can’t even tell if he’s a dancer draped in veils, or a plague victim covered in bandages.”
Tav moves to join him, looking up at the wall thoughtfully. “Bandages,” she states in an absent tone, more interested in the vague suggestion of some kind of – pattern to the design. “Too narrow for veils. And not see-through enough.”
“Yes, I suppose he’d be less hideous if he was meant to be a performer,” Astarion agrees, going up on his toes with a small frown furrowing his brow. “Is it just me, or is he missing half his nose? There’s something odd about the texture…”
As he reaches up, fingertips brushing over the man’s indistinct face, Tav’s eyes widen. “Astarion, wait -”
The wall splits apart with the tortured screech of gears that haven’t been oiled in a very long time grinding together. The two halves of the mural retreat backwards by a few inches along a groove in the floor, then start moving to the sides to leave an opening; Tav’s already grabbed Astarion by the back of his cuirass and hauled him out of the way, ignoring his startled squawk.
As the wall mechanism falls silent again, the pair of them peek out from behind the extruding pipe Tav had chosen for cover.
“Well,” Astarion breathes, the light of excitement and greed shining in his eyes. “Just what do we have here, I wonder?”
“Just… try and stay behind me, all right?” Tav sighs, unshouldering her mace and shield.
♦
“More murals,” Astarion murmurs, frowning, as they pick their way along the stone passageway, Tav lighting the waiting torches in the wall brackets as they go. He pauses in front of one depicting a woman with an imperious expression, draped in flowing black, and his frown deepens as he reaches for the shining red ruby amulet nestled in her cleavage. “Darling, I don’t think that plague victim was – oh, dear.”
“Astarion,” Tav hisses, exasperated, as his poking at the most prominent part of the mural starts another wall opening. Astarion gives her a wounded, put-upon look in reply, but she’s too busy shoving herself forward to notice, because this time the revealed space behind the mural isn’t quite so unoccupied. As the pale, partially-decayed man leaps down at them from his perch up high, she raises her shield to absorb the blow.
♦
“Corpse vampires,” Astarion comments, sounding disgusted, as he toes at the headless remains of one still half-buried in the dirt it had apparently burrowed into. “They’ve been a real nuisance, ever since the Spellplague. They could have just minded their own business and shared the city with us, but nooo. Why do that when they could wander around like idiots, drawing the attention of half the Flaming Fist by being very obviously undead? Why not wander straight past dozens of perfectly tasty mortals so you can try and eat some unsuspecting spawn simply minding his own business in an entirely different part of the city, instead?!”
“So what I’m getting is that you have history, then?” Tav says dryly, lifting her torch to double-check all the room’s various perches are clear of any lurking menaces.
“Well,” Astarion says, sounding smug, now. “Not for much longer, with any luck. Come, darling; if this is where they were coming from the entire time, maybe I can finally be rid of this damned headache.”
As they step back out into the corridor Tav halts almost immediately, holding out an arm to block Astarion too.
“What -” he starts to say, and Tav urgently shushes him, because – oh hells, whatever the mechanism was that Astarion had triggered to let them inside that room, apparently it was connected to more than just the single door. Up and down along both sides of the passageway, she can see rows of openings shrouded in shadow where there used to be more murals. She can hear faint scrapings and scratchings, too, the rest of the chambers’ unknown inhabitants slowly waking from their rest.
They’ll be disoriented, still, Tav thinks. If we can just quickly and quietly pull back to the entrance so we’re not getting swarmed -
A group of mummies – that explains the bandages, shit, shit – come stumbling out of the nearest opening to their right, a group of skeleton warriors from the one to their left. And across from them… zombies, but with their intestines hanging out, writhing in the air, and as they’re surrounded on all sides Tav reaches out by instinct, calling upon her god and the power granted her to Turn them all with a brief, brilliant flare of radiance that crumbles most of them directly to ash and sends the rest fleeing in terror.
Panting, nerves still jangling, Tav lowers her mace slightly, scanning up and down the shadowy corridor lit by flickering, intermittent lights; nothing immediately obvious as yet, but she can still hear them, hear the ones who were too far to be caught in the Turn but whose attention was drawn by the commotion -
A stifled little noise at her back has her whirling around to face the corpse vampire chamber. She doesn’t see anything at first – something in the back of her mind insists that she should be seeing something, that something’s wrong, but she’s still too much on alert to be thinking of anything but locating the immediate threats – until she lifts the torch still held in her shield hand, catching a flicker of movement. As realisation crashes down upon her, Tav’s eyes widen. She shoves her mace into the loop on her belt, hurrying forward and dropping her torch upon the dirt floor just inside the room, barely sparing it a thought beyond making sure she doesn’t set anything on fire in the process.
“Astarion,” she exclaims in dismay, keeping her voice low, because she – she’s burned him, the radiant power she called upon leaving his exposed skin white and ashy just as daylight would, oh gods he doesn’t have the tadpole any longer, how could she have been so careless –
A louder noise as Tav draws closer, Astarion letting out an honest-to-gods whimper of fear as he pauses in his scrabbling fruitlessly at the stone of the opposite wall, as far away from Tav as he can get. There’s no recognition in his gaze; just the same terror as every other undead she just sent fleeing, the power of her god having made them all perceive her as an implacable, indestructible threat they must escape at any and all costs.
“No,” Astarion sobs, his gaze still fixed unblinkingly on her as he resumes scratching at the wall, his hands and broken nails already leaving faint streaks of blood, and it’s much too loud, he’s going to draw every last remaining undead creature down upon them and Tav can’t fight them all off alone, she certainly can’t risk another Turn Undead when she’s already injured him so badly –
Tav blinks hard, forcing back the tears prickling at her eyes, then strides forward, grabbing Astarion’s shoulder to twist him around so his back’s to the wall. She shoves him up against it, using her body to pin him in place with her forearm pressed hard against the lower half of his face to muffle any further cries.
He fights her, of course – he’s twisting and struggling like a desperate, feral animal, using all of his strength and agility to try and escape the hold, and it’s a good thing she had the presence of mind to use her arm to keep him quiet rather than her hand, since without the chainmail it’d be in shreds by now – but it’s no good. She’s stronger than him, always has been, and he’s too panicked to think straight; he’s not even trying to grab the daggers that hang forgotten from his belt.
Not long, Tav thinks, hardening her heart against the tears now streaking Astarion’s injured face, the tiny flinches he can’t help giving even in the midst of his terror as their saltwater burns him all the more. He manages to get a hand up, raking his nails across her cheek; she adjusts her hold on him so she can grab his wrist and wrench it back down, pinning the arm between them and ignoring the feel of liquid dripping slowly down, tickling her skin.
Astarion’s gaze doesn’t move to track the blood.
Finally, finally, his struggles start to slow; the unreasoning fear in his gaze fading again until he’s left looking dazed, blinking away the remnants of the tears that have left his eyes swollen. Tav searches his expression, uncertain – he still looks confused, still unsure of what’s going on, and until he’s back to himself they really can’t risk another fight starting up – then goes ahead and slowly, cautiously, pulls her arm back from his mouth.
The lower half of Astarion’s face is a red-streaked mess, his fangs and the chainmail combining to leave his lips gashed open and swollen with raising bruises Tav winces to see. She half-lifts her hand again, reaching out and wanting desperately to heal him, but… she can’t, any longer.
She lets her hand fall.
“Tav?” Astarion murmurs, sounding and looking nothing so much as… lost.
“I’m here,” Tav murmurs back, as quietly as she can. “You have to keep quiet, my heart; it’s not safe. I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what else to do to keep you safe.”
Astarion just blinks at her, uncomprehending. “Is he gone?” he asks, obediently keeping his voice lowered. “Did you kill him?”
Tav’s breath catches; after a beat, she gives a tiny nod. “He’s dead, my love. You’re – you’re safe from him; I promise. But there are – others, still.” Others you’re in no shape to fight just now. “We’re going to use magic to go invisible, all right? We’ll stay quiet, and sneak out; just hold onto my hand and follow my lead. All right?”
“All right,” Astarion echoes, still shivering faintly now and again in the aftermath of his panic. Tav’s not convinced he’s truly following what she’s saying, but as long as he remains willing to listen to her, all the rest can wait.
“Here,” Tav murmurs, pulling out a waterskin and cloth. “Let’s just get cleaned up a bit first; don’t want anything else smelling the blood if we get too close.”
Uncharacteristically docile, Astarion just waits passively as Tav wipes off his face and then her own, using a quick touch of healing magic to close her own scratches, at the very least.
“Just... keep holding my hand and move as quietly as you can; I’ll get us back out,” Tav promises him when she’s done, and pulls out a scroll for the invisibility.
♦
“Well,” Astarion says, clearing his throat, as he slinks back inside the hag’s former lair underneath the Blushing Mermaid, after having disappeared for a good six hours. “Wasn’t that fun and not at all humiliating.”
“Astarion,” Tav gasps in relief, half-rising from her seat before slowly sinking back down, scrutinising him for any lingering injuries. But the one upside of the tadpoles being gone – well, besides the whole avoiding ceremorphosis part, of course – is that Astarion’s vampiric healing and regeneration abilities are well and truly returned; there’s not a single scratch or burn left to be seen upon his flawless features.
Tav swallows, forcing down the recriminations and hurt demands for explanations alike. “Are you all right, love?” she asks gently. “All… healed? I’m sorry, I should never have -”
Astarion interrupts her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Of course you should have, darling; we’d be dead if you hadn’t. Or – more dead than usual, in my case. And I’m perfectly fine; no need for you to worry about a thing, promise.”
Tav nods. “Still,” she says. “I didn’t mean to – I wouldn’t have intentionally -”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Astarion snaps, then blinks a couple of times, forcing his irritation back behind a smooth, unconcerned mask. He gives her a polished smile, then, adding, “Really, Tav; there’s nothing to forgive. I’m fine now; we’re both fine, and safely out of that place, which is what matters. Why don’t we see if Shadowheart might care to join us in a day or so, go back and finish clearing -”
“No,” Tav says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Astarion frowns at her.
“I’ll get Shadowheart,” Tav says. “But she and I can handle it ourselves. There’s no need for you to -”
“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m some sort of liability now,” Astarion snarls, suddenly looking incensed. “You think I can’t handle it? That I’m going to – what, just run away in terror at the first thing that reminds me of – of -”
“What?” Tav interrupts, and stands with a frown of her own, moving around the table towards him. “Of course I don’t think that, I just meant -”
She pauses, eyes widening, when Astarion flinches at her approach, the reaction tiny but unmistakable.
“Astarion,” Tav whispers, swallowing, then makes herself take a couple of steps back.
Looking annoyed - with himself, now, rather than her - Astarion draws in a deep, purposeful breath to steady himself, then gives a tight shake of his head and strides forward, halting in front of Tav and lifting her hand to hold it between his own.
“No,” Astarion says, looking those few inches up at her with a solemn expression. “I know. I know that wasn’t… what you meant. I’m not going to try and tell you nothing like this will ever happen again; that you will never again inadvertently hurt me. But if you do, if it does, I know that it will be because you were trying your best to keep us both safe. I will not hold that against you. And I’m not afraid of you; please don’t ever think that, my love.”
Tav hesitates, then raises her other hand to cradle his cheek; Astarion leans into the touch, still regarding her.
“Then what…?” Tav asks, quiet.
The side of Astarion’s mouth quirks upward in a little half-smile. “I’ve never been Turned before, you know,” he says, rueful. “I think a part of me thought all those creatures who succumbed to it were just… weak-willed. That they’d never learned how to exist in a state of constant, nigh-overwhelming terror, and yet keep on functioning all the same because they – had no other choice. But it wasn’t like that; not entirely, anyway.”
“What was it like?” Tav goes ahead and asks, after a moment, despite not being entirely sure she wants to hear this.
“Usually, you – well, you’d have learned to push through the initial panic,” Astarion says, his gaze somewhere far away, now. “It’s like this – this spike, shooting through you and overwhelming your reasoning and your senses. But that’s just for a moment; you can train yourself to hold still through that part, to not obviously react or make things worse, and then once it passes… you’re still terrified, of course, but you can start to think again. Enough to keep going, and hopefully find some way out the other side of it that leaves you still intact. Mostly, in any case. Being Turned…”
He takes another slow, unneeded breath, still not truly looking at her or anything else in the room with them. “It’s like that first moment is all there is. And it just keeps going, and going, with no – no hope that it’ll ever end. You’re not even able to think enough to conceive of it ending or not ending. You’re just… instinct. All there is is fear and the need to escape, before you’re destroyed.”
Tav swallows, trying not to show how the words - the imaginings of what he'd felt, because of what she so thoughtlessly did - cut at her like knives. “You said – you asked me if he -”
“Cazador,” Astarion interrupts, focusing in on her face again. “Yes. Well. I didn’t know why I’d been so overwhelmed by panic when I first came back out of it, but… what other explanation has there ever been for anything that fearsome, besides him?”
Tav nods slowly. “So it – it wasn’t that I made you think that I was…?”
“Oh, my love,” Astarion says, saddened, and lifts her hand to brush a kiss over the back of it. “No. Nothing like that, I promise. And just now, it was… a little flash of memory, for a breath: you coming closer, in that tomb, and the fear rising up in response. But I have so very many more memories of you coming closer and joy rising up, instead; the other will fade, soon enough.”
Tav closes her eyes, leaning in to rest her forehead against his. “I love you,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry I hurt you; I’ll try not to do that to you again. But not refuse to ever do that again, if it’s the best way to get us both out of some situation in one piece,” she adds, and gets back a small huff of laughter and a squeeze of her hand, followed by a sigh.
“You’re not entirely wrong, though,” Astarion says, sounding reluctant; Tav opens her eyes again, pulling back so that she can see him. “It – would likely be more… efficient, for you and Shadowheart to handle that place on your own. Without having to worry about me… getting in the way of you using what’ll work best. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“On the other hand,” Tav says. “We can’t always count on getting advance warning of undead ambushes, and we’re going to have to figure out how to work around one another in similar situations sooner or later. May as well start practicing now, right?”
A tiny smile. “Not unreasonable,” Astarion allows. “Especially if you’re still planning on having us waste the next couple of years delving into far-flung tombs and temples, chasing the flimsiest possible rumours of some manner of cure for my condition.”
“Think of it as uncovering countless hidden troves filled to the absolute brim with treasure, instead,” Tav suggests, leaning in to kiss him.
Astarion hums contentedly, kissing her back. “You always do know the best way to my unbeating heart.”
“Just – no robbing temples of gods who are still alive,” Tav belatedly warns. “Not unless they’re evil, anyway.”
“Of course, darling,” Astarion promises, giving her the sweetest, most reassuring of smiles. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of it!”
Tav groans, pinching the bridge of her nose and starting to run through the list of artefacts they’ve collected, mentally setting aside potential offerings to appease an angry god or two down the line.