Silver Marks and Heartstrings
Chapter 4 - Doubts and Desires
Pairing: Astarion x Tav (he/him)
Words: 5.7k (chapter 4)
Rating: M
Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56871064
Chapter Summary: In the heart of the Underdark, Astarion comforts Tav, confronting his insecurities - and Astarion interacts with the rest of the party.
Story Summary: Astarion, a centuries-old vampire spawn, discovers unexpected love with Tav, a young half-elf. Drawn together after escaping a mind flayer’s grasp, they journey through perilous lands, where Astarion grapples with his feelings and the revelation of his true soulmate. Amidst adventure and uncertainty, they must confront their desires and fears in their quest for love and acceptance. Silver Marks and Heartstrings is a tale of love transcending time and destiny, where two souls, marked by fate yet bound by choice, navigate the complexities of trust, desire, and the enduring power of love against all odds.
Ever since that night, Astarion couldn’t look away.
The bard had become a focal point in the vampire’s world, a light that drew his gaze and refused to let go. Days had turned into weeks, and the pale elf found himself increasingly captivated by Tav, watching the blond’s every move with a newfound fascination. It was as if, since they’d lain together, Astarion saw Tav differently – more clearly. He was enthralled by the way Tav carried himself with an easy strength, a confidence that drew others in and convinced them to trust a stranger.
It was maddening, mesmerizing, terrifying to watch the bard charm both friend and foe, persuading all to trust him fully. His ability to connect with others, to bring out the best in those around him or to ruin his enemies, left the rogue in awe – in all senses of the term. Even his Master – Cazador, who had controlled every movement of his spawn with mind control and vampire magic – paled in comparison. Cazador’s power had been absolute, yes, forcing his spawn to obey his every command, but Astarion had always felt the control take over. He’d always known when his own will was overridden, when Cazador used his powers.
Tav, however, didn’t need magic. His charisma and personality and words were enough to have others follow him with ease, to have them willingly doing what he wanted. Astarion shivered in awe and dread. He had never encountered someone who could wield such influence so effortlessly, and the thought of losing the half-elf’s favour was a fear that gnawed at him constantly.
Even then, fear intertwining with his admiration… Astarion couldn’t look away.
From the way he bargained with every shopkeep they met, his charm effortlessly lowering prices, to the way he absentmindedly played with the tattoo of the broken dagger on his throat when lost in thought… Every aspect of Tav captivated him.
Astarion’s gaze often lingered on that mark, the only one he had found on the bard’s body, aside from the constellation of freckles that decorated his skin. Combined with the movement of Tav’s fingers against his own neck, the vampire’s mind often raced with unbidden thoughts, the memory of their intimacy a whisper that never left him. He found himself yearning for the bard’s hands in his hair again, petting or pulling, yearning for the feel of the blond’s lips against his own. His hands ached to hold the man close, to slip hands beneath undershirts and waistbands and feel the warmth of tan skin against his own. The ghost of Tav’s kisses lingered on his skin, a sensation that both confused and intrigued him. He was unaccustomed to such longing, especially without the bitter aftertaste of repulsion thick on his tongue.
On one unusually quiet night, their first in the heart of the Underdark, Astarion was again watching Tav with an intensity that bordered on obsession. The blond sat far from the campfire he had hastily thrown together, away from the rest of the party. It was unusual for the bard to isolate himself; Tav typically encouraged everyone to interact, to talk, to bond.
A glistening tear slipped down Tav’s cheek as he cradled his flute, emitting a haunting melody that echoed against the rocky walls and through the fungi like a whisper of the past. The sight tugged at Astarion’s heartstrings, pulling him to his feet before he even realized he was moving. His heart pounded in his chest, his entire being begging to be by Tav’s side, even though his mind didn’t know what to do.
Awkwardly, he stood rooted to the spot, uncertain. Glancing over his shoulder at the three companions preparing the evening meal, he startled slightly as he noticed that they were all looking at him expectantly. Gale and Wyll’s eyes were filled with worry, whilst Shadowheart’s were brimming with encouragement.
“Go!” she mouthed, shooing him away.
Astarion squawked in indignation as she shoved at his legs. Finding no words to adequately brush off his initial reaction, he sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. Deep down, he knew she was right to send him; he was the one closest to Tav – and by his own hand, at that! – but still…
He glanced over at Tav, heart clenching as he saw another tear slide down the man’s scarred cheek. Could he really be of any help?
“Astarion,” Shadowheart hissed.
“Yes yes, I’m going,” he insisted, but still, he didn’t move. There was no way he could do this, he couldn’t help anyone, all he ever did was hurt people, he…
Cold hands pushed between his shoulder blades and Astarion stumbled forward, squawking again. He turned, ready to tear into the raven-haired cleric. Instead, he found himself face to face with two glittering mage hands and companions struggling to keep a straight face. Gale’s eyes weren’t even focused on the vampire, instead looking over at the other summoner, winking as Lae’zel caught his eye. The githyanki had the nerve to smirk, attention returned once more to grinding her weapons to the sharpest points.
For a moment more, Astarion stood there, mouth agape. No one was looking at him, all returning to their previous duties, and he knew no one would take pity on him and replace him. Flustered, he turned on his heel and marched towards the bard, cursing all his companions under his breath as he did.
But as he approached, as the familiar tug on his heart made itself known, the rogue couldn’t help but soften. He always did when Tav was nearby.
Curse these soulmarks, Astarion thought to himself, disquieted. This softness, this vulnerability would be the death of him if the bard ever tired of him.
It was instinctive for Astarion to move more quietly now, almost as if he were stalking prey, lost in his thoughts. What if Tav ever turned on him? Would he stand a chance? Despite the softening effect Tav had on him, Astarion knew that Tav, too, seemed to let his guard down around him. The bard trusted his party so completely that he didn’t notice the rogue’s approach.
From afar, Astarion continued to observe, assessing vulnerabilities and strengths. He cataloged Tav’s body, strong and toned from a life of adventure. Astarion knew it would be dangerous to fight him without weapons; Tav’s physical strength was evident even in the way he moved, with grace and purpose. The bard’s shoulders were broad, his arms well-defined beneath the fabric of his shirt, a testament to the physical demands of their journey. Despite the danger Tav could pose in battle, Astarion couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of his form – the sculpted muscles he’d held under his hands spoke of years of training.
His thoughts turned to Tav’s injuries, the scars that marked battles fought and survived. The scar across the half-elf’s eye, once a wound but now a part of his rugged allure, somehow enhancing rather than detracting from his beauty. The bite marks on his neck from Astarion’s daily feedings, feedings that strengthened the vampire and weakened the bard. Astarion dragged his fingers across his lips, savouring the memory of Tav’s lifeblood pouring freely into his mouth, and his eyes moved back up to linger on the blond’s lips, full and expressive, remembering how they felt against his own.
His gaze shifted again, this time focusing on the freckles that dotted Tav’s cheeks and nose, like constellations against his tan skin. Each freckle told a story of days spent under the sun, a contrast to the pallor of Astarion’s own complexion. His gaze drifted lower, taking in the bard’s earrings – silver hoops and dangling blue jewels that glinted softly in the dim light, their cool glint contrasting the half-elf’s warm, tan skin.
Tav’s hair caught the soft glow of the glowing bulb above, a cascade of blond against the darkness of the Underdark, framing his face like a halo. His eyes, closed now, Astarion knew to be bright and expressive, knew to reflect a depth of emotion that he found himself drawn to like a moth to a flame. They were eyes that had seen both sorrow and joy, and they held a wisdom that belied the man’s youthful appearance. They were blue like…
Astarion froze, fingers stopping in their tracing of his soulmark. Reality reasserted itself with a jolt. If he was this distracted without the bard even turning those eyes on him…
Shit.
If Tav ever turned on him, if their fragile trust shattered like glass… Astarion would be utterly defenseless.
Forcing himself to breathe evenly, Astarion steeled himself against the tumult of emotions raging within. He had come here for a reason, to offer comfort and solace to the bard who had become both his weakness and his strength. Realizing just how out of his depths he was made it even more important for the vampire to make himself indispensable to Tav – to make sure the bard wouldn’t ever betray him.
And if part of him did care – deeply, irrevocably – for the bard’s wellbeing… If every fiber of his soul was screaming for him to be by the man’s side, to be his companion, to be his support – even if he knew not how, even if emotions other than greed and lust and wrath made him uncomfortable…
Well. No one needed to know that, did they?
“Tav, darling?” he called out, his voice carrying softly through the quiet of the Underdark as he stepped out of the shadows at last, his heart pounding in his chest.
Startled, Tav quickly wiped his eyes free of more tears. He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat once, twice, before finding the strength to respond.
It was sweet, really, Astarion found, watching Tav trying to look his best for him. It helped with the nerves, at least, to see that he wasn’t the only one putting on a show.
“Darling… I didn’t see you there.” Tav moved over on the rocky ledge, making room for the rogue to sit beside him.
Astarion hesitated, his discomfort with emotional situations palpable. He wanted to help, he did, but… “That song is... poignant,” he managed, choosing his words carefully. “Did you compose it?”
Tav’s eyes, usually bright with hope, momentarily dimmed as he glanced down at the flute in his hands. “It’s the last song my mother wrote before she died,” he replied softly. “A melody for my father, taken by the drow. It’s my way of keeping them close, even in this darkness.”
Guilt pricked at Astarion’s conscience for delving into Tav’s private grief when moments ago he’d been thinking of how best to take him down. He longed to offer comfort but felt ill-equipped, his own insecurities holding him back. Instead, he took the offered seat and settled beside Tav, their shoulders brushing in a gesture of silent solidarity. He hoped it conveyed more than words could.
“Are you alright?” Astarion asked, his voice tentative. Comforting people had never been his forte.
Tav sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I will be, in time. It’s just... memories. This place, this melody... it brings back things I thought I’d left behind.”
Astarion nodded, understanding the weight of past burdens all too well. “I understand,” he said softly. “Some memories are harder to escape than others.”
The glowing bulb above them flickered, casting dancing shadows across their faces. For a moment, the weight of their shared histories hung between them, unspoken yet deeply felt. Astarion glanced at Tav, silently hoping that their burgeoning connection offered even a fraction of the comfort and support the half-elf had given him in his darkest moments.
“Sometimes, no matter how far we run, our pasts have a way of catching up with us,” he added, his fingers flexing nervously, the lines between self-preservation and genuine concern began to blur. A part of him yearned to reach out, to offer tactile reassurance, yet fear of overstepping restrained him.
Tav looked at him, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “Like that Gur hunter?” he asked.
Astarion scoffed, playfully shoving the bard’s shoulder with his own. “Like that Gur hunter,” he conceded. “I’m still mad you let him get away, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Tav chuckled. “I don’t regret it, though, and I appreciate your understanding. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
Blue eyes locked with red, and Tav extended a tentative hand, resting it gently on the vampire’s knee. Surprised yet comforted by the gesture, Astarion allowed Tav’s thumb to brush soothing circles against the rough material. He felt a faint warmth spread across his cheeks, a blush of embarrassment at his own emotional vulnerability. By the hells, Tav had been the one crying! But he couldn’t deny the profound relief he felt, knowing that the blond understood how agonizing it had been to watch him spare the Gur hunter.
All Astarion had wanted at that moment was to drive his dagger into the hunter’s neck, ensuring he couldn’t return to Cazador with information on his whereabouts. Yet, now removed from the heat of the moment, with emotions less raw and with time to reflect, he had to concede that the man at his side may have been right. The hunter might not have been sent by Cazador.
Though he couldn’t bring himself to voice it, he was grateful that Tav had prevented more innocent blood from staining his conscience.
Their eyes held for a moment longer, communicating unspoken gratitude and understanding. Astarion’s hand paused in mid-air for a fleeting moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But then, summoning his resolve, he gently placed his hand on top of the bard’s. He felt Tav’s fingers twitch slightly beneath his touch, a subtle response that spoke volumes. Tav’s eyes dropped, his head tilting slightly to hide his face from Astarion, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. The pale elf’s heart tugged at the sight, tenderness flooding in.
With each passing second, Astarion's fears of betrayal dissipated, replaced by a genuine desire to see Tav happy, to see him safe. No matter what he tried to tell himself at night, Astarion knew he was no longer just trying to ensure his own survival; he was invested in Tav's well-being. The more he allowed himself to hope, the more he realized he wanted a true connection with his soulmate – not just a manipulated alliance.
As their hands rested gently together, Astarion again felt the pull on his heart, a surge of warmth that coursed through his veins. It was more than just physical contact, this holding of hands; it was a tether to hope and possibility. It reminded him of those visions he’d glimpsed when they rested together under the canopy of trees and moonlit skies, where fleeting images of a shared future danced at the edge of his consciousness. In those dreams, he had seen laughter and quiet moments shared; he had dared to imagine a life where Tav was more than just a companion in their perilous journey, but a partner bound to him by a deeper, unbreakable thread.
The memory of those visions stirred hope within him, igniting a longing he struggled to contain. Yet even as their fingers moved in harmony, intertwined, laced themselves together, doubts crept in once more. In all their weeks together, the elf had never glimpsed Tav’s soulmark. And while Tav sought his company, shared stories, and offered solace, Astarion had never sensed the same inexplicable pull from Tav. It gnawed at him, this uncertainty – did Tav feel the same deep, magnetic draw that Astarion did? Or was he merely a companion, albeit a cherished one, in Tav’s journey?
He wouldn’t put it past the gods to play one more trick on him. To allow him to finally find his soulmate, only for his soulmate to not lo-…
The rogue shuddered, not allowing himself to finish that thought.
Astarion’s mind raced with questions he longed to ask, fears he hesitated to voice. The glowing bulb sputtered, seeming to echo his turmoil, its unpredictable dance reflecting the turbulent emotions swirling within him. He wanted to ask the half-elf about his soulmark, to breach the subject that weighed heavily on his heart, but fear held him back. What if Tav didn’t feel the same pull, the same undeniable connection that Astarion felt deep in his bones? What then?
Shadowheart’s words echoed in his mind, her certainty that Tav was the one meant for him. But what if she was mistaken? What if his own desires had clouded his judgment, weaving fantasies where there were none?
He bit his lip, torn between the desire to know and the fear of shattering the fragile peace they had found. The rogue focused on the warmth of Tav’s hand in his, on the comfort the bard so freely gave – and he allowed himself to hope.
“Tav…” Astarion began, his voice trembling slightly. For once, he didn’t try to hide it. “Do you ever feel a pull towards someone? A sense of peace that you can’t quite explain?”
Tav turned to him, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “Yes,” he answered after a moment, his voice carrying the weight of introspection. “I’ve felt it forever,” he explained. “It’s like a part of me is always searching, always yearning for someone I haven’t met yet. But when I’m around certain people… It feels like I’m home.”
Astarion’s heart fluttered at the affirmation, hope growing with every word the bard spoke. “And... do you ever wonder who that person might be? If they’re out there, feeling the same way?”
Tav smiled softly, his eyes reflecting the flickering light. “I believe they’re out there somewhere,” he replied, his hand tightening gently around Astarion’s. The half-elf’s touch was reassuring, grounding.
A rush of emotions surged within the vampire – relief, longing, and the underlying fear beneath it all. He wrestled with the urge to reveal all his secrets, to lay bare all his marks, from his soulmark to the scars of his past and the darkness that haunted him still. But fear gripped him tight – fear of rejection, of losing this fragile connection that had become his lifeline in the depths of Faerûn.
He looked down at their entwined hands, at the pale skin against tan, the contrast stark yet strangely beautiful in the Underdark’s glow. Astarion’s fingers traced the intricate lines of Tav’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. He wanted to believe that Tav could see beyond his past, beyond the bloodshed and the horrors he had endured.
But doubts lingered still, like the shadows that danced on the cavern walls around them. Would Tav turn away if he knew the truth? Would he recoil from the darkness that stained Astarion’s soul? The weight of his secrets pressed down upon him, threatening to suffocate the fragile hope that had begun to bloom in his heart.
He glanced down at his hands, at the blood he knew was on them, a constant reminder of Cazador’s cruelty. Would Tav be repulsed if he knew the truth? It was one thing to see the physical evidence of Astarion’s past, the marks that marred his body – he had been so kind when he’d seen them – but the marks that marred his soul…
Astarion’s mind spiraled further. Could he ever confide in Tav about the horrors he endured under Cazador’s rule? The unspeakable acts he was forced to commit, the lives he offered to his master? He feared that revealing these dark secrets would shatter whatever delicate bond they were building. He was terrified that Tav would look at him with disgust, that he would turn away and leave Astarion more alone than ever.
The thought of the blond’s rejection was almost too much to bear. Astarion clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself, but fear lingered, a constant, gnawing presence in the back of his mind. He had to know if Tav felt the same pull, the same inexplicable connection, but… He had to find the courage to seek the truth, even if it meant facing his deepest fears.
Silence continued to stretch out between them, but soon, Tav was reaching out, hands gently cradling Astarion’s own, his precious flute forgotten somewhere on the ground.
“Astarion,” Tav’s voice broke through his thoughts, gentle yet searching. “There’s something you’re carrying, something you haven’t shared. I can feel it.”
The vampire’s breath caught in his throat. How could Tav sense his turmoil, his hidden fears? Was he that transparent, even to someone who had become so dear to him?
“I...” Astarion hesitated, his voice wavering. “There are things... things I haven’t spoken of, secrets that...” He faltered, unable to find the words to convey the depth of his anguish.
Tav’s grip tightened, a silent gesture of encouragement. “You don’t have to tell me now,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against Astarion’s uncertainty. “But know that whatever it is, whatever burden you carry, you don’t have to bear it alone.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Astarion’s eyes, unshed and raw. In Tav’s presence, he could believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he could be accepted and understood, scars and all.
Their moment was interrupted by a soft cough, Wyll apologetically clearing his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Wyll began, “but we need to gather some herbs for Gale. It’s best not to go alone.” He glanced around, explaining, “Karlach’s hands have a tendency to burn everything she touches, and Lae’zel doesn’t know mergrass from swarming toadstools…”
The rogue jumped slightly, his ears burning red at being caught in such a vulnerable state. He cursed himself inwardly for not hearing the warlock approach sooner, his usual sharp senses momentarily dulled by the intensity of his conversation with Tav. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed under Wyll’s observant gaze.
Tav, ever quick-witted and understanding, chuckled softly at Astarion’s reaction and gave his hands a reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to Wyll. “No worries, Wyll. I understand,” Tav replied with a lopsided smile, gently withdrawing his hand from Astarion’s. “I’ll be right there.”
Wyll nodded gratefully, offering a bow of thanks before he turned and headed off towards the outskirts of the camp. Tav retrieved his flute from where it lay forgotten on the ground, giving the rogue a playful wink as he placed his hat askew on the vampire’s head. “Keep it safe for me, yeah?” he teased before jogging off to catch up with Wyll, leaving Astarion flustered and alone.
His blush deepened and spread across his cheeks. “Of course,” he muttered awkwardly, though Tav was already out of earshot.
Feeling exposed and uncomfortable, Astarion hesitated momentarily, wavering. He longed for the comforting embrace of the shadows, where he could shield his vulnerabilities behind a facade of nonchalance – but his companions had all pushed him to go talk to Tav, and they wouldn’t let him retreat to his tent without sharing something. Gathering his resolve with a deep breath, he strode purposefully toward Gale and Shadowheart. Nearby, Karlach practiced her combat maneuvers with focused intensity in front of her tent.
“Looks good on you, soldier,” the tiefling quipped, an amused expression on her face as she eyed the hat.
Astarion’s blush deepened, and he quickly removed the hat, stuffing it forcefully under his arm. “I was just keeping it safe for him,” he muttered, feeling even more self-conscious under their scrutiny.
Shadowheart and Gale exchanged knowing glances. The cleric wiped her hands on a cloth before stepping closer to Astarion, creating a semblance of privacy away from the other two, while Gale encouraged Karlach to go spar with Lae’zel.
The party’s other half-elf tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “How did the talk go?” she asked quietly, her voice filled with genuine interest.
He hesitated, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard. “We... had a moment,” he admitted quietly, fingers unconsciously tracing his soulmark.
Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she nodded encouragingly while gently pulling his hand away from his elbow. “And?”
“I’m closer to telling him about, well… The mark,” Astarion continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “But not yet. I’m not ready.”
Shadowheart smiled. “You’ll know when the time is right.”
Before Astarion could respond, Gale interjected with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk. “What are you two plotting over there?”
Astarion and Shadowheart exchanged glances, both responding in unison, “Nothing!”
Gale raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “I understand the need for secrets, but please do share with the class if it has to do with us, hmm?”
Astarion chuckled nervously, glancing between the cleric and the wizard, relieved by the distraction from his own inner turmoil. He straightened up, trying to regain his composure as he replied, “It’s nothing serious, Gale. Just discussing... future plans.”
Shadowheart shot him a sidelong glance, clearly amused by his evasive answer, but she played along smoothly. “Yes, just strategizing,” she added, her tone betraying nothing of their earlier conversation’s intensity.
Gale raised his eyebrow higher, not fooled in the slightest. “Strategizing, huh? Well, count me in if it involves more of Tav’s intriguing tales or perhaps a new approach to dealing with Lae’zel’s unyielding stubbornness.”
Karlach strolled over with Lae’zel in tow, the githyanki warrior looking unamused as usual. “What’s this about strategies?” she inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity.
“Apparently, we’re planning the next great adventure,” Gale quipped, casting a knowing glance at Astarion and Shadowheart.
The vampire couldn’t help but smile at Gale’s attempt to diffuse the tension, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood. “Indeed, planning is essential,” he added, going along with the jest, “especially when facing the unknown dangers of this wretched realm.”
Karlach grinned, her tail flicking playfully behind her. “Well, count me in. Just make sure we have enough supplies and plenty of sharp weapons, and I’m good to go.”
Lae’zel grunted in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. “As long as we don’t waste time with pointless chatter.”
Gale rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Fear not, Lae’zel. We shall proceed with the utmost efficiency and purpose.”
Astarion felt a weight lift from his shoulders as the banter flowed around him. Among this eclectic group, he found moments of solace and camaraderie that he hadn’t experienced in centuries. Even with his fears and doubts gnawing at him, he knew he wasn’t alone.
Feeling lucky indeed to have friends who could lighten his spirits and dispel his vulnerabilities, he resolved to show his support in return. With a determined stride, he approached Gale, who was deeply engrossed in preparing the evening’s meal.
As he neared, Astarion couldn’t help but notice the meticulous attention Gale paid to each ingredient. The wizard’s eyes twinkled with a subtle excitement, reflecting the dance of the firelight as he stirred the pot. Surprised by his own intensity of observation, Astarion found himself unable to look away. There was something mesmerizing about Gale’s focused demeanour, a dedication that spoke volumes about his commitment to their group’s well-being.
Astarion’s gaze wandered, drawn to Gale’s long locks which were tucked away into a practical bun, keeping them expertly secured away from the food. His gaze wandered again, and soon enough, brown eyes met his. Caught in the act, he felt a flush rise in his cheeks, but to his relief, Gale pretended not to notice, his attention focused once more on the stew bubbling over the fire.
Feeling a tad awkward, but appreciative of Gale’s discretion, Astarion cleared his throat lightly. “How’s that meal coming along?” he asked. He moved to lounge nearby, hoping his usual smirk was playing on his lips.
Gale looked up from his stirring, a faint blush – mirroring Astarion’s own – colouring his cheeks. He smiled warmly, choosing not to comment on Astarion’s momentary lapse, returning instead to his culinary masterpiece. “It’s almost ready, my friend. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“Tell me, Gale,” Astarion drawled, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “do you always put so much effort into making gruel, or is this a special occasion?”
Gale glanced up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “This, my dear Astarion, is not gruel. It’s an exquisite stew, carefully crafted to appease even the most discerning of palates. And if you’re lucky, you might get to taste some.”
Astarion chuckled, his fangs glinting in the firelight. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I might be inclined to agree.”
Gale stirred the pot, a satisfied smile on his face. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Astarion felt a peculiar pull in his chest as his eyes locked with the wizard’s again, an odd sensation that made him pause. His teasing retort faltered on his lips as he tried to understand the feeling. It was as if an invisible thread was tugging at his very being, drawing him towards...
“Look what we found,” Tav announced, both him and Wyll stepping into the firelight with a bundle of fresh herbs in hand. “These should add some flavour to our meal.”
Astarion’s eyes flicked to Tav, the strange pull now making sense. Immediately, he calmed. “Ah, our heroes return,” Astarion said, regaining his composure. “Perhaps now this stew will be somewhat palatable.”
Wyll laughed, the sound warm and comforting. “I have faith in Gale’s culinary skills. And these herbs Tav found will only make it better.”
Gale took the herbs with a nod of gratitude, adding them to the pot. “Thank you, both. This will indeed elevate the dish.”
“I must say, Gale, your culinary skills are truly impressive. This stew promises to be a delight,” Wyll praised sincerely.
He glanced at Tav, his tone carrying a touch of curiosity as he continued. “And Tav, those herbs you found are remarkable. Quite a find in the depths of the Underdark. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve spent some time here before.”
Tav’s reaction was swift but controlled, a brief tensing of his shoulders before he forced himself to relax, an almost imperceptible shift that Astarion, ever observant of his companions’ demeanours, caught. His mind flashed back to their conversation earlier that, where Tav had hinted at lingering memories from his past – memories he seemed keen to leave buried deep within the shadows of the Underdark.
Tav had spoken with a vulnerability that resonated with Astarion, reminding him of his own struggles with memories long suppressed. The urge to reach out, to offer comfort, tugged at Astarion’s heart. Yet, uncertainty gripped him. He didn’t know how to approach Tav, how to breach the walls the bard had carefully erected around his past. Caught between empathy and his own hesitations, Astarion hesitated, his gaze softening as he observed Tav. The bard’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, as if sensing Astarion’s concern, but then Tav’s attention returned to the stew, his expression guarded once more.
Astarion shifted uneasily, his fingers tracing absent-mindedly over the familiar lines of his soulmark. He wanted to say something, to offer reassurance, but the words eluded him. Amid their banter and camaraderie, Astarion felt a pang of helplessness – a reminder that even among friends, some wounds remained unseen and untouchable.
Luckily, Gale smoothly defused any potential tension, ever the diplomatic host. “Indeed,” he chimed in, his tone light and agreeable as he stirred the stew. “Tav has a knack for finding hidden treasures, whether it’s in a melody or in the flora of the Underdark.”
The bard relaxed visibly at Gale’s words, a grateful smile touching his lips. “Just lucky, I suppose,” he replied humbly, his gaze flickering briefly back up to Astarion before focusing back on the task of helping Gale prepare the meal.
Gale continued to stir the stew, the aroma growing richer with each swirl of his spoon. “With these herbs,” he mused aloud, “I believe our meal is ready to be sampled.”
Astarion forced a smile, masking his inner turmoil as he accepted the bowl of stew from Gale. “After you, Gale,” he ended up saying, gesturing playfully towards the pot. “Let’s see if your culinary masterpiece lives up to its promise.”
Gale chuckled warmly, a twinkle in his eyes as he ladled out portions of the stew into bowls. “Only one way to find out.”
As the group settled around the crackling fire, each cradling a steaming bowl of Gale’s stew, a comfortable silence descended. The aroma of herbs and savoury spices filled the air, mingling with the warmth of camaraderie that surrounded them. Astarion took a tentative sip, the rich flavors bursting on his tongue, confirming Gale’s culinary prowess once again.
Wyll was the first to break the quietude, his voice soft and reflective. “It’s moments like these,” he began, his gaze drifting into the dancing flames, “that remind me why we’re here. Not just to survive, but to find moments of joy amidst all the chaos.”
Karlach nodded in agreement, her usual expression softened by the flickering firelight. “Damn right. Life’s too short to waste on bland shit.”
Lae’zel grunted, a rare hint of approval in her tone. “I agree, this stew is more than tolerable. Gale,” she added gruffly, “you may keep using your wizarding skills for future meals.”
Gale chuckled, clearly pleased by the compliment, however backhanded. “I’ll take that as high praise from you, Lae’zel.”
Astarion watched the interplay between his companions with a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in centuries. Their banter, their shared moments of laughter and concern, anchored him in a reality far removed from the haunting memories of his past.
He glanced at Tav again, catching the bard’s eye briefly. Tav returned Astarion’s gaze with a grateful nod, his eyes briefly betraying the weight of unspoken burdens. There was a silent understanding between them, a recognition of shared vulnerabilities that didn’t need words to affirm. It was enough for Astarion to know that Tav knew he wasn’t alone in his struggles.
The fire crackled and danced, casting shadows that flickered like memories across the cavern walls. Above them, the distant echoes of the Underdark whispered ancient secrets, but tonight, beneath their makeshift canopy, Astarion found solace in the present moment.
“We should rest soon,” Shadowheart remarked quietly, breaking the companionable silence. “Tomorrow will bring its own trials.”
Astarion nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Indeed. But for now, let’s enjoy this.”
And so, they lingered by the fire, their voices blending with the night’s chorus of distant echoes and the soft rustling of hook horrors. At that moment, amid the glow of camaraderie and the promise of tomorrow, Astarion felt peace settle within him again. Despite the perils of the Underdark and the uncertainties that awaited them, he knew that together, they would face whatever challenges came their way.
[start | previous | next chapter posted on sunday, august 25, 2024]
