how the tables have turned
Summary: “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”
He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.
Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav)
Word count: ~1800
Notes: Here I am on my day off wanting to write fluff and I end up writing about the whole Haarlep ordeal. That situation is bizarre and uncomfy, but full of so much angst. As per usual, this is written with the context of my AU, so Astarion and Tav aren’t actually together (yet) and this takes place within the context of the game plot. The vampy boy just got back from the ditching the posse in a hissy fit and discovers some disturbing changes.
…
“Rendezvous back here at the Elfsong when we’re all through, got it?” The party converges on the door of their suite, Tav at the lead, but just as it opens, she freezes. A tingle runs down her spine and a flush comes over her cheeks. No no no. Not now. Not again. “Oh no,” she mumbles before shoving her way past her friends and running straight to her bedroom. The door shuts with a resounding thud and a loud silence follows.
Karlach grimaces. “Fucking Haarlep,” she says, spitting the fiend’s name.
Astarion, who was at the back of the group, looks between Tav’s door and the tiefling. “What … was that about?”
No one gives him an immediate answer, but something about their silence feels off. He’s the only one who appears lost. In other words, they know something and they don’t want to tell him. Most likely as payback from when he left their group. Even he has to admit it’s somewhat warranted, but he’s here now, damnit. Then again, it’s been less than 24 hours since he came back.
Gale, unofficial second in command, awkwardly steps into the center of things. “Tav requires a, er, moment of privacy.” He clears his throat. “We should allow her that by going out and doing as she asked of us. Supplies won’t collect themselves.”
Astarion stares at the door. “But is she alright?”
The wizard falls silent once more, pointedly looking down at his boots and clearly done talking. Okay … Astarion can’t tell if he’s more annoyed by the situation or concerned for the person locked in the room. Fine. If they’re not going to provide him any information, he might as well get it from the source.
His expression must’ve given away his intention because Wyll grabs his shoulder before he can move. “Don’t, Astarion. Leave her be.”
“Don’t touch me.” He shrugs off the warlock's hand and continues on his way. Just as he touches the door knob, a noise escapes the room. A moan. A moan? And he knows that moan. He’s made people do it before. This—this can’t be right. He must be delusional. But then there it is again, a sound of ecstasy passing through Tav’s lips. “What in the fucking Nine Hells is going on in there?” he demands out loud.
Gale's face is bright red and he’s white knuckling his quarterstaff. “I told you she needed a moment,” he mutters, eyes pleading. “Now please kindly step away from the door.”
Astarion does move away from the door and gets right in his face. “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”
He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.
As frustrated as he is, Astarion is in no mood to fight. Although he has apologized for his dramatic departure, he’s not so naive to believe everyone has entirely forgiven him. He stashes his knife and holds up his hands. “I yield.”
She snaps at the others. “You all have a job to do, don’t you? Shoo.” They all file out slowly, a couple of them tossing a final glance in Tav's direction. Once it’s just the Harper and the vampire, the former gestures signals for him to follow. “Come.”
He grits his teeth, but obeys. Jaheira leads him downstairs into the tavern. It’s still mid morning, so there’s not much business yet, only a handful of people sprinkled across the space. The pair bypass the bar entirely and find an empty table in a secluded corner. She sits down first then nods towards the empty seat. “Sit.”
Astarion doesn’t fancy being told what to do yet again. “Tell me now; are you actually going to explain or should I just walk away?”
In lieu of properly answering, Jaheira lets out a world weary sigh and instead asks, “You are aware that we now possess the Orphic Hanmer, yes?”
He rolls his eyes. Perhaps he should leave. “Yes, I’m aware. How is that relevant to this conversation?”
“You recall where it was being held?”
His patience is wearing thin. “The House of Hope; that devil, Raphael’s, domain. I was told you lot took care of him.”
“Indeed. Raphael was defeated by our hand when we tried to escape with the hammer,” Jaheira says plainly. “However, prior to that battle, there was an incubus, Haarlep. He agreed to help us, but it came with a steep price.”
He reaches for his dagger again. “Is he up there right now?”
She shakes her head. “No, fortunately not.”
“Then what are we even talking about?”
Jaheira has never been one to mince her words, something Astarion respected her for. So it isn’t a good sign if she hesitates before speaking. The elder woman clasps her hands together and rests them on top of the table. Still, she pauses first. “Haarlep gave us a code to a safe and the hammer in exchange for having his way with Tav.”
Astarion feels his stomach drop into the sewers. “What?” He bangs his fists on the table. “Why the hells didn’t you kill him?”
“Honestly, we weren’t around to stop it from happening,” she confesses. “Tav split off from the group at some point and by the time we found her, a deal was struck and the deed was done.”
He points towards the stairs. “That still doesn’t explain whatever that is.”
Again, she hesitates, which is very unsettling. “He is a shapeshifter, much like that bloodthirsty Orin girl. Whenever he uses Tav’s form to seduce someone, she can feel everything with her own body.” The High Harper scowls. “It seems he’s been using it quite frequently.”
Astarion comes to a horrific realization. He covers his face in shame for her and finally drops into the open seat. “So right now, he’s fucking somebody else as her?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. This is too much. This is too familiar. Cazador is dead. Cazador is gone. Astarion stabbed him himself. This isn’t even about him, it’s about her. That stupid, selfless woman. He always warned Tav that her acts of heroism and martyrdom would eventually bite her in the ass one day, but he never thought it would be something like this. This is so much worse. What was she thinking? Jaheira allows him some time to gather his thoughts. When he does, he lets his hands fall away. “And … how often does this happen?”
“If I had to guess, every few days.” She sighs yet again. “You know how she can be though. It could be more. It hasn’t happened during a fight.” There’s an implied yet that hangs heavily in the air.
By now, a few guests have started to trickle in. Their private conversation won’t be so private for much longer. “How is she? Really.”
Jaheira stands. “Well, with an incubus violating her body, a mind flayer invading her mind, and a vampire spawn who wished her dead, how do you think, Little Star?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer. She just walks away and out the front door, leaving him to stew in his thoughts and emotions. Which can be perfectly summed up as what the fucking hells.
It doesn't take too long for the druid to descend the stairs. At the bottom, she scans the room and her eyes connect with a familiar red pair of eyes. For a split second, she breaks into the sunny smile she’s known for, but one look at his expression sours hers. Tav heads for the door.
“Tav!” Astarion scrambles up from the chair and chases her outside. “Wait!”
She does not wait. “They told you.” It’s not even a question.
He catches up and puts himself directly in front of her. “I was going to find out eventually.”
Tav starts stabbing him with her finger in the chest. “Hey, you don’t get to judge me. You weren't there and it was the only way that no one would get hurt and—”
He lets her do it. “Out of everyone here, I have the least right to judge you.”
She laughs, but the sound lacks any humor. “Out of everyone here, you’d have the most right to judge me.”
Astarion frowns at the accusation. “Why would I judge you at all?”
“Because I had a choice, and you didn’t.”
Technically, technically, she’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make this any less fucked up. “I’m not judging you, Tav.” Gods below, is this what it was like for her when she was trying to get him to open up? “Your body is being used in such a dirty, nefarious way against your will, the toll on your mind and body is unfathomable. I’m the only person here who truly understands that.”
“I’m fine.”
Her nonchalance on the subject is pissing him off, but a small voice (that sounds awfully close to hers) reminds him this isn’t about him. “No, you’re not.”
Tav crosses her arms. “You went through this for two hundred years. I’m not going to compare my tendays of discomfort to your literal centuries of torture.”
“By the Gods, Tav, it’s not a bloody pissing contest for trauma!” He wants to grab the druid and shake some sense into her. If the issue at hand was literally anything else, he would. “Whether it’s been happening for a day, a week, a month, or a thousand years, it’s a shit predicament for anyone.”
He notices her fists clenching and unclenching. She’s digging her nails into her palms. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”
That’s a lie, plain and simple, but he won’t push the subject any further. From his own experience being on the other side of things, specifically during their discussions, it made him dig his heels in the dirt and shut down. Ironic how the tables have turned. “Alright,” he concedes. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m willing to lend an ear.”
Tav closes her eyes, takes a very deep breath, and lets it out very slowly and loudly. When she looks back at him, she seems slightly less frazzled. “Thanks, but I’m—”
“Fine?” he says with a smirk.
She snorts. “I am.”
“Of course you are.”
With an unimpressed eye roll, she pushes him away in jest. “I am, for the millionth time. Now drop it and let’s go. We’re already running behind.”
“Coming, dear.”
As they walk side by side, Astarion can’t help but wonder when he became the emotionally mature one in their friendship. The one attempting to crack open the shell of the other person. Ugh, he fucking hates it. Being the petty and bitter one is much easier. And yet he wants to try to be supportive and open. For her.
The things you do for love, right?
…
Thanks for reading!