Aug 3
How come no one told me about Salami Bludgeon?
seen from China
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seen from United Kingdom
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seen from Australia
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seen from United Kingdom
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How come no one told me about Salami Bludgeon?
New fic! (Bloodweave)
I know, I know. Not the usual kinda thing I write, but I wanted to branch out a lil'. Don't worry, I still love Shadow'zel dearly.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Slowly getting better at digital art 🫠
This, but it’s Astarion clinging to Tav/Durge
Best couple ever and no one will change my mind 💖
(Also shepard + garrus ♡)
Another Astarion Story
Chapter 17
That evening, after the battle had ended and Tavara’s cheek had been healed, Astarion found himself alone on one of the tower’s balconies.
The lights of Waterdeep glittered below.
Usually, he enjoyed the city at night.
Tonight, he felt nothing but turmoil.
He leaned heavily against the stone railing.
There was no denying it anymore.
He was in love.
The realization struck him with all the subtlety of a dagger to the heart.
“Gods damn it…” he muttered.
He was angry.
Furious, in fact.
How could he have let this happen?
He had been careful.
He had kept his distance.
Ignored her smiles.
Ignored the warmth in his chest when she laughed.
Ignored the way she trusted him.
Ignored the way she had run to him after the battle, terrified he might be hurt.
And now…
it was too late.
He closed his eyes.
He could already see the future he dared not want.
Tavara growing older.
Silver in her dark hair.
Lines around her beautiful eyes.
Years passing.
Decades.
A century.
Then…
an empty chair.
A grave.
Another farewell.
Another hand slipping from his.
The memory of his last great love surfaced.
Sitting beside her deathbed.
Holding her hand.
The final kiss.
“Our love is not over. In my next life, I’ll come to you.”
Even after centuries, the pain remained.
It had never truly left.
He wasn’t certain he could survive that kind of loss again.
Not with Tavara.
Not her.
His chest felt tight.
Ridiculous, really.
His heart no longer beat.
Yet somehow it felt heavy.
Achingly so.
He laughed softly to himself.
“Look at you.”
A centuries-old vampire brought low by a bard.
He looked up at the stars.
No.
This had to stop.
Nothing could come of this.
She deserved so much more.
She deserved sunlight.
A family, if she wanted one.
Children.
A long, happy life.
Someone who could grow old beside her.
Not him.
Not a man frozen in time.
Not a creature who hunted in the dark.
He couldn’t give her those things.
And it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to sacrifice them.
The decision settled over him like cold rain.
When her studies were complete…
he would take her home, soon.
Back to her sister.
Back to Abby.
Back to the life she deserved.
Then he and Denny could leave once more.
Adventure.
The road.
The old days.
Just the two of them.
As brothers.
As it had always been.
He would ask Denny about Abby.
Perhaps their romance was merely a passing affair.
Perhaps his friend still wished to travel.
Perhaps everything could return to the way it had been.
Though, deep down…
Astarion knew that was a lie.
Nothing was the same anymore.
Because now he knew what it felt like to hear Tavara laugh.
To see her smile.
To watch her grow stronger.
To hear her call his name in fear.
To know that she cared.
And no amount of distance would erase that.
He swallowed hard.
Then straightened.
The decision had been made.
No romance.
No impossible dreams.
No future that could only end in heartbreak.
He would protect her.
Help her learn.
Take her home.
And then…
he would let her go.
The thought hurt far more than he expected.
But he told himself it was the right thing to do.
Far below, the bells of Waterdeep chimed softly.
Astarion closed his eyes.
For the first time in centuries…
he wished he could ask the stars for advice.
Because he had absolutely no idea what to do with his heart.
—————
The journey back to Briar’s Hollow began beneath gray skies.
Gale stood at the gates of his tower, his robes billowing in the morning breeze.
Tavara’s satchel was heavier than before, filled with books, notes, and small magical trinkets.
A smooth black stone for practicing her darker magic.
A journal filled with Gale’s observations.
A pair of enchanted gloves to help her channel her electricity safely.
Gale hugged her warmly.
“You’ve only just begun, my dear. Be patient with yourself. Great magic takes time.”
She smiled.
“I’ll keep practicing.”
“I know you will.”
He lowered his voice.
“And don’t fear what you are. Rare magic isn’t evil. It’s simply… rare.”
Tavara nodded.
Then Gale looked toward Astarion.
The vampire stood a few paces away, arms folded.
Silent.
Expressionless.
“You seem in quite a hurry,” Gale observed.
“We need to return to Briar’s Hollow,” Astarion replied flatly.
No explanation.
No warmth.
Gale’s brow furrowed.
But he said nothing.
Something had changed.
Even Tavara could feel it.
After one last farewell, the two of them departed.
⸻
At first, Tavara thought he was simply tired.
The battle.
The journey.
Perhaps something weighed on his mind.
So she tried talking.
“Do you think I’ll ever manage proper lightning magic?”
Silence.
“Astarion?”
Nothing.
Hours later she tried again.
“I think Gale’s sons were rather nice.”
No answer.
By evening, they reached their campsite.
Normally, Astarion would help gather wood.
Normally, he would set up his bedroll nearby.
Normally, he would at least offer one of his dry remarks.
Instead, he disappeared into the trees.
When he returned, he sat alone.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
Tavara slowly set up both tents herself.
She cooked.
She made tea.
She even offered him some.
He simply said,
“No, thank you.”
His tone wasn’t cruel.
It was worse.
Cold.
Distant.
As if a wall had suddenly risen between them.
⸻
The next morning she woke to discover he’d already packed his things.
He’d gathered his tent, and put out the fire,
She blinked.
That was strange.
Very strange.
During their travels, they always shared responsibilities.
She hurried to catch up with him.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He kept walking.
“No.”
“Then why are you upset?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence.
She sighed.
“You can talk to me.”
“No.”
The single word stung.
She stopped walking.
He continued several steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him.
He turned.
She stood in the middle of the road, looking confused.
Hurt.
He hated that expression.
More than he should.
“I’m trying to understand,” she said softly.
Astarion looked away.
“There is nothing to understand.”
“There clearly is.”
His jaw tightened.
“Leave it be.”
She stared at him.
For a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Alright.”
And to his surprise…
she did.
She stopped asking.
⸻
The days that followed felt wrong.
Painfully wrong.
She no longer walked beside him.
She walked behind him.
She gathered her own food.
Set up her own tent.
Practiced her magic by herself.
She even stopped showing him her progress with her sword.
The laughter was gone.
The endless questions.
The cheerful chatter.
Gone.
The silence settled between them like winter.
And Astarion hated every second of it.
This was what he wanted.
Distance.
Boundaries.
No impossible feelings.
Then why did it feel so awful?
One evening, he looked up from sharpening his dagger.
Tavara sat alone by the fire.
Reading one of Gale’s books.
She looked…
small somehow.
Lonely.
For a brief moment he nearly stood.
Nearly sat beside her.
Nearly asked what she was reading.
But he remained where he was.
Because every kind word felt dangerous now.
Every smile.
Every shared bottle.
Every glance.
He was protecting both of them.
Wasn’t he?
Then why did she look so sad?
And why did that sadness make his chest ache?
Tavara turned a page.
Never once looking at him.
For the first time in days…
Astarion realized something.
The silence wasn’t punishing her.
It was punishing him too.
And somehow…
that made the road home feel much longer.
—————
The cottage in Briar’s Hollow came into view just as the sun was setting.
Tavara’s boots were caked with mud.
Her once-neat braid had come loose days ago.
Dark circles rested beneath her green-blue eyes, and though she smiled faintly at seeing home again, she looked exhausted.
Astarion noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He’d noticed every missed meal.
Every quiet evening.
Every time she’d simply wrapped herself in her blanket and gone to sleep without a word.
But he said nothing.
The front door burst open.
“Tavara!”
Abby practically flew down the steps.
She wrapped her sister in a fierce embrace.
Then she pulled back.
Her smile vanished.
“Tavara…”
She touched her cheek.
“You look awful.”
“I’m fine,” Tavara said softly.
“You are not.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed.
Slowly, she looked toward Astarion.
“Oh, no.”
The vampire had seen that expression before.
He almost pitied himself.
“You.”
“Abby—”
“No.”
She marched right up to him.
“You were supposed to protect her!”
“I did.”
“Did you?”
Her voice rose.
“Because my sister looks like she’s walked halfway across Faerûn without a proper meal!”
Denny wisely took one step backward.
Tavara looked horrified.
“Abby, it’s alright—”
“No, it is not alright!”
She pointed at Astarion.
“I took her to an old friend,” Astarion explained calmly. “She learned magic. She was well cared for.”
“And then what?” Abby demanded.
Silence.
She folded her arms.
“And then what?”
Astarion said nothing.
Abby’s eyes widened.
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”
“Abby…”
“You marched her all the way home looking like this?”
“She was capable.”
“Capable?” Abby nearly sputtered.
“She looks disheveled!”
Tavara lowered her eyes.
That alone made Abby even angrier.
She turned back to Astarion.
“You had one job.”
“I returned her safely.”
“Safely isn’t enough!”
For the first time, Astarion looked slightly unsettled.
Abby pointed a finger squarely at his chest.
“You better make this right.”
He blinked.
“…What?”
“Because whether you like it or not, we’re planning to stay in each other’s lives for a very long time.”
Those words struck him oddly.
A very long time.
He said nothing.
Abby huffed and led Tavara inside.
⸻
A little later, Astarion found Denny outside by the stable.
“I’ve made my decision.”
Denny looked up.
“What decision?”
“I’m ready to travel again.”
Denny smiled.
“Really?”
“You and I. Like old times.”
The smile slowly faded.
Astarion continued.
“Tavara is home. Her studies are progressing. She belongs here.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“We can leave in a few days.”
Denny stared at him.
“You want to leave?”
“Yes.”
“And leave Tavara behind?”
“Yes.”
Denny blinked.
Then blinked again.
“You can’t be serious.”
Astarion’s expression remained stony.
“Why are you being like this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
Denny crossed his arms.
“You’ve been acting strange for months.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
Astarion looked away.
Denny’s eyes narrowed.
Then realization slowly dawned.
“Oh.”
Astarion immediately frowned.
“Oh?” he repeated.
“You idiot.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve fallen for her.”
Astarion looked offended.
“I have done no such thing.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I absolutely have not.”
“You marched all the way to Waterdeep, got her magical training, worried every time she sneezed, and now suddenly you’re trying to run away.”
“I am not running.”
“You are absolutely running.”
“I am not.”
Denny sighed.
“Astarion.”
Silence.
“You really care about her, don’t you?”
The vampire’s jaw tightened.
“…No.”
Denny snorted.
“Terrible liar.”
Astarion glared at him.
Then Denny’s expression softened.
“Don’t ruin this.”
“Ruin what?”
“Whatever is happening.”
“There is nothing happening.”
Denny smiled knowingly.
“Right.”
Astarion looked irritated.
“Everything is finally going well with Abby. I’m happy.”
He smiled toward the cottage.
“And I think Tavara is happier when she’s with you than she’s been in years.”
Astarion looked away immediately.
“Don’t say things you don’t understand.”
Denny sighed.
“Fine. But don’t break her heart because you’re afraid of your own.”
Astarion said nothing.
⸻
That evening everyone gathered for dinner.
The table was full.
Bread.
Stew.
Fresh vegetables.
And one goblet of wine sitting in front of Astarion.
Abby suddenly stood.
She looked positively radiant.
Denny stood beside her.
“We have news.”
Tavara perked up immediately.
Astarion took another sip of wine.
Abby grinned.
“We’re getting married.”
Silence.
Then—
“What?!”
Tavara nearly leaped from her chair.
Abby laughed.
Denny laughed.
Tavara rushed around the table and hugged them both.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!”
She looked ready to cry.
“When’s the big day?”
“Soon,” Denny said.
“Very soon.”
Tavara beamed.
Astarion, however…
looked worried.
Because suddenly things were changing.
Very quickly.
Denny wasn’t leaving.
Not now.
Not ever, perhaps.
He had found his home.
His future.
And if Denny stayed…
then what exactly was Astarion supposed to do?
Travel alone?
Stay here?
And why did the idea of leaving Briar’s Hollow suddenly feel…
lonely?
Across the table, Tavara looked up.
Their eyes met briefly.
She offered him a small, tired smile.
Astarion’s chest tightened.
He quickly looked back into his wine.
The room filled with laughter and wedding plans.
But the vampire heard very little of it.
Because for the first time…
he had absolutely no idea what his own future looked like.
Another Astarion story
Chapter 15
The sun had nearly set by the time they returned to Gale’s home.
The walk back had been pleasant, filled with Tavara’s excited chatter.
“And then tomorrow perhaps I can learn another spell! Or perhaps a proper combat stance! And after that we can practice with the short sword again—”
“You possess enough enthusiasm for three people,” Astarion said with amusement.
She grinned.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They stepped through the front doors of the tower.
The entry hall was warmly lit by enchanted lamps.
Near the staircase stood a large, ornate mirror framed in silver and carved with vines and stars.
Tavara slowed.
“Oh.”
She wandered over to it.
The day’s adventures had left a rosy color in her cheeks, and a few loose strands of dark hair framed her face.
She straightened her shirt and smiled at her reflection.
“I look rather nice today.”
“You do seem in excellent spirits.”
“I am.”
She turned slightly, admiring the new confidence in her posture.
Then she noticed something.
Astarion had walked up behind her.
But in the mirror…
There was nothing.
Only the room.
Only herself.
The space where he should have been was empty.
She blinked.
Slowly, she turned around.
Astarion had already begun walking toward the stairs.
“…Astarion?”
He paused.
“Yes?”
She looked between him and the mirror.
“You don’t have a reflection?”
Silence.
He didn’t move.
“No,” he answered quietly.
She looked back at the mirror.
Nothing.
Not even the faintest outline.
She hadn’t noticed before.
She had known he was a vampire.
She knew he drank blood.
But somehow…
This felt different.
Smaller.
Sadder.
She turned to face him fully.
“You cannot see yourself?”
Astarion gave a small, humorless smile.
“No.”
“At all?”
“No.”
She looked at him carefully.
“How long has it been?”
The question caught him off guard.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
Then his eyes drifted toward the mirror.
“I don’t remember.”
Her expression softened.
“You don’t?”
He shook his head.
“It’s been… centuries.”
The words were spoken so quietly.
“I don’t know what I look like because I don’t remember.”
A faint sad smile crossed his face.
Tavara’s heart ached.
To never see your own face.
To never know if you’d changed.
To never meet your own eyes in a mirror.
She looked at her reflection again.
Something she had taken for granted moments ago.
Then she looked back at him.
“That’s terribly sad.”
He gave a small shrug.
“I do miss it.”
“But you shouldn’t have had to.”
That made him pause.
Most people reacted to his vampirism with fear.
Or curiosity.
Or disgust.
No one had ever sounded… heartbroken for him, not in a long time anyway.
He looked at her.
She stepped closer.
“I think I’d miss it terribly too.”
She hesitated.
“Do you ever wonder if you’ve changed?”
Astarion let out a quiet breath.
“Sometimes.”
Silence settled between them.
Then Tavara smiled gently.
“Well… for what it’s worth, I think you’re very handsome.”
He stared at her.
She continued, completely sincere.
“And your hair looked especially nice today.”
A surprised laugh escaped him.
“Is that your solution?”
She smiled.
“If you can’t see yourself, I can simply tell you.”
He blinked.
“You’ll tell me how I look?”
“Of course.”
The simplicity of her answer struck him again.
“As often as you like.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he looked away, suddenly finding the staircase very interesting.
“You are an unusual woman, Tavara.”
She smiled.
“I’ve been told that before.”
He chuckled softly.
Then, almost too quietly to hear, he said,
“Thank you.”
She looked back at the mirror one last time.
Then at him.
And somehow, the empty space in the glass seemed a little less lonely than it had a few moments before.
—————
Astarion closed the door to his room a little harder than he intended.
The latch clicked.
Silence.
The chamber was dimly lit by a single candle and the moonlight spilling through the window.
He crossed to the small table where a half-filled glass of wine waited for him.
He picked it up.
But his thoughts wouldn’t settle.
How long has it been?
Tavara’s question echoed in his mind.
You cannot see yourself?
Such a simple question.
Yet it had reached into a place he’d long buried.
He had been called handsome.
Beautiful.
Exquisite.
For centuries.
Lovers had whispered it.
Strangers had admired him.
Victims had trusted him because of it.
But he himself?
He hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.
He remembered pale skin.
White curls.
Red eyes.
Pointed ears.
But the details?
The lines of his face?
The exact shape of his smile?
No.
They had faded.
Like a painting left too long in the sun.
A bitter anger stirred inside him.
And then another face came to mind.
Cazador.
Cold eyes.
Cruel smile.
Chains.
Commands.
Two centuries of servitude.
Two centuries of being used.
Sent into the night to lure people back.
To be charming.
To be beautiful.
To be whatever was needed.
Not for himself.
Never for himself.
For blood.
For his master’s hunger.
For his master’s cruelty.
His hand tightened around the wine glass.
The anger became unbearable.
With a sharp motion, he hurled it across the room.
Crash!
Glass shattered against the stone wall.
Red wine splashed like spilled blood.
Silence followed.
His chest rose and fell.
He stood there breathing hard.
Then the anger turned inward.
What was he now?
A vampire.
A monster.
A thing that hunted in the dark.
A man who couldn’t even remember his own face.
And then there was Tavara.
Bright-eyed.
Kind.
Quick to laugh.
Entirely too trusting.
She had looked genuinely saddened for him.
Not afraid.
Not disgusted.
Sad.
As though his lack of reflection were a terrible injustice.
As though he were worth grieving for.
He sank onto the edge of his bed.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands.
Why had that affected him so much?
Why did she affect him so much?
Her smile.
Her laughter.
The way she handed him her coins because she trusted him.
The way she’d said:
“I can simply tell you how you look.”
A small warmth settled in his chest despite everything.
A strange comfort.
Then he frowned.
No.
He could not allow himself this.
She deserved someone better.
Someone warm and living.
Someone who could walk in the sunlight beside her.
Someone who wasn’t burdened by centuries of pain and blood and regret.
Someone who could look into a mirror and see themselves.
Not him.
Never him.
He looked toward the broken glass on the floor.
The room felt terribly empty.
Yet somehow, despite his anger and self-loathing, another thought persisted.
A quiet one.
A dangerous one.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice.
“I think you’re very handsome.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Just for a moment.
Then it faded.
He leaned back against the bedpost and stared at the ceiling.
The anger remained.
The sorrow remained.
But beneath it all was something new.
Something soft.
Something frightening.
For the first time in a very long time, when he thought of tomorrow…
he found himself looking forward to seeing someone.