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Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
—A Drinking Song, W. B. Yeats
—
Torches in silver sconces blazed merrily on either side of the fine carved doors. They called to passersby in crackling welcome, as did the cultured cheers and calls of laughter within which burst out at every entering patron. Every now and then the doors opened to reveal glimpses of diners in glittering gowns and robes, two glass chandeliers a trifle large for the space, and the scent of beautifully cooked meat.
Tav, who had a new rent in her cloak and a still-damp mudstain down her entire left leg, would just as soon have gone back to the Elfsong for the evening; but a crew of rebuilding construction workers had at last taken on the inn’s shattered west wall, and all guests had been summarily displaced for the duration. Two days, they’d said. Three, if the Elder Brain’s death throes had fractured the foundation. Not much she could do there without taking up a hammer herself.
And besides, Astarion was here. It was a restaurant and auberge just to his taste: on the low side of the Upper City, grossly overpriced, staffed with obsequious parlor-maids and utterly choked with gilt candelabra. She’d have even preferred starting on at the Blushing Mermaid, but Astarion had made it clear washed sheets were a non-negotiable, and that had severely limited their options.
Nothing to be done for it. She shook out the road-grit from her cloak, retied her hair more smoothly, and pushed open the door. A man in a starched white shirt leapt to pull it the rest of the way for her—unsettling enough even before he apologized for his lapse in attention—and Tav muttered some generic benediction before fleeing past him.
The main room was fine, very large and very crowded. On the left side were two dozen tables crammed with velvet-cushioned chairs and bedecked with platters of steaming fish and crystal wineglasses. On the right was a polished dance floor full of men and women in evening dress, and a string trio on a corner stage led them through a swirling dance Tav didn’t know.
Astarion would be at the bar, she knew. Tav kept her head down as she weaved through the crowd, avoiding the glances of curious diners at her leather armor, her bloodied gloves, the blasted mudstain down her leg. Bloody oozes. Bloody opportunistic looters without a goose’s sense among them, too foolish to understand that what they’d stolen from Sorcerous Sundries might in fact be very, very magical indeed—
There. The crowd parted enough she could make out Astarion’s white hair, and every ounce of tension melted out of her like oil off a hot pan. He was sitting at the bar on the back wall, one leg crossed over the other, his chin on his hand, his whole body turned toward the person sitting beside him. His eyes were lidded and unblinking and beautiful, and Tav wanted nothing more in the world than to walk straight into his arms and bury her face in his chest.
Astarion’s neighbor said something, leaning towards him, and Astarion laughed. A conspiratorial laugh, low and inviting, and a smile afterwards that seemed full of promises. Tav stumbled to a halt.
Who—a man. She didn’t know him. A little taller than her, she thought, and an elf, very slim, with tawny hair that fell in a straight sheet down his back. He was dressed in fine robes of orange and gold, and nearly every finger bore a jewel-studded ring. He leaned in towards Astarion again, and though she couldn’t hear the words from here, she could make out enough of his tone to know it was a question.
Jealousy roared up the back of her throat like bile. Tav recoiled, shocked at her own vitriol—but a second wave crashed over her before the first had waned, and her fingers clenched around the hilt of her rapier.
How dare he. How dare this man—this stranger—come to this overpriced hothouse of an inn and choose Astarion out of everyone, out of all the wretched jewel-encrusted gentry swirling around them to sink his soft unbloodied hands into—
And just as swiftly as it came, the jealousy vanished.
Why not?
Why not Astarion? He was clearly the most handsome man in the room, used to luxury and apparently unattached, his fine white curls tumbling over his forehead, his eyes sharp as knives. He was dressed in her favorite black with red trim—the embroidery on this one was more subtle, less garish—and his long, elegant fingers played over the stem of his wineglass with careless grace. Even the silver threading on his shoes shone. He might have stepped down from a painting only moments ago, and she had blood on one cheek and sewer muck caked into the heels of her boots.
What right did she have, after all? This man might be everything Astarion deserved. Self-assured, wealthy, able to keep him in fine clothes and carriages and company the way he ought to be kept. The diamond on the man’s thumb alone could buy half the Wide, Tav thought; surely someone like that could purchase Astarion safety from the sun. The wealthy always knew people, in her experience, or they knew people who knew people, and if nobody knew anybody then the money could always find someone for them instead.
To Tav’s horror, her foot took a half-step backwards.
Better this way, hissed a small voice in the back of her mind, one which sounded remarkably like her long-dead aunt. Better this way, you rotten lead weight. Fucking shackle, what good are you? Let go before you sink him too.
Her foot took another step backwards, and then Astarion laughed.
A beautiful sound on the face of it. Not that high giggle he gave when he was being shocking on purpose; not that punch of sound when he was surprised by his own amusement. It was a coaxing, persuasive sort of laugh, very musical, and to Tav’s ears—thin and fragile as a sheet of glass.
Oh, gods. What was she doing? What was she doing?
The fear released its hold on her feet as if she’d turned molten. She strode forward, displacing a waiter with a tray of expensive-looking liqueurs, and split through a pair of cattily gossiping half-elves with matching feather fascinators. The mud was forgotten. The torn cloak was forgotten. The sideways glances and whispered asides as she passed—nothing at all.
He loved her. How dare she forget? How dare she think such a precious thing might not be worth fighting for? She could practically hear his voice in her head. Little idiot!
She broke through the last of the crowd between them, and Astarion saw her. A shell fell away from his expression, so delicate and perfectly molded she’d hardly noticed it until it vanished, and a warmth grew in his crimson eyes. Not some great blaze, not a raging fire that leapt from tree to tree; something smaller instead, quiet and very steady, the way one lit a candle at the door to welcome home a weary lover.
His smile was real. She thought she could live a thousand years on that alone.
“Astarion,” Tav said as she reached him where he sat, and then she did what she’d longed to for hours and walked straight into his chest.
“Hello, darling,” he said to the top of her head, and his cool arm wrapped instantly around her shoulders. She shuddered in relief. “Gods below. Did you know you’re filthy?”
“It hadn’t completely escaped my notice,” she said, her words muffled in his collar. Despite every instinct telling her to curl up against him right here and sleep for a week, Tav forced herself to straighten. Astarion’s hand slid to the back of her neck, but he didn’t let her go, and he made no move to displace her from the cradle of his knees. Her voice grew stronger. “I see you’re very clean and pressed.”
“Volunteer less often for that nasty rebuilding effort, my dear, and you too can spend your days lounging on satin sheets and reading extremely awful poetry.”
Tav laughed, and his eyes softened. She said, “I missed you.”
“Yes,” he said, as close as he ever ventured to such admissions in public. The string trio finished one set to polite applause and began another; his thumb stroked up the line of her neck and down again.
The man beside Astarion cleared his throat. They both looked over, and he lifted a manicured, arrogant brow. “You must excuse me,” he said with the brassy air of one used to being obeyed. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
“Oh, yes," Tav said, regaining mastery over her tone. "Astarion, do introduce me to your friend.”
Ah, but Astarion knew her too well. A wicked gleam flashed though his eyes, gone again before she could blink. “Of course,” he said. “Good sir, this is the succinctly named Tav, orphan of this fair city turned recently and disgustingly savior of the same. My love, this is…ah. Alexander.”
“Alahonder,” the man said, now decidedly icy. “My wife is Olara Hhune.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar,” Tav said, and she pulled her glove off with her teeth before extending her hand to shake. He took it for the briefest moment, his fingers limp as eels. “Have you two lived in Baldur’s Gate long?”
“Yes,” he said curtly.
Astarion lifted his wineglass to his lips in a swift motion. Tav rested an idle hand on Astarion’s knee, ignoring how his fingers trembled with laughter against her neck. “How wonderful. You two must love each other very much.”
Alahonder Hhune, who had one of the most infamously contentious marriages in the city’s history—who had, Tav knew, been thrown twice from his Upper City manse within the last three months by his furious wife—curled his impeccable elven lip. “Of course,” he said, even more glacial than before. Then he seemed to rally, and he gathered together the scraps of his composure and turned back to Astarion. “My dear boy,” he said, all coaxing honey now, “let me find you again later. Alone, I think. We could pick up right where we left off, hmm?”
“Of course,” Astarion said gleefully, setting his wineglass aside, and he brushed his hand through the man’s tawny hair where it framed his face. “Come back tonight, near midnight. Don’t worry. I’ll find you.”
“Oh,” the man said with a bloom of painfully obvious lust, and without another glance at Tav, he stood in a flourish of orange and gold robes and strode away into the crowd. They parted for him, then closed again behind him like water closing over a sinking log, smooth as if he’d never been.
Astarion, who was still running his thumb over Tav’s neck, turned her face to his. “Well, hello,” he purred. “What curious timing you have, my dear.”
“Just lucky, I suppose,” she said, unable to keep the stupid smile from her face, and before she could succumb to the doubt she leaned up and kissed him.
Astarion let out a low, surprised noise that made her wish to instantly transport them both to the privacy of their rooms, then slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her mouth properly against his. The kiss wasn’t long, but it was tender, and when it was over he let out a little sigh that nearly took her to pieces. Against her mouth, he said, “You really are filthy, you know.”
“And you’re impossible. Alahonder Hhune, really?”
He sat back, looking immensely self-satisfied. “What can I say, darling? Had you felt a little less altruistic today, I would have been a little less alone, and a little less alluring to unhappily married second-rate oligarchs.”
“You could always—” she began, but the memory of exactly why he couldn’t follow her to these daytime excursions flung itself hard against her, and she swallowed the rest of the sentence like glass. “Look less beautiful,” she said lamely instead.
Astarion smirked. “My poor little love. Jealous, are we?”
“Yes,” Tav said, defiant now, and she kissed him again. “Don’t leave me for a Hhune.”
“Certainly not. I’ll hold out for at least a Linnacker.”
“Hm. You could do even better if you wanted.”
Irritation sparked across Astarion’s face, as if he’d heard the flare of genuine doubt. “I don’t want better,” he said, sharp enough the tiefling behind the bar glanced over at them. “I know you can be painfully dense, my dear, but let’s not pretend you’re amnesiac, too.”
How stupid, that the more acidic he became the more her heart puddled in her chest. “Fine,” she said, leaning into him, and he wrapped his arm around her once more. “Let’s see it, then.”
Astarion laughed. He flicked out his wrist, as if to show he had nothing up his sleeve, then snapped his fingers and produced an earring: a polished amber pendant wrapped in heavy gold wire. He twisted the earring this way and that for her amusement, the room’s lavish candelabra flickering fire through the facets. He rippled his fingers in a little wave, and the earring vanished.
“Very good.”
He laughed again. “How smug you sound.”
“I take my wins where I can get them,” Tav said, and she splayed her fingers to reveal three of Alahonder Hhune’s rings arrayed between her knuckles. Framed on either side by gold and rubies, the diamond worth half the Wide gleamed like cold fire.
Astarion’s smile widened toothily. There was delight there, she thought, and a certain novel pride; and under all of it that same slow-burning affection, richer than any basket of diamonds. How wonderful to be the reason for that fanged smile; how precious to feel her own proud delight in turn. That she’d failed to recognize the glassy-eyed mask earlier seemed the height of impossibility, especially against such a clear window into his heart.
“You beautiful man,” she said at last, secreting the jewels back into the pouch at her waist, and she framed his face in both hands. “I’ve an awful confession to make.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“I’ve gotten mud on your trousers. Just—all over them, really.”
“Ah—ugh,” he said, with very real disgust, and he pulled her hands from his cheeks to examine the streak she’d left against his knee. “Why do I put up with you? Honestly.”
“Because you love me,” Tav said, certain.
“Because I love you,” he repeated with tremendous longsuffering, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. “I’ll love you more if you bathe and change.”
“An easy heart to buy. Don’t you have a date later?”
“Yes, though it won’t be with any Hhunes or Linnackers.” His thumb slid to the vein of her throat and pressed there, carefully. “Dinner and a show, I think.”
Tav laughed, her heart kicking forward a few beats before settling. A few of the patrons nearby cast her a glance, but it was swiftly followed by another whisper of her name and an unexpected summary of her recent erstwhile heroics, and then Tav stopped listening because it didn’t matter anyway, because Astarion was smiling at her and Astarion loved her and that was worth any shade of gossip the city could scrounge up. The strings launched into a sprightly minuet, and a new crop of glittering men and women swept onto the floor in a seamless tide.
“I can’t think of a single thing better, Astarion,” Tav said, meaning it. “Dinner and a show sounds perfect.”
Astarion stood, eyes serious, and looked down at her. “I’m rather glad to hear it,” he said at last, and then he shook off the mood like a cat jumping from a bath. “Come on, let’s go. Before this nauseating sentimentality makes me do something I’ll regret.”
Tav smiled, and when he put his hand to the small of her back she let him guide her towards the stairwell. Halfway up the stairs their fingers brushed; he’d gone for the rings at the same moment she’d reached for his pilfered earring. She laughed again; he snorted, and they settled for taking each other’s hands instead.
—
end.