Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You don’t wanna know me now.

I’m an imposter. That was Tav’s first thought as she gazed at her bronze effigy. Her stance was defiant, her hands clutching the hilt of her short sword. In all her metallic glory, her dark hair and mismatched eyes were obscured. She could’ve been anyone– she wished she was.

Yet there she was, immortalized as one of the “Heroes of the Gate.” After the fall of the netherbrain, their statues were placed near various landmarks of the city, serving as each one’s metaphorical guardian. Hers was a permanent resident of the graveyard, just north of the Forge of the Nine where Karlach’s resided. Duke Ravenguard couldn’t have known when he ordered the construction of the statues that hers was guarding Astarion’s grave, but it still felt like a cruel joke. She had only visited once, right after they started to rebuild the city. It had taken hours of searching every grave in the city before she found it, its stone face nearly illegible and wrapped in ivy.

Ancunin. Throughout all of their travels, Tav had never known his last name, and there it was, etched in stone right in front of her. She had wondered if it were easier to pretend he was dead, that the grave in front of her gave her closure. But she was cursed with the knowledge that the casket beneath her feet was hollow, and the real Astarion was somewhere far away from her. He was happy that way, or at least, she hoped he was.

Since she returned to the city several weeks ago, she might as well have been a ghost. She paced the streets at night, lingering at the handful of haunts Astarion had named as his hunting grounds. Some part of her hoped she would see him, his lithe frame slouched over the bar, chatting up some poor unassuming soul. She didn’t know his diet anymore, if he had stuck to the blood of animals after all this time. Hells, she didn’t even know if he was still in the city, but he couldn’t stay out of trouble for long.

It wasn’t often that Tav ventured out of her secluded room of the inn, but when she did, she often indulged. The drinks made her feel a warmth she hadn’t felt in ages, and the obnoxious patrons reminded her what it felt like to be near people, regardless of their sobriety. They didn’t care what she talked or cried about. If she drank enough, she could pretend she was talking to him.

Today, she just wanted to forget. It was quite early for true debauchery, but she hoped that meant she could drink in solitude. Being back in the city filled her with memories of the time she belonged to something, to someone. Everything came back to her in fragments; the swarm of refugees in front of the gate, the roar of the waterfall during the lover’s test, the stench of decay in Cazador’s palace. No. She shook the thought from her head. She couldn’t let herself think of it. It was a means of survival.

She tore her eyes away from the metallic imposter, forcing her feet to carry her out of the graveyard and into the bustling streets below. Tav could always find an escape in the crowds of peddlers and beggars, shouting over each other in the midday heat. She was no one here. Just as she stumbled to the doors of a run down tavern, a familiar feline blocked the entrance, stopping Tav in her tracks.

“Tara?”

The calico merely blinked at her, opting to lick her white paw instead of responding.

Tav sighed. “Tara, I know you understand me.”

“I’m here on business, not leisure.” She said nonchalantly, arching her back while she stretched. “If you wish to know my business, I need some form of payment.”

It had been two years since she had seen Gale. The last time they met at the city’s reopening, he had become a professor at the Blackstaff Academy, instructing young prodigies in the arcane arts. He seemed fulfilled; magic aside, he was an academic at heart.

Seeing Tara in the lower city, presumably to intercept Tav, caused unease to seep into her bones. If Gale had sent Tara to find her, something was very, very wrong.

“You really expect me to believe Gale isn’t feeding you?”

Tara glared at her.

Tav didn’t have time for this. “Fine,” she huffed. “Follow me.”

As she pushed through the doors, she was met with raucous laughter and lively music. The Blushing Mermaid was a rowdy spot, always filled with clamoring drunkards no matter what time of day it was. It was the perfect place to disappear, and Tav loved it. The bartender gave her a curious look as she placed her order, occasionally glancing down at her fuzzy companion. When Tav finally plopped the saucer of milk down at the table, Tara failed to acknowledge her, enraptured by a bird perched at a nearby window.

“You’re rather worse for wear, aren’t you?” She lapped at the saucer in front of her.

“I gave you your payment. I believe you owe me.”

“Oh yes. That,” Tara sighed. “Mr. Dekarios has requested your presence at his home in the upper city. He says it’s urgent.”

Tav froze. “Is he alright?”

“He’s just fine, besides sending me on these tedious house calls.”

Time slowed down, Tav’s drink developing tremors in her hand.

“He…he requested the others too?”

Nothing about this felt right. She had hardly seen any of her companions over the last few years; Hells, she hadn’t seen Wyll or Karlach since their final battle three years ago. Now Gale was summoning all of them, and it certainly wasn’t for a cheery reunion.

Tara’s ear twitched, annoyed with her persistent questions.

“I suppose you will have to find out,” Tara jumped down from the table, stopping to clean the milk from her chin with her paw. “Mr. Dekarios is expecting you.”

“Wait—,” but she had already sauntered out of the tavern, her tail swaying behind her. Tav was left paralyzed by dread.

Around her, patrons were embroiled in their own trivialities: a spilt beer, the final drink of the night, an intoxicated rendezvous. The world went on for them. Yet here she was, roped back into a life that didn’t even want her. She could always say no, walk back to her pitiful room at the inn and pretend this never happened. Gale would manage just fine with the rest of their party.

But there was something inside of her pulling her out of that seedy tavern, turning her in the direction of the Upper City. For years, she was aimless: a passenger in her own life. She used to have an oath, a purpose— something that was irrevocably hers. Saving the Gate allowed her to live in the illusion she was still a paladin, maybe even a hero. They built statues in her honor and awarded her properties that she couldn’t bear to hold onto, gifting them to the Open Hand Temple. She did everything she could to bury herself in history, but she couldn’t deny that trouble had a way of finding her.

The sun was setting over the gabled roofs of the city, washing the stone buildings in the golden light. People milled about the cobblestone streets, retiring to their homes as the day drew to a close. Tav walked against the current of people as she crossed the bridge into the Upper City. She was always awed by the grandeur of this section of the Gate: the marbled estates dwarfed the humble buildings of the lower city. Unlike her, Gale had happily taken all of the city’s gifts, including the minor palace. Even in the noble sector, Gale’s home retained some of his personality. A stone tower marked the house’s east end, serving as the wizard’s study and observatory. He was nothing if not a cliché.

Before Tav could lift the heavy brass door knocker, the door swung open in front of her.

“My friend!” Gale exclaimed as he wrapped her in a hug. He was dressed in dark violet robes, his silky dark hair longer than she remembered. In his arms, she tried to recall the last time she had been touched, or the last time someone was happy to see her. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“I hope Tara didn’t give you too much trouble.” He said into her hair. She pulled away from their embrace, trying to preserve some of her dignity.

“No,” she tried to smile. “Just hustled me out of a saucer of milk.”

He laughed at that, and the sound filled her with warmth. How long had it been since she laughed with a friend?

“You must come in,” he ushered her out of the chilly twilight and through the doorway. “You’re the last to arrive, the others have been running me ragged since last night. I must say, you are quite elusive for the illustrious Hero of the Gate”

“Most of the time, I’m not trying to be found,” she said. “especially by Tara.”

“Hey,” he admonished. “Respect your elders, Tavriel.”

They entered what Tav assumed to be a dining room, furnished with a long oak table bearing various breads and cheeses. Candle wax dripped lazily on the display of finery— the faintest crack in the facade. Huddled in conversation at the end of the table were the people she had come to consider family, though one could argue she was more like an estranged relative. Shadowheart sat fully armored, as if she had just come from a lengthy expedition. Laezel sat next to her, trying to sharpen a dinner knife to her liking while Wyll and Karlach were enthralled by an intense discussion that sent sparks flying from Karlach’s fingertips.

The conversation ceased as she entered, and suddenly she was met with several shocked faces. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. Karlach was the first to rise to her feet, racing over to where Tav was cowering in the entryway.

“Hey there, soldier!” Karlach crushed her in a hug, lifting her feet off the ground. She had forgotten just how strong the tiefling was.

“Karlach,” she squeaked.

“Oh, sorry,” she replied, dropping her unceremoniously. “I’m sorry. Just got a bit excited.”

Tav couldn’t fight the smile that grew on her face. “It’s nice to see you too, Karlach.”

“Don’t mind her.” Wyll said as he embraced Tav. “She’s still trying to shake off the adrenaline of Avernus.”

After the netherbrain, the two had traveled to the Hells to hunt devils in their homeland, seeking a cure for Karlach’s infernal engine along the way. Their fondness for each other was palpable to everyone, and Tav felt just a bit envious of their companionship.

She looked to her other companions. A pang of sadness struck her as she met Shadowheart’s gaze filled with apprehension. She was the only one she kept in contact with after everything. Before she decided to disappear, they often spent drunken nights together, laughing hysterically as they downed a bottle of rich wine. Oftentimes, Tav would pass out in Shadowheart’s bed, too inebriated to walk herself home. In the mornings, she would wake on her side, tucked in a warm blanket and Shadowheart sleeping beside her. For a brief moment, she could remember what it felt like to have a sister.

Now she made herself into a stranger.

“Reunions can wait.” Laezel said, bringing Tav’s attention back to the pair in front of her. Her yellow eyes narrowed, appraising her haggard appearance. “How embarrassing.”

Gale awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well, yes. I’m sure you all are anxious to know why I called you here.”

“I’m hardly anxious.” Shadowheart said. “Annoyed is the preferable term.”

“Right.” He shifted on his feet. “If you all could join me in the library, we can discuss the situation more thoroughly.”

The group seemed agitated, but complied with Gale's command. They all trailed behind him as they climbed the steps to his tower, which were surprisingly narrow for such a vast estate.

“Apologies, friends.” Gale called back. “I never planned on having company in this part of the house.”

“You never planned on having company at all.” Laezel said.

Before Gale could respond, the group reached a stone wall. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be a dead end, a design flaw in the tower’s construction. But Gale was a master of illusion, and he could obscure anything if he wanted to. The group passed through the wall as if it had never been there, entering the vast room that lay beyond.

“Library” was perhaps an understatement. Books lined the walls, the curved shelves reaching the domed glass ceiling of the tower that served as the observatory. A massive alchemy table sat at the center of the room, littered with various books and scrolls. It looked as if the entirety of arcane knowledge resided in that room.

In their collective awe, Tav almost missed the person standing in front of the roaring fireplace. Their arms were crossed, annoyance evident in their posture. For a split second - one single, dizzying second before he saw her - she was so surprised she couldn't even flinch.

Astarion turned toward her, his eyes locked on hers.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind at once, each one more painful and more pitiful than the last. I missed you, rang unbidden through her head, dampening the sparks of any anger she may have felt. If he had opened his arms to her she would have run to him without thinking, even through his terrible scowl. I missed you so much.

I love you, Tav wanted to wail. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't. I'm sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

But she didn’t. In fact, she didn’t say anything. Her mind went blank besides one command: run. And she did.

Chapter Text

If our love died young, I can’t bear witness.

I’m going to be sick. Tav thought as she barreled into her cramped quarters of the inn. Years of wanting, loving, mourning him and there he was standing in front of Gale’s hearth with his arms crossed and a scowl adorning his face. Three years gone and he still hated her.

She fought the bile building in her throat, sitting at the edge of her bed while she tried to control her breathing. He looked exactly the same. Of course he did. His hair was perfectly styled, his pallor stark as ever, and his eyes shone with the same disdain they had when he wished her dead all those years ago.

Gripping the rough linens beneath her, she took stock of the desolate room she had come to call her own. Clothes were sprawled across the wood floors, empty bottles of wine and ale were haphazardly scattered around the room. It looked as if it had been ransacked by goblins. The only part that was pristine was the old wooden side table by her bed. Upon it sat the journal she had kept throughout all their quests: the grove, the shadow cursed lands, the netherbrain. In lonely days after rebuilding the Gate, she poured over the pages until dawn leaked across the night sky. She had come to like the torture of reflection; it filled the hole revenge had left in her.

It couldn’t have been that long ago, surely. That night they sat across from each other with their knees drawn up, toes touching in a way that sent a chill down Tav’s spine. The moonlight refracted off the ripples in the stream where she often liked to clear her head, though she was almost always interrupted.

“How would you like to go? If you turn, I mean.” Her voice disrupted their contented silence.

Astarion rested his elbows atop his knees, an amused grin on his lips. “Hm.” He looked toward the sky where the moon beamed down on them. In this light, his white curls had a pearlescent sheen that she had a hard time ignoring. “I’ve always felt decapitation was a fine choice. One good swing and then— nothing.”

“I guess you picked the right person for the job,” she sighed. “Though I can’t say I’m well practiced.”

Astarion grinned at her. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of practice once we capture the goblin camp. Hells, I’ll even give you extra points if you cut the priestess down where she stands.”

He closed his eyes against the moonlight. She had observed him like this before, when he thought she wasn’t looking, basking in the glow of the sun as if he might never see it again. She often thought back to the first time they had met, when flashes of dark alleys were projected in front of her and deep primal fear clawed at her insides as if it were her own. Wherever he had been before all of this, it wasn’t somewhere he longed to return to.

“And what about you?” He looked at Tav. She had definitely had better days: her leather boots were caked in mud, her curls so unkempt one might think a sparrow had made a home in them. “I’ve behaved myself so far but the minute you sprout a tentacle, I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it. Death had a habit of following her around, worming its way into every facet of her life like an infection. When she had taken her oath of vengeance, she was just a young girl, bereft and desperate for some sense of justice. Revenge was the only thing that kept her tethered to her old life— the life before tadpoles and mindflayers and unnervingly pale rogues. The past week reminded her that death was breathing down her neck once again, and every second spent looking for a cure was on borrowed time.

“Stabbing sounds good.” She concluded. “Just laying down in the forest, bleeding out among the trees. It doesn’t sound like an awful way to go.”

“My, my.” He rested his chin in his palm. “Such a grisly death for a paladin. Mine is undoubtedly the more efficient route.”

Tav laughed. “Of course, you have a superiority complex about death.”

“All in good fun, darling.” He dipped his head in secrecy, whispering into the cacophony of the night. “I vow to make yours as painful as you’d like.”

Somehow during the course of their banter, she had leaned even closer to him, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief. She knew this was a game to him—that she was just a means to an end in all this absurdity. Once they got their tadpoles extracted, he could just as easily slit her throat, leaving her for the gnolls to devour. But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the dance.

It was a few nights later when he first drank from her. She had spent the night plagued by nightmares, tossing and turning as a specter of her sister froze her in place. Over and over again she had to watch their parents die while her sister dragged their corpses upon a stone slab, the air thick with the stench of blood and decay. She always begged her to stop, to bring them back as they were. Serana simply stood with her back turned, murmuring incantations as their limp bodies thrummed with false life. Tav was merely a witness; she was always a witness. When her father’s cold hands wrapped around her throat, she awoke gasping on the hard ground of the camp. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, her hair damp with sweat as she tried to forget the smell of death. It was only when she caught her breath that she noticed Astarion on his knees in front of her, teeth bared at her neck.

“Shit.” he whispered.

He scrambled to his feet, raising his hands as if to calm a frightened animal.

“No, no— it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

Tav rose to meet him, her body still quivering from the dream. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He was panicking, his hands shaking as he backed away from her. “I just needed. Well—blood.”

The earth shifted beneath her feet. She had been so foolish. The exsanguinated boar, the pointed canines, the deep maroon eyes. She had been so enthralled by their delicate dance she had neglected to see him for what he really was: a vampire.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” She breathed, her gut aching with betrayal. “We even found the boar you snacked on.”

“It’s not what you think. I feed on animals: boars, deer, kobols. Whatever I can get,” he assured. “I’m just too slow right now, too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better.” He paused before whispering, the space between them heavy with desperation. “Please.”

Somehow, finding out her companion was a vampire was the least absurd discovery of the last few days. Bloodlust aside, he had a point. If they were to lay siege on the goblin camp, they needed everyone at their best— undead charlatan included. Her rage had to wait for another day.

She crossed her arms, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He stepped closer. “No. I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

Of course she couldn’t. Everything Astarion did was a performance few were privy to— she was just clever enough to be a conscious spectator. Still, she couldn’t deny her fondness for him, or how she ached seeing him frightened of her. Gods, she really was a fool.

“Alright.”

“Right, of course, I’ll just find something nearby to—” he stopped himself, realizing what her answer had been. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said alright,” Tav looked up at him. “We need you at your best like you said.”

He was caught off guard for once, and Tav couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that she was capable of surprising him. She had put the tiniest crack in his mask.

“Oh— Well.” Astarion cleared his throat. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?”

Tav glanced at their sleeping companions. Their armor was strewn about their makeshift camp, snores echoing through the night. They were blissfully unaware that a vampire was about to feed on their fearless leader.

Astarion guided her back down to her bed roll, a cool hand caressing the nape of her neck as he pushed her sad excuse of a pillow beneath her. She was aware of every movement he made; it was like her world had shrunk to just the two of them fumbling around in the firelight. Tav wanted this. More shockingly, she wanted him. He had won their game long before she knew she was playing one. Steeling herself against her nerves, she finally pulled her curls aside, exposing her flushed throat that still glistened with sweat.

“Easy, darling,” he said as he positioned himself over her, “It‘s only a taste.”

His voice brought her back to reality, forcing her to steady her breaths. Before he buried his face in her neck, she could’ve sworn he was smiling.

“Are you sure you want this, my dear?” He whispered into her skin.

“I want us alive.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but she was far from the only chronic liar in their camp. “If this is going to keep us from being slaughtered tomorrow, then so be it.”

All at once, he was closer than he’d ever been. She was all too aware of his lips brushing against her skin, pressing down on her pulse in a whisper of a kiss. Just as her hand shot up to grip his hair, he sunk his teeth into her.

It was like the sting of a blade, icy and sharp before fading to a pleasant numbness. He moaned against her neck as he drained her, taking her consciousness with every pull of his mouth. She could let him drink forever, if she didn’t care to live. Black seeped into the corners of her vision, the feeling of him on top of her becoming more and more distant.

“Astarion.” She whispered faintly.

But he was lost in her. His pulls were frantic and sloppy, as if he had been starved for centuries. Maybe he had. Panic seized her as she realized this could be it: a minute longer and this would all be over. No more tadpoles or mind games or unyielding grief. When the morning came, her bloodless body would be waiting for her companions, and Astarion would be the first suspect. It would be a massacre.

“Stop! It’s too much.”

He pulled back with a gasp. “Ah, of course,” he panted. “That- that was…amazing.”

Rivulets of blood ran from the corners of his mouth as he tried to catch every last drop on his fingers, frantically sucking each finger clean.

“My mind is finally clear,” he was possessed by mania, his eyes dazed as his chest heaved with every word. “I feel strong. I feel…happy!”

Tav felt sheepish standing in front of him. It was the most intimate thing she had ever done, and her mind was still reeling from how close she had been to death.

She swallowed. “I look forward to seeing you fight.”

“It shouldn’t take long,” he shrugged, elation gleaming from his features. “So many people need killing. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”

Just like that, it was over. He stalked over to the tree line, confidence draped over his form as he sought out his next meal. Something more filling, perhaps less cognizant. Something he could kill without shame.

“This is a gift you know,” he looked back from where he had paused among the trees’ silhouettes. “I won’t forget it.”

Neither would she. In fact, it haunted her every night since. Sometimes, when her mind fought the clutches of sleep, she envisioned his body on hers again, his lips brushing against her neck in the ghost of a kiss. She could pretend it wasn’t a simple transaction— that he actually cared about her. Maybe even loved her.

But it wasn’t the truth. He had been gone for years. He wanted her dead, and the unmasked fury in his eyes upon seeing her at Gale’s home proved he still hated her. She couldn’t blame him either. She was an oathbreaker, a failure, and worst of all, a traitor.

“Tav?” A knock at her door interrupted her self pity.

“Not now, Shadowheart.” She shoved her journal in the rickety drawer before standing. Right as she approached the door, splinters exploded from the frame as it flew open in front of her. Shadowheart emerged from the wreckage, smugly appreciating her handiwork.

“Are you mad?” Tav gasped. “You realize I don’t own this room, don’t you?”

Shadowheart ignored her, assessing the disheveled room, “By the hells, has something died in here?”

Tav rolled her eyes, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Can you tell me why you just rendered my door useless?”

“You ran from us. That’s pretty cowardly for a paladin.”

“I’m not a paladin anymore,” she snapped.

“That’s besides the point.” Shadowheart pushed her dirty clothes off the bed, sitting awkwardly in her armor. “The Tav I know would at least be curious as to why Gale called us to his lair.”

“Lair?”

“You’ve seen it. He’s really leaning into the whole reclusive professor role.”

She huffed a laugh, finally meeting Shadowheart's expectant gaze. Her silver hair was in a long twisted braid, her armor polished and shining. She was stunning. It had been ages since they talked like this: a predicament that was entirely Tav’s fault. She couldn’t face the woman she had considered a sister as an oathbreaker, and Shadowheart kept busy roaming the Sword Coast after turning from Shar. Still, Tav was ashamed she kept her at arm’s length. Her words felt stuck in her throat.

“I can’t see him, Shadowheart.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” She admitted.

“Then you’re a fool.” Shadowheart sighed. “Whatever he wants, it’s bigger than both of you. Astarion isn’t pleased with the rest of us either, so it must be something important to make him grovel to Gale of all people for help. And frankly you need the work, if your hovel is anything to go by.”

Everything about this was humiliating, but Shadowheart knew her in a way that no one else did. She was harsh but fair; righteous but grounded. At the very least, Tav owed her one uncomfortable meeting, especially after disappearing for a year.

“I’ll go.” She caved. “But only because you asked me to.”

“Good,” Shadowheart stood to leave. “Personally, I’m getting tired of wrangling you.”

She pulled the mangled door closed, her braid swaying in her wake.

“Don’t keep us waiting.” She called from down the hall.

Tav let out a breath.

Hells.

Chapter Text

Cards on the table, mine play out like fools in a fable. 

Tav was dying. She had to be.

The snow that surrounded her was unforgiving. She must have been laying here for hours, her hands nearly as pale as the frozen ground beneath her. 

All she remembered was agony. Her wrists were tied, her limbs stretched upon a stone slab in a dank cave. The bodies of her parents were slumped in front of her, blood caked around the open wounds in their necks. Serana was engrossed in the ritual, hardly looking at the sacrifice before her. Books were strewn about the makeshift study, an elaborate infernal symbol carved into the sodden earth. Tav couldn’t decipher any of the words Serana murmured besides one name: Myrkul. 

She couldn’t look away from her parents’ faces. Their eyes were open in a permanent expression of shock— neither of them had expected this fate when their daughter came home from her apprenticeship. They had hugged her tightly that evening, commenting on her newly cut hair. The colder season had enveloped their region of Faerun, cloaking the terrain in a thick white blanket of snow. Serana hunched over their pot of stew, stirring it while Tav inquired about her time away.

“Do you like the Gate better?” She asked.

“Hm.” Serana added a handful of chopped carrots to the pot. “Neverwinter is definitely more pleasing to the eye, but Baldur’s Gate has more life.”

“It’s not getting any marks for hospitality though,” she added, her eyes twinkling with humor. “I’ve been robbed blind more than a few times.” 

In the midst of their banter, Tav found herself staring at her sister’s short hair. Ever since they were kids, Serana kept her dark hair long, locks cascading down to the base of her spine. Now, it curled around her ears, framing her high cheekbones and golden brown eyes. In their youth, the two girls might’ve been mistaken for twins if it weren’t for Tav’s eyes: one, the same golden brown and the other, an impossibly light blue. 

“It’s rude to stare, Tavy.” 

Tav jumped at her sister’s admonishment. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She rushed. “It’s just rather… different is all.” 

Serana smirked. “Do I need your permission for a haircut?”

“No, but you need my guidance apparently.” 

Serana huffed a laugh, and Tav couldn’t help but follow suit. Tav continued to pester her sister as the stew reached a simmer, their parents shooing the girls away so they could serve their dinner. 

“And here I was thinking Tav was the family cook.” their father remarked. His eyes sparkled with amusement as they fell on Tav, who preened at his attention. 

She loved all of her family, but the love she held for her father in particular was nothing short of profound. His hands, worn and leathery from the hours he spent tending to the family plot, scooped meat and vegetables into his bowl. His pointed ears peeked through his long gray hair, a show of his half-elf ancestry. Their mother was a full-blooded human, nearly fifty years younger than their father. She was a strict woman, but that was to be expected for the owner of the family’s stall. Someone had to be able to barter. Her dark curls had just started to reveal gray streaks; she bore a striking resemblance to her daughters, though Serana had been the one to take after her in personality.

Serana narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m known for more than my magic, you know.”

Her father pulled out his chair at the table, settling into the conversation. “I never said you weren’t, dear. Just excited we have two chefs to exploit.”

“Well, Tav’s cooking is far from masterful!” Serana teased, eliciting a shocked gasp from her in response.

Laughter echoed off of the walls, though the raucous bickering faded to a more comfortable silence as their mother raised an eyebrow, beckoning the girls to the table without a word. 

It was only after they began eating that Tav started to feel faint. 

She couldn’t explain it. The panic came over her slowly, lapping at the edges of her mind until the room started to spin, her eyes closing sluggishly against the spots now permeating her vision. Distantly, she heard her spoon clatter onto the wooden table, the sound of scraping chairs, and her eyes snapped back open, frantically, to find her father’s gaze. But she could only see him slumped over the table, her mother’s own limp body falling gently into his. She tried to stand, to scream, but felt herself stilled by a hand to her shoulder.

“Serana?” She slurred. 

She felt only a huff of breath against her neck before her vision went dark.

When she regained consciousness, her sister had already reached the ritual’s end. All Tav could do was watch. Just as an emerald glow surrounded her parents, an unseen force gripped her being, shattering several of her bones in its grasp. She screamed until her voice gave out, until all she could do was rasp her pleas to her sister. But she was drunk on power; the bodies of their parents moved like marionettes, and she was the puppeteer. All Tav felt was agony, building to an unbearable peak until— nothing. 

In the hours she spent partially buried by the snow, she had come to accept that she was going to die. If the pain didn’t kill her, the frost would. Tav couldn’t move her limbs, but she could move her eyes. She forced them open, trying to discern where she would be laid to rest. Not far from her broken body, blossoms inexplicably sprouted from the snow, dotting the landscape in shades of red and yellow. She couldn’t have been far from her home in Neverwinter. It was a small comfort. 

As she fought to breathe, a voice echoed from further up the path. 

“Mystra’s tits, it’s cold.” 

“You shouldn’t say that, Zeph,” another voice groaned.

“Why? Can’t stand the thought of tits, can you?” 

They sounded young. More importantly, they couldn’t have been far. Tav tried to scream, but her voice died in her throat, coming out a pathetic croak.

The snow crunched under their feet as they drew closer before pausing abruptly.

“Do—” one of the men panted. “Do you see that?”

“The dead body?” His companion sounded annoyed. “Yes, I’m not blind.” 

“Should we notify Guardian Iliyra?” 

Guardian?  Was she close to a temple? 

“Not our problem. The poor bastard looks like they’ve been there for days.”

She heard the clanking of armor as one of the men picked up their pace, rushing ahead of the other. 

“Don’t go poking it, Soren!” The other man pleaded. 

As her vision faded, the footsteps hurried toward her, and the blurry image of a man in armor appeared. She could just barely make out his curved horns and auburn skin, his eyes the color of glowing embers as he examined the body before him. She was already drifting off into the unknown when she heard him gasp. 

“Lord Torm, preserve us,” he breathed. “She's alive!”

“Alright,” Gale clapped his hands together. “Now that we’ve mitigated all flight risks.” He turned toward the hearth. “Astarion?” 

Tav stood sheepishly in front of the group, looking everywhere but him. Behind her, Shadowheart stood with her hands on her hips, strategically blocking the exit. She had no choice but to face him. Meanwhile, Astarion couldn’t look away from her, and she grew even more flushed under the weight of his gaze. He always loved to see her squirm. 

He moved from where he stood before the fire, crossing his arms as he assessed the group. They could feel the malice emanating from him; after all, Tav wasn’t the only one who wronged him. He wanted all of them dead. 

“The animals,” he said plainly. “There’s something wrong with the blood.” 

Wyll was the first to speak. “How do you mean?”

Astarion sighed in frustration. “The animals I feast on. Their blood is foul, like that wretched drow in Moonrise. I noticed it a month ago but I chalked it up to…a bad batch, so to speak. I figured I just needed to venture out, expand my horizons.”

He sat down in the armchair next to him, draping an elbow over the side. “So I did. I went back to the grove, Reithwin, even went as far as Neverwinter.” Tav’s heart sank. “It’s everywhere. All of them.”

Stillness fell over the room. “How?” Karlach asked.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” 

“Easy, Astarion. They might get stuck like that.” Shadowheart remarked from her post in the doorway.

“How is the Vampire’s food our problem?” Laezel chimed in, casting a vicious glance his way. “Perhaps this is nature’s way of killing his kind.”

“Now, now, Children,” Gale hushed, “These are all valid concerns. Lucky for all of you, I was able to do a little research before gathering you here.” He moved to the center of the room, clasping his hands behind his back. “The magic at play here is dark. Powerful. I haven’t seen anything like it since the Shadow Cursed Lands.”

Tav spoke up. “Is it necromancy?” 

Everyone turned to her, all wearing an expression of thinly veiled surprise at her outburst. Astarion’s scowl deepened. 

“I believe so,” Gale concluded, giving Tav a sympathetic look. “But whoever is doing it has greater plans. We just caught the beginning of them.”

“So?” Laezel said.“You called all of us here to run errands for you?”

Gale sighed. “I called you here because Faerun is in danger. And–” He seemed nervous suddenly, his eyes drawn to the floor. “I believe it’s a personal matter.”

Tav’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

“There have been whispers among my colleagues for years about a powerful necromancer from Neverwinter. I didn’t believe any of it until Astarion came to me a few nights ago.” Gale paused, cementing the dread brewing in Tav’s chest. “Tavriel, I believe it may be your sister.”

All at once, the room felt suffocating. The walls shrunk around her, the ground unsteady under her quivering feet. She tried to speak, to challenge his claim, but her throat was in a vice grip. It came out as a hysterical sob. The last time she saw her sister, she had left her broken body for dead on that remote mountainside. Tav had taken an oath to make her pay, spending the decade before her abduction tirelessly searching so she could put her head on a pike. But she didn’t have an oath anymore; she had lost the right to vengeance when she broke it. 

Sometime in the middle of her panic, Astarion had risen to his feet, his hands curled into fists at his sides while he maintained a cautious distance from her. No one dared to break the silence that was interspersed with her sobs. No one except Karlach.

Tav was vaguely aware of the tiefling next to her who wrapped a muscled arm around her. “Soldier?” Karlach tried to bring her back.

“I’m fine, Karlach.” She wheezed, a shaking hand wiping the sweat from her brow. “What’s the plan?”

Gale was caught off guard. “Oh. Well, If everyone is amenable to a small trek, I believe Halsin may have some valuable insight for us in Reithwin.” 

“Count me in, soldier.” Karlach clapped Wyll on the back. “We’re due for a little adventure.” 

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, “Is he coming with us?”

Astarion glared at her. “I understand Shar might have botched your memory, but it seems you’ve forgotten that I was once a vital part of your merry little band.” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” She replied.

“Astarion is coming.” Gale interrupted, casting an apologetic look Tav’s way. “It is his appetite on the line, after all. We’ll leave tomorrow at sundown. I recommend you all rest up here and gather supplies in the meantime. The guest chambers are just to the right of the stairwell.”

Gale held out an expectant arm, and the group filed out of the room, chatting about the various weapons and supplies they would need in the days to come. Tav, however, was frozen in place, staring at the ornate rug under her feet. After a decade of searching, her sister was finally within her reach. 

There was a time when Tav was naive, when her only worry was the lengthy hours spent slaving away on the farm. But that callow version of herself died at that dinner table. What remained of her was merely a wraith, robbed of any feeling other than hate and misery. She slept clutching a knife under her pillow; she never felt another body on top of hers in the night. Love was weakness— and she would never be weak again. 

But that was before him. Before he had wormed his way under her skin in the most insufferable way. When she saw him on that cliffside, it was the first time she had seen a mask like hers, though it was a slightly different mold. She had let herself fall for him. She had let herself be weak for him. And it ruined her.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Tavriel?” 

Fuck.

Astarion stood behind her, his stance exuding irritation. 

Tav’s cheeks grew hot. “I-I’m sorry. Are you staying here?”

“No, but the books are preferable company.” 

She used to be able to read him, to get a glimpse beyond the mask—sometimes of his own volition. But the man who stood before her was indecipherable. She peered up at him. His eyes were the same shade of garnet they had always been, his face gaunt and sallow. He looked exhausted. More concerningly, he looked emaciated.

“Astarion.” She said softly, causing him to flinch. “If all the blood is foul, you don’t need to starve. I don’t mind giving you some, if you’d let me.”

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “No, darling. I would rather waste away and have my bones picked clean by goblins before I ever drink from you again.”

Right. That could’ve gone worse. 

He brushed past her, stopping at the stairwell before turning back, the firelight flickering against his white tunic. 

“We may be traveling together again but let me make one thing very clear.” His voice was dangerously low. “You are nothing to me. You would do well to remember that.”

Tav merely watched him descend the stairs, his footsteps echoing in time when her racing heart. 

This was going to be excruciating.

Chapter Text

We were built to fall apart, and fall back together. 

“Is she awake?”

Tav pried her eyes open against the glaring sunlight peeking through the curtains. The first thing she noticed was pain: a profound dull ache through her entire body. 

I must have been thrown off a cliff too, she thought. 

The last thing she remembered was eyes like smoldering coals above her, panicked as they took in the severity of her injuries. She surmised her savior was the same tiefling who stood near the window, his head huddled with a human woman in carnelian robes. Now more cognizant, she noticed his shaggy plum colored hair that reached his shoulders. He couldn’t have been much older than her, his movements clumsy and awkward like a newborn fawn.

“She’s been in and out of consciousness.” She heard the woman whisper. “She needs a few more rounds of healing, but I expect she’ll make a full recovery.” 

“Does she say anything when she’s awake?”

The woman shook her head. “She only whimpers. I think she said a name once—.”

Tav cleared her throat, causing their heads to snap in her direction. 

“Oh!” The tiefling jumped, quickly crossing the room to her side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you were awake. How are you feeling? Can you move? Speak?”

Tav scooted upright on the bed. “I feel disoriented, though that’s partly from your questions.” 

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

The numerous beds lining the wall of the room told her she must be in some sort of infirmary. Assessing the humble furniture around her, she noticed one recurring symbol: an outstretched gauntlet. 

“All of this must be overwhelming.” He hunched over her bed, holding out a hand to her. “I’m Soren. The one who found you.” 

She tentatively took his hand. “Tav. Could you tell me where I am, Soren?” 

“A temple of Torm, some ways beyond Neverwinter.” 

Tav slowly stood out the bed, wincing with her every movement. Ignoring Soren’s frantic effort to aid her, she hobbled over to a window, taking in the vast expanse of white. The stark granite of the temple made it nearly inseparable from the landscape. Below the temple’s perch, the snow was speckled with buildings and quaint city streets. She could faintly see the marketplace where her family’s stall resided, her heart clenching at the memory. 

“Am I free to go?” She choked.

Soren furrowed his brow. “You were never a prisoner, Tav. Vigilant Jocasta recommends you undergo some more healing but I’ll happily assist you in your journey home whenever you feel ready.”

Her legs felt weak. “I don’t have a home.” 

The human woman, Vigilant Jocasta, crossed the room. Tav had hardly noticed her during her conversation with Soren, but now she turned to observe the petite woman. Her dark coiled hair was wrapped in a tight bun, with a few locks framing the soft features of her face. Something in her eyes put Tav at ease: there wasn’t pity or sympathy in them, only determination. 

Vigilant Jocasta merely looked at Tav’s trembling form before asking one simple question: “Would you like one?”

——————————————

“I look absolutely ridiculous.” 

Tav stood in front of the mirror in one of Gale’s several guest rooms, examining the ill fitting armor Shadowheart had retrieved for her. During the day before their departure, Tav managed to make herself look a little more like a person. Her curls were somewhat tamed, and her face was cleaned of days old grime, revealing the smattering of freckles across her face.

“It’s not about looks, it’s about function.” Shadowheart said, tying the last lace with a flair of frustration. “Oh and what’s the saying? Beggars can’t be choosers?”

“I’m hardly a beggar.” Tav mumbled. Shadowheart stalked across the room to her trunk, rifling through her swords until she drew a modest shortsword.

“Here.” She held out the sheathed weapon to Tav. “This can be yours for the time being.”

“Are you joking?” 

She stared at her blankly.

“I can’t take that.” Tav said incredulously. “I haven’t used a sword in ages—.”

Shadowheart sighed. “Hells, just take it! You’re useless without one, anyway.” 

Clamping her mouth shut, she fastened the sword to her hip, reacquainting herself with the familiar weight.

“We should meet the others,” Shadowheart said as she threw her pack over her shoulder. “It’s almost sundown.”

Tav nodded, following her out of the room and into the torch lit hallway. As the pair approached the entryway to the manor, Tav felt anxiety nestle in her stomach. The most important people in her life stood before her, clad in armor and eager to seek an unfathomable evil for the good of the Gate. To make matters worse, that unfathomable evil just happened to be the sister who razed her life to the ground before leaving her for dead. If she killed them, their blood would be on Tav’s hands.

“Well, don’t you look striking!” Karlach clapped Tav on the back. 

Tav’s cheeks grew warm with embarrassment at the sudden attention. Shadowheart stifled a laugh behind her, earning a glare from Wyll. 

“It’s good to see you suited up, soldier,” Karlach said, forcing a small smile onto Tav’s face.

“Where’s the vampire?” Laezel hissed. “I won’t let his laziness cost us time.”

“Missed me, did you, darling?” 

His posh voice reverberated down the narrow hall as he leisurely strolled toward them. He was clad in the same slim fitting armor he wore all those years ago— the one he stole off the drow leader’s corpse in the goblin camp. Even after his assertion the night before, Tav still found her eyes glued to him, soaking in his every step.

Before Laezel could reply, Gale clapped his hands together. “Right. Now that we’re all here, I’m sure you remember Reithwin is a few days away. However, due to our undead companion’s affliction, we must only travel at night.” 

“You do know you’re not in a classroom, don’t you, Gale?” Tav said. She could’ve sworn she saw Astarion smirk. 

“Of course.” Gale sputtered. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

As they exited the manor, the group was enveloped by darkness. The sleepy streets echoed with the occasional clattering of footsteps, reminding them that there was still life in the illusion of its absence. Shadows stretched in the lamplight as they approached the bridge to the city’s outskirts, marking the beginning of their trek to Reithwin. Just as they stood beneath the archway, a muffled scream pierced the contemplative quiet. Tav whipped her head around, searching for the source in their obscured surroundings.

“That sounded close.” Wyll whispered, his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

A flurry of movement in the adjacent alleyway sent Tav running in pursuit, her hands drawing her sword on their own accord. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the scene before her as she slowed her pace. A woman laid motionless before her, a gaping wound in her neck pouring blood that collected in a dark pool at Tav’s feet. In front of her stood the culprit, staring dumbly at his victim with a knife in his hand. 

“Step away from her.” She commanded, the tip of her sword pressed into his back. 

To her surprise, he did just that. Just as he slowly turned to face her, Tav realized something was very, very wrong. His skin was rotting, hanging off his face in patches. The air around him was putrid, and she had to fight to suppress her urge to vomit. She tried to determine what exactly the creature in front of her was, squinting as she stepped away from him. There, in his blank unseeing eyes, she saw a soft green glow. 

Fuck.

Her armor clanged horribly against the cobblestone streets as she lost her footing, the distinct and gripping sounds of a brawl beginning behind her. Incantations and the clanking of weapons echoed on as she gawked at the creature before her, a sick feeling of dread creeping closer with him. It was an ambush.

There was a time when Tav would’ve sprung into action, sliced the creature’s throat and ran to the others’ aid without a second thought. But she wasn’t the fighter she used to be. No, she was a teenage girl nearly frozen to death on a mountainside, the vision of her parents’ bodies still lingering in front of her. She was hardly aware of the creature’s advance, his bloodied knife headed right for her chest.

“Hells, Tav!” She heard a voice curse, strong hands grabbing under her arms and dragging her out of its reach before plunging a dagger into its neck. The touch brought her back to the present, allowing her to shakily rise to her feet.

Astarion spun around to face her, dark gray sludge splattered across his face. 

“Were you really going to let a corpse get the better of you?” He snapped.

Tav just stared at him, her face white with shock as the wound in the creature’s neck emitted an emerald light. Further down the alley, the slaughtered woman’s body rose in tandem with the creature’s, as if both were controlled by an unseen force.

Astarion's eyes widened. “Shit.” He hissed, grabbing Tav by the arm and hauling her out of the alleyway. In a matter of minutes, the streets had become unfathomably grotesque, reanimated bodies flooding the streets and aimlessly clamoring to the nearest life. Screams began to pierce through the chaos, but it was almost secondary to the smell , so suffocating it was hard to even take a breath. Tav's free hand clutched uselessly at Astarion's wrist as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Tav! Astarion! To the bridge!” Karlach shouted. They turned in time to see her ax slice through the neck of one of their assailants. Behind her, Wyll was holding pressure to a wound in his side as Shadowheart touched his shoulder, murmuring a healing incantation. At the front of the group, Gale and Laezel tried to keep the hoard at bay, but Gale’s staff fizzled with the last of his magic. They were overwhelmed.

“There’s no opening.” Tav panted. 

“Shadowheart!” Astarion shouted. “Sanctuary!” 

Suddenly, a soft glow shrouded her, shielding her from the barrage of attacks. Astarion vanished beside her, cloaking himself in invisibility. The pair pushed through the wall of bodies, stumbling to the other side of the bridge. As Tav stared at the chaos unfolding behind her, the rest of the group raced to meet them. Just as their feet touched the ground, the bridge was raised into the air, sealing off the city from the outside world.

In their temporary safety, the group collectively tried to catch their breath. Tav had almost died at the hands of that monstrosity. Would she be paralyzed in every battle? Would someone need to begrudgingly save her every time? Between her staccato breaths, she could hear the desperate screams from the city growing louder as flames leapt from the buildings, engulfing the lower city. Whatever these creatures were, they had laid siege upon the city. The Heroes of the Gate were now outsiders.

She doubled over, throwing off her armor as if it seared her skin. As it thudded onto the dirt path, she looked at her companions, her rage barely masked. 

“What the fuck was that?”

Chapter Text

If it feels like a trap, you're already in one.

Sunlight was staining the dark clouds above them by the time they found the cave. It was sizable, housing a small collection basin from the large river they followed out of the city. The group spent the majority of their trek in stunned silence, with the rhythm of their footfalls serving as their only accompaniment.

In the moments after the ambush, Gale had stood with his hands on his hips, pacing back and forth. 

“Those creatures. They couldn’t die.” He murmured. 

“I think we’ve grasped that, Gale.” Shadowheart snapped. 

“I don’t think we have.” He skidded to a halt. “That wasn’t your run of the mill, ‘speak to the dead’ necromancy. No. No, that was godlike.” 

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. “And?” 

Gale turned to face her. “Either there’s a god who has a stake in all this, or our necromancer is trying to become one.”

Of course . 

“Stop!” Tav shouted from where she was hunched over, tears burning behind her eyes. “We already left the whole Gate to burn because of your ridiculous plan.”

She was being unreasonable. Gale didn’t deserve it; he was spearheading an effort to save all of faerun from catastrophe. Yet, it felt like an animal was rattling around in her chest, rabid and unchained, lashing out at whoever attempted to tame it.

“None of your ‘theories’ can change the fact that we ran like cowards.” She hissed.

“And you froze like one.” 

Her blood felt like ice in her veins. She inhaled sharply, her breath whistling through her teeth as she turned, stalking ahead of the group. Though she could feel their eyes on her, nobody spoke, either too stunned or injured to say anything.

Everyone remained silent until they began to set up camp.

Karlach helped construct Wyll’s tent before passing off his care to Shadowheart, who performed another round of healing spells on him. The wound was far from fatal, but he would need a day of rest before he was ready to fight again. Astarion lounged in the far side of the cave, mending a tear in his armor. 

The air was thick with smoke as Gale cooked their dinner, his measly iron cauldron bubbling with a random assortment of vegetables. Flames casted shadows on the rock walls, and if Tav stared long enough she could pretend she was watching a play. Joining Gale at the fire, she tried to ignore memories of her sister, of the gods awful puppet shows they watched at the festival of Selûne when they were children. She shook the thought from her head, opting to test the tension between them.

“I’m sorry.” It sounded pathetic.

He looked up from his stew and gave her a knowing smile. “I know.”

They sat in companionable silence while the pot’s contents rose to a simmer. She was exhausted, her bones weary from their trek. It had been several months since she traveled such a great distance, and her previous expedition was nothing short of fruitless. 

“What’s troubling you, friend?” Gale interrupted her thoughts.

Tav scoffed, resting her cheek on her knee. “I find it hard to believe you don’t know.”

Gale smirked. “No. But it might help you to talk about it. Maybe for old times sake?”

“You were right.” She ran a hand through her hair, pausing to work through her tangles. “None of this should’ve happened. I had that, that thing right where I wanted it and I froze. Like a godsdamned statue.”

Gale said nothing while he ladled their dinner into bowls, baiting her into filling the silence. 

“And…” she sighed. “ He had to save me. And he can’t stand the sight of me.”

He gave her a puzzled look, “ Had to?”

“You’re not funny, Gale.”

“I’m hardly trying to be.” He said, amusement gracing his features. “But it is quite puzzling Astarion had to save you, considering his whole monologue about you dying in agony.”

Her throat burned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Look, Tavriel.” Gale stood from his spot near the fire, dusting off his robe. “All I will say is I can feel a rather vengeful gaze on us, and it isn’t aimed at you this time.” 

She glanced over her shoulder. Astarion was propped up on one elbow, lazily threading a needle through his clothes. His eyes were fixed on her, and he didn’t pretend otherwise when her gaze found his. Pausing his needlework, his previously annoyed expression grew to one of disdain. 

Gale huffed a laugh. “Enjoy your dinner.”

The group had already retired to their respective reaches of the cave before Tav’s mind settled down enough to let her sleep. Though she had tried her best to distance herself from the others, her bedroll ended up a few paces from Astarion’s, and she tried to ignore his burning gaze as she burrowed under her rough wool blanket. Her mind drifted off into darkness, flickering with visions that she replayed every night since he left. 

She had been here many times before. It was a few nights until they made it to Rivington, until Cazador was within their reach. They were crammed in her tent, her head resting on his chest as he tranced in the dim lamplight. 

“Astarion?” She whispered.

“Hm?” He murmured, his hands pausing from stroking her hair. “Is something troubling you, my dear?”

She propped herself up on one elbow, turning to study his relaxed face. 

“The ascension. When you speak of Cazador, it sounds like you envy him.”

He scoffed, stiffening beneath her. “Of course I envy him, why wouldn’t I? The problem with what Cazador has done is that he did it to me.” He paused. “If the time comes and I can stay one move ahead of him, I’ll take his place before his blood can hit the floor.”

His words sounded like a vow, and Tav’s stomach churned at the implication. “So you’d kill to take his power? The others bound to the ritual?”

“What’s a handful of the wretch’s servants?” He laughed humorlessly, pushing up on his elbows. “If they’re anything like me when I was enslaved, they’re all but begging for death anyway.” 

“No. After two hundred years of shit, I think I deserve something better.” His rage was boiling beneath his words as his eyes met hers. “And you do want what’s best for me, don’t you?” 

She crawled over to him, cupping his face in her hands. “All that matters to me is that you’re safe.”

“I know you do.” He whispered, his anger a mere simmer for now. “It matters to me, too. I want to be able to protect you.” 

Astarion pressed his forehead to hers. “Let’s just be clever about it, hm? Learn more about the ritual before we waltz into Cazador’s front door.” 

“I’m with you, my love.” She breathed, their lips inches away. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

If her words had any effect on him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he crashed his lips into hers, frantic and disoriented. His fingers gripped her clothes, willing them off her body. In the euphoria of his touch, she had an inkling of unease. 

Wetness grew between her legs with every kiss as she twined her fingers in his curls. Anxiety stirred in her gut; she had never done this before, and he hadn’t done it of his own volition in centuries. She wanted to break away, to slow him down, but he was lost in her. His hands slid down her body, gripping her hips as he suddenly positioned himself above her. 

He finally broke away from her, his face mere inches away as he studied his handiwork. Her lips were flushed, her hair wild and untamed from where his fingers were threaded in it. A smile graced his lips as he spoke, his hands slowly seeking the pulse between her thighs.

“Blossoms clutch the feet of the mother. Red, plentiful. A snapdragon.” 

Tav froze. “I’m sorry?”

He pulled back slightly, his expression muddled while his hand paused in its pursuit.

“Doorways still stand in ashes, Tavriel.” His voice was emphatic, disassociated with the nonsense coming out of his mouth, “The doll was in the well all along.” She tried to scoot away, to climb out from under him, but he pinned her shoulders to the bed roll. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His words were panicked and desperate, punctuated by sobs, yet his face maintained his mask of bewilderment. 

Tav awoke with a gasp, her heart galloping in her chest. The sun was sinking down over the horizon, and the group was milling about, packing up their meager possessions. Shadowheart was looming over her as she woke.

“Sorry, did I startle your beauty sleep?”

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Tav tried to orient herself to the waking world as Shadowheart tossed her an apple. 

“Eat. We’re leaving.” 

“What about Wyll?” She asked, hurriedly sinking her teeth into the apple. 

“He’s staying here with Karlach and Gale. The rest of us are scouting ahead, making sure there are no more necrotic ambushes waiting for us before we bring the whole party along.” 

“Gale doesn’t want to come along?” 

Shadowheart smirked. “More like Laezel doesn’t want him to. He’s marginally skilled at healing, and Wyll will need a few more rounds before he’s ready to move out.” 

Astarion leaned against the cave wall, quietly observing her as Shadowheart helped her into her armor. Even in the darkness of the cave, she could see the starkness of his skin, the way it stretched over his high cheekbones. He was withering away before her eyes. 

“Is the paladin going to make us wait all night?” Laezel called from the entrance. Pulling her gaze from him, Tav fastened her sword to her belt, falling behind Shadowheart as they disembarked.

It did not come without its downsides, but as they began their journey, Tav was secretly glad for the fact they had to travel at night. The unrefined chorus of bugs and animals, the wind through the trees, it all begged a silence that would have felt otherwise tense. Now, though, in the dark, it was easy enough to fall back into the familiar rhythm from years ago. Laezel and Shadowheart seemed to be in lockstep in front of her, trading looks at the sound of snapping twigs or the rustling of leaves. It felt half-strange at first, but now it was comforting.

Especially as Astarion trailed behind her, his usual haughtiness dulled. He seemed to be deep in thought every time Tav worked up the courage to glance at him, and though she was sure he must have noticed, he didn't even spare her a glare. She swallowed. It felt worse than when he had spoken to her so harshly at Gale's; at least then he had acknowledged her.

At least then he hadn't looked as sickly.

The minutes stretched on as they walked, and though the moon's steady path in the sky was proof it had, it felt as though no time had passed at all before they came upon civilization. In the distance, Tav could see the flicker of lanterns and the vague outlines of buildings. They knew of a smaller village along their route called Cyric’s Bluff. It was a small agrarian community, known for its lively festivals and scenic placement along the river. Even in its quaintness, the town had a penchant for rowdy taverns: a fact that made Tav’s blood run cold as they approached the first row of buildings. 

Tav broke the lengthy silence. “Do you hear that?”

Shadowheart's head tilted in confusion as she surveyed the path. “Hear what?”

“ Nothing .” Tav stressed. The raucous, ever present drone of life had dulled to nothing around them. “There's nothing.”

“Use caution.” Laezel said, unsheathing her sword. “It could be a trap.” 

The group crept forward, taking stock of the numerous open doors. Lanterns laid scattered in the streets, the only sound a distant crackling of a fire in someone’s home. 

“We should check every building.” Tav whispered. “Try to figure out what happened to these people.” 

Shadowheart nodded, gesturing to the larger building ahead. “You and Astarion look in there. Laezel and I will check these houses.”

Hells.

It wasn’t the time for dramatics, but Tav couldn’t help how her heart clenched at his name. He had hardly spoken their entire journey, but Shadowheart’s plan stirred him to speak. 

“You’re leaving me with the paladin who can’t even wield a sword?” He hissed. 

“Play nice, Astarion.” She smirked. “You’ll upset your dinner.”

Before he could protest, Tav had already approached what must’ve been a tavern, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. She was vaguely aware of his frustrated huff before she felt his presence at her heels. The door was ajar, mugs of ale sitting half full on the bar as if the occupants merely stepped away for a moment. 

“It‘s like they just vanished.” She breathed. 

Astarion stepped beyond the bar, his shoulder brushing hers as he passed. He slowly pushed open the small door next to the shelves of wine, its rusty hinges whining with the movement.  

“A cellar?” She asked.

“Or a torture chamber.” He muttered.

Tav followed closely as they descended the stairs, trying to ignore the tension in his shoulders and the slight way he held his arm out behind him. He could always see better than she could in the dark. Despite her half elf ancestry, she had been cursed with human eyes and all their limitations.

She smelled it before either of them saw it: the raw stench of decay. The town couldn't have been abandoned for long, and yet it was as if centuries of rot filled the cellar, permeating everything; even covering her nose hardly made a difference. Bile rose in her throat, her eyes watering as she tried to keep down her vomit.

“Can you see anything?” She gasped between her suppressed gags. 

“No, but whatever was down here was hardly the tidy sort.” 

“Could you be more specific?” She asked, frustration seeping into her voice. 

“Oh, right.” Even in the darkness, she knew he wore a smug grin. “Well, there’s no dismembered corpses if that’s what you’re asking. A striking absence of them, really.” 

Tav sighed. 

“Did you want me to wax poetic?” He asked. “‘The ground was sopping with the elixir of life, bits of organs decorated the earth like wildflowers.’”

Before she could respond, she heard a distant shout of her name outside. She quickly ascended the stairs, her sword at the ready without her even realizing she had drawn it. 

“Shadowheart?” She called.

“Out here!”

The pair ran into the ghostly streets, spotting Shadowheart’s silhouette at the center of town. 

Skidding to a halt at the iron wrought gate, Tav examined her, the unease in her posture leaking into the air around them. She felt Astarion at her back as she took in the sight before her: Mounds of dirt were heaped upon the ground before stone slabs. Headstones, Tav realized. Bunches of roots were torn from the grass, as if something had desperately clawed its way out of eternity. 

The town had vanished. With the living and the dead in tow.

Chapter Text

You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor.

“Your swing is pathetic.” Soren said from the doorway. 

Tav rolled her eyes, her face set with determination before she took another swing at the practice dummy.  Her sword met the cloth with a dull thud. If it were flesh and blood, she would’ve hardly maimed it. 

“Fuck!” She shouted, tossing her weapon to the far side of the room. It had only been a few weeks since she joined the temple, and Tav and the tiefling had been attached at the hip. Despite his good nature, Tav still felt weary of him. He was too kind, too forgiving of her outbursts. The other paladins thought him weak and naive, and Tav sympathized with their assessment. 

Soren crouched down from where he stood, picking up her sword that landed in front of him. 

“You’re not far off, though.” He crossed the room, inspecting her tense stance. “You just need a little more direction. More focus.”

When she didn’t reply, he tried to explain himself like he always did. He could never let a silence go unfilled. 

“I think you’re avoiding something.” He said. “You're using all your rage but neglecting the source of it. Maybe that’s the direction you need.” 

“I could do without your righteousness.” She snapped.

“Well that’s part of the territory, I’m afraid.” He laughed. “Oath of devotion and all that.” 

She swallowed, glancing up at the tiefling. He was lanky, his limbs too long for the skin that stretched over them. If it wasn’t for his soft face, his stature might’ve made him intimidating.

“You’re learning, Tavriel.” He whispered. “Give yourself some grace.” 

His kindness was going to get him killed some day— Tav was sure of it. But this was not the time for arguing. She had been given a home here by chance, and she couldn’t risk her defensiveness being mistaken for a lack of gratitude. Tav just nodded, taking her sword out of his slender hands. 

This time when she approached the dummy, she tried to imagine that dank cave, rich with decay and the metallic smell of blood. She thought of her hands tied upon the stone slab, the immeasurable agony of her bones cracking at her sister’s will. She imagined what she would’ve done if she broke free, if her sister was within her reach before she could finish the ritual. Maybe she would’ve slit her throat as she had done to their parents. Maybe she would’ve strangled her, watching the light leave her eyes as she straddled her body. Serana had made her an orphan, a victim. Worst of all, she made her a prisoner. 

Her sword sailed through the air in a precise arch, and she barely registered Soren’s gasp of surprise as the cloth head fell to the ground in an instant. Her chest heaved, her hands slick with sweat as she laughed in disbelief. 

She would never be trapped again.

By the time their scouting party returned to camp, it was nearly dawn. The walk back was tense and silent, each member too stunned by their discovery at Cyric’s bluff to engage in mindless banter. When Tav informed Gale of the town's disappearance, he did little to hide the terror on his face. He paced the furthest reaches of the cave, neglecting their dinner as he pondered to himself.

“Are you absolutely sure necromancy was involved? Perhaps there’s a pilgrimage we’re unaware of.” His anxiety was palpable as he turned to address Tav.

“A pilgrimage involving the town’s corpses?” She couldn’t mask her laughter. 

“This is not a laughing matter, Tavriel.” He scolded. “What happened at the Gate was a tragedy, but at least it has defenses. Whole towns disappearing…” 

Gale shook his head. “We need to make it to Reithwin, see what Halsin has to say about the wildlife. I have some hope whatever this is hasn’t infected all of the natural wor—.”

His words were cut off by a loud thud behind them, clumsy and abrupt. Tav’s head whipped around to see Astarion’s body slumped on the cave floor, his cheek pressed against the cool stone wall. Her heart raced as she ran to him. She lost all reason as she knelt in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. 

“Astarion?” She was panicking, softly shaking his shoulders to rouse him from his state. He remained unresponsive, his face an ugly gray in the soft firelight. 

“ Shadowheart!” Gale called.

She leisurely emerged from her tent, her armor discarded for relaxed clothing. Exhaustion ruled her face as she stalked over to them, pausing in front of the rogue’s body. 

She squinted. “What happened to him?”

Tav’s stomach twisted. “I don’t know,” She stammered. “He just collapsed.”

“Hm.” Shadowheart said, seemingly uninterested in the circumstances. “No wounds?”

Tav brushed his curls away from his forehead, inspecting him for any injuries. Distantly, she realized this was the first time she had touched him like this in years. The softness of his hair suddenly felt like an open flame against her hand. “No.” She concluded.

“Well.” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “The bastard is probably just hungry. This is all a bit melodramatic if you ask me.”

She turned away. “Your best bet is to slap him awake. Might be good for you, too.” She called over her shoulder as she crossed the cave back to her tent. 

Tav opened her mouth to protest, to demand her help, but Gale interrupted her.

“She’s right, Tav.” He said. “He’s been starving for a month. This journey is taxing even on a full belly.” 

Cursing under her breath, she inched closer to him, bracing herself for what came next. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” With that, she delivered a swift slap to his cheek. 

The sound reverberated off the cave walls as he blinked his eyes open. “Hm?” He asked groggily, scooting to sit up against the wall.

As he oriented himself to his surroundings, he jolted at the realization of Tav’s proximity. “What do you think you’re doing?” He spat with the venom of a wounded animal. 

Gale saved her the humiliation of a response. “You fainted, Astarion.” 

“Something to do with her antics I presume?” 

“No.” Gale sighed. “It was from exhaustion.” 

Astarion barked a laugh. “Ah yes, she always thought I made a great damsel, didn’t you, Tavriel?”

“I’ll leave you to…whatever this is.” Gale said as he departed, eager to escape the tension brewing between them.

Tav took a deep breath. This couldn’t continue. As long as he was their companion, he was on borrowed time, and their lifestyle was barely sustainable at full health. Still, she couldn’t deny her personal stake in his livelihood. If he died tomorrow, part of her would go with him. His hatred be damned. 

“Astarion, you must eat.” 

“Really?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Is there a feast nearby? Perhaps a bear!” 

“You already know my offer.” She hissed, avoiding the crimson eyes that bore into her soul. 

“And I would hope you remember my answer, dear .” He seethed. “Or did you lose your memory along with your oath?”

Tav simply exhaled. “Fine.”

She abandoned her post in front of him, calmly walking to her bedroll nearby. Fishing out her flask from it, she emptied its contents on the ground, liquor splashing at her feet in an unceremonious waterfall.

He stiffened. “What are you doing?” 

She unsheathed the small knife she slept with, checking its sharpness before dragging the blade across her palm. The pain took her by surprise; it had been years since she felt the sharp sting of a blade. Blood dripped out in a steady stream as she held the flask to her wound, squeezing her palm to quicken the pace. 

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “You’re wasting your time and your blood. I wouldn’t touch that plonk again even if it let me walk in the sun.”

“I knew you to be vindictive, Astarion, but I never took you for a fool.” 

He merely glared in response, scowling as she set the flask before his bed roll. 

“Drink it or don’t.” She said, staring down at her wound to avoid meeting his eyes. “But don’t think of this as charity. Our survival, your survival depends on that flask. The Astarion I knew wouldn’t let himself wither away. Not again.”

“You’ve lost the privilege of knowing me.” 

“So it seems.” She finally met his glare. “Goodnight, Astarion.” 

Tav didn’t look back to see what he did: if he poured her blood on the ground or gulped it like it was precious air. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t know. 

All she knew was how he looked when she woke. His cheeks looked less sallow, his eyes brighter and more alert. His movements were calculated rather than sluggish and clumsy. He looked more like the man she fell in love with years ago. 

When the party passed through Cyric’s Bluff again, it felt strangely like a memorial. Perhaps its residents were alive somewhere, far away and far removed from the necromancer’s plan. But Tav had lived through enough to know that there was an advantage in assuming the worst: it prepared you for reality. And reality was the smell of death in the tavern’s cellar, the uprooted weeds at the center of town.  

Gale took in the scene in stunned silence, staring at the open graves until Shadowheart nudged him along. He muttered something about reanimation, about greater invisibility and other illusion spells that could be manipulated. He was nothing if not an optimist. 

When the full moon reached its peak in the sky, they stopped to rest. They had just breached a forest, dense with vegetation and roaring with the sound of insects. She set her pack down in the weeds, stretching her arms for the first time in days. Her companions milled about: Gale used his lantern to illuminate the archaic book he had been studying since they left; Shadowheart rested her eyes while Laezel kept watch next to her; Karlach and Wyll ate some of their provisions amidst their discussion about Avernus.

Then there was Astarion. She hadn’t dared to speak to him since the previous day; she had crossed a line in their delicate dance, and it would cost her eventually. He stood away from the group, his face upturned against the moonlight that washed him in a blue glow. Maybe she had lost the privilege of knowing him in the present, but she would always know him in the past. And the man before her was achingly familiar. It broke her heart. 

She marched into the woods, desperate for a reprieve from him. It had been days since she had truly been alone, and his presence was nothing short of suffocating. Leaves crunched under her feet, the rough bark of the trees serving as her only guide through the forest. She assumed she had made it to a clearing when the thick canopy above her revealed the unyielding radiance of the moon.

It was full, like the night before he left. When he had held her against him in their shared bed in Elfsong Tavern, enamored with her in a way she couldn't have dreamed, bewitched by a future he believed to be theirs . She had been no less adoring but not half as confident; perhaps the memory cut so much because she could remember being so terribly afraid of losing him…

Tav heard the movement before she saw the creature: the steady crush of fallen leaves and twigs announcing its presence. It shook every other thought from her mind, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword as her eyes scanned the edge of the clearing. It couldn’t have been far, nor could it have been small.

Then she saw it: an impossibly massive bear, its thick brown fur speckled with dark droplets in the moonlight— blood, she realized. It was limping, dragging its back paw lamely behind it as it crossed the darkened forest floor. 

“Hells.” She breathed, slowly raising her hands to calm the beast in front of her. It was as if he hardly perceived Tav at all; It merely groaned in response, low and pained, before collapsing in a heap of fur.

A soft glow emanated from the creature, blinding Tav as the pelt melted away to reveal a man. A massive and muscled one at that. 

She fell to her knees in front of him, her heart sinking in her chest.  

“ Halsin ?”

Chapter Text

And I never think of him except on midnights like this.

“Tav?” 

Shadowheart’s voice barely broke through the roar of blood in her ears. She was hunched over Halsin's body, immobilized as if somebody had physically wounded her. His hair is longer , she noted: a moot realization given the circumstances. Tav always felt a fondness for him; he was honorable and benevolent like Soren had been. 

Years ago, she might’ve let herself feel more than platonic affection. It was after Astarion left her bereft and reeling on the polished floors of Cazador’s palace when Halsin came to her at Elfsong. He was cordial yet adamant about his feelings for her, his green eyes sparkling as he marveled at her modest appearance.  Perhaps she was desperate for something to fill the crater Astarion left in her chest. Perhaps Halsin was a sufficient, if not persistent, suitor. But their romantic exchanges only left her feeling more hollow, and Halsin’s plans took him away from the city and into the depths of Reithwin. 

Now he laid before her crumpled in a heap on the damp forest floor, the moonlight painting his tanned skin blue. 

“Hells, Tav.” Shadowheart cursed, unaware of the man in front of her. “We’re supposed to move out—.”

Her steps paused as she saw Halsin, who looked uncharacteristically small in his huddled position.

“W—how?” She breathed, falling to her knees next to Tav. 

“I don’t know.” Tav replied. “He was in his wild form until he…wasn’t.” 

*Shadowheart pushed him onto his back, grunting with exertion as she did. Now fully exposed, she could see the extent of his injuries: a foot that dangled limply from his ankle, several deep puncture wounds across his chest, and a broken jaw. Cerulean light pulsed from her palms as she muttered healing spells, lightly pressing her hands to him. The sudden pressure elicited an agonized groan from Halsin, rousing Tav from her shocked state. 

“He’s alive, but barely.” Shadowheart hissed through her teeth. “Get the others.”

Tav nodded, clumsily rising to her feet. As she stumbled through the dense forest, she cursed herself from wandering so far, for letting her flighty emotions guide her straight into danger. The darkness seemed never ending before her, and her arms blindly shot out in front of her to find purchase. One uncoordinated step sent her barreling forward, slamming her body into something solid. Something clothed. Astarion.

“Um. Are you alright?” He asked, his hands wrapping around her arms to reorient her. 

“Halsin.” She gasped. “He’s here. He’s hurt.” 

She sounded frantic and childlike. The past few days had become a humiliating fall from grace. 

“And you’re sure you have your wits about you? Or did you sneak off to reacquaint yourself with a bottle of wine?”

A crazed laugh erupted from her. “No. I wish I was mad.” She tried to push past him. “We need the others.” 

“Easy, Tavriel.” He said. “We don’t need any more acrobatics. Let me guide you.” 

She anticipated his cruelty, but there was a glimmer of softness in his voice when he spoke, a tenderness in the way he led her by the arm through the woods. Her submission to his touch stunned her— she was weaker than she thought. 

When they finally met with the rest of their party, there was little time for conversation. At the announcement of Halsin’s presence, the group raced into the woods, carelessly trampling over the dense brush in their pursuit. Halsin’s breathing was steadier when they arrived— not the uneven rattle it was when Tav found him. Karlach hoisted him up with Wyll’s help, and the pair carried him to a cave they had scoped along their route. 

It was smaller than the one that housed their previous camp, forcing most of the group to pitch their tents beneath the thick blanket of the night. Tav sat next to Shadowheart as she worked on him, the dull knife of guilt cutting into her. Perhaps she could’ve let him love her. Perhaps he could’ve made her happy, stopped her from becoming the wretch she was. 

She felt Astarion’s gaze on her before he sat down in front of the campfire. He only had a few hours before he had to retire to the cave, the moon sinking lower and lower in the sky. A cough shifted her focus aware from the piercing glare and back to the man before her.

“Halsin?” She breathed, brushing aside the stray hairs on his face. 

He cracked his eyes open, trying to find the source of the voice. Tav moved closer, softly tilting his head to meet her eyes. 

“Sylvanus preserve me,” he croaked. “Nature has been most kind to grace me with your beauty.” 

Shadowheart stifled a laugh across from her. 

“Halsin, do you know who I am?” His eyes were unfocused, barely registering her face hovering over his. 

“Of course, I could never forget a face like yours, Tav.” 

She swallowed, gripping his hand to keep him conscious. 

“What happened to you?” 

Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to keep his breath steady. “Something is tainting nature,” he grunted. “Since my conception, I have been able to hear the wildlife. Their conversations, their cries, their laughter. Until a month ago.”

He paused to cough, the sound rattling in his chest. 

“All I can hear now is their agony. The deer, the birds, the bears. The only sound they make is the same anguished scream.”

She traded an unnerved look with Shadowheart, dread sinking its claws into her. Gale stood from his post near the fire.

“ Anguished , you said?”

Halsin nodded, wincing in pain as he did. “It’s as if all of nature is being tortured, exsanguinated. I—,” his voice broke. “I couldn’t bear to hear it any longer.”

He looked at Tav, his eyes finally clear for the first time that night. “It is my duty to protect all of Sylvanus’ creatures, so I set off to find the source of this…infection. I was ambushed somewhere outside Reithwin.”

“Ambushed by what?” Shadowheart asked.

“Humans. Or some iteration of them. Everything reeked of dark magic.” 

He watched Tav shift in discomfort. “Is that why you’re here, Tavriel?” 

His gaze was full of affection in a way that filled her with guilt. Even after her rejection, his fondness for her was unconditional. She felt flustered, foolish. Still, she knew it was the attention that made her glow rather than infatuation.

Gale saved her the embarrassment of an answer. “Astarion was the first to inform me that something was amiss in the balance of things. Foul animal blood, if you can believe it. And the suspect is…someone Tav is intimately familiar with.”

Halsin’s eyes widened. “Your sister?”

Her cheeks burned as she turned her face to hide from him. 

“Well this has all been terribly boring.” Astarion interjected. “Surely someone can offer us a new story. A plan for one?”

Tav glanced at him. He looked irritated, his mouth set in a firm line as he laid propped up on one elbow. When he met her gaze, she could recognize that his interruption was a small mercy. It baffled her.

“Astarion has a point,” Gale said. “We’re weak and aimless right now.”

“I plan to return to the Grove,” Halsin supplied. “Convene with the druids. I believe they can aid some of the wildlife.”

Shadowheart cocked an eyebrow. “And on what legs are you planning to walk?”

Gale cleared his throat, casting a glare her way. “We will aid Halsin in his travels. The Grove could prove fruitful in uncovering whatever Tav’s sister is concocting.”

“It is a waste to return to that wretched Grove,” Lazael hissed. “Our fight lies elsewhere.”

Shadowheart nodded. “It is a lengthy trek, and it may be in the wrong direction if we confirm Serana is in Neverwinter.” 

“We are not going there.” Tav snapped. 

She could feel their eyes on her from where she knelt on the ground. The air was tense and apologetic. It made her want to disappear.

“Right,” Gale conceded, “Does anyone else have a suggestion?”

“Maybe we split up,” Wyll said. “Karlach and I can offer you manpower at the Grove while you do your research. The others can investigate the Neverwinter lead.”

Tav scoffed. “And what if it gets ugly?” 

“Gale’s proficient with sending stones— and a certain snobby Tressym.” Wyll smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I’m all for it,” Karlach said, tossing an arm around Gale’s shoulder. “Your little stint at the Grove was before my time. I’m ready to see it in the flesh.” 

As the moon greeted the horizon, the group settled on the terms, deciding to part ways at nightfall. Halsin's injuries required a decent portion of their healing potions, and it would be a few days before he was ready for the arduous journey.

Tav sat up in her bedroll, turning her flask over in her hands. Even though the cave offered limited space, she still placed her bedroll in the furthest recess, desperate to be far from the others and closer to Astarion. It was a thought that made her flushed with embarrassment. He had been kind to her, and she sat at his feet like a stray dog waiting for its next meal. 

She sighed, dragging her knife across the fresh wound on her palm. This time, she didn’t waste a drop as she filled the flask, carefully sliding it under Astarion’s empty bedroll before burrowing under her blanket. He had been kind to her tonight, and she wondered if it were merely the blood buzz talking. Perhaps it was better to imagine it was real; she had lived in that delusion before. 

Her heart pulsed in the wound. When she finally willed herself to sleep, she promised herself she wouldn’t dream of him again.

“Do you want to hear a story, Tavriel?”

They were in Gale’s library, and the sunlight beaming in from the glass dome above them told her it was midday. Her limbs were sprawled out across an ornate rug as she lazily thumbed through an ancient tome. Astarion stood in front of a massive window, the light embracing rather than searing him. He was staring at the Upper City below him, and the slight pull of his mouth told Tav that he was troubled. 

Something about the moment felt familiar. It was as if she had been here before, the movements predictable and tangible, but without the well-worn coziness of a beloved memory. It felt sharp, shiny. Like it didn't belong to her yet.

She pushed up onto her elbows, trying to sneak a glance at him. “Promise to make it gory?”

A faint smirk on his lips gave her a sense of pride, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze.

“An orphan turns to a god that promises her justice after an unfathomable tragedy. She swears to be virtuous, resilient, worthy . She serves her city justly, finds a new family in her fellow paladins, yet she never feels safe. Perhaps she’s right.”

Tav sat up, her heart thrumming in her ears. 

He remained stoic, as if he were reciting lines from a play. “The fates have other plans. She’s abducted, forced to be the hero of another story— a cosmic one. In the throes of the apocalypse, she falls in love with a slave. A thrall. He lies, he steals, he kills without mercy. Yet the paladin still loves him.”

Her breath hitched. Dread froze her every muscle.

“She promises him justice, only to rip it away from him. She finds herself abandoned again— this time by her lover and her god.”

He turned to face her, his expression impassive. “Tell me: is she the hero or the villain?”

She swallowed. “Both. It depends on who’s telling it.”

A smile crept across his face, unnatural and strange. “To whom is she the hero?”

Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. “Faerun.”

“Hm.” He furrowed his brow in contemplation. “ All of Faerun? What about the goblins she slayed? The innocents possessed by the spirit of the Absolute? Would they deem her a hero?”

There, in the nearly imperceptible contortion of his face she saw this Astarion for what it was: a facade. 

Tav backed away, blindly grasping for anything that could be used as a weapon. When she spoke, her voice was low and predatory

“Who are you?”

He simply smiled. “My dear Tavriel. Who do you think I am?” 

Chapter Text

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

It was dusk by the time Tav awoke. It was a subtle nudge to her bed roll that catapulted her to the waking world, though the dream still lingered on the fringe of her mind. 

“My apologies,” Astarion said, though his voice portrayed little sympathy. 

Tav barely acknowledged him as he strided to the mouth of the cave, her mind too preoccupied by visions of that thing . 

It knew me . 

The realization prickled her skin, leaving chills in its wake. Not just her name— it knew her life, her secrets, her deepest fears. Unnervingly, It knew that Astarion was the most effective costume to wear. She felt completely exposed. A string of curses outside the cave beckoned her attention, bringing her back to the quaint cave. Her dream visitor would have to wait. 

“Mystra’s tits, Gale, you almost scalded me!” Shadowheart screamed.

Gale was hunched over the cauldron, his robe speckled with splashes of his concoction. 

“Must I remind you of the very offensive nature of that curse?” He reprimanded. “Who knew Balsam could have a violent reaction when boiled?”

“Must I remind you that you’re a wizard, not an alchemist.” Laezel said. 

Tav approached the group cautiously, as if she were approaching a startled deer. 

“Tav!” Gale smiled. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

She tried to match his enthusiasm, but her smile felt broken and awkward across her face. He covered the simmering cauldron, shooing away the others in the process.  

“The rest of our companions have opted to stay at camp for the day, or night rather. Shadowheart wants to finish healing Halsin before we part ways for a week or so.” He peered up at Tav. “I have some information that Halsin shared with me. Perhaps it would be better if I told you in private.”

She crossed her arms, bracing herself for whatever news he had. 

“There was a place Halsin was worried about, just south of Reithwin,” he said. “A crypt. He believed it to belong to some noble family before vandals claimed it in the past century. Even after the shadow curse was lifted, nothing grew in its vicinity. Some people in the city claimed it was a kind of sanctuary for necromancers.”

She swallowed.

“So you want me to look there.” She said plainly. 

“I think it’s a good start.” He corrected, dusting off his robe. Various herbs fluttered to the ground as he stood. 

She narrowed her eyes. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Always the astute one, Tavriel,” he patted her shoulder. “Might I suggest that you and Astarion reach some sort of agreement? A truce?”

Tav guffawed. “I didn’t wish death upon him .”

“Perhaps not,” Gale said. “But Laezel hardly has the tolerance for his…antics with you. She would have his head by day three.”

He was right; she hardly tolerated him the first time around, and their quarters weren’t nearly as close. And he didn’t loathe her nearly as much. She stood dumbly by the fire as Gale brushed past her, leaving a scent trail of fir and lavender. 

“My advice?” He called. “Talk to him so she doesn’t have your head too.”

Hells .

“I have a proposition.” 

Astarion was lounging out in the open for once, his hair illuminated by the borrowed light of the moon. They had the night to themselves before the group parted ways the next day, and Tav spent the better part of the evening debating what to do. She knew this was a bad idea, but it was the only one she had. 

“Oh?” Astarion glanced up from his book. “I can promise that ship has sailed, Tavriel.” 

She rolled her eyes. “And I can promise it’s not that.”

“Hm.” He said, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. “I’m all pointy ears then.” 

His words fell flat, and Tav tried not to feel discouraged by his indifference. If she didn’t do this now, she never would.

“An armistice.”

He tried to stifle his laughter. “I’m sorry? Are we at war? Did things get messy between Shadowheart and Laezel?”

He snapped his book shut, sitting up to get a better look at her. She probably looked horrid; her white tunic was far too big for her, hanging off the sharp edge of her shoulder. Thick curls fell past her shoulders, unkempt and tangled. All the while, her face grew increasingly flushed from his attention. 

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” She said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen or what I’ll do, but I know we can’t continue like this.”

“I would never ask you to like me, Astarion,” her voice was soft against the crackling fire. “But I am asking for some civility—not for my sake, but for the others.”

“Always the hero, aren’t you?” He scoffed, resting his chin in his palm. 

“Not a hero. A negotiator.” She presented him with the wine she had been hiding behind her back. It was old, vintage. She had stolen it during their first stint saving Faerun and kept it in her pack ever since. In all honesty, she probably snagged it off a dead goblin. 

He laughed, and this time it sounded genuine. 

“Well.” He sighed, his eyes betraying his feigned disinterest. “I’ve never been one to turn down a good vintage.” 

“I never said it was good.” She said, causing his mouth to quirk up into a smile. 

She sat next to him on his bedroll, a carefully measured space separating them. She uncorked the bottle, sniffing it before taking a swig. It was sour, metallic in a way that made her sputter. Despite its foul taste, it gave her a slight buzz: a simulation of courage she hadn’t had since the netherbrain. 

“What did you do?” She asked, passing him the bottle. “For all those years, I mean.” 

Astarion delicately took the bottle, as if its very touch disgusted him. He took a swig, scowling as he downed it. 

“I’ve been searching for a solution to my…sun repulsed affliction,” he said. “Another rite of ascension.”

Her face must have betrayed her schooled expression. “Don’t worry,” he assured, bitterness blatant in his voice. “It was fruitless. It seems I’ll always have clipped wings.”

He handed the bottle to her. “I suppose this is where I ask about you.”

Tav stared into the wine, debating what to share with him. Her recent track record was far from laudatory; she drank until she couldn’t think, blubbered to some poor patron at a bar, slept well into midday. Most days, she couldn’t remember to comb her hair. She settled on the slightly less embarrassing truth.

“I tried to go back.” She croaked. “To the temple in Neverwinter. I knew they wouldn’t take me back but I thought I could explain myself. Maybe find somewhere to belong again.”

He looked at her expectantly. 

“They wouldn’t even meet my eyes.”

To her surprise, he didn’t have a snide remark to wound her further. He only gestured at her to hand over the wine, his eyes downcast. Something about her confession instilled a sense of recklessness in her, and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. 

“Were you ever…with anyone else?” 

He smirked, taking a swig before answering. “Jealous? Wish you got to taste more than just my lips?”

Tav huffed. “Forget it.”

“No.” He conceded, his bravado tamed for the moment. His eyes refused to meet hers as he fiddled with the neck of the bottle.“There was never anyone else.” 

His admission startled her— partially due to its vulnerability, but mostly because she couldn’t imagine him alone. He was gorgeous if not conceited. Effortlessly charming even when he wasn’t putting on a show. It was easy to fall into his orbit, even when he couldn’t reciprocate the affection. 

The buzz had started to permeate her body, and her conscience was a distant memory as she grabbed the wine from him, finishing the bottle in one swift gulp. She hissed in pain as the neck pressed into her palm. Every night she reopened the same wound, funneling her blood into a flask for him. She didn't mind the pain; she would spend the rest of her life aching for him—with or without the sting of a blade.

“You don’t have to do that,” He said softly. “Carve yourself up like a fresh boar, I mean.”

He seemed uncharacteristically sheepish as she looked at him. “Letting you starve is not an option.” Her voice was firm. 

“I suppose not.” He conceded. “But perhaps there’s another way that’s more sustainable: a more traditional route.” 

The buzzing in her body turned to pulsing. He would never drink from her again, he was emphatic about that. Yet the invitation was obvious. He risked a glance at her. 

“Are—Are you sure?” She stuttered, trying to hide the tremors in her hands as she set the bottle down.

“Yes.” He said. “There’s no sense in crippling our paladin, is there?” 

Tav felt untethered, like the ground was about to slip out from under her feet. She should’ve refused. After all, he did want her to die screaming; he could very well drain her dry. But instead her voice came out meek and mild. 

“Alright.” 

The air was heavy between them, both too uncertain to make the first move. After several moments of tense silence, he gestured to her bedroll. 

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

Tav nodded, but it felt disconnected—like she was watching herself on a stage. She rested her head down on her bedroll, her eyes clamped shut against the flicker of the campfire. 

“Tavriel,” he whispered. He was looming over her, too timid to close the distance. 

Her eyes snapped open. He looked guilty. 

“Are you sure?” 

She held her breath. “Yes.” 

He finally leaned closer, his mouth hovering above her neck. The twin puncture marks were still there, stark white against her skin. His breath hit her skin in soft puffs, crashing over her pulse like waves. 

“Just look at the stars, Tav,” He whispered. Then he sunk his teeth in. 

She never forgot the sting: icy, sharp, unyielding. But she had forgotten the dizzying proximity—the intoxicating feeling of his lips on her neck. It wasn’t feverish and sloppy like the first time; now, it was measured, coordinated. She felt a part of herself slip away with every pull of his mouth, her hand gripping his curls to ground herself. When her fingers first twined in his hair, he let out a soft moan, pulling her closer to him as he drank. 

When stars above her started to dim, she weakly tugged at his hair. 

“Astarion.” She croaked. 

He pulled away sharply, like he was coming up for air. 

“Right.” He gasped. “Of course.” 

He sat back on his knees, lapping up the blood he caught on his fingers. Holding her hand to her new wounds, Tav suddenly felt awkward. Once again, they had crossed a line, yet this time, there was nothing left to uncover, no more secrets waiting beyond it. She already knew what she had to lose. 

“Well,” He panted. “So much for a day of rest.” 

She pulled her shirt back over her shoulder, words caught in her throat.

“If you’ll excuse me, I was at a rather riveting part in my book. Arcane secrets and all that.” 

Rising to his feet, he stalked over to his bedroll. He didn’t look back to where she sat, only paused in his tracks once he was a safe distance from her, from what they had done. 

“Thank you.” It was so quiet, she wondered if she had imagined his voice. 

She didn’t watch him walk away. Her eyes were glued to the pinpricks of light overhead, bewitched by a minuscule glimpse into another world. 

For the first time in years, she didn’t wish to be somewhere else.

The sky was indigo the next time she woke. Her dreams were eerily quiet, a black lake of nothingness disrupted by the twilight. The others were already packed, and Karlach and Wyll supported Halsin as they prepared to leave. 

“Tavriel,” Halsin called. He looked better than the previous day, his skin more vibrant and lively. Tav was reminded of his gargantuan height as she stood before him for the first time in years. 

“You look good, Halsin.” She smiled. 

He laughed, relieving Karlach from her duty of supporting him as he hobbled toward her. “Even at my best, I couldn’t hold a candle to your beauty, Tav.” 

Her cheeks grew hot at his honeyed words. 

“I wanted to thank you for caring for me,” He said, his hazel eyes crinkling as he looked down at her. “I would have perished if you hadn’t found me when you did. I know you have chosen your own path, but know that you will always carry my gratitude and admiration with you.”

Before she could reply, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. 

“Thank you, Halsin,” she stammered, jumping back as if the touch seared her. “You’ve always been so kind to me.” 

“It’s getting quite late,” Astarion interjected. “You don’t want the Grove to be besieged a second time, do you Halsin?”

She whipped her head around to see him leaning against the entrance of the cave, glowering in the Druid’s direction. 

“Ah,” Halsin said, his mirth genuine. “Astarion. What a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure’s all yours, I’m sure.” He replied. 

Halsin merely smiled, tossing his arms around Karlach and Wyll again. 

“Keep your fangs to yourself, Astarion,” Karlach teased. “Might chip one if you’re not careful.”

Astarion gave her a humorless smile, and with that, the others departed for the Grove with Gale leading the charge. Tav watched until they became tiny specks on the horizon, buying herself time before she had to face what lay ahead. Her sister, her temple, and worst of all, the man she betrayed. 

The group fell into companionable silence as they started their trek, their lanterns creating a halo of orange light around them. Reithwin wasn’t far from the previous camp, and it wasn’t long before Tav spotted the crypt Gale told her about. It was massive, dilapidated: an ugly smear on the rejuvenated landscape. Bare branches hung like barbed wire along the arched entryway, beckoning the group into its depths.

“Not the most horrifying crypt we’ve come across,” Astarion said, readying his dagger. “Let’s hope there’s no gauntlet in this one.” 

Shadowheart glared at him before pushing open the heavy door, the sound of stone against stone reverberating off the walls of the mausoleum. The inside was dank, seemingly untouched for the better part of the century. Coffins lined the walls, surprisingly intact for the abandoned tomb of a noble family. It was the metallic stench of blood that betrayed the illusion. 

Tav kept her hand on the hilt of her sword, creeping towards the stairwell at the far end of the room. Astarion was at her back as they passed through cobwebs, discreetly guiding her down the dark passage with his hand on the small of her back. 

They heard it once they descended the stairs: the hysterical chanting. Laezel raised her sword. 

“Be vigilant,” she hissed. “We don’t need another statue.” 

Clenching her jaw, Tav pressed forward, not looking back to see her companions’ positions. As the chants grew louder, she realized they belonged to one voice, and a deranged one at that. A soft light emanated from the end of the corridor, guiding the group toward a putrid smell. 

Tears welled in Tav’s eyes as she entered the vast room. Blood soaked through the soles of her boots, dampening her feet. An altar adorned with candles lay at the far end of the room, a shivering robed figure kneeling before it. Intestines and organs were scattered around the room, their hosts long forgotten. 

Her stifled gag halted the chanting, and she distantly felt Astarion’s hand on her waist. 

“Tavriel,” the voice exclaimed, high and scratchy. 

The figure turned excitedly, revealing an emaciated man who couldn’t have been much older than her. He was filthy, his mouth almost completely devoid of teeth. The smile he wore was gleeful, blissfully unaware of the slaughter around them. He frantically fell to his knees before her. 

“Tavriel!” He clutched her hands. “Our lady is most generous for weaving our fates together.”

Something about him intrigued her, preventing her from pulling her hand from his grasp.

“Tav?” Shadowheart whispered.

But she was frozen, staring into his maddened bloodshot eyes.

“And who is your lady?” Laezel spat, voice echoing off of the walls. The room was so monstrous, so vile, even she remained still, wary of the man as his eyes fixed themselves solely on Tav.

Behind her, Astarion was silent, his presence the only thing grounding her; his fingers flexed against her ever so slightly, as if trying to pull her closer to him.

“It is She who takes,” he laughed, spit flying from his blistered mouth. “She who joins us in the soil and bathes us in the dark.”

“What did you do to these people?” Shadowheart demanded, her patience wearing thin as she readied her mace. Tav could hear her footsteps, the splash of blood and viscera as she shifted.

“Empty, empty, empty,” he muttered. “The emptiness Our Lady offers is worth more than the eternity of the cosmos because it is She who offers it.” 

As she stared dumbfounded at the man before her, she barely registered his bony thumbs tracing circles onto her hand. No, not circles . It was more precise than that. They were runes. 

Panicked, she tried to yank her hand away, but the frail man possessed impossible strength as he tugged her down to her knees. She felt Astarion’s arm snake around her waist, steadfast and tight, but it did little to neutralize her sudden pitch toward the floor. The man’s voice was consistent during the scuffle, as if he were lost in prayer. 

“Our Lady’s first soul,” he whispered fervently, bringing her hand to his slimy cheek. “Our lady’s first soul.”

Her sword was high in the air before she realized her arm had moved, slicing right through the gaunt neck of the man in an instant. 

His head tumbled to the floor. 

Chapter Text

So tell me everything is not about me,

But what if it is?

No one dared to breathe in the space between the violence. Blood was splattered across Tav’s face, and she could taste its foulness as she panted. The mass of hair at her feet taunted her— part of her wanted to roll it over, to stare into the unseeing eyes of her victim. She didn’t deserve to hide from him. 

A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her thoughts, and she spun on her heel to face its owner. She expected Astarion to be aghast, horrified by her sudden display of savagery. Instead, he wore a small proud smirk.

“It seems your sword hand has healed after all,” he said. 

Tav wasn’t thinking as she dropped her sword, her body propelling forward on its own accord. She crashed into his chest, the vile room around them a distant memory as she pressed her cheek against his chest. Astarion stiffened beneath her, tentatively wrapping his arms around her trembling body. For a moment, all that existed was his chin resting on her head, steady and constant. 

“ Tas’ki , we have more pressing matters than your carnal fixation.” Laezel scoffed. 

She jumped away from him, humiliation burning in her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” Tav muttered. Her eyes refused to meet his.

“Right,” Shadowheart interjected, coming to stand in front of Tav. “Decapitation aside, what did he mean by ‘Our Lady’s first soul,’ Tav?” 

She peered up at Shadowheart, her white hair glowing pink in the blood soaked room. Her stare was unyielding and expectant.

“I don’t know,” she asserted. 

Shadowheart glared, her mouth in a tight line. Tav was never good at hiding from her.

“I don’t,” her voice broke. “I always thought it was a mistake when she left me alive, hells, I nearly died out there, too. All I know is I’ve prayed to Torm every day that it was just that.”

“That wretch thought her to be a god,” Laezel said, poking his head with the tip of her sword. “Perhaps the wizard misjudged her.”

Tav’s blood roared in her ears.

“I doubt he’s her only follower,” Shadowheart theorized, furrowing her brow. “But why can he die? Other thralls we’ve encountered appear to be…mortally challenged.”

“Might I suggest that might be because his head and neck are no longer compatible?” Astarion contested. 

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. “Fatal injuries didn’t stop them before.”

“Gods, enough,” Tav said, running a bloodied hand through her hair. “We don’t have time to debate. Search the catacombs. He must have something useful here.” 

To her surprise, no one argued with her demands. The group fanned out in search of the man’s possessions, eager to find any clues to Serana’s location. Tav exited the room, gasping as if she had been drowning in its putrid odor. Her footsteps echoed through the corridor as she combed through each room. Most of the chambers were decrepit, with little to offer besides dust and cobwebs. The last room at the end of the hall yielded more promising results.

At first glance, it was in no better shape than the others, with the tiniest bits of stone raining down overhead. In the darkness, Tav could just barely make out a collection of shapes in the corner. Her measly lantern illuminated a makeshift camp: a small bound book, a wool blanket, and a wooden bucket. She knelt down in the dirt, examining the small book first. Its texture was peculiar—too malleable to be leather but too soft and fibrous to be anything else. Holding her lantern closer, she dimly realized the material was skin. Human skin. 

She gasped as the book thudded to the floor, causing a cacophony of footsteps to follow the disruption. 

“Tav?” Shadowheart heaved as she rounded the corner.

“I’m alright,” she answered dumbly, retrieving the book from the floor. “I believe we found our man’s hideout.”

Shadowheart stood above her as she opened the book, holding Tav’s lantern so she could read. The pages were covered in nonsensical scribbles, with some pages depicting charcoal drawings of organs. She combed through each page, hoping there were some parts that weren’t the ramblings of a madman. Her heart sank as she turned to the last page. It was a sketch of a flower, her mother’s favorite: a snapdragon. Words sloppily overlaid the image: THE WELL IS NO LONGER. 

She snapped the book shut, trying to control her racing heart. Shadowheart said nothing, only looked at her cautiously as she stowed the book in her pack. The silence persisted as they left the mausoleum, the sky now an oppressive abyss. In her mind, she turned the image of the flower over and over like a stone. Her dream visitor had mentioned it once before—when she thought it was only a nightmare and not an encrypted message. 

She let her feet carry her into Reithwin, her mind left behind in that vile room. It was their first time in Reithwin since the shadow curse was lifted. The once hollowed buildings were now bursting with life, the windows glowing with firelight. People bustled about the streets, any memory of their vacancy forgotten. They could scarcely move about without brushing shoulders with a peddler or patron, eliciting curses in their direction. 

“Who knew Reithwin had a rowdy nightlife?” Shadowheart said.

Tav knitted her brow in confusion. “It doesn’t.”

Suddenly, she realized the people who clamored about the streets were dressed in rags, their frames filthy and emaciated. Children clung to their mothers’ hips as they milled about, pleading with passersby for spare food or gold. 

Baffled, Tav ducked into a nearby tavern, the others following in suit. The tavern was so densely packed, Tav could hardly move about, shoving a few men out of her path as she approached the bar. 

“Excuse me, sir.” She shouted at the bartender. He was an aged gnome with gray stubble decorating his stern chin. “Why are there so many people here?”

“Bloody refugees,” the bartender spat, slapping down a mug of ale. “It’s been a flood of them since Neverwinter fell. We hardly have enough resources for ourselves as it is.” 

Her face was drained of color. “What do you mean ‘since Neverwinter fell?’”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Have you bumped your head? The land is uninhabitable there— has been ever since the rot took over.” 

“The rot?” She asked incredulously.

But she had expended his patience. 

“Look, kid. Either order or make way for someone who will.” 

With that, he turned away from her, and Tav’s small frame was swallowed by the sea of patrons. A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her out of the tide of people. 

Astarion looked annoyed. 

“Well?” He shouted over the clamor. 

Tav tried to catch her breath, sweat beading on her brow in the overcrowded tavern. 

“Neverwinter has fallen.” 

“Hells.” He muttered, tugging her out of the doorway and towards their companions. 

Shadowheart and Laezel were equally baffled by the revelation, and neither were keen on staying idle. Their hand was forced when the sun shattered the dark expanse above them, urging them to retire to a seedy inn. 

At camp, Tav kept herself busy layering blankets over the windows, her hands taking over for her mind. Neverwinter wasn’t her home; it hadn’t been for nearly a decade. But part of her ached at the thought of it decimated, reduced to a razed landscape. She thought of the farm where she grew up, the lush gardens she roamed with her sister. When she lived at the Temple, she could convince herself that her home was destroyed alongside her family. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“Certainly not the decorator, are you?” Astarion said from the doorway. 

Tav smirked. “I’m sorry, are the patterns not to your liking?” 

“Honestly? They’re quite hideous.”

She huffed a laugh before sitting on her bed. The foot of the bed sunk with Astarion’s weight, his broad shoulders facing away from her. For once, he seemed at a loss for words, waiting with bated breath for her to break the silence. She drew her knees up to her chest. 

“I don’t know why I did it.” She whispered.

“The beheading or your design choice?” 

Tav rolled her eyes, ignoring the bait. “It was like I was watching someone else do it, like my hand wasn’t my own.” 

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

“There was something about him that just enraged me, that wanted to make him pay,” she scrambled to make sense of herself. “He was our best shot at finding her.” 

“Tav,” Astarion said firmly. “The wretch was in an altar surrounded by organs— and he reeked. He didn’t exactly inspire sympathy.” 

“It wasn’t my decision to make.”

He sighed. “Well, it was mine. If you hadn’t cut him down, I would’ve— just so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at him.” 

Against her better judgment, a smile crept across her face, and she could see a glint of pride in his eyes. He took his place in his bed, slowly falling into a trance while she laid awake in the dim room. 

When sleep finally claimed her, she found herself at the altar again. The cold air of the catacombs nipped at her body, and it was then she noticed she was completely naked. Her bare feet splashed the pools of blood as she crept closer to the figure at the far end of the room. They were tall, a dark cloak covering their head.

“What do you know about balance, Tavriel?” Astarion’s voice rang out in front of her. 

Her voice was barely audible when she spoke. “How do you mean?” 

“The pendulum of nature,” he sounded exasperated. “Life intertwined with death since the inception of time, from the cradle of creation.”

He pulled his hood down, revealing his unkempt curls. 

“Death knows you intimately, doesn’t it, Tavriel?” 

She stared blankly at the figure, her body shaking from the imagined cold. “Who are you?”

“An old foe with a stake in your new fight.” He said simply. 

Tav furrowed her brow. “Raphael?”

Astarion barked out a laugh, “Raphael could cheat many things, but he couldn’t cheat death. Not if I had anything to say about it.”

It dawned on her then: the talk of death, the pull towards Reithwin, the disruption of balance. 

“Myrkul?” She tried.

This time, she was met with chilling silence.

When she tried to move, her limbs fought against her, movements sluggish despite her best efforts. It was not the same nightmarish dissipation of reflex usually felt in dreams, Tav realized, her heart seizing in her chest. He had total control over her, over her memories , and this sensation was no different. It coiled around her, freezing and sharp, and with a half-sob, Tav could have sworn she felt a familiar breath at her neck.

She blinked, and blood began to lap at her knees as the room was inexplicably flooded.

“We don’t have much time, Tavriel.” He said. “If one desires the death of a god, they will need a weapon forged by one.” 

The blood was at her neck, and she uselessly paddled her arms to stay afloat. “Where?” She choked, sputtering as it filled her mouth.

His voice cut through the rush of blood. “Cutlass island.” 

She was lost to a sea of red. 

Tav awoke to an empty room and soaked sheets. Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck as she sat up, trying to reacquaint herself with the waking world. She knew she had to tell her companions, but she was tempted to crawl back into a world where she didn’t matter, where she was a failed paladin and nothing more. 

The flicker of candles irritated her tired eyes as she stumbled into the inn’s tavern. It was noisy and fetid, and the innkeeper was apologetic as she handed her a stale chunk of bread. 

“Sorry, love,” she said. “It’s all I got for a hot meal these days.”

Tav nodded in thanks before spotting her companions across the room. They were huddled over a map, mugs of ale scattered across the wooden table. Astarion seemed bored as Shadowheart spoke, opting to spin his dagger in his hands rather than listen. 

“She wakes.” Lazel taunted as she approached. 

“You’re more than welcome to wake me, Laezel.”

“You should be so lucky.”

Shadowheart glared. “Have a seat, Tav. We were just plotting our next course of action.”

Tav complied, biting into the hard chunk of bread. 

“We still have a few weeks until we reach Neverwinter if we travel by foot,” Shadowheart explained. “Laezel has suggested an alternative route by sea that could cut our time in half, though securing a ship during a refugee crisis may prove challenging.”

“Not to mention I’ll be crammed into a moving coffin during the day.” Astarion spat, catching the hilt of his blade. 

Laezel narrowed her eyes. “Your comfort is the least of our concerns.”

“By sea is good,” Tav cut in, effectively stopping their banter. “Cutlass island might prove fruitful.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “Cutlass island? Where in the hells did you hear that?”

She swallowed her food, the bread like sand in her throat. 

“Myrkul.” 

The table was eerily still as she felt three pairs of eyes bearing into her. She wiped a hand over her face, trying to shield herself from the scrutiny. 

“He’s been, well,” she stammered. “Visiting my dreams.”

Astonishment was palpable in the air, stealing the words from their mouths. Shadowheart was the first to speak. “Are you mad?”

“I wish.” Tav replied.

“What would Myrkul want with you ?” Laezel hissed. 

Tav felt like she was suffocating. “I don’t know! All he did was tell me where to find a weapon to kill my sister.”

“How long has he been in your dreams?” Astarion’s voice startled her, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. 

She stared at the wound in her palm. “Since the night we left. I didn’t know it was him. He…took a more pleasant form.”

Astarion’s glare was piercing as he spoke. “And you didn’t think a god taking a personal interest in you was of any importance?” 

“Why do you care?” Tav’s voice shook, her defense sounding flimsy even to her. 

He narrowed his eyes. “We need to know what we’re up against, Tavriel.” 

Shadowheart sighed, massaging her temples. “This is a job for Gale,” she muttered. “But I suppose we have bigger problems than a god bending your ear.”

As she folded up their crude map, Shadowheart ignored Astarion’s incredulous stare burning into her.. She merely nodded at Laezel, who rose to her feet. “Laezel and I will look for a lead on a ship, you and Astarion see what you can find on this ‘rot.’” 

Before Tav could argue, Laezel silenced her with a glare. “Do as she says. We’ll meet again at dawn.”

She merely watched as the two sauntered out of the tavern, leaving her wide-eyed in front of Astarion. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, only pushed his chair from the table, the wood grating sharply against the floor. Tav was at his heels as he exited the tavern, an air of betrayal surrounding him. 

“Well.” He slipped into his mask effortlessly. “I suppose we should investigate this ‘rot.’”

Words weighed down her tongue as she dumbly followed him into the street. There was no shortage of people, quite the contrary, but most were too exhausted and emaciated to offer anything of substance. They had ventured to a nearby chapel, questioning the people lined along the walls to receive provisions. It was then that Tav felt a tug at her trousers. 

At her hip stood a young elvish girl, gangly and filthy. Her blond hair was matted and tangled atop her head, her tattered clothes several sizes too big for her. 

“Excuse me, Miss,” she said, her voice small and timid. “I think I could help you.”

Tav squatted down to the girl’s eye level. “Really?” She said. “How’s that?” 

“I came from Neverwinter.” The girl said, her hazel eyes downcast. “I lost my home to the rot.” 

She felt a pang in her gut. “What’s your name?”

“Elora.” The girl whispered. 

“Come along then, Elora.” She grinned, grabbing the girl’s frail hand. “We can eat while we talk.”

Behind her, Astarion scoffed but held his tongue. Hand in hand, they scoured the stalls for discarded food, settling on a barely ripe apple. Eager to vacate the crowded street, they ducked into a nearby alleyway, entirely unlit save for the small lantern hooked onto Tav’s belt. She lifted the girl onto a crate, letting her savor the taste of the apple before her questions soured it. 

Tav squatted in front of her. “What happened back home, Elora?”

Elora turned the half eaten apple over in her hands before answering, picking at a bruise on its skin. “It started a few months ago. The leaves started falling, then our crops started dying. The ground turned ugly and gray.”

“Why did you leave?” Tav asked, brushing the hair out of the girl’s eyes. 

“We were starving,” she said. “We had no food, no animals. Mum and dad gave me to a group heading to Reithwin. They said they’d meet me here.”

Tav looked back at Astarion, his mouth pulled in a firm line. She had seen it a lot as a paladin; families so ravenous that they give away their children to have less mouths to feed. If her parents had made it to Reithwin, they had no intention of reuniting with their daughter. 

“I’m sorry, Elora.” Tav said. “Why don’t you come stay with us while we’re in the city? Our camp has plenty of room.” 

The girl’s eyes were full of hope. “Really?”

“Yes, really?” Astarion asked behind her, appalled by her suggestion. 

Tav nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. “I’m sure the others will love you. You’re quite the charmer.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Tavriel? May I have a word?”

Her body tensed. Astarion always reprimanded her for her generosity, and she anticipated her wrath now more than ever. He pulled her further down the alley, obscuring them in darkness. 

“Have all of those dreams scrambled your brain?” He hissed. 

“She’s starving, Astarion,” She crossed her arms. “We can’t just leave her on her own.” 

“It’s not our problem what the anklebiter does. we can’t take in every stray we come across,” his face was inches from hers, his garnet eyes shining with disdain even in the dark. “Have you forgotten what happened with the last innocent little girl you took in?”

She glared at him. “Not every child is a murderous shape shifter, Astarion.”

“Really?” He asked smugly. “And where’s your coin purse?”

Her hand flew to her waist, feeling for the leather pouch she kept tied there. She felt only the rough fabric of her tunic. Cursing, she whipped her head in the girl’s direction, finding an empty crate in her place. 

Astarion huffed a laugh, shaking his head bitterly. “Your charity will get us all killed.”

Her blood boiled, rage taking over her body in an instant. “It was my charity that saved Faerun, though I suppose you wouldn’t know that.” 

“And it was your foolishness that cost me my life in the sun.” He seethed, his breath hot against her face. 

Perhaps she had been foolish; for having faith in their truce, for stopping the ascension, for showing up on Gale’s doorstep. The rage in her gut turned to humiliation, acidic and unrelenting. Her throat burned with unshed tears. 

“I know you hate me, Astarion.” She choked. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. But there was a part of you that cared once— I saw it.”

He laughed, stark and humorless in the quiet alleyway. “You’re more foolish than I thought.” 

But she was determined for him to hear her, even if it was the last time he would ever be willing to listen. “I know you were terrified, Astarion. But the ascension would’ve made you just as weak and pathetic as Cazador. You deserved better than the misery he offered.”

“That was my choice to make!” He roared, his eyes flashing with anger. “Not that of some orphaned half-elf I never cared about.”

He stalked toward the street, turning to face her in the lamplight. 

“You are a speck in my existence, Tavriel. You were never anything else.”

Then Tav was alone. 

Chapter Text

Put your lips close to mine, 

As long as they don't touch.

“Another round, Tav?”

It was the last night before the end of her old life, the night before her abduction, and she spent it in a lowly pub in Rivington. She had accompanied Soren to the Gate to train the Flaming Fists at the request of the Grand Duke. They were sloppy, with a loose understanding of order as the foundation of their guard, but Tav needed the gold. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Soren,” her words were slurred, inebriation evident in her uncoordinated movements. 

The tiefling laughed. “I suppose not, then.”  

He looked down at his mug, sloshing around its contents as he thought of what to say. “Have you thought about Guardian Iliyra’s offer?”

She scoffed, downing the rest of her ale in a swift gulp. “I’d make a lousy inquisitor. You know that.”

“No, I don’t. You’re the very best of us, Tav,” his auburn eyes glistened with warmth. “Iliyra wouldn’t make that offer to just anyone.”

“She pities me.” She muttered. “She always has.”

“She respects you— it’s hard not to.”

Tav sighed, tipsy and exasperated by his impromptu interrogation. “Look, Soren. I’m fine where I’m at. I’d be content if I was training unruly recruits by your side for the rest of my days. Nothing needs to change.”

“I just want better for you,” he replied, his eyes trained on his slender hands. They were scarred from a youth spent fighting– for survival and for fun. He was a street rat once, which made his adherence to order that much more admirable. He believed blindly in a system that failed him, just like he believed in her.

Her words tasted bitter in her mouth, “I know.” 

She looked at the clock, eager for an excuse to escape the confrontation. Luckily, the hands pointed to three in the morning, and Tav slid off her stool. 

“It’s late,” she said, securing her sword at her hip. “I ought to rest up before our journey home.”

Soren slid off his own stool to meet her. “Let me walk with you.”

“No!” She backed away, stumbling into a tall figure passing behind her.

“Careful, darling,” the voice drawled as a pale hand kept her from tumbling to the floor. She uttered a brief thanks, but the man had already disappeared into the crowd. 

“I’m quite alright, I just need time to think.” She stammered. 

Soren looked suspicious, but didn’t argue further. “Alright, see you in the morning.”

She didn’t turn to say goodbye, and in the years that followed she wished deeply that she had. When she stepped onto the cobblestone streets, dampened with rain and sewage, she had no idea how much she would come to miss the mundanity of those nights.

It was in the year before Astarion’s appearance at Gale’s doorstep when Tav finally saw Soren again. She spent the better part of two years rebuilding the Gate, directing laborers and feeding families who lost their homes in the battle. When the last brick was laid, Tav felt an insurmountable emptiness; there was nowhere else for her to hide when she departed the Gate. She sought a conclusion to her old life, a bookend to the possibility that she could return to her home. 

The trek to the temple took longer than it did in years past. Winter had come early, turning a feasible hike treacherous. Snow crunched over her feet as she struggled up the mountain, blossoms encased in sheets of ice that lined the path. It took several hours of exertion before she saw it: the temple camouflaged in white. Briefly revitalized, she sprinted toward the gates, toward shades of auburn that fractured the white illusion. 

“Soren!” She cried out, falling to her knees where the tiefling guarded the gate. 

He was older; the final hints of boyishness in his face were replaced by hard lines and stubble. His lithe frame tensed as she approached, his eyes shifting as he searched for any witnesses. 

Tav tried to catch her breath, squinting against the harsh sun as she looked up at him. “I find it hard to believe you’re not a hugger anymore.”

“You can’t be here, Tav.” He gave her a solemn look before turning back towards the gate. 

Panic swelled in her chest—or perhaps it was desperation. She knew what happened to oath breakers; there had been one in their ranks during their training. The guardian had locked him outside of the temple, and all other paladins were forbidden from uttering his name again. Still, she had hoped her service to the Faerun could help her case. 

“Soren, please,” she pleaded. “All I’m asking is that you listen—not as a comrade but as a friend.” 

Her words reached him, she could tell in the way his eyes shone with tears, but Soren was always a disciplinarian. The gate slid shut with a final metallic clang. 

“Don’t come back.” He said firmly. 

Then Tav was left kneeling in the snow. 

The moon was abrasive as Tav sat against the alley wall. They would be expecting her come dawn, and she knew Astarion would be waiting, his face a picture of hatred and disgust. She face him—not sober, at least.

She must’ve spent hours sitting there, lost in the endless spiral of her thoughts as the moon crept across the sky. A shape in the darkness made her ready her blade, though she probably looked meek slouched against the wall. 

“Stop,” she commanded. “Don’t come any further.” 

The shape didn’t listen, only shuffled closer into the glow of her lantern. It was small, like that of a child, and Tav’s suspicions were validated when the light revealed a small elvish girl. Elora. 

Tav laughed bitterly, sheathing her weapon as the girl approached her. 

“Stealing is wrong, Elora.” She reprimanded. 

The girl dropped the coin purse at her feet. “You look like you need it more than me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re short a coin or two, though,” Elora said as she walked toward the street. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” 

With that, Tav was alone again, turning the coin purse over and over in her hands. She needed an escape, something to erase the past week. More than that, she needed a drink. She felt like a ghost as she stalked the streets, her footsteps concealed by the clamor of drunkards stumbling home. When she finally reached the Waning Moon, she had convinced herself that she really was one, that her life was just a byline in a greater story—one that was already over.

The wine embraced her like an old friend, and she spent the next hours downing bottle after bottle. As the buzz filled her body, her thoughts became flippant, nonsensical. Her sister, Astarion, Soren, the headless man, Astarion. The only thing she could grasp onto was one emotion: unadulterated rage. She followed the feeling out into the crowded streets, beyond the towering city walls. Her feet were not her own as she stumbled through the darkness, her mind screaming at her to turn back, to run to him. But her efforts were fruitless. Her consciousness dissolved into nothing.

When Tav came to, all she could process was searing pain. She groaned, opting to keep her eyes closed instead of exacerbating her headache. Cold stone was pressed against her cheek, drool staining the place where she rested her head. She cracked an eye open, the candlelight eliciting a pained moan from her as she tried to grasp where she was. Eyes stared into hers, blank and unseeing, and her thoughts lagged behind the sight in front of her. It was a severed head.

She screamed, scrambling away from the rotting head. Blood splashed around her from the sudden movement, and she finally realized her location: the altar. The cloaked man was in the early stages of decay, flies gravitating toward his corpse. The previous night came back to her in fragments: Elora, the fight, the wine, Serana.

Serana?

The memory was foggy and dull, yet Tav was scared to touch it. It was dangerous, forbidden for her own sake. She distantly remembered the squelch of her boots against the bloodied floor, the clatter of a candelabra as she threw it across the room. She remembered begging, her voice hoarse from screaming her sister’s name. She remembered wanting answers, demanding them. 

She climbed to her feet, leaning against the wall for support as she stumbled toward the altar. It had changed since the last time she was there; its smooth stone surface was decorated with crudely drawn runes. She traced her fingers over them, staining her fingertips crimson. They were recent. 

Her racing thoughts were interrupted by a distant disturbance. Footsteps, she realized. Her hand fell to her waist, feeling for her sword. Instead, she felt nothing. Voices echoed down the corridor, frantic and a little annoyed. 

“Astarion, slow down!” Shadowheart yelled. 

Hurried footsteps told her he didn’t listen, and the elf rounded the corner in a frenzy. His skin was sallow, his hair unruly and wild. He looked horrible. 

“Tav?” He breathed.

She didn’t have time to respond as he rushed towards her, his arms enveloping her. His breath shook in her ear,  and Tav could hardly move in his vice grip. He held her like she might slip through his fingers at any moment.

Her voice came out hoarse and awful against his chest. “How are you here?”

He backed away, cupping her filthy face in his hand, “What do you mean?”

“Last I checked, you couldn’t walk in the sun.” She said, her heart racing as his thumb swiped over her cheekbone. 

His brow furrowed in confusion as he looked her over, assessing her condition. “Tav, it’s night.”

Dread simmered deep within her. “I couldn’t have slept that long.” 

“Tav,” Astarion whispered. “You’ve been missing for two days.”

Two days . Her body trembled with the revelation, her limbs suddenly weak and frail. It couldn’t have been that long since she stumbled out of the Waning Moon. She had been on plenty of benders in the past year, but none had left her mind completely blank. She had to remember; why couldn’t she remember? 

Her body caught up with her mind, and her legs refused to support her any longer. Astarion caught her during her descent, lifting her frail body into his arms. She felt her head fall against his chest, swaying as he walked out of the room. Shadowheart finally rounded the corner. 

“Gods, Astarion,” Shadowheart panted as she doubled over. “Do I need to keep you on a leash?”

Back at the inn, Tav tried to catch up on the events of the past couple of days from her bed. Her companions gathered around her, equally as curious about her time away. Laezel kept her distance, muttering something about her stench while Shadowheart tended to her. Astarion sat at the foot of her bed, hesitant to meet her gaze despite carrying her all the way to the inn. Her mind was too preoccupied with hunger to care about his behavior, and when Shadowheart brought her stale bread with questionable stew, she devoured it with a moan. 

“How did you find me?” She gasped between bites.

“We thought it was odd when you didn’t meet us at dawn, especially when Astarion arrived alone,” Shadowheart explained, casting a pointed look at Astarion. “First we searched the streets, asked around at some taverns. No one remembered you. It was like you just vanished.”

“Until some girl said she had some information— for a price.” Laezel said from the doorway. 

She paused in her frenzy. “Elora?” 

Astarion looked embarrassed as Shadowheart answered for him. “She remembered Astarion, said she could help find his wife if we had the gold for it.”

Tav smirked. “Always a hustler, that one.” 

“She had been trailing you all night, probably looking to rob you again,” Shadowheart continued. “She followed you all the way out to the crypt before turning back. Got spooked, I suppose.” 

She followed me all night . Heat filled her cheeks the longer she thought about it. How much had she seen? How much had she shared? The thought of a witness to her night of debauchery humiliated her, and she stewed in silence as she finished her meal. 

“Care to tell us what you were doing back at the altar, Tav?” Shadowheart’s annoyance was palpable. 

Tav swallowed. “I don’t know— or rather I don’t remember.”

Laezel snorted. “Of course you don’t. You spend your nights blinded by drink and leave us to clean up your mess.”

“I think I was trying to talk to my sister.” She confessed.

Astarion stiffened. “How?”

Tav chewed her lip, staring at her bloodied hands. “I don’t know. I only remember fragments, but I remember screaming at her. And then there were these…runes on the altar. They were fresh.”

Her confession shocked them into silence, each person pondering the implications of Tav possessing arcane knowledge. Had she been in control of her faculties when she drew them? If not, who was? Astarion especially looked ashen, and Tav realized it had also been days since he ate as well. 

“Well,” Shadowheart said, eager to break the tension. “You need a bath. The innkeeper has a tub, albeit a very rudimentary one. The rest of you, get some rest. We set sail in the evening.”

She shooed Astarion and Laezel out of the room before taking her hand, leading her down a narrow hallway to the washroom. The tub was certainly rudimentary: a wooden basin more comparable to a bucket. Tav had to pull her knees to her chest to fit, the cold water lapping at her chest. Shadowheart said nothing as she dredged a cloth in the water, and flakes of dried blood fell into the water as she scrubbed at Tav’s back. 

“You scared him.” She said after several minutes, redirecting her attention to her hair. 

“Astarion?”

“No, the other vampire you’re in love with.” 

Tav’s scoff turned into a wince as Shadowheart’s nails scratched at her scalp. 

“Is that necessary?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “Since you insist on keeping a bird’s nest in your hair.” 

“I’m attached to it.” Tav mumbled. 

Before she could blink, Shadowheart dumped a bucket of water on her head, the icy water rendering her speechless. 

“But really— you did scare him. He spent the day pacing like a caged animal. I swear he wanted to kill that girl when she bartered with him.”

“We fought,” Tav said through chattering teeth. “Before I disappeared. I’m surprised he didn’t rejoice.”

“Anger doesn’t negate love.” 

Tav laughed. “Quite the sage advice coming from you.”

Water splashed over the sides of the tub as she stood, wrapping herself in the rough blanket folded beside it. Meanwhile, Shadowheart looked deep in thought, her arms crossed as she stared into the distance. Once Tav was dressed, the pair traversed the busy hallway, paradoxically buzzing with the energy of a new day as they prepared to rest. 

At their camp, Tav couldn’t help but stare at where Astarion lounged on his bed. He seemed wired, tense in a way that his usual pleasures failed to ease. She felt the same. When snores echoed through the room, Tav crept over to his bedside, sinking to her knees. 

“Are you hungry?” She whispered. 

He cracked an eye open, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. 

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Astarion, you haven’t eaten in days.” She protested.

He shut his eyes resolutely, as if it would make her disappear. “Nor had you until today. It’s foolish to feed on you while you’re this weak. And who knows what you got up to in the past two days. Your blood could have soured for all I know.”

The finality in his voice told her he wanted her gone, and she climbed to her feet with an air of frustration. Before she could walk back to her bed, his hand shot out, his firm grip stopping her in her tracks. 

“Thank you, Tav.” His voice was low and unsure. 

He dropped her hand, leaving her reeling at his bedside. When she crawled under the woolen blankets of her own bed, she was plagued by thoughts of him: his hands, his voice, his eyes when he saw her at the altar. Ever since she saw him in Gale’s library, she could only categorize his expressions as indecipherable or disgusted. Now, she could see them for what they were: guilty. Astarion would never admit his regrets to her, she knew that, yet there was something about his guilt that sparked hope within her. Regret meant a part of him still cared, whether he wanted to or not.

When the twilight was washed away by the tide of night, the group was standing at the docks, impatiently waiting on Shadowheart to finish briefing their captain. How she managed to rope anyone into sailing with them, Tav didn’t know, but she felt some comfort in their captain’s capabilities. He was a dwarf, a long ginger beard nearly reaching his knees. Tav could hear his cockney accent all the way from the docks as he strode down the ramp.

“Right, kiddies,” he declared. “I’m your Captain for the next…” he counted on his fingers. “8 days give or take. The name’s Flynnver, but you can call me Flynn. Captain Flynn.”

He scrutinized the group, raising a bushy eyebrow at Laezel before continuing. “Now, Shadowheart here will be my first mate for our little expedition, and I’m doing this as a favor for my old friend from the Sword Coast. I won’t ask questions if you won’t challenge my rules. And I only have one: no fighting. Sound good?”

“Is he always this talkative?” Astarion muttered. 

The captain grinned, revealing a gap in his front teeth. “Only when the rest of you’s is quiet as a mouse. Come along then.” 

As they boarded the caravel, Tav took note of its size; it was modest yet impressive to secure on short notice. Moonlight refracted off the water as they set sail, and  she couldn’t help but remember nights spent by the water with Astarion all those years ago. She leaned against the wooden railing, closing her eyes against the fine mist of sea foam.

“What was your name, kid?” 

She jumped at the captain’s voice, her head whipping around to find him standing behind her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be steering the ship?” She asked incredulously.

“Shadowheart needs the practice. Name?”

She sighed. “Tavriel. They call me Tav.” 

“Hm,” he hummed contemplatively. “What kind of a name is Tavriel?”

“It belonged to my father’s sister,” she said, looking up at the smattering of lights overhead. “She died when they were kids. I guess he wanted to honor her.”

“That’s odd.” He said plainly.

Tav laughed despite herself, and he strode back in the direction of the helm. “Nice to meet you, Tav. Don’t cause trouble on my ship.”

For the next few hours, she wandered the deck, savoring the rush of air against her face. Shadowheart stayed at the helm alongside Captain Flynn, laughing about their time together on the Sword Coast while Laezel glared at him. Gradually, Reithwin was reduced to small points of light on the horizon, and Tav felt a strange sadness as they left the city behind. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever been on a ship.” Astarion said as he sat down beside her. 

Her shock was palpable as she looked over at him, his eyes trained on the night sky. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Two hundred years of existence and I’ve never been on a ship.”

“How do you like it?” She asked.

“It’s awful.” He said bitterly, eliciting a sharp laugh from her. “Seriously, constantly fighting for balance, the putrid smell of the sea, and worst of all, the godsforsaken nausea .” 

She glanced at him, his eyes meeting hers for the first time that night. This time, they didn’t look riddled with guilt or anger—they looked content. 

“You know, you would probably feel better on a full stomach,” she teased. 

He shook his head. “You need to recover.” 

“I have. Please just—,” she grabbed his hand. “Let me do this, Astarion.” 

His mouth pulled into a firm line. “Alright, but not here. I don’t want our captain to drive a stake through my heart.” 

She nodded, and the pair rose to their feet, the boards of the ship creaking beneath them. They had only the flicker of candles guiding them below deck, and they settled on a remote corner concealed in darkness. They had done this many times— years ago, it was something of a nightly routine. Now, Tav felt flustered as she pulled her tunic off her shoulder, sweat plastering her hair to her neck. Astarion bore his weight one hand as the other pulled her hair aside, his fingertips lingering against her hammering pulse. 

“Are you sure?” He always asked, even when she would gladly give him anything.

“Yes.” She whispered, her breath coming in short bursts.

He buried his face in her neck, his lips pressing against her pulse in a soft kiss. She gasped when he sunk his teeth in, her life ebbing away with every pull of his mouth. 

She felt his hand on her waist, soothing her as her breathing became more labored. It was intoxicating: toeing the line between life and death. It numbed her thoughts, shrinking her world to a cold pair of lips and a rush of blood. 

Distantly, she heard a crash beside them, causing Astarion to yank his mouth from her neck. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he searched for the source of the commotion, his body still hovering over Tav’s. Slowly, the flicker of candlelight illuminated a small figure crouched amongst the crates across from their alcove, and wide hazel eyes stared back at them.

They both gasped, in horror and disbelief. 

“ Elora? ”

Chapter Text

The more that you say, the less I know,

Wherever you stray I'll follow.

Tav’s tongue was lead in her mouth as she stared back at the girl. Blood was still dripping from her neck as she slowly slid out from under Astarion, her consciousness still volatile from the feeding. She looked horrifying.

Elora scrambled out from behind the crates, a whimper piercing the air as she rushed to find a way out. Tav called after her, or tried to, but she was already tripping up the stairs into the salty air. 

When Tav made it to the deck, Elora was backed against the railing, feverishly looking for an exit like a caged animal. It was still night, her fearful face illuminated by the swinging lantern hanging near the mast. Tav approached her with her hands raised.

“It’s alright, Elora.” It was a shallow comfort, even to herself.

Sobs erupted from the girl, breathy and uneven. “He’s a monster!”

“He’s not…” her eyes darted around them, searching for onlookers. “But he is a vampire.” 

The girl’s body trembled at her confession, and Tav sympathized with her. For most of her short life, vampires were a ghost story: a mostly fictitious monster used to keep people out of the darkest corners of cities. Now, they were no longer a nightmare to her but a walking, breathing person, and she had just watched one feed from her hastily adopted maternal figure. Tav tried to soothe the girl, but her attempts caused her sobs to worsen, ringing against the crashing waves. Her body tensed as an array of footsteps hurried towards them.

“What’s going on—,” Shadowheart skidded to a halt behind her. “Oh, hells .”

Captain Flynn shook his head. “Five passengers for the price of four. You owe me, Jenevelle.” 

Shadowheart’s nose scrunched in disgust at the use of her birth name, and Tav pondered the extent of their friendship. Perhaps he had known her from before everything, before mind flayers usurped their world. 

“No, the girl owes you,” Laezel sheathed her sword. “And we can solve this problem right now.”

“Oh really?” Shadowheart asked smugly. “How?”

Laezel narrowed her eyes, “We throw her overboard.” 

From her post at the railing, Elora let out a soft whimper. Tav stepped in front of the girl. 

“I know you lack basic empathy, Laezel, but the girl is scared,” she said. “Like it or not, we have an obligation to care for her.”

“ We ?” Laezel scoffed. “Do I need to remind you that you are no longer a paladin? You are oathless, faithless. A pretender.” 

Against her will, Tav’s hand flew to her sword, the hilt slick with sweat as her fingers tightened around it. Laezel smirked, amused by her gall. 

“Hey!” Captain Flynn shouted. “What did I say about fighting on my ship?”

The women snapped their heads toward the captain, and Tav felt a rush of embarrassment. 

“So we have another passenger,” the captain continued. “We make do. I’m sure she’ll be on her best behavior, won’t you, lassie?” 

Elora was still wide eyed as she cowered behind Tav. She sniffled once, searching for her voice as she straightened her back. 

“Astarion’s a vampire.” She squeaked.

Captain Flynn raised an eyebrow at Shadowheart, who gave him a defeated shrug. “Not my problem,” he concluded. “Tav, make sure the lassie doesn’t take any unsupervised swims. Shadowheart, with me.”

With that, Tav was left on the deck with the girl, fear still evident in the way she flinched as Tav got down on her knees before her. The moon hung low on the horizon, a tiny sliver of light amongst a sea of black. It would be dawn soon, and then, they would have to reconcile with the reality of life at sea. She took the girl’s hands.

“Listen, Elora,” she said softly. “Astarion’s condition is not one he chose— and it requires him to…seek an alternative diet. What you saw was me helping him.”

The girl looked suspicious of her, and Tav couldn’t blame her. Blood was still wet on her neck. 

“What Astarion and I have is a partnership of sorts,” she continued. “He won’t hurt you. Mostly because I’d cut him down if he did.”

Elora cracked a smile, seemingly sobering up to her predicament. “I’m sorry for intruding,” she confessed. “I don’t have anyone else.”

“I know,” Tav said, squeezing her hand. “Come now, let’s speak to Astarion, see if he’s all he’s chalked up to be.” 

When they found Astarion below deck, he was slouched in the same alcove where he drank from her. His mouth was clean, his hair mussed from running his hands through it over and over. He glanced timidly at them as they approached, rushing to explain himself.

Tav cut him off. “She knows, Astarion. I thought it might be helpful if she spoke to you.”

He frowned at her, but didn’t challenge her request. “Go on.”

Elora sat beside him, her legs folded under her as she inspected him. 

“Can you eat real food?” She asked. 

“No,” he seemed irritated. “It turns to ash in my mouth. I can drink wine, though. Thank the gods above.” 

“Can you walk in the sun?”

“No,” he snapped, trading an annoyed glance with Tav. “I can’t.” 

The girl seemed eager to pry for more, but the tension between the two stopped that line of her interrogation. She leaned closer to study him, causing Astarion to lean away from her. He was never particularly fond of children, and Elora was no exception. 

“Do all vampires have to drink from their wives?” 

It was an innocent question, but one that disoriented them. Tav could feel her cheeks burn hot from flattery or embarrassment; she wasn't quite sure which, and somehow that made it worse.

“ Wife ?” They asked in unison, incredulous and confused.

Elora merely blinked at them, unaware of her misunderstanding. 

Astarion huffed a humorless laugh. “She’s not my wife.”

“But you want her to be, right?”

Her question rendered him speechless, and Tav intervened before he could offer an answer— one that would surely cut deep. 

“That’s enough, Elora,” She stammered. “You can see he won’t hurt you. Now let’s find you somewhere to sleep. You must be exhausted.”

Elora nodded, exhaustion seeping into her bones as Tav led her below deck. Tucking her into a spare bedroll, Tav smoothed out the edges of her blanket as if it were a real bed to be made, as if she had done this a thousand times before. Her heart ached at the thought it may have been the nicest place Elora had slept in a while; the girl's soft intake of breath as she ran her fingers gently atop the blanket felt like a blade. She was so little , sequestered in this excuse for a bedroom, Tav thought. She must be so scared.

Pulling her own bedroll next to hers, Tav guarded the girl with her body, even though their enemies at sea were significantly few. Still, she stroked the girl’s tangled hair until her breathing evened out, until the lull of the ship rocked them both to sleep.

“Tav, wake up.” Shadowheart whispered. 

She begrudgingly peeled her eyes open to find Shadowheart looming over her, her face frantic and pale. The rest of the ship was quiet, the creaking of wood interspersed with the occasional snore. 

“Come with me, but do it quietly. I don’t want to alert the others yet.”

Dread shocked her awake as she nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. For the first time since their journey began, her sleep was full of blissful emptiness, so unusual to her now it was disorienting. She stumbled as Shadowheart took her arm, guiding her up the stairs and onto the quiet deck. The sky was still an impenetrable darkness; she couldn’t have been asleep for very long. As her eyes scanned the horizon, she suddenly noticed the absence of the ocean’s breeze against her face. The water was smooth and still, a mirror that reflected the expanse above them. There were no waves, no movement, only the stark silence of an ocean undisturbed.

“What is it?” She breathed. 

“A doldrum.” Captain Flynn interjected from the helm. “Or that’s what it’s supposed to be. The darkness is…something else.”

“Darkness?”

“Tav, it should be midday by now,” Shadowheart said. “We’ve been sailing for hours.” 

She glanced at the moon above them, stuck in the same low position it was in before they went below deck. Tremors consumed her body as she tried to make sense of their predicament.

“How?” She breathed.

“That I can’t tell you,” the captain shook his head, spitting once. “Never seen it in all my years of sailing. Whatever it is, it’s not natural.” 

“Can’t you use a wind spell? Push us out of it?” Tav’s voice shook as she turned to face Shadowheart. 

“I could,” she admitted. “But it would only push us a few meters. This is a large vessel and I’m not skilled in evocation. Gale would be more helpful.”

“Well, he’s not here.” Tav’s panic was barely contained as she spoke. “At least try, Shadowheart. Please.”

Her lips pulled into a firm line as she nodded. “Alright, but hold onto something.”

She didn’t look at Tav as she stalked over to the stern, leveling her breathing before she raised her hands toward the mast. Tav gripped the ship’s railing, splinters of wood digging into her palms. The incantation was hardly audible as Shadowheart started casting, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she braced for impact— an impact that never came. 

Shadowheart stared at her hands in disbelief, the ship mockingly still despite her slew of spells, its sails hanging uselessly from the mast.

“Are you sure you got the spell right?” Tav ventured. 

“I know I did,” she shouted in frustration, her eyes trained on her shaking hands.

Her chest heaved as she uttered her revelation. “My magic, it’s—it’s gone.” 

She was panicked, unmoored. Tav could see it as she approached her, trying to conjure words of reassurance. But she was equally unhinged, plagued by the possibilities that led them into this situation. To her relief, the captain spared her the trouble.

“It’s alright, Jenevelle,” he said, eyeing her cautiously. “We can’t lose our heads when we’ve got a whole ship to tend to.”

He approached her cautiously, assessing the extent of her dissociation with a furrowed brow. With a gentle nudge to her side, he yanked her out of her panic. She fell to her knees, gasping as the captain patted her shoulder. 

He glanced at Tav. “I’ve got her. You gather the others.” 

When they finally brought the others on deck, their unease was palpable. They all gathered at the helm, Astarion gazing blankly at the still water instead of engaging in their discussion. Elora wrung her hands, partially hiding behind him as they debated their fate.

“We don’t have time to wait it out,” Laezel seethed. “Your sister will have ruined all of Faerun by then.”

“And what do you suggest?” Tav asked, her frustration mounting. “Not even our compasses work. We have no sense of direction, no concept of time.”

“So you retreat like a coward?”

She scoffed. “For all we know, she might have already ruined Faerun.”

Tav’s statement sent Elora barreling towards her with a whimper, her lanky arms wrapping around her waist. She felt awful.

“It wasn’t like this when we first set sail,” Shadowheart said, “Maybe there’s a way around it. Or out of it.”

She turned toward the captain. “We have a dinghy, don’t we?”

The captain scoffed. “What sort of ship do you think I’m running?” 

Shadowheart gave him a small smile, and the thought of a possible escape route eased the tension in Tav’s shoulders.

“We should all get some rest,” Tav said, ruffling Elora’s hair. “I’ll go out on the dinghy in the morning*—well, night—and see if there’s any land nearby.”

“I’ll go with you,” Astarion said, his voice shocking her to attention. He had been a spectator to their discussion, watching with his arms crossed in the soft orange glow. His eyes met hers, hard and indecipherable.

“To ensure you don’t make a run for it.” He clarified. 

She smirked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their jokes played into an unconvincing facade—that everything was alright, that their voyage was calm and predictable, survivable. Doubt held Tav’s spirit captive as she tucked Elora in once more, petting her golden hair until she fell asleep in her bedroll. She could manage fear better when she had less to lose, when they hadn’t subjected two unwitting people to their madness. As she paced the decks above her sleeping companions, she tried to quell the anxiety that ruled her.

“Something troubling you?” Astarion’s voice shattered her ruminations. He rested his elbows on the railing next to her, staring out at the starless sky. 

“Is that a serious question?” She replied.

He gave her an amused smile. “No, but I needed to break the ice.” 

She laughed. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Being stuck in a powerless, windless void will make anyone do unhinged things— like trading small talk with their nemesis.”

“ Nemesis ?” She scoffed.

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I thought you loved my affinity for dramatics.”

Tav smiled, but didn’t reply. She could feel his eyes on her as she looked down at her hands, picking at the splinters buried in her fingertips. 

“What do you make of it? This…‘void’ as you called it?” She chewed her lip.

He sighed. “I don’t know, Tav. Perhaps we stumbled across some mage’s project. Perhaps this was intended for us. We upset more than a few gods during our last stint across Faerun.” 

He was right. Myrkul, Bhaal, and Raphael were all collateral damage in their quest to save Faerun. It was only fair that they seek vengeance eventually— Tav knew that better than anyone. But she wasn’t naive, nor was she convinced of other divine interventions. 

“It has to be her, doesn’t it?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I suppose it does.” He admitted, his shoulders slouching ever so slightly. 

Her teeth tore the rough skin of her lip, the smallest bit of blood staining her tongue. “I’ve spent so long hating her,” she muttered. “I don’t remember a life before it. I can’t imagine one after.” 

A brush of fingertips across her cheek beckoned her eyes to look upward. His hands were calloused, rough from gripping a blade or a bow for the past few years. Her heart lurched as he cupped her cheek, his garnet eyes studying her face.

“To hells with her, Tav,” he whispered. “You don’t belong to her—you never have. And I’ll be here to ensure you never do.”

She huffed a laugh. “You were never one to make promises, Astarion.” 

“Perhaps not,” he said, his lips a breath away from hers. “But that bleeding heart of yours always got the better of me. Seeing you care so blindly made me take you for a fool. Or worse, someone I needed to protect.” 

His thumb swiped across her cheek. “And I do,” his voice broke. “I want to protect you, Tav.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her chest heaving as she realized how impossibly close they were. One step and they could never go back. She wondered if his lips tasted like they did all those years ago: metallic and slightly sweet. He tilted his head, studying his effect on her with a slightly proud smirk. One step and she could ruin herself for good.

“He’s a sweet one, isn’t he, Tavy?” 

The voice sent a cold shock through her body, freezing the steady flush in its tracks. She whipped around to find the source, vaguely aware of Astarion’s hand gripping hers. There, right at the bow of the ship, she saw her. 

“Serana?” She wheezed.

Despite the decade that had passed since that day, her sister looked unchanged. Her dark hair curled around her ears, her golden eyes shimmering in the dim light. She leisurely closed the gap between them, her frame slender and boney. Her crimson cloak swayed as she stopped, tilting her head curiously. 

“Ironic that you would fall in love with the undead,” she said. “But you always had a knack for surprising me.”

Tav felt frozen, tethered only by the firm grip on her hand. The woman she had spent years, a decade, searching for was a few paces in front of her. She should’ve drawn her sword, slit her throat without a second thought and left her to bleed out slowly. She should’ve been merciless, ruthless , like she was. But she wasn’t. She was too forgiving, too desperate, too lonely. Her eyes stared blankly into Serana’s.

“Oh, Tavy,” she gasped, her eyes suddenly shining with tears. “You were my first because I loved you most. You must know I loved you most.”

“Tav, are you alright?” Astarion asked softly.

She took a shuddering breath, her eyes trained on her sister. “You never loved me. You don’t know how to love.” 

Tears tracked down Serana’s pale cheeks as Astarion tugged on her arm. “Tav, what’s going on?”

“You always had lofty ideas,” Serana said. *Her voice was feather soft even as it cut through the air, tinged with a fondness that made Tav sick. “You wanted to be a great storyteller, remember? You used to beg me to read you stories every night. The Ash Tree, The Evanescent Kingdom. You couldn’t sleep without them.” 

“Stop.” She whispered, eyes stinging. “Please.”

Astarion stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him. His hands gripped her shoulders. 

“Tav, look at me,” he said, shaking her roughly. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”

Her eyes briefly snapped to him. His expression was unnerved as he begged for her attention, his fingers leaving imprints on her skin. She looked to where her sister stood, waiting for her footsteps, the swish of her cloak—

There was only the imposing bow of the ship.

Sobs wracked her body as her knees gave out, leaving Astarion as her sole support. She tried to focus on what was real: the pain pulsing inside her like a gaping wound, the cold firmness of his chest, his breath against her hair as he soothed her, his hands stroking her heaving back. She couldn’t know how long they stayed on their knees, the moon mocking them from its place on the horizon. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t. 

Because for an endless moment, all that existed was his solid chest and the solemn night air. 

Chapter Text

If I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Tav had never felt safe: her lifestyle didn’t permit it. Maybe she had once as a child in Neverwinter, but those memories were retroactively stained, tainted by the crimes of her sister. Yet, in Astarion’s arms, she could convince herself that she was, even on a stranded ship in some sort of arcane void. His breath gently ruffling her hair affirmed that she needed to stay there forever, but forever was historically quite short. 

Her thoughts were validated by a violent crash below deck. They jumped apart, not wasting any time on embarrassed looks. Instead, they shared a confused glance before they crept down the stairs, the wood creaking harshly as they moved. Tav tried to ignore the feeling of Astarion at her back as she peeked around the corner, the scene slowly coming into focus. 

Laezel was crouched over Shadowheart’s body, her shortsword braced against her neck. Sweat beaded on the Githyanki’s forehead as Shadowheart gawked at her from her bedroll. 

“What the hells are you doing?” 

“Retribution,” Laezel panted. From their spot on their stairs, Tav could see the minute tremors in Laezel’s shoulders as she held her down, feigning a warrior’s stance. Tav moved to intervene, but Astarion stopped her, raising a finger to his lips. 

Shadowheart returned a blank stare. “For what, exactly?”

Laezel’s face twisted into a scowl. “Don’t play coy, hshar’lak . You slaughtered them like cattle, your companions, your friends .” She snarled as if the word left a bitter taste in her mouth. “I won’t grant you the mercy of an execution.”

Her blade pressed softly into Shadowheart’s neck, a trickle of blood staining the silver as she groaned.

“It will be a massacre.” 

Tav cast a panicked glance at Astarion, his eyes softly lit with amusement at the scene before them. Laezel’s words were frenzied, the ravings of one who had become ungrounded from reality, yet her body trembled with the rage of someone who bore witness to the imagined bloodshed.

“It’s happening to her, too,” Tav whispered, causing Astarion to tighten his grip.

“You’ve gone mad,” Shadowheart hissed through gritted teeth, straining her neck as she fought to escape. 

There wasn’t much Tav had decoded about Laezel, but she knew she was imprudent with her weapon. One miniscule movement, and Shadowheart’s head would be at her feet. Tav broke Astarion’s grip on her wrist, sprinting to Laezel’s heaving body. As Tav approached her, she noticed Laezel take a deep breath before she shifted her weight. In just one breath, the rivulet of blood turned into a small stream. 

Tav collided with Laezel, sending both of them tumbling to the floor. They wrestled for control, and Laezel let out a frustrated shout as she straddled her, the weight of her armor pinning her to the floor. Her eyes were crazed, unseeing, as Tav shielded her face. 

“Laezel, stop!” She shouted. “It’s Tav.”

Her words failed to reach her. Laezel simply wiped the sweat from her brow before she raised her sword above her. Against her better judgement, Tav squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’d tread carefully, if I were you.” 

Tav opened eyes to see Astarion crouched behind Laezel, his dagger against her throat. The blade at her pulse point barely gave her pause, and Laezel rolled her eyes at his request. 

“Look below you, Laezel.” He said calmly. “Doesn’t she look familiar?” 

A spark of recognition ignited in her eyes, her sword clattering to the floor as she struggled to make sense of the person beneath her. 

“The paladin?” She breathed. “Shadowheart eviscerated you.” 

“No,” Tav said, sweat rolling down her temple. “Not yet, anyway.” 

Laezel slumped over as Astarion released his hold on her, sheathing his dagger as she stared wide eyed at Tav. 

“I saw it.” Laezel breathed. “I saw all of you bathed in blood. The deck littered with your organs.” 

“I saw it,” she said again, mostly to herself.

“I know you did,” Tav said. “Whatever this is, it’s messing with us, manipulating our realities. It happened to me, too.” 

Laezel glared at her, seemingly unmoved by the revelation as she stalked over to the stairs. “This is your mess. Now clean it up.” 

She was right, though Tav loathed to admit it. If it weren’t for her, their party could’ve lived the rest of their lives in peace, only reuniting at remembrance ceremonies or anniversaries. But she had left a loose end when she broke her oath, when she let love blind her sense of justice. A soft groan on the ground next to her dissipated her thoughts.

“A little help?” Shadowheart hissed as she sat up. She held a discarded shirt to her wound, blood quickly soaking the cloth. Her usually tight braid was undone, the white waves speckled with red. 

“Shit,” Tav muttered. Since all spells were useless in the void, their only options for healing were potions or tonics. Rushing to her bedroll, Tav rummaged through her sack until she found a small potion of healing. When she finally tossed the potion to Shadowheart, she downed half of the bottle in one swig. 

Tav crossed her arms. “You need to drink the rest.”

“Our healing supplies are limited,” she said sternly. “And we don’t know how long we’ll be here. We need to ration all potions.”

“Shadowheart.” 

“I’m not arguing, Tav,” she bit back, adjusting her body so she was resting against the wall. “Now, what is this…hysteria you spoke of?”

“I don’t know,” Tav sighed. “I saw my sister not long ago. She was as real as you are.” 

Shadowheart chewed her lip. “She’s messing with us. Changing our realities so that we turn on each other. Whatever power she’s acquired, it’s archaic.” 

Tav said nothing as she picked at the callouses on her hands. 

“But that’s neither here nor there,” Shadowheart continued. “What we really need to discuss is what we’re going to do. If no one is safe from these hallucinations, who will ground us if we’re all mad?”

She glanced at Astarion, who was fiddling with the hilt of his dagger. 

“Astarion?” Tav asked.

“Hm?” He replied, glancing between her and Shadowheart. “Oh yes. The…dreams, was it?”

The women sighed in frustration. “Who will keep us from killing each other?” Tav reiterated. 

“Not my problem.” He said, sheathing his dagger. “You all can descend into madness together, but I won’t be aboard when that happens. We need to find a way out.”

He glanced at Tav. “Still up for our little rendezvous?”

Tav scoffed, shaking her head. “You can’t be serious.”

Astarion raised his eyebrows. “When have I ever not been?”

“We can’t leave now, Astarion.” She reprimanded. “Not when none of us are in our right minds. It could turn into a bloodbath.” 

“How delightful,” he deadpanned. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be a bloodbath if we stay, and that’s a promise.” 

She merely glared at him, too exhausted from the previous scuffle to offer any harsh rebuttals.

“I need to check on Elora,” she muttered, effectively putting a pin in their debate. 

The wooden planks groaned with her every step as she crossed the ship, Astarion’s eyes burning into her body the whole way. The melting wax of candles served as their only measure of time, and Tav was starting to feel disoriented by the omnipresence of the shadows. When she finally approached the alcove, she expected to find Elora fast asleep, dreaming of somewhere nicer than the derelict ship. Instead, the girl was upright, hugging her knees to her chest as eyes shifted about anxiously.

“Elora?” Tav said gently.

The girl sniffled. “Where were you?”

She sank to her knees, tucking a lock of unkempt hair behind the girl’s ear. “I was just talking to my friends about our plan. What’s the matter?”

For the first time since they met, the girl glared at her, spiteful and wounded. “You were gone for two days.” She spat.

Two days? 

She shook her head slowly. “No, I was gone an hour at most.” 

Elora wiped a tear that had spilled over her cheek. “You left me for two days,” she sobbed. “I looked for you. For all of you. The ship was empty.”

Words eluded her as Elora spoke. Their minds, their pasts, were no longer their own, and now time was fleeting, operating outside of ordinary constraints. She held the girl to her chest, smoothing her hair as she cried.

“I’m sorry, Elora,” she whispered. “I promise I didn’t leave you.”

And she wouldn’t, for as long as the gates allowed it. 

Tav didn’t know how long they spent on edge, waiting for another lapse in reality to consume them. She had been lucky; apart from her sister walking the decks, she had only experienced minor discrepancies in time. Minutes were nearly indistinguishable from hours for most aboard the ship: a symptom exacerbated by any attempts at sleep. Most of them vowed to stay awake, though Tav argued it only expedited their hysteria. The only member unaffected by the void was Astarion. They all chalked it up to his undead nature, and used his immunity as a guiding light to reality. He spent the next few days, or nights rather, pacing the decks with the fervor of a caged animal. 

Even now, Tav watched him patrol the decks, his mouth twisted in a bitter frown as he stared at the black lake below them. She tried to avoid looking at the water—its calmness unnerved her, mocked her. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the sky. Its openness spoke of promise, of a world beyond this prison. Small points of light punctured the blanket of dark, promising an escape in its gross imitation of nature. The horizon was frozen, unmoving, except for the faintest outline. 

“Astarion,” she called behind her. Her shoulders tensed as his footsteps grew louder, his tall frame dwarfing hers as he stood at her back. Though she longed to turn around, to force their bodies closer, her eyes were trained on the speck in the distance.

“Do you see it too?” she whispered.

His breath hitched as he followed her gaze to the horizon. 

“Yes.”

She squinted, but her eyes were useless in the dark, leaving the speck indiscernible. She turned to look at him.

“Is it a ship?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let the delirium get the better of you. It could be anything.”

“But it’s something,” she cocked an eyebrow. “Are you still up for our rendezvous?” 

For the first time in days, Astarion cracked a smile. 

In just a few hours, they were standing on the deck again: this time to say farewell. No one was keen on visiting the supposed ship, but their options were growing slim as the days went by. Their boat was quaint, equipped for only two people and their belongings. Tav packed light, bringing a few potions of healing and her weapons. When they were finally ready to disembark, Tav crouched in front of Elora, taking the girl’s hands in hers.

“Promise to behave while I’m gone?” 

The girl smirked. “No.” 

Tav gave her a small smile. “It shouldn’t take more than a day. Shadowheart will watch over you in the meantime.”

“Sorry, I’ll do what?” Shadowheart scoffed. 

“My apologies, Elora. Shadowheart’s rather hard of hearing it seems. “

The girl giggled before Tav pulled her in, hugging her tightly as she spoke. “I’m not leaving you. I promise.” 

It felt impossible to let her go, and Tav scolded herself for doing it. Somehow, against her best wishes, she had taken up another oath, and breaking it would ruin her for good.

“Tav,” Captain Flynn called from the helm. “A word.”

She stiffened, patting Elora’s cheek before turning back to face him. For her own sanity, she vowed to not look again.

Captain Flynn looked rugged, more so than usual. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, his skin sagging and gray as he slouched over the wheel, which hadn’t been in use since they set sail. 

“You probably won’t get far enough to lose sight of us, but in case you do,” he pressed a small brass compass into Tav’s palm. “I’d hope you at least know how to read one of those.”

Tav laughed as she opened the compass, revealing a spinning arrow with no set direction. 

“Thank you, Captain,” she said earnestly. “It’s always the thought that counts.”

He grunted in agreement. “I don’t know what’s out there, lass. Be careful, especially with your fella.”

“Astarion?” She said incredulously.

He glanced up at her from the corner of his eye. “He hasn’t been affected yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be. Keep an eye on him.”

Instead of arguing further, Tav simply nodded. Though she lamented leaving them aboard, she was anxious to get off the ship, a sentiment Astarion mirrored. As the Captain lowered their boat into the water, the single, insignificant splash rang out with a note of finality. She vowed not to look back as they started rowing. She needed courage, stoicism, and a reminder of what they left would render those obsolete. 

It was difficult to tell just when they had left, though Tav assumed it must not have been long when they were suddenly overwhelmed by a putrid stench, somehow even more rotten than anything they had come across thus far.

“What the hells is that?” Tav choked, pulling her tunic over her nose.

“Death, my dear,” Astarion replied. “I had surmised you were used to it by now.”

Tav rolled her eyes, focusing on the untouched expanse before them. When her oar touched the water again, she finally noticed the fish, their translucent bodies belly up as far as the eye could see. 

“Hells.” she muttered, poking one with her oar.

“What?” Astarion asked. “Do the miles of dead fish unnerve you?” 

She glared at his outline in the darkness. “Can you look in your telescope now?” 

He sighed, begrudgingly taking out the small slender telescope Captain Flynn gave him. He brought the instrument to his eye, fiddling with the measurements as he focused on the large speck on the horizon. 

“ Shit .” He whispered. 

Tav tensed, mindlessly reaching for her sword. “What is it?”

“It’s definitely a ship, though I can’t determine the mortal status of its occupants.” 

She reached for his eye glass, squinting as she adjusted the measurements. A blurry outline of a caravel sharpened in her vision, its imposing sails hanging limply in the absence of wind. Though she couldn’t discern much about its condition, she knew they were stranded just like them. 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” she replied. 

For the next few hours, they rowed in silence, and Tav distracted herself by watching their oars slice through the black water, disrupting her reflection. In the glow of the moon, she could just barely see her face, gaunt from sleepless nights and starvation. She tried to recall a time she looked so foreign to herself— perhaps it was the time she nearly froze to death on the mountain, tears frozen around her eyes as she dreamed of being freed from her body. With a shudder, she realized she felt the same now, rowing towards a ship that could very well be a trap. 

“Catch a chill, Tav?” 

“Something like that,” she muttered.

He didn’t press further as he handed her the telescope. “Shouldn’t be too long now. We better know what we’re getting into.”

Tav nodded, holding the cool bronze to her eye as the ship came into view, now prominent in their path. She scanned the upper decks, noting the mast was now snapped in half. As her eyes followed the mast, she noticed the upward angle of the stern, a slope descending chaotically into sand. 

“Astarion?” She whispered. “Was there always an island there?”

He turned, observing the shipwreck several meters in front of them. “No.” He said plainly, “there wasn’t.” 

It was small—hardly passable as an “island.” Black, volcanic sand surrounded the broken ship, which was now completely beached. There was no vegetation, no life to classify the stretch of land as habitable. As their own boat ran aground, Tav held her breath, listening for any movement besides the quiet shifting of sand. When she was met with resounding silence, she disembarked, Astarion at her heels with his dagger drawn. The ship looked just as it had through the eye glass: abandoned with no survivors to tell of its demise. She readied her sword as they approached one half of the empty vessel, using its splintered walls for cover. 

Tav was the first to see it: the tower of skulls below deck. It reached for the ceiling, bits of flesh and hair still stuck to some of the bones. At its base was an array of symbols—runes, Tav realized— all drawn in blood. She stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat as she was struck by the realization she knew these runes; she had drawn them before, in her drunken stupor back in Reithwin. Their meaning eluded her even now, but the notion that she possessed the knowledge somewhere within her sent her to her knees.

“Tav?” Astarion asked, sinking to his knees alongside her. 

She felt him tuck her hair behind her ear as she tried to catch her breath. 

“I know those symbols,” she gasped. “Back in the crypt. I drew them, but I don’t remember—.” She choked on her voice, her hands bracing her body against the sand as she doubled over. 

His arm wrapped around her shoulder, grounding her as he spoke. “You’re not there. Though it would probably be preferable to our current predicament.” 

She laughed wildly, slightly calmed by his presence. “I have these moments where I…feel like someone else is in control. Or that maybe I’m someone else entirely, and this is all an act. Ever since this all started, there are moments that come to me only in fragments like a dream.”

She took a shaky breath, staring intently at the skulls. “Only it’s real. It’s horrible and real and I have no concept of myself anymore. It’s like she has saturated every part of my life, and every part that came after her is just seeping away.”

“You don’t belong to her, Tav.” His voice was low when he spoke, as if he were taking a vow. “You’ll never belong to her.” 

“Like I would’ve belonged to you?” 

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, regret thrumming in the pit of her stomach. But his words would always ring empty to her until she said it.

He stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Astarion,” her voice was laced with venom. “Your glorious ascension. I would’ve been a mindless thrall, your slave. And you would’ve loved it.” 

Astarion laughed, stark and humorless in the void of night.

“I suppose we’ll never know,” he said as he rose to his feet before her. “Since you took away the only choice that ever mattered to me.” 

“I stopped a slaughter, Astarion,” she hissed. “Your power would’ve been your destruction, just like Cazador. I couldn’t let you be his successor.” 

“And what was your alternative, hm?” He crossed his arms. “Condemning me to a life in the shadows? Was that your idea of happiness?” 

Her hands gripped uselessly at the sand, the grains slipping between her fingers. “No,” she confessed. “But I couldn’t let you kill all of those innocent souls just because I loved you.” 

“Hah!” He laughed bitterly. “How valiant! The little paladin thinks her sacrifice mattered.” 

He turned away from her, stalking toward the wreckage. “Not even your fellow paladins think so,” he muttered. 

His words struck her like daggers, piercing the deepest parts of her. “I still do.” She spoke softly into darkness. “Love you, I mean.” It felt like penance. 

Even turned away from her, she could hear his slight scoff as he stopped. “I know. And I don’t care.” He walked out of her sight, leaving her kneeling lamely in the black earth.

Bile rose in her throat, sending her scrambling to the shoreline. She heaved once, bracing herself as she finally let her tears fall. They hit the water in miniscule splashes, and Tav tried to ignore her faint reflection in front of her. She was disheveled, exhausted, and exceptionally pale. 

Pale?

She leaned closer, tilting her head as she inspected the mirror image. Yes, she was vibrantly pale in the dark expanse. She squinted, examining the ripples emanating from her otherwise muted reflection. 

It took only a moment for the hand to grab her neck, dragging her beneath the water so fast she didn’t have time to scream. She was lost to blackness as it pulled her off the shoreline and under the water. In a moment of fatal stupidity, she opened her mouth, water rapidly filling her lungs as she fought her attacker. But her armor weighed her down, rendering her efforts useless as the creature  pulled her deeper and deeper into the darkness. Her eyes burned as she looked toward the surface, the same sliver of moon resembling a malicious smile. 

The last thing she saw when she drowned was the stars, ever present and sanguine. 

Then there was nothing. 

Chapter Text

And when I was shipwrecked, I thought of you

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you.

In the space between, Tav was floating through white. She was weightless, grasping at fragments of memories as they flitted by. Some were soft, familiar— and she knew with fleeting clarity that they belonged to her. Others were foreign: muddled glimpses into lives that were never hers.

First, she saw Astarion. He was propped up at a bar, and even in the drunken ruckus around him, he managed to be the center of attention. A pretty noblewoman sat across from him hanging onto every honeyed word. She was out of place: a sore on an already rotten scene.  Tav’s heart clenched as she watched him tuck her hair behind her ear, leaning forward to whisper into her pointed ear. His words reddened her cheeks, eliciting an eager nod from the woman. Their drinks long forgotten, he took her hand, leading her through the throngs of people and onto the chilled streets. 

The woman couldn’t have been much older than her, Tav realized. Her dark hair was woven atop her head, her skin tan and beaming with youth. She giggled uncontrollably as they approached the estate, and some distant part of her recognized it as Cazador’s palace. When they stood before the large ornate doors, Astarion leaned down to kiss her, languid and passionate. The doors screeched as he pulled them open, and the woman remarked on the obvious splendor of the estate: the polished marble floors, the detailed stone work, the numerous extravagant paintings. Astarion seemed disinterested, though he feigned a polite smile as he guided her deeper into the palace. 

His shoulders seemed to relax when they reached the bed chamber. It was massive, filled with lavish furnishings that Tav couldn’t afford in her whole lifetime. Above the bed hung an oil painting of a garden: a pastel landscape dotted with lavender and columbine. It was a vibrant deviation from the overall darkness of the room, and Astarion found himself staring at it after he bolted the door. 

This was the part that didn’t matter; the act was over. He didn’t meet the woman’s eyes when she asked him what was wrong. He didn’t flinch when Cazador emerged from the shadows, ripping into her jugular as she begged for her life. He didn’t look at her mutilated corpse when Cazador was finished with her. 

“Good work, my boy,” Cazador said, sucking the blood clean from his fingers.

Astarion didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the lavender.

The next memory was sharp, piercing her being like a dagger as she floated through it. Through a haze of white, she saw her sister seated in what appeared to be a study. Her hair was longer, dark curls cascading down her back. A stack of tomes sat before her, and she was engrossed in a particularly decrepit one. 

“Find anything of note, Ms. Woodvale?”

Serana’s posture straightened at the rough voice behind her, and Tav could see her tuck something in the pages before slamming the book shut.

“Yes, actually,” her voice was uncharacteristically sheepish. 

The man’s heavy footsteps halted at the table, his face finally coming into focus. Beyond all his finery, Tav could discern he was a high elf with elegant features and long, silken auburn hair. 

“Well?” He asked impatiently.

Serana swallowed. “The Spindle’s last known location was Ythyrn— before the Upheaval. Since there’s no mention of it outside of contemporary works, we might can assume it never left.”

“And where do you propose we look?” the man asked as he sat down next to her, resting his hand on her knee.. 

She cast a nervous glance at him. “Reghed Glacier.”

He laughed harshly. “Always the adventurer, aren’t you Ms. Woodvale?”

In his laughter, he had moved even closer to her, and Tav noticed how his increased proximity caused tension in her sister’s body. When he patted her thigh, her shoulders pulled taunt, her eyes downcast in front of her. Even when his hand crept inward, her face remained impassive. 

“Good work, my dear.” He breathed. 

The memory shattered in Tav’s vision, bursting into jagged pieces that punctured her being. She was broken; a visage of agony that screamed into the void. When the next memory came to her, it quelled her spirit, smoothing over her open wounds like a balm.

She knew this place in her bones: the lush grass, the tilled soil. It was her childhood home just outside of Neverwinter. The sun had just breached the horizon, yet her father was on his knees, his silver hair twisted atop his head as he tended to their crops. Tav was running to him, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears. 

“She’s gone,” she hiccuped as she crashed into his chest. 

“Who’s gone, lovey?” He rubbed her back, leaving dirt smeared across her nightgown. 

“Lily,” she sobbed.

The remnants of herself struggled to recall the name. Lily . It had meant something to her once— a long, long time ago— but Tav knew the stupor of childhood had a way of pairing significance with the most inconsequential things.

Her father petted her hair, which was still tousled from sleep. “I’m sure she’s not far, Tavy. Why don’t you get Serana to help you look?”

When Tav ran to wake her sister, she was hardly eager to aid in the search. At Tav’s behest, she heaved herself out of her bed, her eyes puffy with sleep as she rubbed them. Serana was still a child herself, though she was proud of being on the cusp of maturity. As the eldest, she felt obligated to maintain a sense of order, and that meant dispelling Tav’s childish delusions. 

“It’s just a doll, Tavy,” she said after a few minutes of tearing apart their shared room. “Mother can make you another one.”

Lily . Tav finally remembered her: a cloth doll gifted to her by their father when he returned from a trip to Baldur’s Gate. Her hair was a mess of gold yarn, her cheeks painted with pink circles. Tav had taken the doll with her everywhere: to the fields, to the dinner table, to bed. She was a surrogate friend for a girl who had none. 

“It’s not just a doll!” She cried. “And mother can’t make another like her.” 

Serana sighed, crossing her arms. “You need to learn how to lose, Tav.” 

She wiped away a stray tear, baffled by her callousness. “I know how to lose.” 

“No, you don’t,” Serana said. “You’ll find another doll, a different toy, and it will be like Lily never existed. That’s the way things are. You just have to learn to not throw a fit about it.”

With that, Serana climbed into bed again, pulling the sheets over her head to block her out. Tav didn’t remember how long she wept over that silly doll, but she knew her sister was right. She always lost bitterly, even in her early years as a paladin. Later that day, she crept into the woods behind the family home, and the clearing the girls had claimed for themselves had lost its mysticism. The only thing of note it housed was a derelict well: one the girls had used as a pretend home in their games. As Tav sat with her head resting against the rough brick of the well, she let herself weep one last time. From that day on, she vowed her family would never see her weep again. 

“Astarion, let go!” Shadowheart shouted. 

Tav could feel his fingers digging into her flesh as he clung to her stiff body. She was floating, slowly regaining her senses as she watched the scene play out before her. 

“You can’t do this to her,” he yelled. “Her skin hasn’t even turned for gods sakes.”

Shadowheart clenched her jaw. “She was dead in the water for three days. There is no pulse, no potions to heal her.” She spoke harshly, as if she was trying to convince herself of the same thing. “She is gone , Astarion.”

“So you would dump her here?” He seethed. “Leave her to rot with the dead fish? Like she was nothing to you?”

In some foreign version of herself, Tav registered the hard wood beneath her back— the coarse rope that dug in her skin, the embittered look in Laezel’s eyes as she secured her to the board. They were preparing for a burial at sea.

“You weren’t the only one who lost her!” She screamed, shoving him fruitlessly. “I knew you to be selfish, but I thought she had at least stirred some humanity in you.” 

She braced herself against him as she tried to catch her breath. “She wouldn’t want Elora to be on a ship with her rotting corpse. She wouldn’t want that for any of us.”

Her words struck something in him; Tav could tell in the way he worked his jaw, his eyes lingering on her blue lips. Crouching next to her, he tentatively brushed aside the hair stuck to her face, as if he were afraid to wake her.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” His eyes shone with tears as he gasped. “And I always will be.”

Shadowheart looked pale as she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s be quick. The others don’t need to see.”

The three of them positioned themselves to lift her, aiming to heave her weight overboard in one swift motion. Yet, as their hands gripped the splintered wood, a gurgled groan stopped them in their tracks. 

Tav’s body slammed into the deck as they dropped her, partly from shock and partly from disbelief. Water spilled from her mouth as she sputtered, her lungs struggling to reacquaint themselves with the salt air. She peeled her eyes open, fighting the sting of the salt crusted on her lashes. Astarion’s ashen face was over hers, panicked and horrified. It was only when his hand cupped her face that Tav realized she was freezing: his usually chilled skin was warm and familiar against her face. 

“Tav?” He breathed.

She shook violently, teeth chattering as her eyes met his. Even cloaked in the shadows, her eyes were blinded by the sight. Her voice lurched in her throat, but days of its absence made it gravelly and abrasive. 

“Untie me.” was all she managed. 

Astarion blindly fumbled at her restraints, robbed of all his faculties except autonomous obedience. Once the ropes fell away, she tested her mobility, working her raw wrist in circles to ease the ache. Her skin was surprisingly intact for the days she spent submerged. Tav winced as Shadowheart pulled her into a sitting position, and she tried to ignore the three pairs of stunned eyes on her.

“Tav…” Astarion started, causing her to cast a wary glance at him. The look in his darkened eyes was anomalous—Tav had only seen it once before. It was after Moonrise Towers, when she had nearly slaughtered the wretched drow. It was the first slip of the mask— the first glimpse into him— and Tav realized this was a similar catharsis. The dam had broken. 

He threw his arms around her, clutching her desperately as if he were keeping her afloat. She felt only a moment of peace before she was overtaken with unbidden rage; her skin prickled where his hands were held to her back, and she felt the final bit of her muddied consciousness snap back into place at once.

She shoved Astarion off of her with such fervor he nearly fell onto the deck.

“Don't touch me,” She croaked, glaring viciously through his wounded look. “You don’t get to grieve me.”

The others looked between them. If there was one thing their time together had taught them, it was to stay out of her and Astarion’s squabbles. Shadowheart cleared her throat, inching towards Tav until she was blocking him from her view.

She reached a hand out. “Perhaps we should get you something to eat? Maybe some dry clothes?” 

Tav nodded, and reached her own shaking hand out to hers.

When Shadowheart wrapped a wool blanket around her, Tav finally recognized the quaint ship as real— not another fragment from someone else’s life. She shook as she was helped to her feet, her limbs still unaccustomed to movement. Gripping the railing, she pulled herself toward the helm. She had hardly noticed the sea spray against her face, the waves tossing against the rudder.

Waves?

It felt like ages since she felt it, the gentle brush of wind against her face. Hells, it might have been weeks since they set sail. A disbelieving laugh bubbled in her chest, and she couldn’t help the crazed giggle that escaped her. Her companions mirrored her shock, enraptured by the revitalized sea. 

“Captain!” Tav shouted. 

A thundering of footsteps echoed from the staircase, followed by the clattering of a tin cup. 

“Hells, my Kaeth.”

The captain looked haggard: the skin around his eyes had a purple hue, his beard mangy and tangled. It was clear the trip was taxing for even a trained seaman. When his eyes met Tav’s, he looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Mystra’s tits.” He muttered. 

Tav grinned. “Captain. You’re needed at the helm.”

His eyes trailed behind her, widening at the pulsing sea. He cursed, disregarding her resurrection in favor of his wheel. 

“You’re not going to tell me how you’re alive?” He called over his shoulder.

“I would if I could,” Tav said, limping over to the mast. “I don’t remember a thing!”

He raised his eyebrows. “You were missing for three days. So was your friend back there.”

Astarion was missing?

She turned to look at him, but his eyes were downcast, spontaneously interested in the grain of the wood. 

“It was technically two.” He muttered. “I needed some time.”

Tav scoffed. Even my death was about him . He never cared for her; he was mourning her attention, her unyielding devotion. She thought of how worried everyone still on the ship must have been while Astarion did nothing except sulk like a cowardly child. She was so soft on him, so deferential in her regret she had allowed herself to remain what she always had been: a pawn, a means to an end.

She wouldn’t let herself be a fool any longer.

She stepped towards him, only disrupted by a small figure barreling from the doorway where Shadowheart was crouched, pointing in Tav’s direction. 

“Tav!” Elora exclaimed, throwing her arms around Tav’s midsection. The collision made her grunt, and she tried to lessen the girl’s grip as she turned, kneeling down to lock an arm around her waist. “I knew you would come back!” 

Tav cast a confused glance at Shadowheart, who gave her a half hearted shrug. Of course, they wouldn’t tell a newly orphaned girl that they pulled her corpse from the sea. It made her heart lurch.

“I always do,” Tav replied unconvincingly. She pulled back to look at Elora properly and found herself pleased for the first time since she'd woken up; against all odds, she seemed to be the cleanest person aboard the ship, clothes still ragged but face wiped free of dirt and grime. Tav brought a hand up to softly trace her hair, combed and tucked into an intricate braid. “Where did you learn to do this?” She asked, pressing the wispy, silvery baby hairs at her temple back behind her ears.

The girl laughed. “I didn’t. Shadowheart did it for me. She said I needed warrior hair.” Her much smaller, clumsier hands reached up towards Tav's own face, and mirrored her. The salty hair matted to her cheeks came free with a pinch.

“Well Shadowheart is an expert stylist.” She said, causing Shadowheart to snort.

“I’m an expert to those still wet behind the ears,” she retorted. “Tav would rather let rats nest in her hair before she learns a decent braid.”

For the first time in her technically new life, Tav laughed, and she could’ve sworn Astarion bristled at the sound.

During the next few hours, Tav tried to learn how to be a person again and not a formless mass of consciousness. She ate stale bread, rinsed her face in a bucket, changed into some clothes that didn’t reek of seaweed. Little by little, she felt her humanity return to her.

Incredible what a little sustenance can do for you, she thought as she dried her hair, rubbing the ends in the linen like she was starting a fire. The others had gone to bed long ago, though the captain was far too thrilled by the tide to go to sleep. Elora needed some coaxing, and Tav promised tomorrow would arrive sooner if she closed her eyes. Then, they would be further away from this place, further from the lingering decay of her own body. And closer to her sister. 

Tav hadn’t had much time to consider it: what she would do once they reached Cutlass Island, and eventually, Neverwinter. Elora couldn’t stay. That much was certain. Even as a failed paladin, she still felt a duty to protect children, and Elora would be in perpetual danger at her side. It pained her to think of ripping away security from the girl once more, but Tav had an unshakable sense that Serana knew of her weakness— and she would easily turn Elora into another sacrifice. 

The faintest hint of light broke on the horizon as Tav paced the deck, pale blue like the eggs of birds back home. She stared at the coming dawn, both relieved and terrified by what lay ahead. Her fear dictated her thoughts to such a degree, she hardly noticed the creature obstructing her view. 

The creature cleared its throat. 

“Just once, I had hoped you would look put together for our meeting.” It sighed.

Tav jumped, her eyes widening at the small fluffy Tressym in front of her. 

“Tara?” She gasped. 

The feline merely licked her paw. “Charmed, I’m sure. Tell me: how long were you all going to gallivant around the sea without sending a single word to Mr.Dekarios?” 

“It was hardly our choice, Tara,” Tav crossed her arms. “With the whole arcane void and all.” 

“Oh yes, I heard about that.” Tara hopped down from the railing, strutting toward the mast. “Mr.Dekarios has been keeping an eye on you. He got nervous when his first message went unanswered. That was several weeks ago.”

Her stomach turned. Surely they hadn’t lost that much time. Faerun was already in peril when they departed, and Tav worried there was no Neverwinter to return to. 

“He feared this void, as you called it was impenetrable,” Tara continued. “And it was. Until today.”

The feline glanced behind her. “Anything of note happen today, Tavriel?”

My resurrection?  

Tav shifted uncomfortably. “Well. I may have…died and come back to life?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Of course. What else would it be?”

A glint of fluorescent blue flickered at the feline’s neck, drawing Tav’s eyes to it. Hanging from a leather band was a stone engraved with numerous glyphs, all thrumming with the arcane. Of course, Gale would supply Tara with countless powerful wards: it was his duty as her companion. Still, the sight caused Tav to giggle. 

“Tara, is that a collar?”

Her scoff was one of incredulity and offense. “I am not a menial house pet, Tavriel.” She spat. “This necklace was a gift from Mr. Dekarios: a thank you for running his errands for him. And it’s worth more than your life.” 

“Right, of course.” Tav said, barely suppressing her laugh. 

Tara narrowed her eyes. “Fortunately, the void of your sister’s creation shifted your location: you’re not far from Neverwinter. I propose we have about another day on this wretched vessel.”

“What about the others?”

The feline arched her back, sharpening her claws on the mast while the captain shouted at her. “Mr. Dekarios is waiting for you at the docks—what’s left of them anyway. He’s quite eager to share the ‘sanctuary’ he’s created at Emerald Grove.” 

Tav was delusional to think seeing her friends would make her whole again, yet the thought of them waiting for their arrival rekindled the waning hope inside her. They were so much weaker apart— years of their absence had taught her that. 

“Now,” Tara sat at Tav’s feet. “Are there any fish around here that aren’t rotten?”

The sun had finally spilled across the sky, and Tav let herself laugh until she ached. 

Chapter Text

We broke all the pieces

but still wanna play the game.

“Alright, lass. Help me secure these ropes.”

Tav stood dumbly with the knotted ropes in her hand, her attention fixed on the euphoric sight of land . The jagged cliffs towering above the vessel soothed her in a way she struggled to articulate. Even if it tried to purge her from its system like a disease, this place was her home: the dense wood of pines and evergreens, the black sand at the base of Mount Hotenow, the bubbling heat of the river. Even the dark, vacant docks were a comfort against the smoldering ruins— weeks aboard a vessel from the hells can make the end of the world seem like a consolation prize. 

“Lass!” The captain yelled again, causing her to snap to attention.

“Right,” she stuttered. “The ropes.”

He rolled his eyes from where he was securing his own rope to the dock. “This is why Jenevelle is my first mate.”

“Don’t be so harsh, Flynn,” Shadowheart said, slouched against the mast. “Let’s see where she’s going with this.”

A clamor from the docks drew Tav’s eyes to the land once more, scanning the harbor for the source. Her gaze fell upon Gale, who was excitedly waving alongside Karlach and Wyll. Tav leapt onto the landing, the ropes long forgotten as the Captain cursed behind her. Her hair lashed against her face as she ran, hopping over broken planks and discarded buckets. 

When she finally crashed into Gale, he nearly fell into the water. 

“Hells, Tav,” he laughed, patting her back fondly. “Surely weeks at sea with Astarion isn’t that taxing.” 

She huffed a laugh. “You have no idea.”

He hadn’t changed much in their weeks apart: his hair was a little longer, his eyes a little more exhausted. He looked well— they all did, and Tav felt envious of their expedition to the Grove. It would’ve been pleasant to see it again after all of these years: the overgrown gate, the clay beaches, the thrum of magic that seemed to be in every branch and leaf. Perhaps they wouldn’t have lost their heads, and perhaps Astarion would have never crossed a line.

“Forgetting someone, soldier?” 

Tav gasped against Gale’s shoulder, breaking their embrace to envelope the tiefling beside him.

“I could never forget you, Karlach.”

“No doubt,” she replied, resting a calloused hand on her shoulder. Tav could tell she was examining her, and she squirmed under her scrutiny. “Hells…you look like shit, Tav.”

“What ever happened to manners, Karlach?” Wyll said.

“I spent my childhood in the wilds, not a ballroom.” She dipped her head towards Tav, as if divulging a secret. “You would not believe the dances he’s tried to teach me.”

Tav laughed. “I’ve been his victim quite a few times myself.”

“Enough gossip,” he smiled, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. “It’s good to see you, Tav.”

Gods, she had missed them. Even at the edge of the world, they made her feel blissfully ordinary. 

“Not to pry, but what’s up with Astarion?” Karlach asked. Tav followed her gaze to the docks where the rest of their party had disembarked. “He looks…less murderous than usual.”

Tav scoffed. He looked sullen as he approached them, his hair tousled and his eyes downcast.  Whereas the rest of the party eagerly joined them, he clung to the shadows, willing himself to be invisible. She tried to convince herself that he deserved it. 

“He’s sulking,” she muttered. “Not my problem anymore.”

Karlach raised her eyebrows as she exchanged a look with Wyll. 

“Is that a child?” Gale asked, breaking the tension building between them. 

Oh. 

When Tav turned to face them, Shadowheart stood with one arm around Elora. She seemed relieved to be on land again, her light eyes just a little brighter in the darkness. Even in the illusion of safety, the girl seemed wary of the others, suspiciously eyeing Gale in particular. 

“Do you always dress like that?” She asked, partially hiding behind Shadowheart.

Gale sputtered. “I beg your pardon? I have devoted my life to the arcane arts; this is the appropriate apparel for such an endeavor.”

“Hm,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps a different color then.” 

Tav crouched next to the girl, fighting the laugh bubbling inside her. “Elora, this is my friend, Gale. Gale, this is Elora.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Elora,” Gale stuck out a hand. “Now, how the hells did you end up here?”

Elora squinted at his hand, causing Gale to awkwardly lower it. “She robbed me in Reithwin,” Tav answered. “Or tried to. She ended up returning my gold—and stowing away on our ship.” 

“Ah, yes,” Gale sighed. “Your ship. I suppose we all have a lot of catching up to do.” He motioned for the group to follow him. “Come: we have some rooms at The Shattered Glass. Gods know they need the business.”

The group fell in line behind Gale, with Astarion following a few paces behind them. It was the first time Tav could truly fathom the devastation that had befallen the region during their time away: the buildings that lined the harbor stood like tombs— artifacts from a time of prosperity and peace. Now, they were vacant, decaying shells that reeked of the lives that once haunted them. Tav tried to remember the last time she stood on those docks. It had to have been with Soren, before they left to train the Flaming Fists. Before her life changed forever.

When they finally entered the inn, Tav was struck by the glimmer of life amongst the decay. Candles lit every table, though only one was occupied. Halsin rose to greet them, his weight shifting to his uninjured leg. He looked healthy, leagues away from the condition Tav had found him in that night in the woods. She rushed to hug him, smirking at Astarion clearing his throat behind her. Her embrace lingered a little longer than necessary--she made sure of it. 

“You look well, Halsin.” She took the chair next to him, aiming to be as far as possible from Astarion. It was clear the message was lost when he sat on the other side of her. 

“As do you, Tavriel,” he replied warmly. “It was invigorating being at the Grove again. Nettie’s done a fine job as a healer. If not for your sister’s antics, I’d say it’s in the best state it’s ever been in.”

Tav sighed, staring at her hands folded on the table. “She really has a knack for ruining everything, doesn’t she?”

“Not everything,” Gale interjected. “Try as she might.”

He swirled the wine in his glass, taking a disgusted sip before continuing. “We’ve managed to turn the Grove into a sort of sanctuary for wildlife. The rot won’t reach it.”

“How?” Tav asked.

Gale shifted uncomfortably. “Well. Remember the Rite of Thorns?”

She whipped around to face Halsin, who rested his forehead in his palm. “You didn’t.” 

“It was not an easy decision, Tavriel, nor was it the exact ritual the Druids had tried to perform in my absence,” Halsin explained. “This version, if you will, can be undone. Only by the same powerful Druid who casted it.”

“And if you die?” 

“I believe I still have a few centuries left in me, Tavriel.”

“And if you die?” She reiterated, her rage barely subdued. 

“Then the Grove will remain isolated,” Gale answered. “Permanently.” 

She glared at him, his eyes refusing to meet hers. “So you’re just letting her win?” 

“Quite the opposite,” he sighed. “But we would be fools to not protect what we can.”

“He’s right.” Halsin said. “It’s my duty to lessen nature’s suffering, and once we isolated the Grove, the agonized screams of the animals were finally silent.” 

His palm came to rest on her shoulder. “I know it seems like we are bending to your sister’s will,” he said gently. “But it is merely a precaution. We will not rest until she is defeated. You have my word.”

“We’re all on your side, Tav,” Karlach said from across the table, rolling a shot glass between her fingers. “But we have to be on Faerun’s side too.”

Tav looked down at the table, tracing her fingers along the wood grain as she tried to quell her anger. Isolating the Grove felt like submission, and the paladin in her knew when a fight called for a surrender. But the part of her still on that mountain was beating against the cage of her honor had created, shrieking for justice. 

“We’re going to Cutlass Island.” She said plainly. 

“Oh,” Gale cocked an eyebrow at her, clearly taken aback by her declaration. “May I ask why?”

“Myrkul told me to.” She muttered.

“I’m sorry, what ?”

“Sorry, did you miss the part where the God of Death made our fearless leader his errand girl?” Astarion deadpanned. 

Her eyes bore into his, their crimson color so darkened in the candlelight, they looked nearly black. In this light, he looked human. Ordinary.

“Care to elaborate, Tav?” Gale pressed, ignoring Astarion’s interjection. 

“I can’t elaborate on what I don’t know.” She continued, turning away from Astarion. “He’s been visiting my dreams ever since this all started. I just didn’t know it was him.”

She swallowed. “He told me where to find a weapon to defeat Serana. Cutlass Island.”

“Why would Myrkul seek you out?” 

“Something about my sister interfering with balance,” she rubbed her neck. “Also because I might not be able to die.”

The table fell silent, and Tav felt sweat beading on her brow. 

“I think that’s enough about Tav’s mortal dilemma,” Astarion said, saving her from expounding upon her confession. “I’m sure we’re all eager for a night off the ship from the Hells. Please tell me this place has something that resembles a bed.” 

Gale eyed him warily. “Fine. But we’re not finished with this discussion. The owner was rather skittish but he did say we could have the upper floor. I assume he has no other guests.”

Their table dispersed, eager to sleep in a place that didn’t smell of a thousand dead fish. Tav and Astarion remained seated, his gaze unrelenting as she stared at the door. 

“I thought you wanted to sleep.” She said.

“No,” he replied earnestly, begging for her to look at him. “I thought enticing them with an actual bed might convince them to leave us alone.”

She caved. “Why?”

“Because I was a fool.”

She laughed, stark and sad. “A fool is one way to phrase it. Perhaps sadist is a better term.”

He leaned forward, causing Tav to lean away. “I know. I can’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am selfishly asking for your tolerance.”

“Why?” She spat. “Miss your favorite blood bank?” 

He looked wounded. “No— well, yes.”

She shouldn’t have entertained it: the same delicate dance they had done a thousand times. The moves were tired, the song exhausting. Yet her heart still beat in time with it— and she feared it always would. 

“Tell me, Astarion,” she interrupted. “Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet and afraid. “You. Every waking moment.”

Her stomach lurched as she rose from the table. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her undoing. Instead, she walked toward the stairs, his eyes burning into her every step.

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

When sleep finally came to her, Tav was in the woods, passing around a bottle of acidic wine with Astarion. She returned here frequently, even in her waking moments. It was the first time they had crossed a line, the first time in three years he drank from her. She was addicted to the feeling of his fangs piercing her flesh, his tongue lapping at her wounds as if he wouldn’t dare to waste a single drop. The desperate part of her was convinced this moment was one of genuine affection, not manipulation.

This time, though, he looked foreign: the glint in his eye was dulled, his movements diverting from the script in her dreams. His arm was stiff draped across his knees, and his gaze was oddly invested in the campfire.

“Just like a turtle buried to survive the freeze, your spirit returns to your body.”

Myrkul . 

A swarm of emotions possessed her, but only one had a name she knew all too well: betrayal.

She threw the wine bottle at him, dousing his tunic in red. 

“Where the hells were you?” She yelled.

He was unperturbed as he stared at his drenched attire. 

“Where you were was a place beyond time. Not even I could penetrate it.”

Tav laughed bitterly. “How convenient that not even the God of Death could find us. How do I know it wasn’t a trap you set?”

Myrkul merely blinked at her. “Even the freed hare wails in agony, for it knows only its prison.”

Gods . She knelt down, rubbing the dirt off the bottle with her sleeve. If riddles were all he had to offer, she certainly wouldn’t waste any wine. She downed what was left of the bottle, resting back on her haunches. 

“What am I looking for?” She stared into the fire. “At Cutlass Island?”

“What you seek may only be realized by what lies dormant in you. The Holy Avenger.”

Tav faltered, turning to examine him. Silently cursing the face he wore, she tried to gauge if he was serious. He couldn’t have been, but Tav had learned Myrkul was not one for humor. 

“Are you mad?”

He didn’t reply, only looked at her expectantly. 

“Only paladins can attune to The Holy Avenger,” she sighed. “And I am not one. Besides, it was lost centuries ago.”

“What is an oath, Tavriel, if not a prayer whispered into nothing?”

In spite of herself, a laugh ripped through her body. She plopped down onto the dirt, tossing the bottle next to her. When she looked up again, she was staring only at the fire.

The next evening, Tav avoided Astarion like the plague. She sat at the bar, mindlessly picking apart a chunk of stale bread as she felt his eyes burning into her. When he took the seat beside her, she turned to look out the tavern windows, watching the sun dive into the sea and dye the water a muted red. She had given him too much already. Now, he had to do without.

“Sleep well, Tav?” Gale asked, clapping a hand on her shoulder as he joined them. “Or perhaps I should ask if you had any visitors.” 

Tav swallowed a particularly brittle piece of bread before replying. “Yes. To the second question I mean.”

“Ah,” Gale seemed intrigued. “And what did the coveted Myrkul have to say this time?”

“Nothing of substance,” she replied. “He only speaks in riddles anyway. He did tell me what we were looking for at Cutlass Island, though.” She tensed, hazarding a glance at him before continuing. “The Holy Avenger.”

“Really?” Gale seemed taken aback. “I thought only paladins could wield it.”

She laughed humorously. “You would be correct.”

Gale deflated, choosing to let the topic rest. “Right. Well, it’s not surprising that he thinks it’s somewhere on the Island. A little over a century ago, it housed the Arcane Brotherhood. Before the invasion left most of Luskan in ruins.”

She had heard of the Brotherhood before: in mere whispers during her time as a paladin. Though far from an official government, it had come to dominate Luskan politics in the years before the invasion– before one rogue sorcerer sought immeasurable power and destroyed their headquarters. Tav swallowed the last of her bread, trying to disperse thoughts of her sister.

“Ah yes, just what we need: more wizards.” Astarion muttered, earning him a sharp look from Tav.

“I said housed ,” Gale clarified. “Any influence the Brotherhood had was destroyed in the invasion. It’s more of a myth than a reality now.”

Tav ran a hand through her tangled curls. “So the only people who can help us find it are extinct?” 

“Come now, Tav,” Gale said. “Since when have you shied away from a scavenger hunt?”

In spite of everything, Tav felt a smile break across her face. “So who’s joining us?”

It was reckless to bring their whole party— especially when they had no idea what lay waiting for them on the Island. To make matters worse, Tav now had a child to protect, and she vowed to never put her in danger.

“I’m always up for an adventure.” Astarion offered.

“No.”

“No?” Astarion and Gale asked in unison.

“I said no.” Tav’s voice rang out with a note of finality. 

Gale stiffened beside her. “Tav, we shouldn’t let personal grievances affect our mission. Now, I’ve never cared for him either—.”

“Excuse me?” Astarion gasped.

“But,” Gale continued. “He is an excellent marksman. He would make a useful scout. But I’m certain you already know that.”

Tav crossed her arms. “Fine. Shadowheart can watch Elora. Karlach would love her too, and I’m sure Laezel wouldn’t want to be far from Shadowheart.”

“I’m rather interested to see what remains of the Brotherhood,” Gale mused. “Wyll might as well.”

“No,” Astarion interjected. 

He had never liked Wyll. Wyll was everything he wasn’t: chivalrous, noble, polite. Tav had entertained his affections once, all those years ago, and she was surprised to find herself fully charmed by his advances. Where Astarion feigned disinterest, he had danced with her, kissed her unabashedly in the middle of the camp. It was his public gestures that made Astarion’s rage boil, forcing him to show his cards. He wanted her all to himself.

Tav smiled. “Wyll’s a great fit.”

“Are you serious?” Astarion asked incredulously.

“Deadly.”

She left him seething at the bar, with a befuddled Gale for company. 

Chapter Text

Honestly,

Who are we to fight the alchemy?

A drink would be nice right about now, Tav thought as she stared at the poor excuse for a bar. They were about to depart for Luskan, and she wondered if she would ever get good at this—seeing the consequences of her inaction, her failures. There was a time when she had an obligation to the needy and the helpless, a time where her help meant something. Now, she wasn’t a fighter. She was a spectator. A victim.

“You alright, soldier?” Karlach slid onto the stool beside her. 

Tav tore her eyes away from the decrepit bottles of wine. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just thinking.”

“About the world ending or about our sharp toothed friend?”

She huffed a laugh. “Both, I guess.”

Karlach looked at her expectantly. “Don’t hold out on me, Tav.”

“Gods.” She sighed, burying her face in her hands. “The first time the world ended, I thought I was different . Divinely chosen, even. Something about surviving a parasite for so long made me think I was invincible. Like I could save anyone.”

She took a deep breath. “And I can’t.”

“No,” Karlach looked to where the rest of their party gathered at a long table. Laezel was showing a dagger to Elora while Shadowheart watched with cautious amusement. Across the table, Captain Flynn looked suspiciously at a map Gale had obtained of Luskan, Wyll close to his side. “I guess you can’t. No one can. But we’re pretty lucky we have people we want to save.”

Tav followed her gaze, her eyes falling on where Astarion stood behind the rest of the party. He seemed tense, like he wanted to melt into the shadows. Perhaps that was what was natural to him now, after centuries of living in the darkness. 

“He’s quite the damsel, isn’t he?” Karlach smirked.

“He would be so lucky,” Tav tried to stifle her laugh, praying he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“What’s happened between you two?” She asked. “Or maybe I should ask what he fucked up this time.”

Tav sighed. “In the briefest of summaries, I told him I loved him, and he told me he didn’t care. Then I died.”

She risked a glance at Karlach, who sat with her mouth agape. “I didn’t stay dead, obviously.” 

“Shit,” she muttered. “That is a colossal fuckup.”

The tension in Tav’s body eased, and she realized how badly she needed to talk about the past few weeks, how being around him had gnawed at her until she was only bones. 

“I used to think I had some deeper understanding of him,” she continued, “like I was different. Like he let me see the parts of himself he kept hidden for two hundred years. But I wasn’t. I never was.”

His eyes met hers across the room, causing her to flinch imperceptibly. 

“My two cents?” Karlach said, sliding off the stool. “He’s a moron. And a freak. And he’s in love with you.”

She sauntered toward the rest of the party, Tav following dumbly behind her. “Make of that what you will.”

“Tav!” Gale exclaimed, sparing her from forming a coherent sentence. “We were just about to call you over. Flynn says we should leave shortly if we want to catch high tides.”

“ Captain Flynn to you,” he grumbled. 

“Duly noted, Captain,” Gale said, turning to address the table. “Right, everyone. We should say our goodbyes before we lose our ride to Luskan.”

The scraping of wood against wood filled the room as the party rose to depart, not wasting time on brief farewells. As the rest of the group filed out of the tavern, a tug on Tav’s trousers beckoned her eyes downward. 

“Before you go, I have something for you,” Elora whispered, mischief gleaming in her eyes. 

The girl reached into her sack, revealing a small round pastry with a spiral in its center. Tav would know the sight anywhere. 

“A sweet roll?” She gasped. “Where did you find that?” 

Elora grinned. “I didn’t—Astarion did. Well, rather he held the innkeeper hostage until he made one. But he told me not to tell you that.” 

Tav cut her eyes to where he stood in the doorway. His back stiffened under her gaze as he tried to appear unaware of the conversation. 

“Don’t tell me you agreed to do his bidding without compensation,” she pleaded. 

The girl scoffed. “Of course not.”

She reached into her sack again, this time pulling out a small cloth doll.

“I found her a while back, but she was torn up and filthy,” she grinned. “I had Astarion fix her up.”

Tav crouched down, turning the doll over in her hands. Its hair was made of fine golden yarn, thick bunches of it gathered out of the face, which was adorned with rosy splotches of blush. The dress was made of a soft pink silk, gathered at the waist and cascading in pleats down to the feet. The needlework was nothing short of expert; wherever the doll had needed mending, she wasn't able to tell. It could have been brand new.

“Good job,” Tav cleared her throat, handing the doll back to her as if it seared her hand. “Have you named her?”

Elora grinned as she held up the doll once more. There, in shiny white thread, was the name Poppy , embroidered so delicately on the hem of the dress she had missed it. “Isn't she pretty?” She boasted.

Tav repressed a sigh as the doll’s unblinking eyes stared back at her. “Very pretty.” She managed. “You keep an eye on her while we’re gone, okay?”

The girl nodded eagerly, hugging Tav’s midsection one last time. Her hand fell to the girl’s blond hair, which had remained intricately braided ever since Shadowheart started caring for her. Tav was cruel, selfish even, for letting a child get swept up in the raging storm of her life. Every goodbye felt like punishment, but Tav wasn’t sure who the victim was. Her throat felt tight as she tried to find the right words once again.

“Be good.” was all she had to offer. Elora only giggled.

Tav did not speak again until they were waiting at the harbor for Captain Flynn to declare the ship seaworthy. She stared out at the black water with quite little apprehension for someone who had been through… whatever it was Tav had been through the past few days, only collecting her thoughts when she felt Astarion next to her.

“It’s wrong to use a child to do your bidding,” she said flatly, her eyes unmoving from the horizon.

He sighed. “Remind me to use a less talkative one next time.” 

She swore she wouldn’t look at him. It was her weakness— the way his silver hair fell over his brow, the soft glint of red in his eyes. She could feel them now, burning into the side of her face as she lost her resolve. 

“It doesn’t change anything.” Tav muttered. 

“I don’t expect it to,” he replied. “But at least tell me you enjoyed your sweet roll.”

Tav gasped. How could she have forgotten? She probably looked like a crazed badger rummaging through her bag, cursing herself for forgetting the one silver lining in all of this. She moaned as she took the first bite, the sweet taste of sugar and cinnamon entrancing her. Distantly, she heard the captain yell from the deck, impatient and annoyed.

“I’ve been a victim of time once this trip, and I won’t be one again.” He shouted above them. “You have five minutes before I leave you here.”

“Right.” Astarion smirked. “I suppose we should heed his warning. He needs to work on his intimidation, though.”

“Oh?” Tav said through a mouthful of dough. 

“A dwarf is hardly intimidating.” He clarified. “He barely reaches my waist. I could easily just toss him off his own boat.”

Tav laughed as they boarded the vessel, just out of the captain’s earshot. “Oh Astarion, you would need to be strong to do that.”

He gaped at her, and Tav tried to convince herself that this was normal: the banter, the turbulent ocean, the feeling of dread brewing in her gut. As she stared up at the sails partially concealing the stars, she felt with almost complete certainty that it was.

Whereas Neverwinter felt like a tomb, Luskan was a shrine. Dubbed the City of Sails, it was once the jewel of the furthest reaches of civilization. Now, the silver accents adorning the buildings had dulled, the trading posts shuttered and abandoned. It was like this before, Tav thought, and now the rot had ravaged the scraps as well. 

They had just laid their anchor in the harbor after a day of sailing, and Tav tried to quell the unease she felt at its emptiness. A port city should be bustling, teeming with eager merchants and drunken pirates. Instead, only one uniformed man kept watch. He must have been a new recruit, his uniform hugging his body in awkward places. He raised his sword unconvincingly as they disembarked, blocking their path with his lanky body.

“What business?” He demanded. 

Wyll stood at the front of the group, amusement gracing his features as he put his hands up. “We’re Neveren merchants passing through. We were hoping to trade some goods for room and board. That is, if you’re still a mercantile bunch.”

The man scoffed. “Neverwinter has no exports, not anymore.” He took a shaking breath. “Now, I ask you again, hellspawn: what business?”

In an instance, a blade appeared against the man’s throat, and Tav was startled to see Astarion was the one wielding it. He looked irritated yet vaguely amused by the whimpering mess under his blade.

“Do yourself a favor,” Astarion whispered into his ear. “Don’t be a hero.”

“Astarion.” Tav warned. 

He rolled his eyes before tossing the man to the side, causing him to stumble into a pile of crates. 

“Honestly, what ever happened to your sense of humor, Tav?” He reprimanded. 

Astarion crouched in front of the man, who flinched with his every move. “If anyone asks, we’re perfectly friendly merchants here on business. If I catch wind that you’ve said anything different, I will hang you by your neck and use your entrails as the rope.”

The man offered a groan in response, causing Astarion to smirk. 

“Excellent,” he turned toward the group. “Now let’s see what the ‘Jewel of Faerun’ has to offer, shall we?”

As Tav led them out onto the streets, she couldn’t shake the icy feeling creeping up her neck, leaving prickled flesh in its wake. A tower loomed over the city in the distance— “the Host of the Arcane” Gale said— and Tav had the odd sensation that the ruins were alive, sentient. The black spires that arched over its roof felt like they were pinning her down, studying her as they wandered haplessly through the city. 

“What is that?” Tav muttered, mostly to herself.

“What, the Host of the Arcane?” Gale asked. “That, my friend, is the headquarters of the illustrious Arcane Brotherhood. And our destination.”

“Of course,” she sighed.

Astarion followed closely behind her, pulling her to a stop as he whispered in her ear. 

“Is something the matter, Tav?”

The tips of her ears were flushed, Tav was sure of it. “Maybe,” she replied. “Do you feel like we’re being watched?”

He eyed the shadows around them, searching for the imagined culprit.

“No,” he said finally. “I think I of all people would notice a killer lurking in the shadows.” 

She pressed her lips together. “Right.”

As they continued to pass through the throngs of buildings, their presence drew the attention of the few locals that remained. Some peeked out of windows, spitting near them. Others lurked in the doorways of shops, locking the doors once they got too close. The only local that didn’t scamper off was an older drow man. He was an imposing figure, lurking in the doorway of what appeared to be an apothecary shop.

“Pardon me, sir,” Gale said. “Could you tell me why all of Luskan is giving us the cold shoulder?”

The drow crossed his arms, looking Gale up and down. “Because you’re a hexer.”

Gale looked as if he had been slapped. “A what?”

“A hexer. If your robes are anything to go by.”

Tav stepped in before Gale could incriminate himself further. “What’s the issue with magic?”

The drow’s lavender eyes slid to her. “It was magic that razed this city to the ground. My condolences if the survivors aren’t amiable to the people who destroyed their homes.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Astarion muttered. “I don’t want to be seen with him either.”

He groaned as Tav dug an elbow into his side.

“If everyone here loathes wizards,” Wyll chimed in. “Why would you risk talking to one?”

The drow’s mouth curled into an amused smile. “ You spoke to me first. Maybe this city has become boring. Maybe a group with a hellspawn and a hexer sticks out like a sore thumb.” 

He turned to enter his shop, waving at the group to follow him. Tav paused in the doorway, exchanging a wary look with Astarion. It was reckless to trust the first person who didn’t curse their presence, let alone a drow who hadn’t even offered his name, but she couldn’t ignore the only lead in a barren city. As she finally crossed the threshold, she was overwhelmed by potent scents: lavender, mint, sage. The candlelight revealed a quaint room more comparable to a greenhouse than an apothecary. Overgrown plants spilled over each windowsill, with some leaves crowding the worn wood floors. In the corner sat an alchemy table, cluttered and well loved. Tav felt shaken as she realized that since their journey began, this was her first encounter with an abundance of life rather than the striking absence of it.

Gale was the first to speak, his awe palpable as he uttered one word: “how?”

The drow smirked as he leaned on the shop’s counter. “I’m a bit of a hexer myself.” 

“Do the folks around here know that?” Tav asked as she pinched a leaf between her fingers.

“Oh, I’m quite sure they do,” the drow replied. “If business is anything to go by.”

“They’re fools then.” Gale said, offering his hand to the drow. “Gale of Waterdeep.”

“Yes, I know who you are.” He said, tentatively shaking his hand. “The name’s Dresmorlin. And I believe we can help each other.”

Tav froze, eyeing the drow suspiciously. “How do you know who we are?”

The drow straightened, amused by her interrogation. “Is there anyone else who saved Faerun from mindflayers?”

Her shoulders sank. Oh. That.

“What kind of bargain did you have in mind?” Astarion asked, still lurking in the doorway.

Dresmorlin sighed. “You’re looking for the Brotherhood, aren’t you?” Puzzled looks from the party forced him to elaborate. “Detect thoughts.”

“How dare you?” Tav gasped. Gale held her back with his arm. 

“Easy, Tav. Let’s not alienate our only ally thus far.” Gale gave him a pointed look. “Though it is quite rude to read strangers’ thoughts.”

“My apologies, I was…curious,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen another wizard since I was exiled from the Brotherhood.” 

The room grew still at his confession. If the whisperings out of Luskan were anything to go by, the Brotherhood was extinct, dismantled by civilians centuries ago. They had become too powerful, too political, and an uprising from one rogue member was their undoing. No one who valued their reputation dared to practice magic in the city; to hear it discussed so openly was rattling.

“The Brotherhood’s been gone for over a century,” Wyll said. “How old are you?”

Dresmorlin smirked. “Old. But that’s where I can help you. The Brotherhood’s not gone, it’s hidden. I can help you find it… for a price.” 

Astarion crossed his arms. “Suspense is not your strong suit. What do you want?”

He cut his eyes to Astarion. “A good word from the heroes of the gate. I think I can counteract this rot, but I need the Brotherhood’s arsenal to do it.”

“You haven’t tried talking to them yourself?” Tav asked.

His laugh was sharp and humorless. “No, my dear. I think the only way they’d willingly see my face again is served up on a platter.”

“What did you do?” Gale asked, examining the tomes strewn across the counter. 

The smile on his face faltered. “Enough. Now: are you interested?” 

No one inquired further, though the topic weighed on Tav’s mind as she contemplated their deal. For all they knew, he could’ve been a charlatan leading them to their deaths. He could’ve been one of Serana’s thralls, though a fairly advanced one. The thought unnerved her, causing an involuntary shiver to wrack her body. Astarion left his post at the door, and his presence at her side reminded her of what she had to lose. 

“You have a deal,” She said.

He smiled devilishly. “Excellent. Wait here.”

The drow ducked behind a velvet drape beyond the counter, and Tav tried to ignore Astarion’s pointed stare. 

“We can’t trust him,” he whispered. “He could be the reason the whole damned brotherhood disappeared anyway.”

She scoffed. “I’m not stupid, Astarion. What other choice do we have?”

Their debate was cut short by the reappearance of Dresmorlin, a delicate brass ring in his hand. 

“When you look at the Host Tower, you see only ruins— a shell of the Brotherhood’s headquarters,” he explained, pressing the ring into Tav’s palm. “This ring will protect your group from the glamor at work.”

Tav turned the ring over in her hand. It was dainty, with intricate runes adorning the band. A small gem served as the center stone, and Tav recognized it as an emerald.

“How do we make sure they don’t kill us?” She asked, sliding the ring onto her finger. 

The drow laughed. “That, my dear, is up to you.”

When they finally arrived at the Host Tower, Tav was certain the ring was a sham. The tower stood imposing as ever, its black spires disappearing into the night. Yet, the doors at its base were derelict: a testament to centuries of abandonment. The windows along the side of the tower were cracked, with sills trading the pane for cobwebs. It looked just as it had before she put on the ring.

“Well, this looks promising,” Tav muttered, reaching for the rusted door handles.

“Have faith, Tav,” Gale replied. “We don’t know where the glamor begins.”

With a soft tug, the handles dislodged from the door. Tav cast an annoyed glance at Gale before pulling softly on the holes the handles had left. The doors opened with a loud groan, causing her to wince.

“They certainly know we’re here now,” she cursed. 

“Nothing wrong with making an entrance, darling,” Astarion smirked, creeping toward the front of the group.

As they followed Astarion into the tower, Tav’s glimmer of optimism continued to fade. The dust on the spiraling staircase paired with the stench of mold confirmed no one had been there for ages. Silently, she cursed that godsdamned drow for the time they had wasted. She should’ve known better than trusting the first stranger they met in this wasteland of a city. As she climbed the first step, the sudden slam of the doors jerked her from her thoughts. Wyll pulled fruitlessly on the doors; they were sealed shut. 

“Shit,” he breathed.

“This is rather clichè,” Astarion said as he unsheathed his dagger. “I’m sure our hosts will be delighted to see us.”

They waited with bated breath as they readied themselves— for shouting, the rush of footsteps as they were ambushed. 

A minute passed, long and arduous, and the stairs did not so much as creak.

“Well.” Tav said, voice quiet as she craned her neck towards the ceiling. “Nowhere else to go.”

She didn't wait to see the weary look on the rest of the group's faces and she began to trudge upwards.

Rather more startling than the doors slamming shut was the fact that the once decrepit, cramped old staircase began to seem newer, cleaner the further up they went. The smell of dust and mold was replaced with polished wood and paper—and had the stairs themselves widened ? After her time at sea, Tav was not quite so easily disoriented, but the kind of magic, the kind of power that must have been holding the illusion together made her shiver.

Or maybe that was the fact that it still felt as though she was being watched.

When they reached the last step, she could hear Gale's stifled, awe-filled sigh.

Grand was an understatement for the room; it was gargantuan. Stained glass windows encircled the room, reaching the domed roof overhead. The shelves lining the walls seemed endless, overflowing with the entirety of arcane knowledge. It reminded her of Gale’s study in the upper city: opulent yet polished. Through her awe, Tav noticed the group standing at the center of the rotunda. All of them were dressed in different ornate robes, and Tav realized this was the Arcane Brotherhood: a female deep gnome, a boyish human with hair that rivaled the night, a blonde half-elf man, and an auburn haired high elf who appeared indifferent to his comrades. They were deep in a frantic conversation, their shoulders pulled taut with nerves as the red haired one looked disinterested. When she stepped foot beneath the glass dome, the wizards snapped to attention, and the blonde man sent an object soaring towards her. 

Tav didn’t know what she expected when they showed up unannounced on the doorstep of a secret society, but an improvised javelin to the shoulder wasn’t at the top of her list. A scream was ripped from her body as she collapsed to the floor, and Astarion caught her during her descent, shielding her from the onslaught. In front of her, the dark-haired wizard tackled his comrade to the ground.

“Gods, Zeleen, control yourself!” The dark-haired one shouted, struggling to pin him to the floor.  

“Have you gone mad?” Zeleen bit back. “She’s the one who killed Jen. The one who turned his organs to vapor.”

The other wizards eyed Tav cautiously, and Astarion turned to face them, dagger in hand. She couldn’t think beyond the searing pain radiating from her shoulder.

The wound was significant, and Tav hissed as she pressed her ripped tunic onto it.

“One more move, and I’ll make you wish for your friend’s fate,” Astarion threatened, low voice echoing in the room.

Zeleen lunged for him, though his colleagues prevented him from reaching Astarion, who did not so much as twitch as the man struggled against the hands grabbing him.

“Come now, everyone,” Gale said, his hands raised in surrender. “There’s no need for conflict. We could all be allies if you’re willing to lend an ear.”

“Are you absolutely sure it’s her, Zeleen?” The auburn haired one asked, exasperation in his tone. 

Zeleen sighed in frustration. “Yes! You would know that if you were here, Cashaan.”

“Dresmorlin sent us,” Tav said through gritted teeth. The man on the floor stopped fighting. 

“Dresmorlin?” They asked in unison. 

“Yes,” she gasped. “Drow. A little bit creepy.”

“Shit.” Zeleen said, murmuring a healing word under his breath. Tav could feel her flesh knotting back together, muting the pain to a dull ache. She climbed to her feet, keeping a safe distance from the group. 

“I’m sorry,” Zeleen said, rising to meet her. “You look strikingly similar to an intruder we had just the other day. She killed one of our own in a… particularly brutal way. There was little left of him.” 

“This intruder, what was she here for?” Tav asked.

“We don’t know,” the dark haired one interjected. “Zeleen here was the only one with Jen in the archives when she came. For all we know, it could’ve been a scare tactic, and Jen was just unlucky.” 

Zeleen let out a crazed laugh. “No. This was no scare tactic, Dru. She was looking for something. And she didn’t find it.” 

“So what,” Dru replied. “She left behind a witness just for kicks?”

Before Zeleen could offer a rebuttal, Gale cut into their discussion. “You said she looked similar to Tav, how so?”

Zeleen ran a shaking hand through his tousled hair. “Exactly the same. Though—” he crept closer, trying to get a better look at her. Astarion pushed her ever so slightly behind him. “She had brown eyes. I think I’d remember ones like yours.” 

Hells. Tav limbs felt detached from her body as the realization seeped in. Her sister wasn’t some abstract thought, some untouchable enemy. She was close, and she had been here only days ago. Astarion’s hand on her waist tethered her to the room, though she cursed its ability to do so. 

“Well. Pardon our clumsy arrival,” Gale said, offering a hand to Cashaan. “Gale of Waterdeep at your service.”

“Gale?” The wizards exclaimed in unison. 

“You’re the wizard who saved Faerun?” The deep gnome gasped.

Tav rolled her eyes at the way Gale straightened at the recognition, his ego thoroughly stroked. 

“Actually, I think he had some help.” She interjected. 

“Oh yes,” he cleared his throat. “I could not have done it without my fearless companions. Tavriel is the wounded one. Wyll is the tiefling, and Astarion is the…peculiarly pale elf.”

Cashaan shook his hand firmly, and Tav suddenly noticed how absurdly tall he was. He loomed over everyone in the room, even Astarion looked small in comparison. “A pleasure, Gale. I’m sure you’ve gathered who everyone is by this point. The gnome’s name is Teyva. She usually tries to stay out of conflict.” 

He gestured to the group to follow him past the shelves, deeper into the tower. “Come,” he said. “It would be an honor to share our table with the heroes of the gate.”

The rest of the tower was like a labyrinth. Hallways wove together nonsensically, and Tav wondered how anyone could navigate it. She trailed the rest of the group, not keen on brushing shoulders with the same people who tried to kill her moments ago. Astarion kept a comfortable distance from her, close enough to spring into action yet far enough to respect her wishes— though she doubted what those were anymore. When they finally arrived at the dining hall, Cashaan ushered everyone inside, catching her arm to hold her back. 

“A moment, Tavriel. If you would.” He whispered.

Tav eyed the rest of the party, immersed in conversation as they gathered at the table. 

“They can wait just a moment.” He assured. “It’s just…you look so familiar.”

It was the first time Tav could truly see his face, angular and stern in the torchlight. Long, fiery red hair framed his face, pointed ears peeking out from the locks. She had seen him before—she knew it in her marrow. But where?

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” She wasn’t lying. At least, she didn’t think so. 

“A face like yours is not easily forgotten,” he smiled, and Tav got the odd sense it was predatory. His eyes were leering, entirely too close to her face as he studied her. 

Unconsciously, she backed away from him, his grip on her arm tightening imperceptibly. 

“We can’t have dinner without our host, can we?” Astarion called from the doorway, his stare cold and unyielding. Cashaan relinquished his grip, annoyance flashing on his face before he feigned enthusiasm. 

“Of course,” he said. “I was just chatting with Tavriel about her time at The Gate.” 

Astarion cut his eyes to Tav for confirmation, but Cashaan had already ducked into the dining hall. 

“I don’t like him.” He said plainly. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, rubbing her wrist as if it would erase his touch. 

She brushed past Astarion, eager to forget the strange encounter. When they took their seats with the others, Tav kept a cautious eye on Cashaan. He had to be their leader; the other wizards looked to him with anxious submission. As Zeleen served them their dinner of unappetizing rabbit stew, she tried to recall how she knew him. Perhaps she had met him before in passing, perhaps he was a mere phantom from her past.

“So,” Dru broke the contemplative silence. “What made you seek out the brotherhood?” 

Gale took a bite, schooling his reaction of disgust. “We’re looking for a weapon. We have it on good authority that you housed it, once.”

Cashaan scoffed. “Good authority. We’re a shadow of our former glory. Most artifacts we once housed are lost or hidden.”

“Besides,” he continued, stirring his stew. “Why would we entrust you with a treasured arcane artifact?”

“Because we can help you regain the power you once held over this city. You can regain the trust of Luskan— with Dresmorlin’s help.”

Zeleen barked out a laugh. “Dresi is a reckless fool. Everything he did was for his own wild ambitions; he never once did anything for the good of the brotherhood.”

“This rot,” Wyll interjected. “You’ve seen it, yes?”

“Yes,” Cashaan rubbed his brow. “I had left to assess the damage when the intruder attacked.”

“So you know the devastation.” Tav said. “The earth is barren, the stench of death clings to every living thing.” 

“Powerful necromancy,” Dru supplied.

“Yes,” Tav continued. “And Dresmorlin may have a cure.” 

This time, Cashaan laughed harshly, shaking his head at the thought. “Dresmorlin almost brought us to ruin. He is incapable of ‘creating’ anything.”

“We saw it,” Gale chimed in. “His whole shop was alive with greenery, humming with pure magic. I can assure you he’s telling the truth.” 

Gale’s claim stilled Cashaan, who furrowed his brow in thought. They still didn’t know what it was the drow had done; perhaps they were right to exile him. Perhaps they were fools to blindly follow him. 

“It’s worth a shot, Cashaan,” Teyva said softly, as if not to startle him. “What more do we have to lose?”

He took a deep breath. “Fine. You have a deal. Now, what weapon do you seek?”

“The Holy Avenger,” Tav said. 

The table gawked at her. “What ever for?” Zeleen asked.

Astarion’s voice was low and disinterested. “We had a deal.”

“And we don’t have that weapon,” Zeleen snapped. “Not anymore, at least. We buried it in Reghed glacier before our downfall.”

“In a glacier?” Astarion gasped. “You couldn’t have picked a nice warm spring to bury it in?” 

“Oh, so any prat could find it?” He replied. 

“Enough,” Tav said, massaging her temples. “Do you know if it’s still there?”

Dru scoffed. “The Icewind Dale is practically desolate. I can’t imagine anyone would venture far enough to find it.”

Dread boiled in her stomach. Of course, it couldn’t be simple just this once. There was always another journey, a place beyond the end of the world. Now, it just happened to be a glacier beyond the furthest reaches of civilization. 

“I am truly sorry we can’t be of more help,” Cashaan sighed. “We can offer you our dormitories as you prepare for your journey. Perhaps Gale can fetch Dresmorlin tomorrow?” 

Gale smiled. “That would be splendid. I’m sure we could all use a nice long rest.”

“Certainly,” he replied, pouring himself some wine. “Teyva, if you could show our friends to the dormitories, please.” 

Teyva rolled her eyes, gesturing for them to follow her into the corridor. The group was eager to leave their dinner behind, and the maze of hallways only exhausted them further. When they finally arrived at the dormitories, Teyva offered each of them a room. They were quaint, equipped for a lone wizard dedicated to the arcane. As Tav set her pack down, she realized it must have been a century since the room had been occupied. Dust covered the floor in a thin layer, cobwebs adorning the wooden bedframe. The bed groaned as she sat down, and she sighed as her aching muscles finally relaxed . She couldn’t remember the last time she had a room, a bed, to herself. Solitude had always frightened her. Even staying at the inn in Baldur’s Gate, she selected the room directly above the tavern, letting the muffled laughter and shouting lull her to sleep. Here, the silence was suffocating. Her fear brought her to her feet, carried her across the hall, and left her knocking on Astarion’s door. 

When he opened his door, his expression was one of genuine surprise. “Oh. Um. Hi?”

“Hi,” she breathed. “Could I come in?”

“You’re asking a vampire for permission to enter?”

She huffed a laugh. “I guess I am.”

He held his arm out for her to enter, closing the door behind her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I just needed to talk to someone.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Gale and Wyll are just next door, you know.”

“I needed to talk to you .” 

“Oh.” If he had any blood in his body, Tav knew his cheeks would be flushed. “Does this have anything to do with the dire state of your apparel?” 

“What?” Tav followed his eyes down toward the gaping tear in her tunic. “No, not particularly.”

“How about a deal?” Astarion crouched down, rummaging through his pack until he pulled out a small leather case. “You talk, I sew.”

“I’m not giving you my shirt,” she stammered.

“I wasn’t asking for you to get naked, dear,” he smirked. “Do you think I’m an amateur?” 

Now it was her turn to blush. She nodded, swallowing roughly as she pulled hair off her shoulder. His brows knitted together as he studied the tear, holding a white thread against her shirt. 

“Not an exact match, but it will have to do,” he sighed. “Unfortunately I keep my threads cleaner than you keep your shirt.” 

Tav laughed. “My apologies for not promptly washing after getting stabbed.”

He grimaced, threading the needle expertly. “Don’t remind me.” He paused, crimson eyes examining her flushed face. “What’s wrong, Tav?”

“I knew him,” she said, watching him sew the first stitch. “Cashaan. He recognized me too. But I don’t know how.”

“What did he say to you?” He was fully engrossed in his work, but Tav could feel the rage barely concealed behind the question. 

“He said my face wasn’t easily forgotten,” she said. “But he might have been confused.”

“How so?”

“When we were young, my sister and I were always mistaken for twins.” She sighed. “He could’ve mistaken me for her, but that doesn’t explain why I recognize him.”

He was almost done with his work, and Tav lamented the moment he would step away from her. “It doesn’t,” he admitted. “But that blonde prat made the same mistake earlier. It does make sense.”

She swallowed as he tied off the stitch, his breath pulsing against her neck. It reminded her of the times he sunk his teeth there, ice picks piercing her bloodstream. She thought of the dull ache thrumming there afterwards, how only he knew what she tasted like. His gaze caught hers as he set the needle and thread down beside them, smoothing a wrinkle out of the newly stitched fabric. His touch was so light it almost wasn't there at all.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice dry and rough.

“No need, darling,” he bent his head down, and Tav swore his lips were close to hers on purpose. “I’m always at your service.”

A ghost of a smirk danced across her lips. “That’s a first.”

“No,” he confessed, “I’ve always been yours.”

He moved to pull away, to pretend this never happened, but Tav caught his face in her hands. His eyes were startled, studying her face as if it would reveal her true intentions. 

Her eyes flashed to his lips, where his fangs glinted in the room’s warm glow. She knew this was the end; her own apocalypse. Something in her face must have changed, shifted infinitesimally, because she watched Astarion's eyes widen even further. “Tav.” He breathed.

“Prove it.” She demanded.

And with a certainty Tav hadn't possessed in years, her hands pulled his face down to hers, their lips crashing together with a fervor.

Oh , she had forgotten what he tasted like: sweet and a little metallic. Her fingers twined in his hair, eliciting a soft moan from him; there was a neediness to him she had never seen, and it was all the more delicious to no longer be kept on the backfoot around him. His hands traveled downward, gripping the backs of her thighs before lifting her in one swift motion.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as they fell against the door. She needed him closer, in ways she never had anyone before. They pulled back, their lips grazing as they tried to catch their breath. Pure, unadulterated lust was in his eyes, and Tav was certain she looked the same. She was done fighting— that part of her life was over. If this was the end of the world, she needed to die knowing what every part of him felt like.

Astarion inhaled, undoubtedly to ask a question he already knew the answer to.

Before the words could leave his swollen lips, there was a pounding at her back.

Chapter Text

Religion's in your lips,

even if it's a false god.

“Astarion?” It was Cashaan. The sharp edge of his voice was dulled behind the door, and Tav shared a bewildered look with Astarion.

“Whatever you want, I’m sure you could trouble Gale for it.” He replied. Tav buried her flushed face in his neck, willing the interaction to end. 

“Do you know where Tavriel is?” He asked, unfazed by his dismissal. “I knocked on her door but she didn’t answer.”

The same chill she felt earlier seeped into her blood once more. He knew her face, Tav could see it in the predatory gleam of his eyes. Her fear was as unreasonable as it was instinctive, but she couldn’t fight the feeling he was stalking her, circling until he deemed it time to strike. 

“She’s probably resting, I assure you.” Astarion sighed. “She had a most arduous day. With being impaled and all.”

“Right,” Cashaan said flatly. “If you do see her, tell her I need to speak with her. Urgently.” 

The echo of footsteps down the corridor allowed her to release her breath. Astarion lowered her to her feet, trying to gauge her reaction to his continued close proximity. Tav was rattled, like a fawn that had just escaped the clutches of a mountain lion.

“What could he possibly need?” She breathed. 

“Who cares?” Astarion scoffed. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“Yes, I do.” She ran a hand through her curls, working through the knots. “We’re his guests. And he might be the only one with the resources to stop this rot. Regardless of how…creepy he is.” 

“I think you’re offering him too much space in your mind, darling.” Astarion crossed his arms. “Not even his colleagues seem to like him— you saw how the gnome looks at him. What’s one guest giving him the cold shoulder?” 

“I have to, Astarion. This is bigger than me.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. In the flickering candlelight, his lips were puffed, still oddly pale despite the attention Tav had shown them. She wanted to kiss him again, and this time the thought stirred desire instead of shame. But he was capricious, and Tav feared this would all be over come nightfall. Maybe she had truly lost it, and this was all some kind of lucid dream, a manifestation of everything she couldn’t have. She brought her hand to his cold cheek, taking pride in the way he melted into her touch. 

“When I leave, will you still want this?” Her breath caught as she spoke. 

Something in her words stirred him, and he placed his hand over hers. 

“I’ll always want this, darling.”

She pulled him down to her, kissing him slowly— as if it were the last time. For all Tav knew, it could’ve been. 

When she stepped out into the dark hallway, she was overwhelmed with fear, and, well, choices. In the euphoria of Astarion’s embrace, she had forgotten the matrix of the Host Tower. It had to be an illusion, she thought: another use of glamor to protect themselves. She wandered aimlessly toward the end of the corridor, her fingers trailing along the stone walls as if their presence would orient her. A figure stood further down the passage, ominous and imposing. 

“Tavriel,” Cashaan called out. 

Has he been waiting there the whole time? 

Tav let out a breath. “I heard you wanted to see me.” 

He slinked toward her, his ornate robes dragging along the gray stone. “You keep interesting company.” He said, apathetic to her confusion. “ Undead company.”

Rage swirled inside of her. He didn’t deserve to see Astarion, to infiltrate his brief moments of vulnerability reserved only for her. She wanted to slap him, to humiliate him for the intrusion. Instead, she took a deep breath. “I heard you wanted to see me,” she reiterated.

“Yes,” he sized her up, his voice dropping. “Not here, though. Follow me.” 

Tav obliged, her shoulders pulled taut as she trailed him. The cacophony of their footsteps was the only sound as they wove through the maze of hallways, and she wondered who in their right mind would’ve designed a tower like this.

She cleared her throat. “How do you know where anything is here?”

“Ah,” the elf sighed. “You’ve noticed our little labyrinth.”

“Hard not to.”

He scoffed. “Well, it’s not the design of a demented architect, if you were wondering. This tower predates the Brotherhood, even Luskan itself. It has a mind of its own.”

They stopped in front of a small room, the door slightly ajar. 

“What do you mean ‘a mind of its own?’” Tav asked.

“When the first of the Brotherhood laid their roots here, they did so because of the Tower’s raw arcane energy,” Cashaan explained, slightly annoyed by her questions. “Even now, we struggle to understand it. The hallways change constantly— at least that’s how it appears to the naked eye. It’s a way for it to protect itself, I suppose. Members of the Brotherhood are immune to the illusion. Perhaps it’s a reward for the work we’ve done; perhaps, one of us has managed to lift the glamor unconsciously.”

“If only the Brotherhood can see through the glamor, how did the intruder get in?”

His mouth twisted into a frown. “That, I don’t know. She could’ve been unfathomably powerful— or someone let her in.” 

Before Tav could question him further, he raised his hand. “Enough,” he gestured to the room. “After you, Tavriel.”

Her name sounded foul on his tongue, and Tav felt for the dagger she kept tucked in her waistband as she entered the room. The first thing she noticed was the smell: mold and mildew. She coughed quietly, barely concealing her disgust. Ages ago, this room must have belonged to an alchemist. Vials littered the workshop, with various powders and salts spilled across the small desk in the corner. In contrast to the other rooms in the tower, there were no windows adorning the walls. There was no light, no reprieve from the darkness beside the measly torch the elf held. It was suffocating. 

“I knew there was something…off about you from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He said, pulling the door closed behind him. “You were bewitching. You were familiar. More than that, you were blazing with the glow of an aura.”

Tav’s body stilled with the click of the door, her heart lurching in her chest. “I’m sorry?”

“An aura.” He sat down on a rickety stool: the only seating available in the quaint room. “Fairly common for a skilled paladin, but an oath breaker? Inconceivable.”

He was right: auras of protection were blessings bestowed by lesser gods, and Tav was never pious enough to earn one. But an oath breaker was an outcast, exiled from the Torm’s embrace. She swallowed, her mind racing too fast to offer anything other than one meager question: “How?”

He sighed. “That’s the purpose of this meeting, Tavriel. I was hoping you could tell me. Have any deities in your ear lately?”

Yes . “No,” her answer was far too quick, causing Cashaan to raise his eyebrows. “Not that I know of.”

“Hm.” 

The elf continued to stare at Tav, resting his head in his hand as he studied her. His gaze was analytic, cold, and Tav got the sense that this was all to make her squirm. 

“What does it mean?” Her voice was small and meek.

“Depends on who granted it,” he explained. “All I can discern is that it's far too powerful to be that of a lesser god.”

“Yet they couldn’t save me from Zeleen,” she muttered. 

Cashaan smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “My understanding is that such magic prevents death, not harm.” 

A tense silence filled the space, causing sweat to bead on her brow. The revelation almost made her forget who had lured her here, effectively caging her in the dank workshop. An aura of protection should’ve steeled her, instead, she felt completely exposed. 

“Is that all?” She asked, eyeing the rusted door knob.

“You’re not a scolded pupil, Tavriel,” Cashaan laughed. “You can leave whenever you like.” 

He held out a small red bottle that gleamed with magic: a healing potion. “Here,” he said. “Consider it compensation for disrupting your tryst. You’ll need it.”

The sight of the potion reminded her of the profound ache in her shoulder, and she downed it without another thought. Its bitterness clung to her tongue, causing her to grimace. 

“How can I get to my room?” She asked, still trying to clear the bad taste from her mouth. 

“You’ll find your way back,” Cashaan smirked. 

Tav didn’t wait for his dismissal. When she threw open the door, her lungs thanked her for the fresh air of the hallway. It had to be midday by now— if the bright light from the corridor’s singular window was anything to go by. She ventured toward it, hoping a glimpse of the outside world would orient her. From this vantage point, Luskan looked untouched, the metallic accents of buildings shimmering in the sunlight. It was a stark contrast to the ruins of Neverwinter, and somehow the sight of it gave Tav hope. 

“Are you in need of assistance, darling?” Astarion said from the shadows, carefully avoiding the light shining through the window.

His voice caused her to jump, eliciting a quiet laugh from him. 

“Were you following me?” She asked. 

“Is that a serious question?” 

“I guess not,” she sighed, cutting her eyes toward him. “I can fend for myself, you know.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten how fearsome you are with a blade,” he scoffed, “This place is like a dungeon: rank and dreadfully boring. I needed entertainment.” 

Tav stepped closer to him, and her proximity pulled his lips into a slight grin. “Really? What we did before wasn’t entertaining?” 

Raw desire glinted in his eyes as he leaned down, his face a breath from hers. One step and she could lose herself all over again. “Not nearly enough.”

Before Tav could ponder her own ruin further, a sudden cough dragged her from Astarion’s orbit. 

“My apologies, Tav,” Gale said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “We have a situation.” 

If Astarion were a skilled wizard, Tav was sure he would’ve incinerated Gale on sight. 

“Honestly, Gale,” he glared. “Would it kill you to get a hobby? Something other than sucking the joy out of every moment?” 

“Astarion.” Tav reprimanded behind a thin veil of irritation. 

“You know, there was a time you came groveling to me , lest you forget it,” Gale narrowed his eyes. 

“Not my proudest moment.” 

“What is it, Gale?” Tav sighed, her patience growing thinner by the second. 

“Dresmorlin. I’ve delivered him to the others in the Rotunda, and they are…not the most welcoming colleagues, to put it lightly.” 

She rubbed her forehead, willing the problem to go away with each massage of her fingers. 

“Not my circus,” she muttered. 

“Actually, it is,” Gale corrected, causing Astarion to snort. 

Gale had a frustrating knack for being right, unfortunately, and Tav straightened her spine. There was no time to rest, especially during an apocalypse caused by her bloodline. She didn’t reply, only gestured for Gale to lead them to the Rotunda. The passages wove together like veins, the Rotunda like a beating heart in the body of the Host Tower. When they passed through the archway, they saw Dresmorlin slumped on the ground. Shackles were secured around his ankles, the engraved runes glowing with unruly magic. His face was covered in splotches of indigo and violet— bruises, Tav realized. Dru stood in front of him, panting with the effort of every blow. Zeleen and Teyva stood beside him, their faces grim yet a little relieved. It was a catharsis.

“What the fuck?” Tav shouted. She raced to the drow’s side, drawing her dagger autonomously. 

“Know your place, oath breaker,” Dru seethed. “You don’t know what he’s done, the ruin he’s caused.”

Where the hells is Cashaan?  

Tav reached for his shackles, but a jolt of electricity caused her to recoil. A sharp cry of pain leapt from her throat, her knees slamming into the marble floor. Distantly, she heard Astarion shout, followed by Gale’s fruitless attempts to restrain him. 

“What has he done?” She gasped, fighting through the paralysis seizing her limbs. 

Untamed magic crackled from Dru’s fingertips as he stared at the drow. The energy surrounding the wizard was electric, prickling Tav’s flesh even from her spot on the floor. She knew he was moments from erupting, from surrendering to unbidden rage, and she couldn’t predict the destruction he would leave in his wake. 

“Calm, Dru,” Teyva said. “You’ve done enough talking with your fists. Now it’s time for words.”

The wizard snapped back to himself, gripping his chest as if shocked by his own outburst.

“We were in hiding,” he began, still trying to catch his breath. “The miniscule fraction of the brotherhood that remained was the blight of Luskan after the invasion. So we disappeared. We were fortunate in our ability to do so.”

He turned toward his colleagues, as if the sight of Dresmorlin would send him over the edge. 

“For a while, we experimented. Boredom does peculiar things to a person, drives them to realms they never dreamed of. Dresi developed an affection for necromancy, in particular, a book called The Necromancy of Thay .” 

Tav shot a look of horror at Astarion, who wore the slightest smirk at the book’s mention. 

“And what did he find in this little book, if I may ask? Something fervid, no doubt.” 

Dru glared at him before continuing. “Power. Archaic power that could corrupt the weave, impair every fragment of a spell. One day, he was tweaking a more advanced spell—dimension door— and it backfired.”

The electricity crackled around him again, causing Dresmorlin to moan. “For an hour, the portal remained open. Fleets of undead flooded the tower like vermin. We barely escaped with our lives. It took years before the tower was completely cleansed, no thanks to him.”

Tav looked to the drow, crumpled in a bloody heap on the floor. If the wizard’s story was true, he was impetuous, driven mad with desire for unadulterated power. Something in his story reminded her of Gale all those years ago, desperate to claim the Crown of Karsus. She wondered what would have happened if he had achieved godhood: maybe he would’ve struck them down where they stood, entirely divorced from the charming wizard she called a friend. Maybe he would’ve ended up like Dresmorlin, destitute and broken at the hands of his former allies. Still, she had taken a chance on him, and something in the drow told her he deserved that same chance. 

“He’s not asking for your forgiveness,” she said. “He is merely asking for resources. In spite of everything, he’s a skilled wizard, and he has promising methods of fighting this rot. You must not think as slighted friends, but as the guardians of Luskan.” 

Dru scoffed, but Tav saw a glimmer in his eye at the mention of Luskan. He craved to be its protector: more than that, he craved the city’s adoration. 

“He will be under Cashaan’s watch.” He conceded.

The shackles evaporated with a wave of his hand, and Dresmorlin moaned with relief.

“He’s his problem, now.”

Dru stalked out of the Rotunda, leaving Zeleen and Teyva to clean up after him. The gnome approached him first, grimacing at his bloodied face before murmuring a word of healing. His skin wove together under the blue glow, and Tav helped him sit up once the spell concluded.

“Thank you, Teyva.” Dresmorlin panted, kissing the top of her hand.

Teyva seemed uncomfortable by his show of gratitude, yanking her hand back to her side. The drow was unphased, scanning the rows of shelves as if he were searching for something.

“Where is Jen?” 

The air in the Rotunda shifted at the name, and Tav wondered who he was to him— or rather, what he did to him. 

Teyva swallowed. “Jen’s dead, Dresi.” 

His breath left his body all at once. The news had robbed him of all reason, all emotions except for pure, unfettered grief. He gaped at her, his lavender eyes shining with unshed tears. “No—when? How ?”

Zeleen spared her from elaborating. “There was an intruder. She killed him.”

He cried out in anguish, gripping his chest as if to stop the crater forming there. “There must be more,” he gasped. “Please, I have to know more.” 

Zeleen glanced at Tav, and she heeded his unspoken command to leave them. She heaved herself to her feet, her bones and tendons still recovering from the jolt. Gale lunged for her, catching her as she stumbled over to them. He whispered a word of healing, and Tav felt the soreness dissipate with a blue flash. With Gale as their guide, they walked back to their rooms in silence, eager to escape the discord among their hosts. Astarion kept his hand on the small of Tav’s back the whole way, even as Gale bid them good night. 

Alone in the flickering torchlight, Tav suddenly felt very awkward. The hallway was too narrow, Astarion entirely too close, the memories of before too fresh. He cleared his throat, and Tav thanked the gods she wouldn’t have to speak first. 

“Could I trouble you for a chat?” 

She nodded a little too eagerly, following him into his room. When he shut the door, Tav scrambled gracelessly onto the bed, causing abrasive squeaks to pierce the veil of silence. Astarion look amused, joining her at the edge of the bed.  

“That was a mess, wasn’t it?” He sighed. “I got a little ahead of myself thinking reclusive wizards would be too busy mashing herbs and sorting books to have so much drama.”

Tav pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them. “I don’t really blame them. He’s lucky they’re still alive to hate him.”

She cut her eyes to him. “And you’re lucky the book didn’t suck you in as well.” 

He scoffed. “I’ll admit it was tantalizing, but I have more resolve than the drow.”

“And half the skill.”

His laugh was sharp and sudden, and Tav found herself grinning in spite of her nerves. “Trust me, darling. You haven’t scratched the surface of my talents.” 

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and Tav swore the room felt hotter with Astarion so close. 

“I’m willing to investigate,” she whispered, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her. 

A cold finger tucked her curls behind her ear, undoubtedly to see the extent of her blush. She could feel his gaze searing her skin, making her squirm in the way she knew he loved. His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face to look at him. 

“Is something the matter, Tav?” His voice was laced with teasing. 

You . 

Tav swallowed, losing her grip on her composure with his every word. Somehow, he had moved closer to her, and she was overwhelmed with the need to feel his skin on hers. Years of ceaseless yearning had amounted to the charged air between them; one kiss could burn it all down. She realized he was still waiting for an answer. 

When Tav’s lips crashed into his, it was messy, uncoordinated, driven only by the blind desire that possessed them both. He groaned at the taste of her lips, and the sound ushered her onto his lap, trapping his body between her thighs. Her fingers latched onto his hair—gods she loved his hair— and the wetness growing at her center told her she wanted more. His hands snaked behind her, gripping her ass to pull her to him. The touch made her gasp, and she pulled back to study him, to search for that distant look she saw in the woods all those years ago. But his darkened eyes were clear and present, hypnotized only by unsated lust. 

“Do you want this?” Tav whispered, her lips brushing against his. “ Really want this?”

“Yes,” he breathed, raw and earnest. “Do you?” 

“Gods, yes. I just—,” she buried her face in his neck. “I’ve never done this before.”

His hand traced circles on her back. “In a way, neither have I.”

Embarrassment burned in her cheeks as she pulled back to look at him. “I-I don’t know how to touch you.” 

Astarion laughed, flipping her on her back in one swift motion. “Leave that all to me, darling. I want to touch you first.”

He kissed her again, this time slowly—as if he wanted to savor the tug of her lips, the gleam of spit on the bottom one. A shock of cold prickled the delicate flesh of her ribs as he lifted her tunic. 

“May I?” His voice was low and rough.

“Only if you return the favor.” 

He smirked, hastily pulling his shirt over his head as Tav did the same. In the soft light of the room, she realized this was the first time he had ever seen her naked. She was unusually pale due to their night restricted travel, and she felt self conscious as his gaze roamed over her bare breasts. 

“ Hells , Tav.” He breathed. He kissed them languidly and open mouthed, his lips tugging at her nipple. She cried out, slapping a hand over her mouth when she realized what she had done. 

“I doubt they care, darling,” he chuckled against her skin. “Besides, I want them to know you’re mine.” 

Her chest heaved as his kisses trailed downward, his fingers expertly untying her trousers. When she was finally laid bare, he turned his attention to her thighs, scraping his fangs against the soft flesh there. Her sighs were like a metronome, cuing each press of his lips until he reached her center. 

It was a foreign feeling, his mouth on her clit. Her eyes welled with tears at the sensation, each stroke of his tongue bringing her closer and closer to a cliff she had seldom traversed, even by her own hand. She tugged at his hair, the pleasure dulling all of her senses except for his tongue on her.

“Astarion,” she panted, hesitant to tip over the edge without him. He merely grinned against her, burying his face in her core as she came. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her attempts to stifle her screams fruitless as she shook. It took a few moments until she came back to herself, her limbs nearly weightless in the afterglow. She pulled him up to her, and his slick lips crashed against hers with a fervor. 

“I need you inside me,” she gasped. “Please.” 

“You sound so sweet when you beg,” he murmured, shedding his own trousers. She reached down between them, tentatively gripping his hard length. He let out a soft hiss, guiding her hand up and down the shaft. His hardness nearly drove her mad, and she all but whined into his neck. 

“Astarion, please.” 

He huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as he lined himself up. He glanced up at her again, seeking permission she had already given him. Tav smirked, nodding eagerly as he finally pushed inside her. The slow entry caused them both to moan, and Tav tried to adjust to the unfamiliar stretching inside her. Her brow knit together at the pressure: a change that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He brushed away the wispy strands plastered to her forehead. 

“Yes,” she panted, sweat beading on her brow. “It’s just new, is all.” 

His thumb swiped across her cheekbone. “I know,” he whispered. “Just tell me when, my dear.”

He looked at her with such awe, such fragility, that it felt holy. It had been years of wondering, longing to know what it would feel like to lie with him, to know which touches made him sigh or moan. For ages, she mourned such physicality, sealed herself off as a form of self-flagellation. Now, she knew him. All of him. She reached her hand to cup his face, nodding at him to move at last. 

First, he pumped slowly, carefully watching her face for any sign of pain. She moaned at the new sensation, the pleasure that spiked inside her with each thrust. Astarion kissed her again, stifling her sounds with his mouth. Her hands scratched at his shoulders, yearning to pull him impossibly closer to her. She craved more. 

“Bite me,” she gasped. 

He paused in his thrusts. “What?” 

“Bite me,” she pressed her forehead to his. “Please.” 

His shock was palpable as she gaped at her. “Well,” he swallowed. “I could never refuse such an offer.”

With a slight tremor, he pulled her curls aside, revealing her hammering pulse point. He pressed his lips to it, as he had done so many times before—but this time, it felt like worship. In a single breath, he pierced her bloodstream, shards of ice gripping her veins as he thrusted again. She knew she didn’t have long, and by the sound of his intoxicated moans, neither did he. When she came again, she made no effort to muffle her screams, seizing around him as he followed in suit with a groan. 

In a euphoric haze, he collapsed beside her, staring at her with a quiet awe. She curled into him, and for a brief moment, he was her tether to this world. He had always been, she realized, and she knew in her marrow he would always be. 

When she finally closed her eyes, she didn’t dream of anywhere else. 

Chapter Text

Everybody's waiting for you to break down,

Everybody's watching to see the fallout. 

When Tav awoke, she was at the bottom of a well. 

It was narrow, endlessly stretching toward the tiny glimpse of the world beyond. She was trapped here—and her hysteria told her it must have been ages since she saw light beyond the small rays from the well’s grate. A visceral groan hummed in her chest when she tried to move; her legs were broken, bent at awkward and horrible angles. She tried to crawl across the pit, struggling uselessly in the mud as tears streaked down her face. Images flashed before her: a mosaic of agony accompanied by incessant pleas. It was her own voice, guttural and haunted as it rang like a gong through every scene.

Serana with a sword in her abdomen, a strange smile on her lips as if it hadn’t pierced her at all.

Save me. 

Elora fiddling with her doll, blissfully unaware of the flames licking her freckled skin.

Save me.

Soren knee deep in snow, tears freezing to his skin as he wept. 

Save me. 

Astarion nestled into her, the scars on his back peeling away to reveal raw flesh. 

SAVE ME.

Astarion peering down from above, oblivious to her torment.

SAVE ME.

This time when Tav awoke, it was with a jolt. 

Her breath escaped her in staccato bursts, her skin shining with sweat. She reached out beside her, seeking Astarion’s coldness like a balm on her wounds. Instead she felt only the rough cotton of the sheets. Now woefully conscious, she sat up, and the world shifted on its axis as she did. Her head felt full of sand, drawn like an anchor towards the bed. It was as if she had spent the night out, downing bottle after bottle until her surroundings blurred. The ache sprawled across her body, accompanied by the tiniest seedling of fear.

Before her fear could take root, the door creaked open. Astarion crept inside the room, bare chested and a little startled.

“Oh,” he exclaimed softly. “You sleep light.” 

She only groaned in response, causing his brow to furrow. He climbed onto the bed, smoothing her tousled curls as he examined her. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” He asked. “Was it…too much last night?”

Tav mustered the strength to smirk. “No, gods, no,” she breathed. “Not nearly enough, if I’m honest. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It feels like I drank a whole tavern.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What did you have last night? Besides that dreadful stew the wizards cooked up.”

“Just a healing potion.” She winced as she propped herself up on her elbows. “Maybe it’s just delayed effects from the shock.” 

Her theory failed to convince him, and he swiftly left the room before she could protest. A few agonizing moments later, he returned with Gale, who seemed hesitant to look either of them in the eye. His eyes were puffy, his apparel trading its usual opulence in exchange for a comfortable tunic and trousers. He looked as if Astarion had just dragged him from his bed. 

“Ah, Tav,” he coughed, his voice rough with sleep. “Astarion says you need my expertise.”

“He’s wrong,” she glared. “I’m fine. I just need to sleep it off.” 

Gale smiled grimly, moving to inspect her. “My apologies, but he will stick a knife in my throat if I don’t at least humor him.” 

Blue light pulsed from his hand as he waved it over her forehead, searching for the source of her illness. She hissed at the brightness, turning her face in an effort to shield herself from it. Gale furrowed his brow, waving his hand over her once more to verify his findings.

“Tav…” 

“You need to work on your bedside manner, Gale,” she sighed irritably. “What is it?”

“Um, well.” he stuttered. “What did you have to eat yesterday? Anything out of the ordinary?”

She sighed in frustration. “Rabbit stew and a healing potion. Can you just give me some minor healing and be done with it?”

“Yes, I could do that,” He rubbed his chin, still not meeting her eyes. “I’ll just have to whip up an antidote. I’m sure the Brotherhood has a lush apothecary.”

“An antidote?” Astarion and Tav asked in unison.

Gale finally met her eyes. “It would appear you’ve been poisoned. It was not a small dose either.”

In an instant, Astarion had him against the wall, his forearm braced against his throat.

“Hey!” Gale sputtered, perturbed by the sudden violence. “Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘don’t shoot the messenger?’ I am not the villain. If anything, I’m a victim for having to bear witness to your escapades all evening.”

Realization dawned in his eyes as his grip on Gale’s shirt loosened. “You’re right.”

*“Say that again.” he smirked, but Astarion was gone before he finished uttering the sentence. Tav hauled herself out of bed to follow him, her legs quivering as she stumbled to the doorway. It was as if her bones were made of sticks, brittle and unstable. 

“Gale,” she wheezed as she melted to the floor. “Stop him.”

He rushed to her side, clearly torn between healing her and chasing Astarion. 

“Go!” she insisted. 

With a nod, Gale obliged, pounding on Wyll’s door before running after him. Wyll opened the door several moments later, his eyes heavy still with sleep. The sight of Tav slumped in the doorway seemed to startle him awake.

“Shit,” he breathed, kneeling beside her. “Tav, are you alright?

“Yes, just poisoned.” 

“What?”

Before she could elaborate, Astarion appeared again, dragging Cashaan by the collar of his robe. Gale was at his heels, unsuccessful in his efforts to prevent further harm. Astarion tossed him to the floor, the behemoth of a wizard sliding pitifully before him. Cashaan hardly had a moment to collect himself before there was a dagger against his throat. 

“What the fuck did you give her?” Astarion seethed, rage flashing wildly in his eyes. 

The wizard seemed amused by his anger, a slight smirk pulling at his mouth as if he were watching a show at the theater. He opened his mouth to answer, but Astarion interrupted him. 

“Choose your words carefully,” he whispered, pressing the blade harder against his throat. “You only have one chance before I cut out your tongue.”

“Look at the spawn finally getting his bark back,” he scoffed. “And for a lowly half-breed, too.” 

Astarion wrenched his arm back, undoubtedly to stab at the elf’s jugular until he was a bloody mound of flesh and organs. Gale and Wyll lunged for him, pulling him off of Cashaan while he fought against them.

*“Astarion!” Tav shouted.

Her voice reigned him in enough to relieve Gale and Wyll, though he still strained against their firm grip. Cashaan sat up, massaging his jaw as if Astarion had punched in prior to dragging him there. Knowing him, he probably did. 

“What did you give me?” 

He raised his eyebrows at her, as if he were surprised to see her talking. “If you must know, dear, it was something Dresi cooked up years ago. It’s nearly identical to a healing potion, save for its…adverse effects.” 

“Why?”

“Because I am a scholar before I’m your ally,” he said plainly. “Your aura is perplexing. I wanted to test its limits, see what it would allow you to survive. I must admit, you surprised me. That dose should’ve been able to kill an ogre in one sip, and yet here you are.”

“Can I kill him now?” Astarion strained against their companions’ grip. “Please, pretty please.”

“Enough,” Tav snapped. “He’s more useful to us alive than dead.” 

“I question the logic of that statement.”

“You should find solace in being unkillable,” Cashaan said, dusting off his robe as he stood. “If anything, I did you a favor.”

Tav glared at him, internally cursing her own leniency. 

“An antidote should negate any lingering effects.” He smirked “I’d take it sooner rather than later. After all, we have an arduous journey ahead of us.” 

The wizard stalked toward the end of the hall, paying no mind to the destruction in his wake. Astarion shook off their grip, kneeling down to inspect her now that the threat was gone. His rage was barely subdued as he tucked her hair behind her ear, and Tav dreaded the journey ahead of them now that Cashaan had proved to be traitorous. 

It was Gale who spoke first, his voice a little stunned. “What aura was he talking about, Tav?” 

She sighed, rubbing at the wrinkles in her forehead. “Last night, he told me I have an Aura of Protection. Not uncommon for a highly skilled paladin, but unheard of for an oath breaker.”

“An aura?” Wyll asked. “Did he say who granted it?”

“He can’t tell, or so he claims,” she explained. “He can only discern that it wasn’t a lesser god.”

“Myrkul?” Gale suggested.

Tav shrugged, burying her face in her hands. She needed a break, or at least something to take the edge off. It was like Astarion read her mind when he reminded Gale of the antidote, sending him and Wyll off to raid the Brotherhood’s supply. Tav tried to stand on her own, but her legs gave way once more. With a look of admonishment, Astarion hooked his arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. It felt nice to be taken care of, and Tav struggled to recall a time where someone fussed over her to such a degree. Perhaps once, when Soren first found her, but his concern was born out of innate empathy. Astarion’s was deeper— something cosmic.

*It was nearly half a day later when Tav felt well enough to venture out. Gale had gotten his hands on an antidote, and somehow it tasted worse than the actual poison. Eager to take their minds off their new homicidal companion they spent the remainder of the day collecting supplies for their journey. The cold season in Neverwinter was fairly mild—certainly not cold enough to warrant layers of fur and wool—and Tav felt woefully unprepared for the tundra of the Icewind Dale.

On the day of their departure, Astarion stood beside her in the corridor, waiting impatiently for Cashaan’s arrival. He was a strange sight, bundled up in leathers and furthers. Tav suppressed a laugh at the irony of a cold vampire, and she could see the tension in his shoulders ease at her snort. It had been a while since they had a moment alone: something that ate away at Tav’s very being. But the walls were closing in on them, and she had to find the Holy Avenger before they collapsed. No matter how much she wanted to hide in Astarion’s sheets. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, my dear?” His voice wavered slightly, as if dreading her reply. 

“No. If Serana doesn’t kill us, Cashaan will.” She sighed. “But remember what Raphael said all those years ago? ‘What’s better than a devil you don’t know? A devil you do.’”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of that foul wretch,” he scoffed. “He probably spent hours practicing that line in front of a mirror. And at least he had something of value to offer us. Cashaan is…less fruitful.” 

He stared at where the high elf stood in the rotunda, shaking hands with the other members of the Brotherhood. Teyva looked relieved to see him packed; perhaps, Tav had done them all a favor in sparing them of his presence. 

“I’d prefer taking the drow, honestly,” Astarion muttered.

Tav sympathized as her eyes fell on Dresmorlin. He was seated at a table, combing through several volumes of magic textbooks. He didn’t rise to bid Cashaan farewell, his eyes shifting nervously at the commotion. His presence was certainly preferable to that of Cashaan, but his skills were better utilized in the safety of the Host Tower. It would be reckless to expend all of their resources for a scavenger hunt. A cough brought her attention to the wizard beside her. 

“Ready to have your blood turn to ice, Tav?” Gale said, hoisting his pack over his shoulder. “Might be refreshing for Astarion.”

“Jealous, Gale?” He retorted. “I could always reserve a nibble for you.”

“I am quite fine, thank you.”

Astarion huffed a noise of satisfaction, eyeing Wyll next to them. 

“What about you, Wyll? I bet yours has a burn to it. Like finely aged brandy.”

He laughed, seemingly flattered by the suggestion. “No, I fear Tav would gut me like a fish.”

Tav blushed, though Wyll wasn’t far from the truth. The thought of him biting someone else left a rotten feeling in her gut, spreading like a disease through her body. She was oddly relieved when Cashaan ushered them out of the rotunda, though the feeling was replaced with quivering anxiety. As they filed down the spiral steps of the Host Tower, Tav stayed near the back of the group, as if the order at which they descended would delay the inevitable. Astarion followed her like a shadow, and one question itched in her mind as they came to the entrance.

“What do I taste like?” 

He paused in his tracks, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Which part?”

“You know which part,” she laughed, smacking his chest. “My blood.” 

Her laugh always ignited something in his eyes: an emotion Tav was never able to put her finger on. 

“You taste sweet. Like strawberry wine.” 

Blood rushed to her cheeks at his admission; there was a profound intimacy in their ritual that few would ever uncover, and with that, a nearly overwhelming possession. Wyll coughed in front of them, gesturing to the outside world. Tav’s blush deepened as she obliged, stepping into a darkened Luskan. Snow had fallen during their time in the tower; thick blankets of white concealed the shell of the city, and Tav tried to adjust to the sting of winter. There would be plenty of it in her future. 

The harbor was no different from the rest of the city, the docks slick and glistening with ice. Although quite athletic from her paladin years, the ice made a worthy opponent, and Tav struggled to keep her footing as they boarded the ship. Flynn stumbled out of the captain's quarters at the commotion, a steaming mug of Kaeth in hand. He had opted to stay behind while they ventured into the city, muttering something about their problem and slimy merchants . The rest appeared to have done him wonders, the bags under his eyes nearly gone as he rubbed at them. 

“A little notice would be nice,” he muttered, eyeing Cashaan warily. “Who’s the tree?”

“An ally, for the time being,” Tav sighed. “We’re leaving. For Reghed Glacier.” 

Flynn laughed heartily. “In this weather, we’d be lucky to make it out of the harbor. The Trackless Sea is impassable this time of year.”

Tav gave him a stern look as he sipped his Kaeth. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. And we need as much time as we can get.” 

“Your coin, not mine.” He shrugged, narrowing his eyes at Cashaan. “Just make sure your new friend knows the rules.” 

“Rules?” Cashaan scoffed. “How quaint.”

Flynn glared at him, spitting once at the elf’s feet before heading toward the stern. The elf wore an amused smirk at the veiled insult, and Tav could feel her regret laying its roots in her stomach. She would be lucky if they made it to the glacier alive.

Happy to be away from the biting wind, the others sheltered below deck. Tav was not nearly so keen, pacing the frozen slats until her concentric, nervous path had been carved into the ice. She could write it off as practice; preparing herself for the slippery, ice terrain, remembering how to keep her balance. Mostly, though, it was a fine way to avoid Cashaan. His presence unnerved her, and she knew couldn’t let her guard down as long as he was a member of their party.

It was only a few hours into their expedition when they finally reached the polar divide, where the sun wouldn’t rise for the remainder of their journey. Tav had heard stories about the eternal winter of the Dale: a region completely robbed of warmth and sunlight. In recent years, they saw no daylight, forced to live in darkness or flee south. She wondered if the rot had reached the Dale’s sparse inhabitants, if they had known that the rest of Faerun had been brought to its knees. As wind lashed at her face, Tav noticed Flynn absorbed in his looking glass, muttering obscenities as Tav approached him. 

“Take a look, lass,” Flynn handed over the looking glass, the icy metal searing her bare palm. She fiddled with the measurements until the horizon came into focus. An expanse of white sharpened before her eyes, so impenetrable that she wondered if something had obscured the lens. 

“What is it?” She asked dumbly. 

“An ice field,” he said smugly, tucking the instrument back into his trousers. “Our ship is sturdy but she can’t take that. We’ll have to continue on foot.”

“Couldn’t we melt it? I’m sure Gale could throw some fire bolts at it.”

Flynn barked a laugh. “You don’t mess with the very essence of Umberlee. We continue on foot.”

Tav cursed under her breath. She had known that travel would be treacherous this far north, but it wasn't until her boots were landing in the snow with an echoing crunch that she realized how close she would have to be with Cashaan. Traversing the most dangerous region of Faerun went beyond tentative allyship; it required a level of cooperation that made Tav ill to think about.

She tried to focus on the rhythmic, chorusing footsteps of the traveling companions she did care for as they made their journey. For hours, they continued on in silence, with only occasional glances at one another. If the terrain was harsh, the weather was unforgiving. They relied only on their compass to guide them, their sight almost entirely obscured by white. The wind caused tears to well in Tav’s eyes, freezing almost immediately to her face. When the storm finally let up, it was a welcome reprieve. Their location was no longer a vague notion in their heads; they stood at the base of the mountain range, and its sight was nothing short of mythical.

“By the gods,” Wyll gasped, awe evident in his voice. 

The peaks pierced through the veil of clouds, and Tav suddenly understood why they called it The Spine of The World— the mountains were like a seam holding all of Toril together. From this vantage point, she could appreciate their beauty, the way the snowy slopes glimmered in the moonlight. Soon, she would know those mountains intimately, and she’d be lucky if they survived them.  

They approached a large cavern, eager to return some feeling to their limbs at camp. Tav lifted her lantern, squinting in the oppressive darkness. 

“Is it clear?” She whispered to Astarion behind her. 

He huffed a laugh. “We must do something about your eyes, my dear. Maybe Volo can help?”

Cashaan rolled his eyes, pushing past both of them as he stalked into the cave. “Scared of a rogue bear? I thought you were supposed to be heroes.” 

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Astarion retorted, crossing his arms. “I’m sure your kind is a delicacy for the beasts of the Dale.” 

His pack dropped to the ground with a harsh thump. “I’m sure you’re quite the sommelier of…unusual meals. Tell me: what does Tavriel taste like? Her blood, of course.” 

Astarion’s face darkened, a barely concealed rage thrashing behind his eyes. He smiled, wrathful and leering. “Careful, Cashaan. My blade is sharp and still eager to taste your tongue.”

Behind them, Gale ventured further into the cave, conjuring a ball of light to illuminate his path. The visibility was only slightly improved by the magic, and it was a small comfort that Tav wasn’t the only one with poor vision. Gale only made it a few meters before he paused, his body still from shock. Tav was too preoccupied with her own embarrassment to notice the horror emanating from the further end of the cavern. 

Wyll tried to mediate in Tav’s stead. “Come now, we’re all exhausted. Some of Gale’s stew and a good night’s rest will have us right as rain.” 

“Guys.” Gale called, his panic thinly veiled. 

Flynn scoffed. “The wizard is a cook? Umberlee save us all.” 

“Guys!” Gale yelled, causing them to all snap to attention. 

He backed away slowly toward the cave’s entrance, and Tav finally noticed the source of his terror. A single white eye blinked in the darkness, aimlessly trying to track the source of the disturbance. The beast crept forward into the light’s radius, and all at once, they were paralyzed with fear. It was a dragon, its size so massive it nearly filled the remainder of the cave. Its scales were iridescent, their colors rippling in the light as it towered over them. Its eyes focused on Tav, stomping once in warning. Her mind screamed at her to run: a command that her legs refused to yield to. Instead, she stared dumbly at the beast, backing toward the exit along with her companions. Maybe it didn’t see her as a threat; maybe a show of submission would allow them to escape with their lives. 

But Cashaan decided their fate with a single toss of his torch, ricocheting off the beast's snout and rolling to a stop at Tav’s feet. The dragon roared once: a sound so thunderous the earth shook beneath them. She stumbled backwards, her body slamming into the cave floor as the dragon pursued her. 

“Tav!” Astarion shouted as he dragged her out of the dragon’s path and into the fresh snow.

She watched as he crouched in front of her, elbow rearing back as he started firing his bow, swift and precise. The arrows did little to stagger the dragon, and the beast grew more enraged by the onslaught. Bright, crystalline eyes flashed once in the darkness before the group was consumed by a wall of fog. Tav’s face burned as crystals cracked across her skin, as blinding and shimmering as the dragon's scales, and her vision became almost entirely lost to a storm of snow and ice. What little she could see was mostly color, shape; the flash of Wyll’s eldritch blast, the glow of Gale’s chromatic orb. She whipped her head around to find Cashaan, to demand his assistance, but she found only hurried footprints leading away from the cave. They had been deserted, left to face a dragon with little magic and even less weaponry.

A crackle of Gale’s witch bolt caused the creature to roar again, and Tav could faintly see the sheen of its barbed claws as it lunged toward Gale. The wizard cried out as it sliced across his chest, painting the ground in front of him crimson. She felt blindly for her sword, struggling to stand in the cyclone the dragon had conjured. Vaguely, she recognized that this was the end— that years of clawing their way back from the brink had amounted to a cold and lonely death with no funeral. Serana had won the cosmic gambit, and Tav would die a failure. She would be no one, and in a sense, she always had been. 

She could feel the dragon rear back its claws again, but this time a shout diverted its attention. The fog dissipated, revealing an armoured tiefling on the hillside, banging their sword and shield together. The beast narrowed its eyes, hurriedly pursuing the source of the disturbance. Tav rolled out of its way, just barely missing its monstrous leathery foot. When the dragon was only a few paces from the tiefling, a column of radiant light rained down from the sky.

It was divine intervention: an exceedingly powerful spell only the most gifted clerics and paladins knew. In legends, it could raze a whole army from the earth, and Tav could attest to its enormity. She had only seen the spell used once with Shadowheart at the Netherbrain. Its power was devastating then, vaporizing everything in their vicinity and returning them from the brink of defeat. Its power was still awe inspiring, leaving the party blinded and speechless. 

The ground shook as the dragon collapsed, its scales flaking and peeling from the radiant damage. It groaned once, low and horrible, before its eyes slid shut. With one final breath, its spirit fled its body, leaving the group reeling and frozen.

On the hillside, the tiefling’s shoulders trembled, their power thoroughly depleted from the spell. The figure slowly approached the group, and for the first time, Tav could finally see his face. His jaw was chiseled, his auburn eyes glowing in the darkness. She climbed to her feet, his face growing more shocked as she came into view. She would know him anywhere, long after death had claimed her senses and her body was left to the worms. He would know her even when she was no one, when all she had left was a shining bronze statue at the Gate.

Tav’s voice felt foreign in her ears as she gasped. 

“Soren?”

Chapter Text

I know that it's over

I don't need your closure

It was as if an entirety had passed before either of them spoke. Soren gawked at Tav, a quiet fury raging behind his eyes as he stared, fury mixed with something else: hurt. For a moment, she thought he might speak, sparing her from the brutality of his silence. Instead, he simply straightened his spine, turning to descend down the hill. 

“Hey, wait a damn minute.” Flynn shouted as he followed him. “You can’t just leave us here.”

Tav could feel Astarion’s gaze burning into her, harsh and scrutinizing. She owed him an explanation—one that she wasn’t sure she could articulate. Who was Soren to her? She had surrendered the title of “comrade” when she broke her oath, and “friend” was well and truly forfeit. Brother , she thought, a bond that transcends circumstance . She didn’t call after him as he marched down the hill, kicking up small clouds of snow in his wake. 

“HEY!” Flynn shouted, this time with a ferocity that brought Soren to a halt. 

“I don’t know what business you have with the girl, but frankly, I couldn’t give a gnoll’s ass,” he spat. “And you didn’t give one either before you knew who she was. Now one of my companions is hurt, and you’re dressed like a paladin. Are you going to act like one?”

Soren’s mouth pulled into a fine line; something in Flynn’s words had stirred him. He risked a glance at the dwarf. 

“Take me to the wounded.”

Behind them, Gale was hunched over, one hand pressed to his chest in a futile effort to staunch the bleeding. Blood soaked the snow under him, his consciousness waning with every drop. Soren cursed as he pulled clean linens from his satchel, fashioning them around Gale’s chest before tipping a small healing potion into his mouth. Then he went limp in the snow. 

“You two,” Soren gestured to Wyll and Astarion. “Help me carry him.”

“Excuse me?” Astarion scoffed. “You swoop in with all the scorn of a jilted lover and expect me to bow to your every whim?”

“I saved you.” He glared. “I think that’s sufficient cause for your help.”

“Hells, I’ll do it,” Tav muttered, throwing one of Gale’s arms over her shoulders. The men were taken aback, now slightly embarrassed of their squabbling. Gale groaned as they hoisted him up, deepening the tear across his chest. His consciousness was fleeting, and the region’s mercy dwindled with every crunch of snow.  

“Is your camp far?” Tav grunted. 

Soren didn’t reply, only stared ahead as they dragged him down the hill.

“Is it far?” Wyll asked again, frustration seeping into his voice.

“No,” he said. “It’s just around the base of this mountain. A place called the Ten Towns.”

Of course . He would never speak directly to an oath breaker; Tav figured as much when she begged for his friendship one year ago. Still, she had thought the circumstances warranted a measure of camaraderie, even if it was undeserved. Gale’s feet dragged uselessly behind them as the trudged through the terrain, not resting until the silhouette of a building cut through the blizzard.

The Ten Towns didn’t exactly live up to its name. Piles of timber and ash laid atop foundations— proof that even the furthest reaches of civilization couldn’t be spared from Serana’s wrath. What remained of the settlement was one large meeting hall that now served as the paladins’ headquarters. It was rustic, built entirely out of planed logs from the White Woods. A large polished pair of antlers adorned the entryway, and Tav tried to fathom what creature could possess a pair so massive. When they dragged Gale over the threshold, they were immediately met with a soothing warmth. Tav’s legs burned with exertion, her skin scalded from the deep freeze beyond. 

“Over there,” Soren panted, pointing to a cot at the opposite end of the hall. “We have a triage area and a healer.”

Tav nodded, though she doubted he was talking to her. They hoisted Gale onto the cot with one collective grunt, leaving him in the care of a paladin Tav didn’t recognize. It was then that Tav noticed the stares: a dozen pairs of eyes all glaring right through her. She swallowed, seeking one person who would spare her from their scorn. Her eyes fell on Zeph, setting the table at the center of the room as if there was no disturbance at all. His blonde hair had darkened since she last saw him, yet he still looked as boyish as he did when they first met. As his gaze met hers, he gave her a crooked smile, waving her over with enthusiasm. 

“Tav!” He called. 

“Zeph.” Soren scolded. “We don’t speak to oath breakers. You know that.” 

“Oh don’t be such a square, Soren. The Hero of the Gate has come to save us.” 

She grunted as he hugged her, slightly lifting her off her feet. In their years as comrades, he was an exceptional athlete, but his strength still took Tav by surprise. She could feel Astarion’s gaze burning into them; he had been oddly quiet since Soren found them, still silently waiting for an explanation she couldn’t offer. 

“Zeph,” she strained. “Put me down, please.”

“Oh shit,” he said, dropping her with a thump. “I’m sorry. It’s just startling to see you, especially all the way out here.” 

Soren stood next to them, working his jaw as if he were fighting an outburst. “Torm forbids us from fraternizing with oath breakers. If Guardian Iliyra sees, you could be cast out as well.”

“Come off, Knight Soren,” a loud voice called from the balcony above them. Guardian Iliyra stood with her hands clasped behind her back, the reflection of the lit chandelier dancing in her polished armor. She was a tall high elf, her figure so daunting that most of the temple’s men failed to compare. Her skin was lighter than her usual olive complexion, mostly on account of the widespread darkness, and her dark hair was in an orderly, tight updo. As her dark eyes slid between them, Tav felt overwhelmed with a compulsion to kneel, to show submission to her former superior. Instead, she stayed frozen under her gaze.

“Torm preaches obedience. Deference,” she said. “Yet he also teaches us devotion to a just cause. Charity. In times of peril, these tenets are often at odds with each other. It is your duty, Knight Soren, to lead by the gauntlet, lest you be the one begging for a hand.” 

Soren bowed his head, thoroughly scolded by his mentor. “Understood, Guardian Iliyra.” 

She didn’t acknowledge his submission, her eyes trained solely on Tav. As she descended the steps, Tav felt her muscles coiling, bracing for admonishment that was no longer in her jurisdiction. Her imposing figure came to a halt in front of her, and Tav tried not to shrink under her gaze. 

“Tavriel.” 

Her eyes surveyed her face, inspecting every impression time had left on it. She hadn’t changed much, or at least, she hoped she hadn’t— an alien invasion had a tendency of doing a little wear and tear on its victims. When she was satisfied with her findings, her mouth quirked up imperceptibly. She said nothing more, intentionally letting her shoulder bump Tav’s as she continued to the triage area. 

“Return to your work, Knight Soren,” she called over her shoulder.  “Your new companions will render aid.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll do what ?” Astarion gawked. “Did you miss the part where we were nearly eviscerated by a godsdamned dragon? What ever happened to a little repose?” 

Astarion’s questions went unanswered, eliciting a frustrated sigh from him. Tav turned to Soren, who was still unable to meet her eyes. 

“What is your ‘work’ exactly?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re looking for survivors of the Matron’s rampage. She laid siege upon the Ten Towns nearly a fortnight ago. The surrounding villages were pillaged more recently.” 

Tav blinked. “The matron ?”

For the first time that night, Soren met her gaze. His eyes burned just as they had when he first found her—like smoldering coals among ruins. 

“The Matron of the Void, at least that’s what her cultists call her.” 

The name almost made her roll her eyes; it lent her sister too much credibility. She wasn’t a crusader— she was an overzealous fool still dragging the shackles of her childhood behind her. Yet every village she burned, every graveyard she resurrected, every farmland she salted crystallized her image as the Matron, and Tav wondered what,exactly, she aimed to raze. 

“Points for creativity, I suppose,” Astarion picked at the dirt under his nails. “Though I’d go for something with more of a bite. ‘Serana the Impaler,’ maybe?’”

“Serana?” Soren furrowed his brow, his confusion dissipating once the revelation dawned on him. “It’s your sister?”  

Tav’s tongue felt anchored in her mouth. If anyone knew just how wholly her sister haunted her, it was Soren. He had found her one breath away from death, when her body was broken and failing. He had been at her side while they scoured the furthest reaches of Neverwinter hunting her. He knew her pain in his marrow, yet each word he spoke lashed at her spirit. Perhaps he knew her once, but he chose not to know her now. 

He let out a shaking breath. “How?”

“Well, if we knew that we wouldn’t be gallivanting through the ninth circle of the hells, now would we?” Astarion scoffed. 

Soren’s eyes burned into his. “Your insolence will be your ruin.” 

“Gods, you’re both intolerable,” she muttered. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. You’re more than welcome to join me.” 

She strode over to the entrance, half hoping no one would follow her. 

“Heading out, Tav?” Wyll called from where he stood with Zeph. The two were an unlikely pair, and Tav had a hard time envisioning what could have them so enthralled in conversation. Tav nodded reluctantly, causing him to hurriedly pull on his furs. 

“Please stay,” she said, hoping to conceal the desperation in her voice. “We won’t be long. No use expending the Blade of Avernus.” 

His fingers stilled with his laces. “Are you sure?” 

She smirked. “Yes. I’m sure whatever tale Zeph is weaving for you is far more interesting than a scouting mission.” 

He looked pained at the implication of more stories, eliciting a rare laugh from Tav. As she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, her face burned with each lash of the icy wind. Though its days were plagued with eternal night, the Dale still bore a subtle distinction between the two. The dark was nearly impenetrable now, and Tav cursed as she fumbled for her lantern. Behind her, Soren and Astarion swiftly sealed the doors, wincing at the sting of the frost. In the throes of darkness, Tav felt like she had aboard their ship, hopelessly sailing into an unforgiving and unknowable wild. 

Soren muttered a brief incantation, causing a droplet of light to hover above his palm.

“This way. Dougan’s Hole is on the other side of that cliff.”

Tav squinted, trying to find the cliff he spoke of along the opaque horizon. Fingers circled her wrist, and Tav was slightly startled to find Astarion pulling her behind him. His grip was firm, protective; it’s very presence caused her cheeks to burn hot even in the tundra. He was angry with her, and she supposed he had every right to be. Secrecy was antiquated— something they toyed with when they first fell from the Nautiloid. Soren was a forfeiture of their progress, a guttural betrayal. 

Flashes of orange and red fractured the wall of gray, signaling they had reached the settlement. Dougan’s Hole was a quaint town, with only a handful of buildings and dwarves populating it. Even in its prime, its inhabitants were sparse, and Tav felt dread burrowing into her as the smoldering remnants came into view. 

“Torm preserve us,” Soren breathed.

The town had been decimated. Piles of ashen lumber marked where homes once stood, still smoking even days after the siege. Various household items were scattered around the snow—a shoe, a child’s doll, a charred book— evidence that the living once walked the town’s frozen paths. A mass of footprints led into the wilds, toward Reghed Glacier. 

“Check the ruins,” Soren said, his mouth pulled into a grimace as he stalked off towards the furthest building. “We may find survivors yet.”

Astarion scoffed. “Is the devil familiar with how your sister operates? We’d be lucky to find her scraps.”

“He’s no devil, Astarion,” Tav sighed, wiping the frost from her brow. “Do as he says.”

“You’re very eager to submit to someone you never thought to mention.”

She turned to glare at him, to signal that this was not the place to dissect her actions. Yet even in eternal darkness, his eyes flashed with resolution— he wouldn’t leave until she laid herself bare. She rubbed at her chapped checks, as if she could stop her tears from spilling over.   

“Gods, what was I supposed to say?” she snapped. “‘by the way, there’s this tiefling who saved my life and also deems me a traitor?’ It never came up.”

The wind swirled around them, causing her curls to lash at her face. Astarion’s eyes glinted in the torchlight, wounded and a little vengeful.

“‘It never came up?’ Not even during the many nights I laid bare my pathetic, enslaved past. Not even when your fingers traced the bloody contract Cazador carved on my damn back?”

Her tears finally fell, leaving a crust of frost at the corners of her eyes. “I never told you because I was ashamed.”

Astarion furrowed his brow, his rage disarmed by her admission. Tav braced herself for a barrage of questions, an autopsy of her biggest failure. A string of curses kept the words in his mouth, drawing their attention to the nearest carcass of a building. Astarion held one finger to his lips, their argument forgotten as he readied his dagger. They crept around the steaming rubble, half expecting to find one of Serana’s thralls lying in wait. Instead, they saw a cloaked figure huddled over as magic sputtered uselessly in their palm. Cashaan eyed them smugly from beneath his furs: an expression remedied by the appearance of Astarion’s dagger.

The wizard cried out once as he straddled him, deftly bracing the dagger against his throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t decorate the ground with your innards,” Astarion seethed, coaxing a small rivulet of blood with the tip of his blade. 

“You need me.” he wheezed, unbothered by his proximity to death. “Toril’s demise will be your doing.”

“No,” Tav said. “It will be yours.” 

Ironically, Tav beckoned the wizard’s usually taunts. She prayed for one more veiled threat, one more mockery that would make Astarion drive the dagger through his neck. One slice and the wizard would be nothing more than a sour memory. 

“What in the Nine Hells are you doing?” Soren shouted, pulling Astarion off of him with a grunt. 

“A favor,” he snarled, shaking off Soren’s grip.

In an instant, Soren unsheathed his sword, bracing its edge against Astarion’s neck. The weapon glowed with radiance, a testament to its lethality, though Astarion merely rolled his eyes at its presence.  

“Soren!” Tav shouted. “He tried to kill us!”

The tiefling remained steadfast, his auburn skin flushing with determination. 

“That may be so, but I took an oath,” his eyes simmered in the dark. “The wizard comes with me. Guardian Iliyra will seek justice.”

Tav knew that look well. She had seen it every time she begged him to sneak out of training or stray from their guard route; he would never yield. “Hells, Astarion. Leave him be.”

Astarion clenched his jaw but sheathed his blade, his rage donning a mask of obedience. He rose to his feet, now eye level with the tiefling. “Mark my words: you will know regret intimately.” 

The ground crunched loudly beneath his feet as he began his hike back to paladin stronghold, leaving Tav glaring at the wizard half buried in the snow. 

“And so our paths cross again,” Cashaan smiled, his teeth chattering. Tav wanted to knock them from his mouth. 

When they returned to the lodge, Tav refused to meet Guardian Iliyra’s inquisitive stare, letting Soren explain the wizard’s presence in her stead. Her bitterness was untapped, unrestrained. She couldn’t risk losing her resolve, not when Reghed Glacier cast its shadow over them. She marched toward their camp: a handful of cots concealed by a thin curtain. As she shed her furs, she pondered the novelty of a bed, of a place to blindly seek repose no matter the threat. Her eyes fell on Astarion, who was already trancing in his space, a soft blue glow emanating from his hands. She wondered if they would ever know mundanity— if she would ever lay her head beside his without the beast of the future at their heels. 

The cot squeaked as she climbed in next to him, careful to not rouse him. She did not close her eyes, rather she mapped the contours of his face, her hands gripping his body as if he would melt into the sheets. She memorized the crinkle near his eye, the faint freckles dotting his cheeks, the shadows cast by his lashes. If the future devoured all they built, she would at least have this. If only for a moment. 

When sleep finally seized her, she was in the mountains again, pristine snow blanketing the landscape surrounding her. The world was a patchwork of her memories: the streams of Neverwinter, the imposing shadow of Reghed Glacier, the oppressive darkness of the Shadowcursed Lands. The image flickered before her, causing her to squint. Not snow— ash. Embers rained down like snowflakes, drawing Tav’s eyes to the sky. Above her, the sun's rays pierced through the dark, twisting and curling into a flower: a snapdragon. 

“A flower for a maiden,” Myrkul said. “A black dove for a mother. A blood soaked floor for the masses.”

Hells.

“What do you want?” She sighed. 

It was never easy to peer into Astarion’s eyes, absent of their usual mischief and affection. Now, they were unseeing, a mere vessel for a God. Myrkul titled his head, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “A curious thing: the many shades of one’s beard.”

“For once, could you get to the point?”

He simply stared through her, sending a shiver down her spine. “Your time is finite. While your sister’s grows infinite.” 

“That may have something to do with traversing a frozen wasteland,” she scoffed, autonomously reaching to pull her furs tighter around her. It was then she realized she was completely nude. 

“Would it kill you to offer some dignity during these visits?” She crossed her arms over her chest, though she couldn’t sense the temperature.

He looked unmoved. “Your celestial body is incongruous.” 

Before she could replied, the earth rattled beneath them, shattering and fracturing like stained glass. She screamed, sinking to her knees in the ashes as Myrkul stood before her, quietly observing the world fall around them. 

“My dear Tavriel,” he sighed. “The key started bleeding long ago.” 

Tav awoke gasping, panic clawing at her chest, pounding at her ribcage. Her shirt was soaked with sweat, sticking to every awkward angle of her body. Beside her, Astarion was still deep in his trance, his eyelids fluttering intermittently. There was no reason within her, no thought except flight . But she was at the edge of the world in an icy and desolate tundra. Instead, she climbed to her feet, her legs shaking as she pulled aside the curtain that signified their rooms. 

Though night consumed the day, the lodge still slept in unison. It hummed with a chorus of snores, the candles reduced to a humble flickering few. Tav stumbled to the opposite side of the lodge, toward the paladins’ makeshift bar. It was measly, consisting of only a few stools and a high table lined with cheap bottles of wine and mead. In her stupor, she hardly noticed Soren occupying one of the stools, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. 

“Was it him?” he asked, tracing the rim of his mug with one calloused finger. 

Tav blinked. “I don’t understand.” 

“Was it him you betrayed us for?” 

Her throat constricted as she swallowed. “Yes.”

“Why?” 

His question robbed her of all reason, and she struggled to find an answer that didn’t feel like groveling. She could tell him how she loved him, how nothing in her life made sense until he held a knife to her throat in the ruins of the Nautiloid. She could tell him about Cazador, how Astarion yearned for his power and how he would enslave her to get it. But the story wasn’t hers, regardless of the part she played in its narrative. It was self preservation; it was self harm. 

“I thought I was stopping him from becoming something terrible,” she murmured. “And I made his choice my own.” 

Soren turned to her, the fire in his eyes subdued to quiet simmer. It was then he noticed her sweat soaked clothes and trembling limbs, and Tav realized this was the first time he had seen her out of her armor. When he had first found her she was frail, her tendons and veins weaving down her arms and legs begging to be exposed. Now, she was healthy—or close to it. Her body filled her clothes instead of shrinking away from them. 

Soren gulped, quickly averting his eyes. “Must have been quite the choice, to make you spurn Torm’s grace so swiftly.” 

The pit inside her yawned at the God’s name, aching and reaching for the relief of identity. “It was.” 

He downed the rest of his drink, wiping away the rivulets at the corners of his mouth. The stool scrapped abrasively against the floor as he stood, fighting to keep his balance. At this distance, Tav could see just how grown he was: the lines etched on his forehead, the sharp angle of his jaw. The look in his eyes offered whispers of what he had endured in her absence— the devastation of being made an orphan once more. 

“This is over, Tav,” he slurred. 

When he shuffled past her, Tav didn’t watch him. She only uncorked the nearest vintage, and filled her mug to the brim. 

Chapter Text

I'll be getting over you my whole life.

“Rough night, I take it?”

Tav’s eyes blinked open, her head full of boulders as she tried to focus on anything besides the sudden pounding in her skull. Ragged leather boots filled her vision, but she could not suppress her groan as she forced her eyes upwards. She barely took in the tip of Flynn’s beard before her head lolled to the side once more, lashes fluttering.

How in the hells did she end up on the floor?

He whistled. “Shit, lass. You’ve had more than a kobold in Gullykin. Did you clear their whole shelf?” 

His questions assaulted her senses, and she heard him heave out a sigh before a dull light flashed beneath her eyelids. The murky waters of her mind were marginally clearer; the nausea swirling in her stomach calmed to a lull. Tentatively, her eyes blinked open once more, this time with newfound lucidity. 

“You can heal?” She croaked. 

“In a pinch,” he confessed. “Now why did you thank our hosts by ravaging their liquor supply?”

Maybe Tav was still feeling miserably nostalgic, or perhaps she was just still exhausted, but with his hands on hips and a mug of Kaeth in his hand, Flynn reminded her of her father. His disappointment never lacked a distinct softness, no matter how abhorrent her offense was. The thought nearly made her sick all over again.

She sat up, wiping the drool from the corners of her mouth. “I’m not exactly a model guest,” she muttered. Her  futile attempt at humor only earned her a pointed look, beckoning her to abandon the pretenses.

“Soren.” She said quietly. “And Astarion. I don’t know— I think I fucked everything up. And here we are at the end of our rope in a desolate wasteland with nothing to show for it.”

He took a sip from his mug. “You’re a beacon of pity.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re a beacon of pity,” he repeated. “I’ve spent enough time hauling your ass around the Sword Coast to know you’re spewing a load of shit.”

Even in his bombardment, Tav found herself smiling. 

“Pity’s for the nameless,” he said. “The poor sods watching the world like it’s a sideshow. You’re the main act, lass. The bloody Heroes of the Gate.” 

Though she could never relate to the title, his words held the smallest glint of truth. She was infatuated with pity, nursing it like the many bottles she downed the night before. It was an affair she struggled to unravel from.

She rubbed at her wrist, still sore from her awkward position on the floor. “Thanks, Flynn,” she murmured, sheepishly avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Now get moving.” 

As he stalked toward the dining area, Tav wondered who he was before all of this— if he had a family, a life somewhere along the sword coast. There was a sorrow in her contemplation: the luxury of a life beyond survival. Perhaps she knew it once, in the hours spent tending the farm with her father, hands covered in dirt rather than blood. But that life was butchered by her sister’s jagged blade.

With a grunt, she pulled herself to her feet, futilely combing her fingers through her tangled hair as she walked toward the triage. Gale was awake, hunched over as he picked at a stale loaf of bread. Purple rings circled his eyes, his usual groomed appearance in a state of disarray. He looked awful.

“I’m no connoisseur of Reghedman cuisine,” he said, inspecting a crumb between his fingers. “But I’d at least expect something edible.” 

“Hi to you too, Gale.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What? A man can’t complain after nearly being eviscerated by a previously extinct species of dragon?” 

The cot creaked as she sat down next to him. “By all means,” she sighed, holding out her open palm. “Give it here.” 

Gale eagerly obliged, and Tav tore off a liberal chunk of bread. With the tidal wave of nausea she had awoken to now abated, her hunger was hard to ignore. Though she wished she had ignored it once she took a bite.

She crunched on the bread, the doughy inside like tiny rocks against her teeth. “Gods, that is bad.” 

“I know,” he sighed, perching on the edge of the bed. “Is this a social visit or is our fearless leader troubled by my foray into the afterlife?” 

Tav rolled her eyes. “Are you feeling better, Gale?”

“Better? Like I didn’t have a dragon claw nick my heart? Sure. Just right as rain.” 

He gripped the cot’s metal frame as he stood, hissing between his teeth at the movement. “Might I trouble you to assist me on my journey for something a little less stony?”

When Tav looped her arm beneath his shoulder, he let out a pained moan. “My apologies,” he grunted as they walked. “A gentleman should delight at a lady’s touch, not shrivel away from it.”

“Shut up, Gale. For both our sakes.”

Breakfast was already laid out for the lodge, its inhabitants picking over it like vultures. Gale groaned, plucking one lone pork sausage from the table.

“If only the beast’s claw had dug a little further and freed me from this torment.”

“Come now,” a voice behind them purred. “Don’t be so fatalistic.” 

Shackled at the end of the table, Cashaan stood with Guardian Iliyra. His once silken robes were tarnished from their journey through the dale, stained and fraying. Though detained, his expression was not that of a prisoner. No, he was smug , looking Gale over with quiet satisfaction. Tav flushed with rage, her hand unsheathing her knife on its own accord.

“Stand down, Tavriel,” Guardian Iliyra commanded.

Though it had been years since she had been her subordinate, Tav found herself obeying her orders. Gale, however, was not nearly as subservient. Lightning sparked from his fingertips as he hobbled over to him, bracing one hand on the table. 

“What in the nine hells are you doing here?”

“You too, wizard,” Guardian Iliyra scolded. “Or he won’t be the only one in chains.”

Cashaan smirked, remaining eerily silent as Gale gawked. 

“You can’t be serious,” he protested. “The man’s an undisputed sadist.”  

“And he is detained like one,” her stare was icy and unrelenting. “We trust that Torm will see this man brought to justice. Until then, he’s under our protection.”

Gale scoffed. “‘Protection.’ I promise you that bastard would steal the ground out from under you just to watch you plummet into the abyss.”

The commotion had attracted a crowd of onlookers, and Tav scanned the small crowd for familiar faces. Her heart lurched when she saw Soren, towering over the rest of the group in the back ranks. His jaw was clenched, as if he were biting back his words. Oh, how she longed for his anger, his fiery rants that took her hours to subdue. No violence compared to his measured quiet. She didn't notice that she had backed away until her body collided with something solid.

“ Oof ,” Astarion grunted. “Really, darling, it’s like you’re a magnet for trouble.”

Sweat beaded on her neck, running beneath her tunic. Gods, how could she explain her absence? How could she articulate the shame that ruled her entire body, even when it laid next to him? The tension in the room had all but dissipated, yet Gale merely shook his head, laying down his sword for the time being. Guardian Iliyra was right: he would see justice in due time. As the crowd of paladins dispersed, Tav remained frozen against Astarion.

He leaned down, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “Where the hells were you last night?” 

Tav clenched her jaw. “Not now, Astarion.”

He huffed in frustration. “Then when ?”

She swallowed, trying to summon the words when she felt a cool palm turning her around to face him. It cupped her face, his thumb swiping over her cheekbone as he studied her. His crimson eyes flickered across her face, hanging on to every feature with bated breath. 

“My sweet Tav,” he whispered. “What is going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she let out a shuddering breath. Her eyes darted to the side, meeting Cashaan’s inquisitive gaze. His stare raked over their joined limbs, preening at the miniscule glimpse into her softness. Disgust pooled in her stomach at the violation, boiling and guttural. She reached up to grab Astarion’s wrist. 

“Come with me.” 

Pliantly, Astarion let her guide him through the scattered paladins and toward the back exit. The lodge had begun to feel suffocating, and Tav had no destination in mind other than “out.” As she braced herself for the cold, she grabbed a discarded fur blanket. Tav pondered what animals inhabited the region to produce such sleek material as she wrapped herself in it. Mindlessly, she held another blanket out to Astarion, who raised his eyebrows in amusement. 

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” he smirked. “I don’t feel the cold, darling. The furs are purely an aesthetic choice. Though sometimes the frost is a blight on my skin.”

“Oh,” Tav said dumbly, tossing the blanket on a nearby cot.

A blast of frozen air enveloped them as she pushed open the door, causing her to pull her blanket tighter around her shoulders. A delighted gasp left her as she took in the sky above them; colors streaked across the darkness in oscillating waves of emerald and amethyst, dappled with the tiniest pin pricks of white light. As a child, she had read about the Northern Lights— fragments of the Weave manifesting in the furthest reaches of Faerun. Displays like this were rare, scarce even, and she wondered why they deserved to bear witness. 

“It’s…quite a sight,” Astarion breathed. 

The light pulsed across his skin, washing his skin in violet. Tav’s breath caught as she realized this was the closest to natural light he had come since the fight at Cazador’s palace. He looked ethereal, like a celestial birthed in the undulating light. 

“I’m sorry.” It was like the words were pried from her mouth. 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “About what?”

“For not telling you about Soren, about everything, really,” she said. “I was ashamed but I was also…protective. Our friendship was one of the last parts of my old life that hadn’t been razed from existence. I guess I thought if I never spoke about it, he might be able to forgive me one day.”

She inhaled, trying to brace herself for the agony of the next part. “When my sister came home from her apprenticeship in Baldur’s Gate, she was different. She was never the type to talk about her problems, she buried them. I never noticed anything was wrong until my head hit the table and I woke up broken on a stone slab.”

For once, Astarion didn’t interrupt her, only tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“I saw their bodies,” she continued. “My parents pulled into the air like marionettes. She made me beg for death, scream until my voice gave out, until I thought I had finally died. Then I woke up outside the temple. I guess it was mercy that made her keep me alive. But at the time it felt like unabashed cruelty.”

Her eyes finally met his. “That’s where I met Soren. Him and Zeph were doing their rounds when they saw me. They thought I had been dead for ages. He saved my life in more ways than one that day. He gave me something I never had: a friend.” 

Tears spilled over her cheeks, quickly wiped away by his thumb. “I drank last night because I was scared. I avoided you because I was scared— scared of losing the one thing I managed to get back. But gods, I’m getting sick of all the fear.” 

Something flashed in his eyes, raw and vulnerable, before his lips crashed into hers. It wasn’t fervent, like it had been the last time they kissed; this was languid, passionate. It was like years of unspoken words bled into each tug of his lips, a chorus of I love you . It swept away her resolve like a tidal wave, leaving her stranded in her unyielding devotion.

“I love you,” she gasped between kisses. He pulled back, his face a mask of childlike fear.

“You don’t have to say it,” she breathed. “But I do.”

His expression morphed into one of pure awe, his fingers lacing with hers. “Come with me.” 

She was lost in his orbit as he tugged her back inside, weaving once more through the throngs of people until they reached the kitchen. He ushered her into the small pantry, propping a chair beneath the doorknob. It was absurd, and she opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of the proximity of their hosts and the thinness of the walls. But his lips swallowed her words, his hands roving over her body with pure desperation. Her blanket dropped to the ground as she melted into him, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping at the raised flesh of her puncture marks. The outside had chilled her skin, but now she was feverish, her freckled body flushed with desire. She wouldn’t last long— she was sure of it. He smiled against the tender skin of her neck before he obliged, revealing the pale expanse of his chest. Desperately, her fingers unraveled the laces of his trousers as she kissed him, his fangs scraping against her bottom lip. Blood stained her tongue, and she flushed at the knowledge that he had tasted it too. 

When they both stood naked, Astarion pulled back, his chest heaving as his eyes raked over her body.

“Are you sure, my love?”

Always . “Gods, yes.”

With a shy grin, he lifted her into his arms, her legs snaking around his waist as they fell against the shelves of provisions. This time when he slid inside, she felt only relief, like he had always belonged there. He groaned at the entry, and Tav knew in that moment that she would never need anyone else. As she felt him throb inside her, tears welled in her eyes at the sensation, his thumb circling her clit as she gripped the shelves behind them. His touch was electric, and her thighs quaked with the depth of each stroke. It always felt sacred when he had her like this; each thrust felt like a confession, a prayer, a vow. 

I love you. She stifled her moans in his neck, teetering on the precipice.

I love you . He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, lingering on her lips as she cried. 

I love you . She spasmed around him as she came, her nerves alight with unadulterated pleasure. 

I love you. He spilled inside of her with a sharp cry, his knees shaking from exertion and ecstasy. 

In the haze, she felt his lips against her forehead, whispering a promise there. “I’m yours, Tav. I will always be yours.” 

Tav felt her breath hitch as she took in Astarion's face. In her mind, she could still see him, awash with the gemstone light that cracked through the darkness. Her two precious miracles.

And for one moment, she allowed herself to bask in the only things Serana could not take from her.

“Gather round, everyone,” Gale called. 

It had been nearly two days since the dragon attack—days spent idling away the hours until Gale had regained his strength. His pain still came in short dull bursts, but he was mobile. Mobility signaled the end of their stasis; if Myrkul’s warning held any sort of merit, they were running out of time. The group stood clad in their furs, with Soren guarding Cashaan at the outer edge of the huddle. Though eager for vengeance, the group had agreed to take the wizard as far as Reghed Glacier, and Guardian Illyria lent them Soren to ensure his survival and compliance.

“Reghed Glacier is a three day trek from Dougan’s Hole,” Gale said. “We know the elements of the Dale are already quite merciless and temperamental, so time is of the essence.”

“Surely you can spare us the lecture, professor Dekarios,” Astarion rolled his eyes, earning a jab from Tav’s elbow.

“By all means,” Gale replied. “Why waste my breath on those who couldn’t make it past secondary school?”

“I assure you I was a diligent student,” Astarion said. “At least I think I was.”

“And what of the terrain?” Flynn interjected, cocking an eyebrow at Astarion.

Gale appeared relieved by the inquiry. “In a word: treacherous. Besides a few small settlements, we’ll be completely exposed, and that’s if our Matron hasn’t laid siege upon them yet.” 

Tav’s stomach lurched at the mention of her sister. For the past few weeks, she had clung to her thoughts like cobwebs, obscuring every path forward. Now, she wasn’t just a shapeless silhouette in Tav's nightmares; she was flesh and blood, stalking them from the shadows. She had razed villages, commandeered an army of corpses in her name— and if they had one chance at defeating her, it was buried in Reghed Glacier.

“Are you alright, darling?” Astarion whispered in her ear. The others were embroiled in conversation, meticulously mapping their route for the day. 

Tav clenched her jaw. “Yes. Just eager to get going.” 

He didn’t inquire further, though he laid a comforting hand on her waist. He stood behind her in silence, grounding her until Gale announced their departure. When they pushed open the doors to the Dale, it was quiet. The undulating waves of violet from a few nights ago had vanished, leaving a sea of black in its wake. Only their footsteps dispelled the silence, and Tav found her spine straightening as they rounded the cliffside. 

“Is this weather common for the Dale?” she asked, her voice oddly flat against the quiet.

“No,” Soren replied, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “Not since I’ve been here.”

“Volo’s early works purport the Dale is a whirlwind of the elements,” Cashaan supplied. “The weather is fickle; I doubt it will remain this way.”

Gale groaned. “Please don’t lend any credibility to that twat.” 

Cashaan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could worsen the situation, a sharp, whistling noise pierced through the silence. Tav's head whipped around as she felt a chilling, harsh wind slice past her face; it felt like pure ice , and she brought her hand up to cover her jaw, skin tingling. A thick fog began to settle itself around the group, its presence pervasive and illogical.

“Torm preserve us,” Soren breathed. “Blades at the ready!”

But his words plummeted in the air, falling dully against the snow. Tav's senses felt numbed, unattainable. It was the same feeling she'd had on the ship all those days ago: time and feeling warped until it was hard to discern reality. All at once, her vision turned white, her companions lost in the impenetrable haze before her. Her bones ached with fatigue, as if she had been wandering for ages— how long had it been since they left? Hours? Days? Her voice cried out of its own accord, as if she was robbed of all autonomy. 

“Hello?” She shouted, her arm blindly seeking in front of her.

“Here, lass!”

The glow of Flynn’s torch was barely visible through the fog: a minute crack of light amongst a wall of gray and white. 

“Head for the stream,” he shouted through the storm’s deafening drone. “We can follow it to Easthaven.” 

Tav stumbled forward, her senses diluted to the roar of the wind, the pale fire torching her skin. She fumbled for her compass, the small brass one Flynn had given her aboard the vessel. The frost clung to its hinges, and Tav cursed as she tried to pry it open. Around her, the shouts of her companions muddled to a distant hum, blending seamlessly with the onslaught. Panic gripped at her throat as she squinted, trying to find Astarion, Gale, anyone in the nothingness. The compass sprung open with a pop, revealing an aimless, spinning arrow. 

“ Shit ,” Tav cursed, her feet squelching in front of her.

The sound forced her eyes to the ground, to the red staining her fur boots. She couldn’t have traveled that far, surely—- it had only been minutes since the storm enveloped them. Yet her boots were stiff with blood, ice crystals clinging to the hairs. She crept closer, recognizing the mess at her feet as viscera. Terror seized her as each step unveiled a massacre, a total dissection of a body. When she finally reached the end of the gruesome trail, she fell to her knees. 

It was Flynn. His head was nestled in the snow: the only part of him left intact. His eyes were wide, flickering with magic fighting to claim his corpse. A stillborn thrall. Perhaps if Tav was wise she would’ve ran, would’ve drawn her sword to strike down his killer without mercy. But she wasn’t wise; she was an orphan left to die on a mountainside. The only thing that pierced through the roar of the wilds was her agonized scream.

Chapter Text

I still can't believe it

'cause old habits die screaming.

It was Soren who dragged Tav from her haze. The fractured world around her came together in stages: the dampness of her knees, the burst of crimson against white, eyes that burned with a blazing fury in front of her. 

“Tav,” he shouted, shaking her violently. “Gods, Tav snap out of it!” 

For all her might, she couldn’t. All she could see was Flynn, their beloved captain who had become a trusted friend, eviscerated before her. She thought of what he called just days ago. A beacon of pity . She wondered what he would think of her now, her limbs frozen to the bloodsoaked ground.

Soren cursed, hooking his arms under her to pull her to her feet. She let him drag her, toward the stream, kicking up small clouds of snow in their wake. It was then that Tav noticed the storm was over— replaced by a bleak, unsettling quiet. Panic had her in its jaws, filling her veins with ice as it clamped down.

“Where’s Astarion?” She gasped. 

“Torm knows where your ghoul is,” he muttered. “The storm separated all of us. Let's hope the rest followed the stream as well.”

“No,” she skidded to a halt. “He can’t be gone.”

If Serana could slaughter Flynn in an instant, the others were equally fair game. With a whimper, she fought against Soren’s grip, her limbs quivering with the command to run , to find him out there in the unforgiving wild. 

“Quit it, will you?” He grunted. “If you want to find the bloody vampire, our best bet is East Haven.”

“Do you not care?” She shouted, shoving him away from her. “Has your faith devoured all of your empathy and left only self-righteousness? A man, a friend , was just murdered before your eyes, and all you care about is treating me like a petulant child.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Of course I care, Tavriel. But someone has to keep their head, and you’ve apparently lost yours. Quarreling won’t help anything—getting to safety will.” 

She barked out a laugh, stark and sad in the silence. “‘Safety.’ Don’t you get it? There is no safe place left on Toril. Every bed we lay in, every path we forge, she is there , waiting with bated breath. She holds the winning hand, Soren. She always has.” 

The air between them was electric, thrumming with untempered rage and anguish. As she stepped closer, Soren’s eyes shone with something akin to pity, a flicker of the friend she once had. It was a catharsis; it was a purge. But mostly, it was a plea to be proven wrong. 

“That would be perfect for you, wouldn’t it?” He said quietly. “To be a cursed hero destined to fail? To justify your own tragedy? The tales you weave are worn and frayed. Your fear is your hamartia.”

Hero . Even now, the word left a bitter taste in her mouth. Heroes had resolve, might, integrity—and these days, Tav was short on all of them. Soren’s anger was a ruse: a clever disguise of true affection. Her title as a paladin could be forfeit, but her status as a hero was irrevocable. The thought sobered her, forcing her to meet his eyes once more. 

“You’re the impossible hero, Tav,” his jaw was set, his eyes glinting with determination. “An inconceivable gambit. The odds are never in your favor—but you have a habit of flipping the board.”

Perhaps he was right, or perhaps Tav was too exhausted to fight it. As she let him pull her toward East Haven, she fought the urge to look back, to bear witness to her sister’s carnage. But she had spent most of her life looking back, and the view was always the same. They continued in silence, with Soren’s hand on her forearm and his other on the hilt of his sword. When a single plume of smoke sliced through the darkness, it felt like salvation. They had reached the small settlement of East Haven, and the small smudge on their map struggled to convey its true size. If Dougan’s Hole was sparsely populated, East Haven was nearly abandoned. In the shadow of Reghed Glacier, the shells of cabins sat dormant: the life not yet drained from them. Only one cabin was lit, and Soren pounded on the rickety door with a fervor. 

“Servants of Torm!” He called. “We request refuge!”

When there was no reply, he pounded once more. “By Torm’s grace, if you do not comply I will be forced to break the door from its hinges.”

“Mystra’s tits, shut up!” A gruff voice replied. The muted rustling beyond the door suggested he was complying— or readying his weapons. With a soft click of the lock, the door swung open, revealing an elderly dwarf. His bushy brow was furrowed in annoyance, his long white beard reaching his toes. 

“What the hells do you want?” 

Soren shoved past him, barging into the gentle warmth of the cabin. “We’re here on paladin business. It’s our right to quarter here.” 

Tav stood on the threshold, still too suspicious to follow Soren inside. It was a modest cabin, just barely large enough to house one man. In front of the roaring hearth sat a table and two cloth chairs, though only one bore the marks of repeated usage. A book was overturned on the table, as if he had been interrupted in his studies. Tav stood on the tips of her toes to read the title: Oral Histories of Faerun: The Spellplague . The dwarf met her gaze, his eyes a stark, ethereal blue. 

“Like hells it is,” he retorted, his anger simmering once he saw Soren had drawn his sword. “Ugh, fine. Not like there’s much room for company. And I won’t be sharing my bed with you.” 

He begrudgingly stepped to the side, allowing Tav to enter the cabin. The heat felt like a balm on her cheeks, and she could feel the frost melting like tears down her face. As she shed her furs, the dwarf eyed her suspiciously, or perhaps, expectantly.

“Thank you, Mr…?”

“Stoneshield,” he grumbled.

“Stoneshield,” she confirmed, leisurely pacing around the room now that they were out of the weather’s clutches. The shelves lining his walls were absent of memorabilia, housing only the occasional book on Faerun’s history. Tav ran her fingers over the bindings, slowly returning sensation to her fingertips. 

“Are you the only resident of East Haven?” Soren asked, crouching in front of the hearth..

“Aye,” he said, bolting his door once again. “As of last month.” 

“What happened to your neighbors?” 

“The bloody matron happened, and what a blessing it was,” he huffed. “I never cared for the bastards. One stole my best hound this past winter. He had what was coming to ‘im.”

“And you’ve seen this ‘matron?’” Tav asked, her voice just a tad too eager. 

The dwarf narrowed his eyes. “I’ve agreed to let you stay here, but I didn’t agree to an interrogation. I’m going to return to my reading in my home— unless you want the bloody book, too.”

He was true to his word, sinking into his chair as if two strangers weren’t occupying his home. As they settled into the tense atmosphere, Tav thought about Flynn: his head rotting in the frozen tundra. They needed to bury him, needed to create something tangible to mourn. Did he have a family? As she scanned the shelves of books, she struggled to reconcile with how little she truly knew him. Maybe he had children, a wife, a husband— but those fragments of his life died with him. A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, causing the dwarf to curse loudly. 

“Sure, why not bring all of godsdamned Faerun in here,” he muttered. 

Tav threw open the door, her body exhaling at the sight of Gale, Wyll, and Astarion. With a quiet awe, she threw her arms around Astarion, holding him as if the wind might take him from her grasp. He let out a soft grunt at the impact, though his arms enveloped her all the same. 

“Where the hells were you?” She asked, taking a step back to examine him. He seemed troubled, distraught, but otherwise unharmed. 

“I could ask you the same,” he replied, “What were you thinking? Leaving me stranded in a frozen tundra with Gale ?”

It was a fine attempt at their familiar routine, but Tav was too dejected for pretenses. “Flynn’s dead.”

Astarion’s mouth pulled into a thin line, as if he hated the taste of his own words. “Yes. I know.” 

The air shifted amongst the group, filled with visions of their captain, their friend, mauled to sinews and organs. 

“I’ve seen my fair share of gore,” Wyll remarked. “But him— it made my stomach turn like a new recruit.”

“Why here?” Gale mused. “If she can come and go at will, why kill one of us now? And what about the rest of us has given her pause?”

“It’s a warning,” Tav said, picking at the callouses on her fingers. “We’re both looking for the Holy Avenger. Maybe she thinks she can scare us into turning back.”

“Maybe we should,” Astarion muttered.

Tav flinched. “What?”

She stared at him, his face downturned as he studied his nails. He seemed haggard, but Tav got the feeling it wasn’t about Flynn. 

“Look, no one’s turning back, now,” Gale interrupted. “It would be exceedingly inconvenient. Now, I’ve sent Tara to inform the others of…recent events. Hopefully their journey from Luskan will be less tumultuous than ours.”

A bitter feeling gnawed at her, and Gale silenced her before she could protest. “Elora will return to the Grove with Halsin. She won’t be in any danger. Now, we must make fast to Reghed Glacier before your lunatic sister beats us to it.”

“And what of Cashaan?” She asked

The men collectively scoffed. “Lost in the wind,” Wyll said. “And we’re better for it. The wizard’s counting down the hours until he can stab us in the back. We’ll find the Holy Avenger without him, we’ve faced greater odds.”

“And those odds grow greater by the hour,” Gale said. “We must make haste.”

Tav blinked at them. “We need to bury him.”

Wyll’s eyes shone with pity. “Tav…” 

“No,” she clenched her jaw. “I’ve never gotten to bury anyone I’ve lost. And Flynn deserves it.”

The group seemed at a loss for words, silently debating the logistics of such a feat. Flynn’s remains consisted of only his head, and the thought of carrying it to East Haven was nothing short of nauseating. If she steeled herself, Tav was sure she could make the trek— for the sake of her friend.

“Mystra’s tits, I’ll do it,” Soren cursed, standing from his post in front of the hearth. Gale looked mildly surprised by his presence. 

“Are you…sure, Soren?” 

“Yes,” he muttered, marching past the group and out into the blistering cold. “Someone has to.” 

For the next few hours, the group waited— much to Mr. Stoneshield’s displeasure. He offered little besides an occasional grumble, and Tav was content with the silence. It gave her time to mourn, and more importantly, time to strategize. Perhaps her sister had hoped to frighten her, to send her scurrying to some hovel to wait out the apocalypse. She couldn’t have anticipated that she would weaponize her grief, let it kindle the fire of vengeance inside her. When Soren finally appeared in the doorway, thick ginger locks knitted between his fingers, Tav didn’t recoil. She merely followed him outside, her eyes staring into blank, unseeing ones.

They buried Flynn just beyond East Haven near a small stream of brackish water. It was Soren who dug the shallow grave, clawing at the snow with his bare hands until he had reached an adequate depth. When he nestled the head in the snow, Tav clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait.”

Her hand fumbled around in her pocket, closing around the cool brass of her compass. She felt Soren’s gaze on her as she knelt down, placing the compass alongside him. 

“He needs it more than me.”

As he dredged the snow over Flynn’s face, Tav felt a strange emptiness within her: an unrelenting abyss she had felt since they pulled her out of the water. It was as if she were a vessel, devoid of the trivialities and intensity that made her a person. She felt the others at her back, their heads bowed in remembrance as she rose to her feet. Who was she, really, if not a mosaic of those she loved? Who would she become once Serana had shattered it all? She stalked back to the cabin, the others falling in a contemplative line behind her. Before she could pull the door open, an icy hand wrapped around her forearm.

“A word, Tav,” Astarion murmured. 

She nodded, letting the others pass her into the bewitching heat of the cabin. The wooden bolt slid with a click, leaving only her and Astarion in the darkness. She looked above them, scouring the sky for a splinter of emerald or amethyst: remnants of the light show they watched just days before. She saw nothing but a sea of black. 

“We can’t waste any more time,” her eyes were fixed on the empty sky. “We should depart promptly. The Glacier is maybe a day’s walk if we don’t take rest.”

His gaze burned into the side of her face, silently begging for her attention. “I’m sorry, darling. I know you were quite fond of him.”

“We can’t afford to mourn,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Tav,” he breathed, this time drawing her eyes to his. He looked disheveled, and his eyes shimmered with an indiscernible emotion, the vibrance of the crimson muted to the shade of thick syrupy blood. 

“You’re in no state to embark on such a treacherous journey. Hells, none of us are. There’s no shame in taking a rest, darling, especially after seeing our friend reduced to a heap of viscera.”

Tav’s eyes burned, opal and gold steaming like a tempered blade in water. “We don’t have time,” she choked. “Imagine how many others she’s slaughtered, other villages reduced to ash. If we keep waiting, there will be no Faerun to return to.” 

“And you’ll be no use to Faerun if the damned journey kills you.”

She barked out a laugh. “I can’t die, remember? I’m some almighty God’s marionette. If you want to stay, fine. But I’m going to Reghed Glacier.” 

Astarion scoffed, a peculiar bitterness in his tone. “Reghed Glacier is a trap.”

Tav was unmoved by his protest; they had higher odds stacked against them with terminal tadpoles in their brains and a devil at their door. “It’s a risk we have to take.”

“Godsdamn it, Tav. It’s a trap!” His voice shook, pulling her gaze to him. It was the first time she had looked at him, well and truly looked at him, since they had reunited.  His hair was unkempt, the skin beneath his eyes bruised from the absence of sleep. He looked harrowed. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “The animals’ blood was foul— that was true—but I found the source of it long before I showed up on Gale’s doorstep.”

Tav stumbled backward, her heels digging into the snow as the world tilted. She scanned his face, dissecting every detail of his expression: the guilt watering in his eyes, the deep furrow of his brow, the firm line of his lips as he rambled.    

“Perhaps she had done it all on purpose, poisoned my life source to starve me out. When I found her in Neverwinter, she didn’t seem particularly surprised. The undead are under her thumb, after all, but she claimed I’d retain my autonomy if I just did one thing for her: return her first soul to the fallen necropolis of Ythyrn.” 

Tav’s voice constricted in her throat, dying before she could even form words. Her interjection did little to impede Astarion, whose words flooded the air like a broken dam. 

“She has a godsdamned army, Tav. A legion of undead thralls. Even if we had Cashaan and Flynn, we wouldn’t stand a chance. I’ve tried to get out of the bloody pact for weeks, all to no avail,” he laughed bitterly. “The matron is conveniently lost.” 

The information hardly penetrated the fog of her betrayal. Ythryn? The first soul? A pact? It was all too much to bear. When she finally broke her silence, he flinched, startled to still find her standing there. 

“What did she promise you?” She croaked. 

“What?” he said dumbly. 

“Don’t make it sound like your hand was forced,” her body was shaking, and she doubted it was from the cold. “What did she promise you? A life in the sun? Retribution?”

When he didn’t reply, she let out a hysterical laugh. All this time, she had been a fool— a lovesick, delusional fool. She had forgotten his promise, wheezed out on the floor of Cazador’s palace. I hope you die screaming. It had gutted her then, echoing in all of her nightmares. She had tried to drown it in liquor, in solitude, but his voice was buoyant and unyielding. She had let the mercurial high of love dull her suspicions and fuel her fantasies. She had been the perfect target. 

“Was any of it true, Astarion?” His name soured on her tongue. 

His eyes flicked up at hers, an unspoken plea in them. “Gods, yes, Tav. I…I never expected to love you again. I’m telling you this to save you.”

She backed away, dodging his attempt to pull her to him. Her mind reeled at the notion she wasn’t the only one he had sentenced to death; he had sent their whole party to the gallows. Grief swelled in her stomach, clawing at her senses as her hand gripped the doorknob. She needed to hurt, needed to make something bleed. 

When she uttered her last words to him, she didn’t turn to see his face, only reveled in the shuddering breath they extracted from him.

“I hope you die screaming.” 

Chapter Text

Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire.

Your arson's match, your somber eyes.

And I'll still see it until I die

You're the loss of my life. 

“Tav?”

Voices came to her in a muddled hum. It was like she was buried, her spirit shattered into tarnished fragments. She tried to till the soil, turning memories over and over in her palm. His teeth like ice in her neck, the white thread like a moonbeam while he sewed, his voice like water as she trudged through his words: I’ll always want this. Now, they had frozen over, encased like a relic of her humiliation.

“Tav!” The voices were clearer now, like she had just breached the surface. 

“We should leave the paladin,” a gravelly voice said. “She is dead weight.”

“An oathbreaker, not a paladin,” another voice admonished.

“Mind your tongue, teethling. Or else I will carve it from your treacherous mouth.” 

“Teethling?” 

She was in a bed— that much she knew. Rough linen scratched at her cheek as she tried to breathe in anything but water and mud. I’ve always been yours . Her hands dug into the soil, fingernails cracking as she refused to let go. Why couldn’t she let go?

“She will come out of it,” another voice said, marginally clearer than the others. “This is nothing more than a rather crippling case of heartbreak. Nothing a brisk walk across a hostile and unforgiving tundra can’t fix.” 

“Heartbreak?” The lilt of a woman’s voice floated through the fog. “He was going to get us all killed! Hells, he got Flynn—.”

The voice choked on a sob, and a stiff silence fell over the room. Flynn . The name was enough to drag her from the depths, leaving her sputtering on the shoreline of her mind. She sat up with a start, the rickety bed protesting at the sudden movement. A sea of heads whipped around to face her, and Tav was startled to see their group in its entirety before her: Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, Laezel, Karlach, and Soren. Astarion’s absence gnawed at her, threatening to pull her into the current once more—until she breathed in the putrid odor of rotting fish.

“What in the nine hells is that stench ?”

They all blinked at her, each person struggling to form the right words. 

“Ah,” Gale sighed. “Our host is an avid fisherman, though he’s rather short on the appropriate tools. He’s been using the table nearest to your bed as his prep station.” 

Tav followed his gaze to the small table next to her, coated in a film of guts and skin.

“Where is he now?” She asked, stifling a gag. 

“Stoneshield? Presumably catching more fish to eviscerate.”

“Astarion.” 

Finally, she risked a glance at her companions. They all looked varying degrees of exhausted, but Shadowheart bore the most extensive marks. Her silver hair escaped her tight updo in locks, her scarred face sagging under the weight of her grief. Tav ached at the sight, fighting the urge to embrace her friend, to cry with her, but her humiliation was suffocating. She had let her guard down like so many others before her; she had made it easy. And now Shadowheart’s mentor was in a shallow grave a few paces away. 

Gale cleared his throat. “We don’t know.”

Tav cut her eyes toward him. “You don’t know?”

“Your ghoul fled after you told us everything,” Soren chimed in bitterly. “Torm knows where he is now, but my best guess is he doesn’t want to be found.”

The events following their confrontation were blurry, submerged in the murky water of her memory. She remembered the click of the lock, the oscillating waves of despair and rage as she cried. She remembered Soren, his hands steadying her as she repeated his confession, the words soaring from her tongue like arrows. She remembered the burst of ice as Gale and Wyll threw open the door to find only the empty night. 

“We shouldn’t have let him leave,” she swallowed hard. “He could tell her everything.”

“He probably already has,” Shadowheart muttered. 

Gods, she’s right . She had been a perfect informant, whispering her deepest fears and desires right into his chest. She thought of all the times she woke up alone, with only cold linens and the sweat on her brow for company. At the time, she blamed her night terrors or his nagging hunger— but now she knew her sister had always been there, lurking in the corner of their most intimate moments. Now, she knew she was a fool. 

“So what now?” She whispered. 

“‘What now?’” Laezel parroted as her snakelike eyes narrowed.  “Perhaps I was too generous to think your brain hadn’t died with your heart. We kill the necromancer.” 

Shadowheart laughed humorlessly as she paced, the wood beneath her squeaking with every step. “With what weapon?”

“Yeah, if it’s all a trap, who’s to say this Holy Avenger isn’t a crock of shit?” Karlach scoffed. 

“Myrkul wouldn’t lie,” Tav retorted, but her voice was flimsy— her resolve collapsing before the words had left her mouth. 

“You are in no position to determine anyone’s integrity, let alone a god’s,” Shadowheart bit back, effectively neutering her obstinance. 

Tav swallowed, staring blankly ahead as their words clashed and clattered around her. Shadowheart’s voice ricocheted in her head: what did she know about him? Weeks ago, she would have said she knew everything, even the darkest, untouched parts of him. She was his confidante, his lover, his friend— even after years in his endless chess game. She would’ve said she was the exception.

Their debate was cut short by a sharp pounding at the door, punctuated by a string of curses. 

“For the love of the nine, open this godsdamned door!” Stoneshield shouted against the raging winds. 

Gale grimaced as he flipped the lock, the wind flinging the door open to reveal the nearly frostbitten dwarf. His face twitched with annoyance as he barged inside, a creel banging against his hip. 

“First you take over my home on bloody ‘paladin’ business, and now you lock me out of the damn thing,” he huffed, raising an eyebrow when his eyes fell on Tav. “Ah, she wakes. Tell me: did you enjoy wasting away in my bed?” 

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she stood, fruitlessly smoothing the wrinkles of the bed she had commandeered. How long had she been lost in the fog, wandering aimlessly with no one to pull her out?

“My apologies, Mr. Stoneshield,” she murmured. “You really have been too gracious to us.”

“Ha!” He barked, dumping his meager haul of fish beside her. “I have to be. Or else the devil will cut my throat.”

He’s right about that. It was a novel thought: Soren cutting down anyone who stood in their way.  He had always been a model knight, with the fervor of Torm thrumming in his blood. Perhaps it was his life as an orphan that spurred him, fueling his devotion to a just cause. But times like these challenged the ideal of justice, and the parameters of his oath grew more muddled by the day. What was devotion in the absence of a god? 

Tav watched as the dwarf sliced open one fish’s belly, its pinkish gray innards spilling out across the wooden table. Around her, her companions continued their debate, sparring over the weather, the weapon, “the vampire” while the dwarf worked. It was a blissful monotony: the ritualistic, precise gutting against the unmeasured chaos. Perhaps it was the evidence of life that bewitched her, or perhaps it was the untainted pink of their insides.  

“How have the fish escaped the rot?” She pondered out loud. 

The dwarf cocked an eyebrow at her, not pausing in his work. 

“Hells if I know. Maybe the matron ain’t all she’s cracked up to be.”

She huffed a laugh. It would be her luck, wouldn’t it? That the greatest threat to Toril was nothing more to an exaggeration: a villain reduced to smoke and mirrors. He wrung his slimy hands with his shirt, staining the marred fabric once more. 

“You want to make yourself useful?” He asked, rifling through the mound for another fish. “Two sets of hands is better than one.”

“I doubt I could be much help,” she replied, poking at the pile of iridescent scales. “I’m from a farming family. Fish weren’t on the menu.” 

“Aye?” He scoffed. “Then you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.” 

He plopped a fish in front of her, holding out the handle of a fillet knife. When she only blinked, he narrowed his eyes, and Tav knew enough about the dwarf to know it wasn’t a request. Her fingers gripped the handle, brushing over its ornate carvings as she stared at her prey. Something in its beady, unseeing eyes unnerved her; she thought about their voyage to Luskan—the miles of dead fish rotting in the clutches of the void. She pierced the belly with the point of the knife, watching gray ooze out of the slit. 

“Don’t massacre the damned thing,” the dwarf grunted, guiding her hand in a precise line at the fish’s center. “We need enough left to eat.”

When she finally pulled back the skin, Tav sunk her fingers inside, extracting heaps of organs with the meticulousness of a surgeon. Each innard felt like a new cruelty: gray like the stone slab where her life bled out, gray like the muddied snow over Flynn’s grave, gray like Astarion’s hair glowing in the darkness. 

“How?” She whispered. 

The dwarf paused . “How what?”

“How do they survive?” She shuddered, the knife trembling in her hand. “In the death of the world, how do they live?”

“Because there’s no other choice, Tavriel,” 

In a beat, his voice shifted. It wasn’t gruff and meek like before—no, now it roared with authority. Tav dropped the fish, the guts still clinging to her fingers as she stared at him. His eyes, once an ethereal light blue, now gleamed with something otherworldly, celestial. Tav scrambled for purchase, knocking the wobbly table to the floor as she fell back.

“Tav?” Soren called, appearing at her side in an instant. But the dwarf’s eyes were trained on her, a strange admiration within them. 

“Tavriel Woodvale,” he said, his voice so loud she shielded her ears with her slick hands. “She who nurses the unknown like an open wound. She who wields vengeance like a blade tempered with sorrow.”

“What the fuck?” Karlach shouted. Behind her, the others fell to their knees, their weapons clattering uselessly to the floor as they groaned. His voice was inexorable; it was omniscient. She felt Soren’s hand grip her shoulder as if to pull her to safety, but she had an innate sense that there was no danger. At least, not now. 

“Tavriel Woodvale,” he said again, this time with a hint of fondness. “My most holy avenger.” 

All breath escaped her as she gazed upon the dwarf. His form glowed with the light of the divine, and Tav knew all at once that it was him: Torm. The god to whom she had pledged her life, her soul, her honor . The god she had betrayed— looking down at her crumpled form with adoration. She tried to decipher his meaning, but white noise permeated her every thought. 

“Can you do something about the noise, please?” Gale shouted.

With a wave of his stumpy hand, the cacophony ceased, though it did little to ease the ringing in their ears. Beside her, Soren was prostrated, his back shaking with reverence.  The god paced before them, his boots scuffing to a halt in front of Soren’s horns. 

“Soren de Elturel,” Torm smiled. “The blessed orphan. The lost son of Zevlor.” 

Zevlor? Tav glanced at her companions, all donning the same shocked expression as her. Could she really have fought alongside her comrade’s father all these years? The man who had given Soren to the streets like a lamb to the slaughter? Tav placed her hand upon Soren’s back, as if to steady herself. 

“My…father?” 

Soren bit down on the word— like he was afraid to speak it into existence. 

“Rise, my child,” Torm said. “All will be revealed once the battle has ceased, and I fear it has only just begun.” 

The pair remained on their knees, their companions at their backs as the patron deity of paladins stood before them in a decrepit cabin. Tav had stood before many gods and their pretenders during the Illithid invasion, but this was different. For years, she had been an imposter, praying to a god she had turned her back on. Yet here he was, speaking her name as if it were a vow. 

“I crafted you in my image,” he said, his eyes trained on Tav. “Forged you in benevolence and virtue. Serana may have claimed your soul, but I own your destiny.”

Destiny. How quaint. Her companions shuffled behind her, their voices dissipating in the fog.

“Pardon me,” Gale coughed. “But is there or is there not a weapon encased in a glacier that can defeat Toril’s greatest necromancer?”

Torm shifted, his expression faltering to one of barely masked annoyance. 

“In a manner of speaking,” he sighed. “The blade that resides within Reghed Glacier is useless except in Tavriel’s hands. Its power may only be actualized in her presence.”

“Riveting.” Shadowheart quipped. “Now how do we get the blade?”

The god was unwavering. “It knows her. It will come to her.”

Shadowheart scoffed, and Tav sympathized with her disbelief. How could any of it be true? She had spent her entire life yearning for an identity, a purpose— only to discover it had all been predetermined. It was absurd, and Torm wasn’t the only god knocking at her door. 

Tav cleared her throat. “And what of Myrkul?” 

“Myrkul?” Torm laughed, shaking his head. “Myrkul is only concerned with his own divinity, my child. He took a special interest in you to save his own hide; his talk of an altruistic ‘balance’ was a sham.”

“And what is it you’re concerned with?” Tav asked, ignoring the shocked gasp that escaped Soren. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed under his breath. 

But Tav was steadfast. If she was his creation, his holy avenger, then her life was never hers. 

“I was happy in Neverwinter,” she began with clenched fists. “I had a family, a home— before my sister burned it all down. Then again with the paladins— before the Illithid invasion. Before I was deemed a traitor. So, where were you? What kind of god leaves their progeny for dead? What kind of god abandons their faithful?”

A stunned hush fell over the cabin. The light in Torm’s eyes dimmed, wounded by her accusation. “My dear Tavriel. Your trials prove your strength, not your weakness.”

The dwarf shuffled closer, cupping Tav’s face with a meaty palm. His touch was nearly illusory, as if a ray of sunlight were caressing her face. She tried not to shy away from it, forcing out the memories of the last time someone had held her so delicately. As he surveyed her tense face, a look of pure elation crossed his features. 

“Take with you my benediction, my fortitude,” he cried, his voice roaring as it had just moments ago. “Purge Toril of this sickness. My immaculate oathbreaker. My holy avenger.” 

When the roar reached its crescendo, the dwarf disappeared, leaving only scorched wood in his place. Vaguely, Tav heard Soren’s shuddering breaths, Gale’s frantic ramblings, Shadowheart’s barely audible curses. She tried to speak, tried to rise to the occasion, but her body was made of lead. All she could do was stay on her knees. 

“Are you sure, Tav?” Gale asked between pants.

The wind nicked her face as she turned to him. It was nearly inhospitable at the foot of Reghed Glacier; the ice was immense, passable only by the spikes fastened to their boots. Tav blinked at Gale’s outline, struggling to find his shape even with dancing lights swirling around them.  Their companions trailed behind him, struggling to adjust to the new iteration of darkness. It was smothering, suffocating. Yet when Tav looked up, the veil flickered with amethyst and emerald.

She fumbled in her pack, unsheathing her ice pick in one swift motion. 

“I’m sure.”

 With an agonized cry, she dug her pick into the wall of ice.

Chapter Text

I rose up from the dead 

I do it all the time.

For most of Tav’s life, Ythryn had been nothing more than a ghost story. 

She had only heard of it in passing, murmured like a footnote in Faerun’s history. As a girl, she thought it was ignorance that obscured the necropolis—a neglect of the ancients perpetuated by bored school children and their lazy tutors. But her time as a paladin taught her its absence was laden with intention. It was the pinnacle of darkness: the birthplace of lethal netherese magic even the most learned scholars failed to comprehend. It was forgotten out of obligation, out of survival. 

And now, standing at its epicenter, Tav understood why. 

“Is this…Ythryn?” Karlach asked, crossing her arms. “ The Ythryn?”

“Were you expecting a different necropolis embedded in a glacier?” Gale huffed, still out of breath from their climb.

“No, well— maybe. I just thought it’d be more intimidating is all. More dungeony.”

“Don’t get your hopes up yet, Karlach,” Wyll replied, his eyes trained on an imposing outline on the horizon.

Whereas the elements plagued their ascent, the summit was eerily calm. There was no wind screaming in their ears, no ice searing their exposed skin. If Tav let her guard down, she might believe it was a reprieve rather than an omen. She blinked in the blackness, her eyes adjusting to the staccato hum of green that illuminated the ruins. With each flash, the remnants of the fabled necropolis came into view: eight stone spires arching overhead, black ice thawing beneath their feet, a body nailed to a massive crucifix looming over them. 

“Hells,” Shadowheart breathed. “Is that—?”

Tav squinted, her breaths coming in short bursts as she inched closer. The person was hardly recognizable as anything . They were on the precipice of death, so drained of life the remaining bits of skin were a tainted alabaster. Blood pooled as the base of the cross, rippling from the pure energy buzzing from within the glacier. It was then that she realized it wasn’t wood beneath the body but a magic metal staff, salvaged into a mock crucifix. The only indication of life was the low groan emanating from where their throat once was. They were a conduit: nothing more than an instrument to harvest the dormant magic thrumming underneath. For a moment, Tav was almost convinced that the body had never been anything more— until she saw the wisps of auburn hair peeking through the gore. 

“Cashaan,” Tav breathed. 

Her body shook with equal parts terror and disbelief. He was a treacherous man, an arrogant bastard, but did he deserve this ? A sharp laugh from beyond the crucifix caused Tav’s body to still. 

“Please, Tavy,” the voice was low and smooth, lulling like a cat’s purr. “Don’t waste your sympathy on the wicked.” 

Footsteps clicked measurely across the exposed stone as a cloaked figure came into view, backlit by her own monstrosity. Tav could feel the crackle of tension from her companions, kept only at bay by her own iota of composure. If they were to slaughter the perpetrator of Tav’s suffering, they would do so on her terms; Torm had advised as much. But she felt her control slipping as soon as her sister’s silhouette paused in front of her. 

For the world’s most fearsome necromancer, Serana was surprisingly small. Her clothes fought to stay on her slender shoulders, revealing the jagged angles of her bone, and Tav realized her burgundy cloak was intended to hide what little remained of her. Chestnut hair curled around her ears: the same length it had been when she ripped Tav’s life away from her. Her amber eyes glinted beneath an arched brow, an unspoken dare lingering in them. Tav’s hand gripped her hilt with such rage she feared it might split in two. 

“Look at you,” Serana said, a quiet awe in her tone. “Such fire, such rage. When I last saw you, you were like a broken little sparrow shivering in the snow, begging to be taken.”

She furrowed her brow. “Tell me, Tavy. Do you miss it?”

“I won’t play this game,” Tav ground out. 

Serana’s lips quirked into a half smirk at her reply as she  turned to face what remained of Cashaan’s body. “Did you prefer the agony? Is that why you drink? Is that why you let a vampire drain you to the brink of death?”

The mention of Astarion caused Tav’s cheeks to flush, and she contemplated burying her blade in her sister’s neck as retribution. 

She huffed a laugh. “No. You prefer nothing. You desire the absence of identity, of pain. You want to be no one. And so you are no one.” 

Sweat coated the hilt of her sword as she shook, scrambling to hold onto whatever modicum of control she had left. It isn’t time , she thought, though she questioned whether the voice was her own. Instead, she merely glared, entertaining her sister’s twisted tirade for a moment longer. 

“What about him?” Soren asked, his gaze burning into Serana. 

Serana tilted her head. “Him?”

“Don’t play daft, you witch,” Soren spat, gesturing at the crucifix with his sword. “ Him .”

She barked out a laugh. “Cashaan? I must say, for heroes, you lot are awfully sympathetic to the slop of this world.”

Soren paused, pondering whether to take the bait. 

“Did you think him an ally?” she continued. “Are you all so deluded to think the thwarted tyrant of Toril is on your side? Cashaan doesn’t have allies; he only has experiments.”

Her mouth twisted into a snarl, as if the very sight of the butchered sorcerer sickened her. A quiet cough beckoned her attention to the back of the group, where Gale rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

“Pardon my intrusion,” he stammered. “But is that the spindle of fate he’s nailed to?” 

Serana’s expression eased into one of annoyance. “For all your pestering, Mr. Dekarios, you do have a sharp eye.”

She wrapped her hand around the base of the crucifix, eliciting an otherworldly shriek from Cashaan. The punishing pitch brought the party to their knees, and Tav distantly wondered if she had gone deaf. With a groan, Tav cupped her palms over her ears while her companions pleaded for the onslaught to end. There was nothing, no one, except the slicing dagger of sound. When Serana removed finally removed her hand, Tav slumped over, her body shaking as if the torture never ended. Serana giggled, soft and childlike, as she watched them struggle to stand. 

“He knew,” she gasped between laughs. “He knows. He knows exactly how you die. I know exactly how you die.”

Even the clicking of her footsteps was ear-splitting in the aftermath. Tav watched through watering eyes as Serana approached, the red curtain of her cloak nearly obscuring the dulled shine of her shoes, her pace as serene as anything. Until, without so much as a scuff, she reared her leg back.

With a stomp, Serana crushed Tav’s hand beneath her sharp heel, the crunch of bone reverberating throughout the ruins. Tav’s anguished cry was pathetic as she tried to move her limp fingers, her mind filled with a voice that wasn’t hers.

Get up, Tavriel. 

Serana bore down again, fracturing the unscathed bones. 

“If you knew the suffering that was to come, Tavy, wouldn’t you want to stop it? Agony, pleasure: both exist to accentuate the other. The void is the only way.”

In her periphery, Tav saw Soren crawling towards her. Blood leaked from his ears, and she prayed he would never reach her. Beyond him, she saw the others laying crumpled in a heap, still struggling to move their bodies. Tav’s other hand crept down to her hilt, fumbling to draw her sword. When Serana stepped down again, Tav only squeaked.

Get up, Tavriel.

“Your vampire, he understood,” Serana said quietly. “He knows what it’s like to have your body defiled, to have your life stolen. Before you, he knew only agony, and after, he knows even more. He wished he had never met you.”

TAVRIEL .

She knelt down, tilting Tav’s chin up. 

“Don’t you wish the same?” She whispered. 

Primal rage crackled through her body as she screamed, her sword slicing into Serana’s calf. Her balance faltered, and Tav used the lapse to send her plummeting toward the icy ground. Her sister grunted in muted surprise as Tav pounced on her body, ready to bury a blade in her throat, to send her to her own bloody void. She would end this; she had to end this. But her momentum didn’t propel her blade to its mark. There was no spray of blood, no gurgling as her sister choked. Instead, she was met with a face full of rich earth. 

What in the nine hells?

She rolled over, cradling her broken hand as she processed the scenery. The sun retreating in the sky told her it was dusk: a novel sight after weeks in eternal darkness. The soil beneath her hands was tilled, as if farmers had abandoned their planting just days ago.  Though the world had been drained of all life, the cicadas still sang, trilling and cacophonous in the breeze. She knew this place. She would know the honeysuckle sweet air anywhere. She was home.

“Looks different, doesn’t it?” Serana said wryly.

Tav scrambled backward on the damp earth, crying out as she accidentally bore down on her injured hand. Her rage was muted here, as if neutered by her journey through the ether. A part of her was missing; she had felt it the moment she hit the ground. But what? 

Serana merely sat in front of her, her burgundy cloak draped around her as she stared blankly ahead. She looked deceptively meek. Blood trickled onto the ground from her wound, and Tav felt a quiet satisfaction that this monster, this god, could also bleed. She could finish it, she could bleed her dry—yet something beckoned Tav to follow her gaze, possessing her until her eyes fell upon a stone vigil. Beneath the crumbling doorway of their home stood statues of their likeness: stone effigies of a family lost to flame. Two girls knelt side by side, a rabbit nestled in one’s elbow. Their parents wore somber expressions as they surveyed the garden, blooms of red and white surrounding their stone feet. A glint of bronze lured Tav to the base, desperately ripping the weeds from the plaque. 

In memory of the Woodvale Family 

May the fire that claimed their bones 

Never claim their spirits. 

“It’s…us?” Tav whispered.

“Neverens always were the sentimental type,” her sister sighed. 

“They— they think the fire killed us?” 

Serana glanced at her, her amber eyes shining with something akin to humanity. 

“Oh, Tavy,” her voice shook. “Do you truly think your life was ever yours?”

The air between them was stiff, as if the whole of Toril was holding its breath. 

“Since the moment of your conception, you have been the gods’ favorite pawn,” Serana continued, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Torm, Myrkul. They all sought the divinity coursing through you. It was Torm who claimed you first.”

Tav said nothing, only stared into her effigy’s eyes as if she could light it on fire. Divinity . What else would keep her alive? What else would force her to bear the weight of the world? Perhaps she had always felt it— the indiscernible, unreachable part of herself. She had tried to numb, tried to quiet its wailing when she broke her oath, but now it roared louder than ever, threatening to breach her mortal body. 

“Under Torm’s rule, you would always be his puppet,” Serana continued. “But I reversed it that day. Mother, father, I made you all mine, though some part of you still sought Torm’s embrace. Like a lost child.”

“You lie,” Tav said numbly. The sky had turned black, embers tainting the fresh soil. 

“No, Tavy,” Serana hissed, cupping her cheek in her bony hand. “Torm would enslave you for eternity to ensure you would never be his competitor. But I offer you safety. I offer you a way out.”

Her sharp nail traced Tav’s jugular. “I can save you from the hell of forever. I can spare you from agony.” Her nail cut into her flesh imperceptibly. “I can give you nothing .”

“That isn’t freedom,” Tav swallowed.

“Perhaps not,” Serana conceded. “But it’s the illusion that matters.”

In a single breath, Tav whipped her head to the side, sinking her teeth into Serana’s finger. Blood welled in her mouth as her sister hissed, her other hand knotting in her curls. Tav hooked a leg around her, causing her to collide with the ashen ground beneath them. There was no magic, no weapons— only primal, unbidden rage. Tav barely noticed the lock of hair torn from her scalp as her good hand dug into her sister’s eyes, her dull nails clawing at the golden irises. 

“You cannot escape your fate, sister,” Serana sputtered, blood spraying on Tav’s face. “It was always going to end here. You’ve known it, too.”

Fragmented dreams eclipsed in her mind all at once. Blossoms clutch the feet of the mother. Her eyes drifted to the statues, to the untamed blooms at their feet. Doorways still stand in ashes . A tear breached her lash line, dangling above her sister’s white face. The well is no longer. A frustrated scream was ripped from Tav’s throat as she released her, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Was this truly her fate? Had her life, her choices, her sorrows, ever been hers? Had she ever been more than a pawn? 

Before she could catch her breath, Tav was on her back again. Blood dripped from her sister’s eyes, splattering on her flushed cheeks. She didn’t fight, didn’t scream as her sister fisted her matted curls.

“I loved you most, Tav,” she wept. “You have to know I loved you most.” 

When Serana slammed her head onto the bronze plaque, Tav didn’t feel anything besides the warmth of her own blood. 

The second time, she didn’t hear anything besides her sister’s guttural screams.

The last time, she didn’t see anything besides a flash of white: an invitation into the void. 

And then she was nothing. 

Chapter Text

No other sadness in the world would do.

Tav had grown used to this place: the in-between. The fray of life and death.

During her days in the water, she had become well acquainted with buoyancy: the most vital pieces of herself floating just out of reach. In that dark little space, she was boundless. Her consciousness bled into the void around her, absorbing memories that weren’t hers. The lives of others melded with hers in a cosmic alchemy. There, she was both the actor and the audience. It was a story. It was easy. 

But nothing about this was easy. 

This void wasn’t weightless, it was pulverizing. Her mind, her body, her essence was crushed in its hands, molding her into something indecipherable. In the absence of her body, her spirit tried to scream, only to be devoured by the ravenous void. The darkness was permeated with blood: the edges of her world blurring with this stasis. She felt her memories ebbing away, replaced by a stifling omniscience. Through the veil of red, she saw her party, their voices overlapping in a panicked clamor.

“What the fuck?”

“Where the hells did they go?” 

“Tav? Tav!”

They were strewn across the floor, as if Cashaan’s shriek hit them like a tidal wave. Their weapons had been tossed from their bodies, their armour coming undone from the sheer force of the scream. The only one moving was Soren, his hand fruitlessly patting the place where Tav had been.

“It’s no use,” Gale supplied, finally mustering the strength to sit up. “Wherever Serana took her, we can’t follow.”

Shadowheart blinked at him, rage furrowing her brow as she pulled herself up. Though the party’s disorientation had subsided, no one seemed particularly interested in the fervent debate. Gale sighed, bracing himself as Shadowheart crawled over to him, fisting the front of his robe. 

“What are you suggesting?” She seethed. “We abandon her? Leave her stranded with a bloody psychopath?” 

“The paladin is self-sufficient,” Laezel rolled her eyes, her voice unconvincing.

“Like hells she is,” Soren muttered, still staring at the spot Tav had occupied. “One sound from that… thing brought us all to our knees. Who knows what else that witch has up her sleeve.” 

Shadowheart cut her eyes to Laezel. “What’s the matter with you? With all of you? Since when did we retreat like cowards?” 

Gale narrowed his eyes. “Have you not noticed, Shadowheart, that since we set foot on this godsforsaken glacier our magic has evaporated? Vanished like water on a nice summer’s day? Hells, I can’t even mutter a single incantation.” 

He grunted as Shadowheart released him, dabbing away the blood trailing from his ears. “I’m not leaving her. None of us are. But our hands are tied.”

“He’s right, Shadowheart,” Wyll interjected. “It’s a fool's errand. Who’s to say we could find her even with our magic?”

Soren tore his eyes away from the ice, his irises like steaming coals as they fell on Wyll. 

“You’re leaving her to die,” he snarled. “You’re all leaving her to die!” 

A resounding shudder silenced their quarrel, as if the glacier itself was threatening to come alive. The party held their breath, waiting to see if their fear would come to fruition. In the stillness, Karlach crawled to the edge of the ruins, bracing against the crumbling stone wall as she peered down below. From Tav’s point of view, she could see everything: the vertical drop of the summit plunging into black, the green flashes reflecting off a sea of alabaster, the horizon obscured by the innumerable corpses. It was all of Faerun’s dead, standing silently at the base of the glacier. It was an army of the void, and their sudden lurch toward the ruins suggested they were no longer standing guard. 

“Guys,” Karlach called over her shoulder. “I think we’re going to be occupied for a while.”

Like a feather in the wind, the vision slipped from Tav’s grasp. She saw indecipherable flutters of her companions in battle: Gale’s staff against a pale throat, Shadowheart’s mace cracking against a skull, Soren pulling Wyll’s limp body away from combat. She heard the moans, incessant and haunting, like a plague on her senses. The dead were relentless as they scaled the glacier, their brittle nails clawing into the ruins, chipping away at the worn stone. In their frenzy, Tav struggled to discern the source of their command. Had Serana's plan already commenced? Had she well and truly failed?

The ocean of red swelled, overtaking her sight once more. It wasn’t supposed to be like this , she thought, I wasn’t supposed to be like this .  She was choking, blood gurgling in her throat as she tried to return to her body. Blindly, she searched for the voice that had occupied her mind in the ruins, scrounging for some sort of guidance. But she was met only with suffocating silence. Her soul was vacant, untethered, unclaimed— until the wave receded once more. It was as if her synapses had been rewired, thrumming with white hot electricity. Something had brought her back, and this time she felt the weave itself threatening to burst from her body. Where rage had thrashed against her resolve, there was now pure unadulterated power. Each sense that returned to her was overwhelming: the weight of her sister like an anvil, the nauseating metallic scent of her own blood, the cacophonous scuff of her sister’s shoes against the dirt. 

It was like she was carved from the fabric of the universe, and she hardly heard Serana’s muffled noise of surprise over the enormity of sound. 

Tav mustered the strength to crack a swollen eye open. At first, all she saw was green: the same shade of emerald that saturated the glacier. The hue of necromancy. As the blur in her vision subsided, her eyes fell on the ethereal shackles wrapped around her sister’s throat. If Tav could feel anything, she would’ve felt bliss at the sight of her sister’s white face, at the halo of white hair just above her head. 

“Please,” a voice scoffed. “Don’t struggle. It’s the least you could do.”

It was Astarion. He looked terrible, his cheeks gaunt and hair wild. His clothes hung off of his frame in pieces, revealing the translucent skin stretched over the ladder of his ribs, and Tav realized it must have been weeks since he had eaten. She tried to fight the deceptive sense of calm that washed over her, the relief that the man who betrayed her was here , alive and mostly intact. The feeling rivaled the numbing omniscience overtaking her, and for a second, tears burned at her eyes: a shameful display of her humanity.

“How are you here?” Serana choked, digging her heels in the dirt. “How are you free?”

“You and I both know freedom is a deceptive phrase,” he said, his words eerily calm. “‘bargain’ is more accurate. A slave is always a slave, he just trades cages.”

Serana clawed at the chains, her fingers passing futilely through the mirage. 

“You rat,” she gasped. “I spared you. I gave you vengeance on a silver platter, and you choose your own ruin? You choose her?” 

For the first time since his confession, Astarion’s eyes fell on Tav. She doubted she looked much better than he did. Her limbs were caked in an amalgamation of mud and blood, her hair crusted over her forehead and temples. Yet where she expected disgust, she found only a sickening softness. His brow furrowed at the sight of her, his eyes dulling to the color of mulled wine. Regret . She knew the look well, yet his face wore it with a newfangled cut. On him, it was nauseating. It was apocalyptic. Even in the absence of their tadpoles, Tav could hear his voice echoing in her head, a chorus of I’m sorry . 

“Yes,” he said softly. “If it’s the first and last choice I ever make.”

Tears spilled over Serana’s cheeks, splashing onto the tilled soil around them. Each drop resonated within Tav, her power leeching off the very air around them. Every emotion was tempered with profound indifference as she tried to hold on to herself. Her body on a stone slab, her body in the snow, her body pulled from the sea. Each image grew more intangible as he continued his onslaught. 

“You’re just a pawn,” Serana wheezed, her hand falling limply to the ground. “I was going to kill you. You were just a puppet. You have always been a puppet.”

Her body intertwined with Astarion’s, stark white against rose. Her blood staining his lips. His fingers tracing circles on her back

He bared his teeth, killing the words on her lips. He looked wild, starved, feral. 

“Now, Tav.”

Astarion’s scarred back dappled with sunlight. Astarion’s white hair illuminated by the campfire. Astarion’s laugh in the empty night. 

“Tav?” 

Serana thrashed against the chains, her power rallying against his one final time. 

Astarion. Astarion. Astarion.

“Godsdammit, Tav, DO IT!” 

Tav wasn’t sure how she moved or where the blade came from. Her vision was consumed by heavenly fire, her body commanded only by Toril’s will. When her celestial blade cleanly sliced into her sister’s neck, she felt nothing— even as her head toppled to the ground. Her parents, her home, only briefly flashed into her mind: specters from a life that was no longer hers. Now, she was something greater. Something potent. Something eternal. 

Serana’s stare was unyielding even in death: the once glimmering amber now tarnished and snuffed out. Distantly, Tav wondered if she could taste the blood soaked dirt clumped in her mouth, or if she could see her own sister kneeling above her, impassive and apathetic. 

In a dull flash, the blade receded as quickly as it came, and Astarion didn’t flinch as the chains evaporated from his wrists. He merely wiped the sweat from his brow, rolling Serana’s head under his foot as he shook his head. He didn’t spare Tav a glance as he knelt down, muttering one last sentence to the matron of the void. 

“Myrkul sends his regards.”

Chapter Text

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

It took Serana only an hour to move the bodies of her family to the temple.

The weather wasn’t too punishing; only short bursts of flurries and sleet obscured her vision as she loaded them into the cart, the previous week’s snow now muddied and malleable. She grunted as she loaded her mother in last, reading herself for an excruciating hour with the family horse. Guinevere had never liked her, and hauling around Tav’s unconscious body didn’t earn her any favors. The horse's nostrils flared when she tried to mount her, her slick boot slipping from the stirrup in the process. Serana’s knees slammed into the mud, the sudden splash causing the horse to rear back on its hind legs. The bodies shifted, nearly tumbling onto the wet earth as she cursed. Hells, she was never adept at handling animals. It was always Tav’s job to do the dirty work on the farm—senior privilege, she called it—though Tav never lamented any of it. She would gladly spend hours in the barn, tending to their chickens and brushing their one good horse. 

“Gods above, Guin, she’s fine,” she muttered, this time hoisting herself onto the saddle. 

With a click of her tongue, they set off, the squeak of the cart’s wheels fraying her already taut nerves. She would set the fire later, under the blanket of night. The townspeople wouldn’t raise the alarm until the flames were at their peak, eating away any living being within the farm house’s walls. It would be too late then. If there was anyone to save, the flames would have burned them alive, devouring even the smallest bits of bone. She bit her lip as the evening sun blinded her, pulling her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t much longer until she achieved her destiny. 

She had spent her last months in Baldur’s Gate pouring over books, scouring ancient tomes for any information on a temple of Myrkul. To find one so close to her home in Neverwinter was nothing short of a miracle. The sun had dipped over the horizon by the time she pulled the reins, coming to a stop just beyond the mountain that overlooked their farm. As a girl, she had seen the modest cave several times during her mother’s trips to the market. It had always intrigued her, yet the slight grip in her mother’s hands as they passed told her to hold her tongue.

Now, she understood why. The cave’s atmosphere leeched on all life that entered it, and Serana reveled in the suffocation as she laid them on their respective stone slabs. There was no evidence of the cavern’s significance beside a single carving of a skull and triangle on the bloodied slab beneath Tav: the symbol of Mykrul. The very sight of it sent a thrill through her, and the shaking in her hands quelled slightly. All those months of hell, of Cashaan’s hands dissecting her, had led to this: their bodies stretched in offering to the Lord of Bones, their faces pure and untainted. If she looked at them long enough, she could almost convince herself she had a choice.

No . She would be his chosen. She had to be his chosen. 

Her fingernails dug into the stone mortar in her palm, steadying it as she ground the divine bone shard into dust. They wouldn’t wake; she had made sure of it. Myrkul didn’t care for theatre like his compatriots did. He wanted an expression of devotion, an adulation of death itself, and Serana was eager to prostrate her life before him. Her eyes found Tav again as she grabbed a large vial, pouring the shards into a sublimate of belladonna. 

When Serana first left for her studies, Tav was hardly a teenager. Her limbs were sharp and awkward, growing at a rate the rest of her body struggled to keep up with. In just a few short months, her baby sister had dwarfed her own childlike frame. Her curls were longer and untamed: undoubtedly a result of Serana’s absence. Serana sighed as her fingers found the blunted ends of her own hair. Even now in this dank cavern, she could hear Cashaan’s voice, his fingers knotting in her hair: this length suits you. It’s leagues better than those dreadful short cuts the harlots here wear. She cut it on the washroom floor that night, the cool air salving her marred neck like a balm. She must’ve cried for hours. 

Across the room, Tav stirred: an infinitesimal snort that made Serana’s hands shake. She had given her the right dose—she was sure of it. She wouldn’t let her spend eternity as Torm’s weapon; she wouldn’t let her pay for the sins of their father. Tears welled in her eyes as she shook the vial, praying to her god for strength, for resolve. 

It had to be quick, so it could be painless. 

A soft groan behind her sent the vial plummeting to the floor. 

“S…Serana?”

Her father was hardly conscious, his eyes half lidded as drool leaked from his mouth. Gods, he had aged so much in her short time away. Although his half-elf ancestry supplied him with a lengthy lifespan, his sickness threatened to shorten it. His once dark hair had been penetrated by gray, the creases around his eyes deepening with each sunrise. His voice was all he had control of as his flickering opal eyes met hers. 

“Father,” she shuddered, her meek response falling flat against the cave’s walls.

Fuck. She had made a grave error. Through all of her meticulous planning, she had neglected to account for their dormant elvish immunity to sleep potions. If she wasn’t quick, Tav would follow suit, dismantling her plan at its core. They were never meant to suffer. She didn’t want them to suffer.

“What are you doing, dear girl?” 

She scooped the fragments of the shattered vial into her hands. 

“It’s alright, father,” she held back a sob. “I’m just helping Tavy.”

“Helping her? What’s wrong with Tavy?”

She laughed humorlessly. “It’s not the time for pretenses, father. I know what you did, I’ve known from the moment I touched that wretched staff: I know what you promised Torm when you left the Fists. The soul of your unborn child as his holy avenger.” 

Panic flashed in eyes as he struggled to move, provoking a viciousness in Serana that shocked her. She plucked a longer shard from the pile. 

“I was just a girl but I remember your armour. I remember us fleeing the Gate in the dead of night. What could you have done to warrant such a sacrifice? What atrocity bears your name?” 

She clenched her jaw, trying to dam her words before they flooded the air. 

“Woodvale was never our surname, was it? Our “life” was just a ruse, a farce to protect you, Abdel Adrian. The man who resurrected Bhaal.”

Her father choked on his drool, sputtering in a way that gave her pause. 

“Did you feel guilty when you found out?,” Serana continued, peering down at his slack face. “That all your pathetic life you were a spawn of Bhaal?”

“I never meant to do it,” he choked. “I was trying to save the city.” 

She pressed the shard to his neck, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But you meant for Tav to pay for your sins. You wanted me to watch her waste away for eternity as nothing but a god’s puppet. As a soulless pawn.”

His head shook imperceptibly, causing her to press down on his neck. Rivulets of red streaked down his neck, pooling on the clear glass of the shard. 

“You’ve got it wrong, Serana,” he gasped. “You girls were my redemption.” 

It was too late. She couldn’t turn back, not with the weight of Myrkul’s gaze on her. He could give her power; he could spare Tav’s soul from the whims of a god. He could make her hers. The blood transformed into a steady stream as he whimpered, her tears dripping onto her father’s gored neck. 

“Please, dear girl,” he wheezed. “Don’t do this.” 

With a scream, she slammed the shard down. His eyes didn’t waver as his head separated from his body, unblinking as the glass collided with vertebrae over and over. There was something in the harsh squelch of the violence that soothed her, like gutting a fish on their rare hunting trips along the Neverwinter River. The cool water bunched around her ankles as she waded in the shallows, her vision filled with gray, pink, and blue. Her hand gripped his hair as she lifted his head from the slab.

It was simple.

It was redemption. 

When the fog lifted, all Tav could see was amber. It was dulled, tarnished— doomed to return to the soil from which it came. In a day or so, it would be crawling with insects aching to be fossilized and forgotten. In a few centuries, maybe the people would try to remember. Perhaps the farmers would return and till the soil once more, turning the ashen dirt and dead grass over and over until a glint caught their eye. Perplexed, one would pluck the fossil from the earth, staring at the past frozen in his palm. The end of Toril, the matron of the void, would be nothing but a mere ghost story he had heard in his youth. Now, only the intrinsic questions would echo in his head: who were they? Did they deserve it? 

Tav didn’t know the answer. 

Time had become voracious and insatiable. It was gnawing at her being, stretching her between the past, present and future. Some part of herself was still kneeling in the mud, her vessel battered and broken. She felt no pain as she willed her broken fingers to intertwine with Serana’s hair. The chestnut locks were almost entirely obscured by blood and ichor, spilling over her pale forehead in awkward chunks. Her face bore no evidence that she knew of her fate, her mouth slack and eyelids heavy. She was dead. Well and truly dead. Yet nothing about the sight stirred this new iteration of Tav. No, this was an insect to her, crushed beneath the paw of a wolf. This was the way of nature; this was the law of the universe, and Tav was its arbiter. 

From some faraway place, she could see herself, still caked in her own blood as she crawled pathetically towards her. Mismatched eyes shimmered haphazardly beneath her thick lashes, and, even here, she could decipher their message: her apathy appalled her. Distantly, she felt another pair of eyes branding her: garnet that had lost its luster. Astarion didn’t move from his post above her, scrutinizing the vacancy she had left in her own body. 

“Tav?” 

He was concerned, and the old Tav thrashed at the slight quiver in his voice. Help him. Please help him. She tore her eyes from the ground, dissecting the state of the vampire in front of her. Astarion maintained a safe distance from her, his hands raised defensively and fruitlessly in front of him. He was frail; he was pathetic. When her eyes found his, the natural world retreated again, blurring the boundaries of individuality. A cataclysm of their thoughts flooded Tav’s mind, and she heard his smooth voice crashing over itself like turbulent rapids. 

She looks so beautiful under me. Her blood is radiant, divine. She can’t go to the glacier; she must not go to the glacier. She will never forgive me. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. Myrkul said it would be over. Why isn’t it over? I love her. I love her.

The tear that rolled down her cheek baffled her. He had meant something to her; he had wormed his way into the framework of her soul, dodging every blockade she had constructed to keep him out. He had meant something, but why? The pure terror on his face told her he knew what she had taken from him, but the raw emotion was addictive. It filled the void she had made within herself, and she reveled in his panic as one question sounded from her lips. 

“What is it that you seek?”

He staggered backwards, his hands shielding his ears from the chorus of voices erupting from her. 

“What in the nine hells, Tav?” He gasped. “What did she do to you?”

Tav tilted her head. “This is my purpose. My design.”

Realization dawned on his face as he studied her, taking note of the celestial gleam in her eyes. His chest heaved as he scrambled toward her, seemingly unphased by her godhood as he cupped her face in his thin hands.

“No, no, no,” he wheezed, a tear slipping from his eye. She flinched as it fell on the hand still knotted in Serana’s hair. “Please, darling. Don’t do this. You’re so much more than Torm’s pawn. You have a choice, I swear. Please, don’t leave. Don’t become this . Come back to me.”

She fell silent as he wept, the dormant part of herself growing too violent to ignore. This was her fate, her prophecy. All of the sharp fragments of her former life had to be blunted—these mortals had no place in the eternal life of a god. Yet, Astarion’s thumb seared her vessel as it swiped across her cheekbone, beckoning her to loosen her hold, even if it was for the briefest moment. Deep within, the old Tav howled in agony at the touch, gnashing like a starved wolf. She was vicious and frenzied: clawing at her tender insides until Tav finally gave in. Her fingers tightened in Serana’s hair before they let go.

“I will spare you,” she conceded, mostly to herself. “I will bring you home.” 

Astarion didn’t have time to react as a whirlwind of lights and sounds enveloped them, dulling their senses to only the ice melting around their knees. The darkness had broken around the glacier, the sky now blazing red. A lone bird screeching across the sky told Tav it was morning; the eternal night had ended. Below them, the sea of corpses had retreated, collapsing in a gargantuan mound. Soon, it would be covered by oceans of snow and ice, falling victim to the same disease as Ythyrn had: it would be forgotten. 

Tav felt a flurry of hands on her body as soon as they landed, and she had some notion it was to protect rather than embrace. Shadowheart’s worn face came into view, speckled with gore as horror wormed its way across her features. Her thoughts imposed on her own, flooding her brain with the past and present:

This has gotten embarrassing; how long must she mope? We’ll set sail again soon, Flynn. Where the hells is she? Selune, preserve me, she’s gone .

A slender, bloody hand touched her cheek, as if to verify her findings. 

“Hells, Tav,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

The others clamored around them, with most devoting their attention to the man who had led them to their deaths. It was Soren who got to him first, dragging him across the slick ice until he was a safe distance from Tav. Perhaps it was Astarion’s lethargy that made him submit, but he didn’t fight the tiefling as he punched him across the face, his flushed knuckles cutting the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

“What’s the matter with you?” Soren growled, hands fisted in the front of his tattered shirt. “Are you too weak to face the calamity you’ve caused?”

He lifted his torso before slamming it into the ground. 

“GET UP!” 

Soren landed another blow, this time causing the skin on his browbone to split open, revealing the porcelain white of his skull. His rage was electric, crackling across the stillness of the ruins. He was crazed, dangerous—his clothes flecked with the gore of his companions. Anyone who valued their life would’ve obeyed, yet Astarion merely stared at him through half-lidded eyes, his vision partially obscured by the blood dripping onto his face. His tongue swiped across his lips, causing Soren to tense even further.

“I. Saved. You.” 

His fists tightened, raising him off the ground again. 

“What?” Soren hissed, sweat beading on his brow despite the searing chill. 

“I saved you,” Astarion coughed. “I’ve done my penance. More than enough of it.”

“ I’ll decide when it’s enough.” 

He reared back his fist, eager to shatter the porcelain facade, but his assault was impeded by the desperate hands of Gale and Karlach.

“For fucksake, Soren,” Karlach shouted as she hooked her arms under him. “Enough! Do you think you’re the only one who wants a go at him?” 

But Soren wouldn’t go without a fight, and he thrashed uselessly in Karlach’s grip as she pulled him off of Astarion. Below him, Astaron’s mouth pulled into a slight smirk. He had always loved attention. 

“Astarion’s the least of our problems right now,” Gale said, standing between the two of them. “We need to figure out where death incarnate went.” 

When Tav opened her mouth to speak, her voice surpassed the capacity of sound. Her companions crumpled to the floor, cradling their already bloodied ears in vain. 

“She is no more.” 

Something inside her stirred at the sight of them on their knees, each one wearing a mask of terror at the sight of her. Why did their fear plague her? What hold did mortals have over a god? She looked at the carnage surrounding her as if it were an illustration to be analyzed, a page from a history book left rotting in the archives. Cashaan laid as the base of the staff, a charred husk of the abomination he was in the moments prior. The steaming corpse glowed the same shade of emerald, flickering to a staccato rhythm as Tav crept closer to it. There was something in his cavernous chest that beckoned her, and she could feel another voice wedge its way into her vessel. Tavriel , it sighed, what mess have you wrought?

There was no grand entrance for the Lord of Bones; he simply flashed into the space before her in the gaps between seconds. Her companions held their breath when he appeared, bracing themselves for another fight. They were weak, beaten and bloodied from the onslaught of the undead, with Wyll bearing the brunt of the injuries. If there was another war to wage, they had lost it when Tav reappeared. Unlike Torm, Myrkyl contained his divinity in a simple mortal vessel: one that happened to have Astarion’s face. He was a healthier Astarion, with a full face and muscled body that hadn’t been worn down by starvation. He stepped from Cashaan’s corpse leisurely, strolling towards Tav with the finesse of a house cat. Red eyes surveyed her face as his heels clicked in front of her.

“Tavriel Woodvale,” his voice was gravelly and distinctly not Astarion. “What blasphemy is this? 

The mortal within her shivered at the sight of him, fighting the compulsion to kneel and obey. In all of her dreams, he was only passing thought, imparting wisdom through his heavy handed fables. He had never breached the world of the living, and the old Tav wondered if this was the true villain, donning the mask of an ally. The terse silence was fractured by a sharp laugh.

“Really?” Astarion said. “Our little deal wasn’t enough? You had to steal my face too?”

Gale snapped his face toward him. “What deal?”

Myrkul’s eyes slid between them, pointedly ignoring the quarrel. 

“Why does the rabbit still kick in the jaws of the fox?”

The party readied their weapons as he strode closer, rolling his eyes at their movement as he tilted Tav’s chin upward.

“You know your fate, Tavriel, yet you thrash and thrash, that measly show of power flashing in your eyes. You were an instrument of a dying god— nothing more.”

Her eyes burned behind her veil of indifference. Deep within her core, Tav always knew there was something  missing in her, lagging behind the rest of her like a clock that was never set right. After the fall of the Netherbrain, she blamed her oath for the yawning emptiness in her, but the abyss stretched far beyond her time with her companions. It was an insatiable urge that threatened to devour her life, and now she was in its jaw. If she had a choice, she would let it clamp down.