Something I Love About Confronting Cazador Is How He Obviously Never Processes That Astarion Has Friends

Something I love about confronting Cazador is how he obviously never processes that Astarion has friends until it's too late.

Petras and Dalyria must have mentioned that Astarion wasn't alone when they met him, but when you read Cazador's journal? He's 100% fixated on Astarion. How Astarion stood in the sun, how Astarion was willing and able to disobey him. And when Astarion shows up, Cazador barely acknowledges the party at all - and sure, that's partly because this is Astarion's moment in the narrative, but Cazador doesn't so much as ask why these random strangers are there! They're not part of his plans, so they don't exist.

And then they immediately save his errant spawn from the ritual and start beating his ass.

Just. What must have been going through Cazador's head when that fight starting turning against him? 'Is that... the Blade of Frontiers? Why is a monster hunter - and is that a cleric? - helping a vampire spawn? An undead? Ah, but they must be treating it as a necessary evil to have a chance to slay me, of course - hold on, why is the cleric healing Astarion? Why does that wizard keep Counterspelling everything I'm casting at Astarion, why waste the spells when I'm not even targeting him? Did... did that druid just cast Daylight on Astarion's weapons? And that brute of a tiefling - that's not just disgust in her eye when she looks at me, it's fury - and she keeps putting herself in front of Astarion, why in the hells would she - she's running right at me- '

I hope that one of the last things Cazador ever knew was the choking realisation that Astarion didn't just come back strong, or free. Astarion came back loved.

Break of Dawn, Chapter 3 (Astarion x Tiefling! Tav)

A/N: I wanted to experiment writing chapters from Astarion's perspective, so that's what this is. Featuring Astarion's awesome flirting skills and vague Gale slander.

Warnings: Brief flashback scene with Cazabitch but nothing too graphic.

WC: 4k

Break Of Dawn, Chapter 3 (Astarion X Tiefling! Tav)

Astarion could not believe his good fortune.

To be fair, he would’ve thought a day spent somewhere besides the palace or someone else’s bed without the threat of a whip to the back would’ve been paradise, but this? This was beyond anything he had dared to hope for.

Which was funny, considering how his day had started.

It was the same as always: woken from a weak trance he had been lucky enough to earn by the tapping of his master’s staff. He had rolled out of his bunk and bent his head as Cazador gave his orders. Ten people by sunrise, no preference for age or sex, but he’d receive something by way of a reward if he found someone blonde. Astarion never questioned his master’s tastes. Success meant dinner, failure meant pain. He had agreed because he had no other option.

Cazador had gripped his chin in a frigid hand, tilting Astarion’s head back until he was forced to meet his master’s eyes. A small smile had crossed his face while he examined Astarion, a cruel sort of fondness in his gaze.

“Your brother fell short of my expectations,” he had drawled in a voice like a breeze through a crypt. “And I have no desire to punish another of my children tonight.” One thin eyebrow had raised. “You won’t disappoint me, will you?”

“No, master.”

The smile twitched up slightly.

“For your sake, I should hope so.”

Cazador had bent and pressed a kiss against Astarion’s hairline, and it took everything he had to suppress the shudder that almost wracked his body. As Cazador straightened, the grip around his chin suddenly tightened, and Astarion caught a glimpse of what he knew to be the beginnings of Cazador’s irritation.

“I gave you the privilege to rest, my child. It is well past nightfall now. Did you not think I would want you ready by sunset?”

“I’m sorry, master, I—"

A squeeze against his throat and Astarion’s voice had choked off.

“You have taken advantage of my generosity. Perform well tonight, and perhaps I will overlook this slight.” Cazador had given him a long, slow blink. “I told you ten for tonight?”

Astarion nodded, knowing better than to speak. Cazador’s smile split into a full grin, fangs curved over pale lips.

“Bring me fifteen.”

Astarion had dressed as best he could, doing his best to hide the ache deep in his bones and the familiar dagger pain in his stomach. He had passed the kennels on the way out and ignored Petras’s howls from inside. Petras had failed. Astarion would not.

He had walked the halls so many times that he barely registered the servants stalking the passages, fists clenched tightly around their brooms and rags, eyes turned down in permanent subjugation. His thoughts swirled in a spiral of his own mental chastising. He knew better than to oversleep, knew better than to push his master’s limits. Now he was paying the price. Fifteen before the sun came up was near impossible, but it was nothing he hadn’t managed before. Astarion had grit his teeth. He wouldn’t fail.

He was so distracted that he had nearly collided with Dalyria. Astarion hissed and sidestepped her.

“Watch where you’re going,” he had growled at her. Dalyria had just huffed and continued the way he had come from, he caught the faint scent of blood as she passed. He paused and turned back to watch her go.

“You ate?” he called. Dalyria had stopped and tilted her head back.

“I brought the master one of the hunters from the Gur camp. I was rewarded.”

Astarion’s stomach rumbled at the mere mention of a meal.

“With what?”

Dalyria had blinked, and Astarion caught a glimpse of pity. Maybe a bit of guilt.

“A rabbit.

Astarion could hardly believe it. Two hundred years and he’d never gotten a rabbit. Dalyria flinched as Astarion couldn’t even bother to hide his rage.

“Perhaps if you’re quick tonight, you will be rewarded, too.”

Astarion said nothing as he slipped away. He couldn’t fail now. Not if rabbits were on the table. He’d bring Cazador all the blondes on the Sword Coast if he had to.

The lamplit streets of Baldur’s Gate were familiar to Astarion as he slinked down the paths to his usual haunts in the Lower City. Yousen had nearly been flayed alive a few nights prior when he’d brought back the son of a wealthy patriar by accident, so the Upper City was currently off limits. That meant seedy bars and sweaty hands ruining his already patched-together clothing, but at least the people there wouldn’t be missed. He could already feel himself going through the motions: drawing his back up straight, fixing his hair, digging roach legs out from between his teeth and wiping the dirt from his skin. Tonight, he was a charming magistrate from the Upper City looking for a pretty commoner to bring back to his estate. Confident, sultry, put-together. For his sake, he hoped he found someone who bought it.

Astarion passed the Elfsong and noticed it was busy but decided against finding a mark there. He’d gone to that tavern the last few nights he’d been sent out and had no desire to draw suspicion, even if the patrons there were usually of a higher class than those that frequented the less popular bars in the city. Instead, Astarion’s feet brought up to the Blushing Mermaid. He wasn’t fond of the sailors and pirates that he pulled there—the one thing worse than their breath was their manners, both in and out of the bedroom—but the Mermaid’s clientele was often a desperate sort. People who had just spent months with nothing but the open ocean for miles and only their own hands for company. Usually, all it took was a whispered promise of ecstasy to get a wayward sailor following on his heels. The quality of any resulting situation was rarely stellar and often painful, but it was nothing Astarion hadn’t stomached before.

He was already running down his reliable list of lines to use on his chosen victim when a sudden gust of air blew past the top of his head. Astarion curled his lip, knowing his hair was now likely in disarray, but a scream further up the street drew his focus away.

It was Baldur’s Gate. Astarion had heard screaming before, often followed by the sound of a coin purse or a stomach getting split open and the footsteps of a thief fleeing the scene before the Fist arrived, but this felt different. It wasn’t a scream of someone being mugged or assaulted. Whoever it was sounded terrified.

He didn’t even get the chance to find out why when a light flared up before him, and even after two centuries of running from the sun Astarion could tell it wasn’t daylight. If his lungs still had breath, he was sure the air would’ve been sucked from him. His ears popped, and the light disappeared.

The next thing he knew, he was in a very tight and very dark place, and for a moment his undead heart seized at just the prospect of being deep underground again. His hands clawed out, terror in his throat. What had happened? Had he passed out? Been attacked? Tears burned in his eyes because he knew it didn’t matter what had happened if he had failed. If one of Cazador’s minions had had to drag him back to the mansion empty handed.

He was back in a coffin, back to endless days of blackness and hunger and—

Astarion’s hands met glass.

The panic waned for a moment, replaced by confusion. His fingers dragged down a cold surface, and now that he wasn’t consumed entirely by fear and actually focused, he could see that the surface in front of him was transparent but fogged up by smoke and his frantic undead breath. Glass, he told himself. Not wood. Not a coffin.

But that hadn’t answered his question of where he was. Or, more importantly, how much trouble he was going to be in when he escaped.

He was just beginning to formulate excuses and apologies for whenever he next faced his master’s wrath when the glass suddenly lifted away, and Astarion found himself face to face with one of the most hideous creatures he’d ever seen. All tentacles and beady orange eyes, long fingers holding up something squirming, and then he was screaming as his eyelids were pried open and it was shoved into his socket, wriggling all the way down.

Astarion had faded in and out of consciousness after that, wondering if it was all just a bad dream—somehow worse than his usual bad dreams—but soon he felt a shudder through the floor, and the far wall was ripped away. He couldn’t get a good look outside, but he saw a bolt of fire rip through the room. Astarion could do nothing but watch in terror as the room began to burn and hope that he wouldn’t be roasted alive. Well, not alive, but…you know.

Soon after he caught sight of someone moving outside. He had reached up and wiped away some of the fog on the glass and saw the vague outline of a tiefling climbing down from some kind of large pod. The same kind of pod Astarion figured he had to be in. He watched the tiefling straighten out, horns stark against the blaze of flames, and saw their face framed in the light streaming from outside. It was a woman, that much he could tell, but she was sprinting from the room before he had the opportunity make out much else besides that and the symbol of a sun on her chest armor. He didn’t even have the chance to call out for help.

Another lurch, and he had no time to stop his head from snapping forward against the glass, and everything went dark again.

Then he was on the beach.

Everything had hurt when he opened his eyes again, more than usual, but that quickly became a low priority problem when he realized he was laying in the sun. Astarion had shot up, every instinct in him telling him to run, but as he stood and looked down to assess the damage, he was beyond shocked to see no blisters, no burns. Instead, just his pale skin, fully exposed to the sun, scratched and slightly bloody but otherwise completely fine. He was standing in the sun. Standing in the sun and he was okay.

It took another bewildered moment for Astarion to realize another thing. Besides a splitting headache, his mind felt remarkably empty. There was a strange tingle behind his eye, but beyond that, nothing. No voice telling him what to do. No whispered command to cut his own skin or to lay with a person he could not have cared less about. No compulsion. No Cazador.

If his headache wasn’t so bad, Astarion would’ve been convinced he had died a second time and somehow slipped into Elysium.

His elation only lasted a moment longer before reality set in, however. He was, somehow, standing in the sun, far enough away that Cazador couldn’t reach him, completely and utterly by himself with no idea where he was or what to do. The familiar rumble in his stomach told him a meal should be a top priority, followed perhaps by a tumble in the river to see if he could manage a swim without his vampiric nature causing the water to make him vomit. Then he needed to find civilization.

Astarion looked around. He needed a plan.

He didn’t know how to make a plan.

He sighed.

Maybe the situation wasn’t as great as he thought.

Astarion was standing in front of the wreck of his pod, trying to force his brain to come up with something useful, when he heard a voice over his shoulder. He turned and saw two figures further up the road he’d been standing on, with a third a little bit behind them. Astarion blinked into the sun—his eyes were starting to hurt from the sudden strain—and caught the shape of curved horns and red skin. A tiefling. The tiefling. The one that had ditched him on the ship.

Now he had a plan.

A plea for help had brought the woman over, with her two companions following shortly after. A quick lie about one of the mindflayers’ pets in the bushes brought the tiefling close enough to snatch, but not before he caught her eyes and saw a momentary flash of suspicion. Astarion gave her his best smile in an attempt to broadcast that he could be trusted and grabbed her the moment she turned her back on him. Stupid move on her part. Never trust a stranger on the road.

Her companions had started yelling almost immediately as he brought his knife to the tiefling’s throat, and this close he could smell her. The sweat on her skin, the faint whiff of cinnamon underneath, and the blood in her veins. Rich and delicious. Her neck was right there. He felt his mouth begin to water and his stomach reminded him that he was starving. All it would take was a tilt of his head, an open mouth, and he’d be more fed in that moment than he had been in nearly two centuries.

There was a blossom of pain against his chin and the tiefling was slipping from his hands. With a start, he realized she had bashed her horns against his face. Bitch.

Astarion leapt to his feet and held his dagger up as he faced the tiefling and her companions. In the sun, her skin looked red as cherries, but there was something wrong with it. He squinted and caught the raised edges of scars curling over her lower face and down her neck. Burn scars, from the look of it, too old to have come from the burning ship. Even with the scars, the woman was pretty. Attractive. Bright, clever eyes, long dark hair braided down her back. His gaze was drawn to her armor again, and he recognized the symbol of the sun as Lathander’s. The Morninglord had no temples in the city, but his and his followers’ quest against the undead was violent enough that Cazador had taught all the spawn to be wary of those baring the mark of the Dawnbringer.

Astarion narrowed his eyes. So, not only had the woman left him behind, but she also happened to serve the one god who hated the undead more than anything else? Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

He had spat out his suspicion towards the woman, accusing her of working for the illithids, to which she had retorted that none of them—neither her nor her companions—had wanted to be on that ship. Apparently, they had gotten something slimy forced into their eyes. Parasites that would turn them into mindflayers by the week’s end if they didn’t find a cure. Astarion felt his heart plummet.

He’d gotten the sun and freedom from his mater in exchange for hideous tentacles. Just his luck.

The tiefling introduced herself as Tav, the brooding half-elf as Shadowheart—ominous—and the human wizard as Gale. To Astarion’s surprise, Tav had extended the offer to him to travel with her group, much to Shadowheart’s immediate and obvious irritation. He had weighed his options. On the one hand, he knew it would be incredibly stupid to follow a Lathanderite whose sole divine mission was to hunt the undead. If she even had the hint of suspicion that he was on her god’s hit list, he was done for.

On the other, Astarion genuinely couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on his own. The last time he had to fend for himself. He had enough sense to know that trying to survive by himself would likely end in disaster, and that his odds improved exponentially when accounting for allies, even if one was Lathander’s pet cleric. Oh, well. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Astarion had sheathed his dagger and agreed, layering on his best smile for good measure.

Yes, his luck was certainly on the upswing.

---

Astarion may have not been a fully-fledged member of society in two hundred years, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to make conversation. A skill the wizard apparently lacked. It had taken less than ten minutes of Gale’s rambling about the wildlife he’d noticed on their journey so far for Astarion to determine that, at the first chance, he was pushing the wizard off a cliff. The half-elf, Shadowheart, wasn’t much better. She was quiet and somber, glaring at him every time he so much as looked her way. Astarion gathered enough to know that she, too, was a cleric, but she wouldn’t say who her patron was.

That was fine enough for Astarion. The only confirmation he needed was that Shadowheart was not another Lathanderite. Her lip had curled when she denied the accusation, and Astarion had the sneaking suspicion that, for all Shadowheart’s bristles, she may have been a kindred spirit.

Then there was Tav. Early on in their trek, had had bounded to the front where she was walking. It was obvious the other two were looking to Tav as some kind of leader, and damned if he wasn’t going to weasel his way into her good graces as soon as he could.

“So,” he had drawled as he sidled up to her side. “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

He almost bit his tongue from cringing at his own line, but it had gotten an eyeroll and a small grin out of Tav, which he counted as a win.

“A mindflayer ship, same as you.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

He waited for Tav to say something, but she let the attempt at conversation lapse into an awkward silence only broken by Gale’s whistling from behind them. Astarion had cleared his throat and cast a glance at Tav. She was pretty, even with the roping scars across her face and neck.

“What were you doing when the mindflayers got you?” she finally said, obviously feeling his eyes on her. He smiled, slipping into the persona he’d been ready to use on his victims.

“Just some late-night paperwork. I’m a magistrate, back in Baldur’s Gate. Tedious work. I’d stepped outside to stretch my legs when those heathens snatched me up.”

“Baldur’s Gate?” Tav said, and he had caught a curious look in her eye. “I was heading that way when the mindflayers got me."

“What buisiness do you have in the city?”

Tav had paused, swallowed, bit her lip.

“Visiting friends.”

Astarion knew a lie when he saw one but hadn’t pressed his luck.

Shortly after that, shouting from up ahead and drawn their attention. Astarion stood back and watched as Tav had jogged up, and when he and the others had caught up with her, they saw Tav speaking to two other tieflings who were pointing at something hung in a cage nearby. Upon closer inspection, Astarion saw it was a gith woman, looking very much like an angry toad, glaring at the crowd below.

Tav was talking in low tones to the tieflings, but the words that reached his ears were in a language he didn’t recognize. The two tieflings had exchanged a glance with each other before walking away. Shadowheart had turned on Tav the moment they were out of earshot.

“You are not freeing are, are you?” she had snapped. Tav had already angled her fingers in the direction of the rope holding the cage above the ground.

“More the merrier, Shadowheart. We need allies.”

“Not if those allies are gith.”

Tav hadn’t waited for any more dissention. She let loose a small flicker of brilliant gold flame that seared the edge of the rope. With a crash, the cage had collided into the ground, freeing the gith inside. Almost immediately, Shadowheart broke into an angry rant that the gith wasted no time in joining. Tav nudged in-between the two, attempting to cool the situation.

“Well, she seems delightful,” Gale had quipped from beside him.

Tav had eventually explained that she and Shadowheart had met the gith woman on the mindflayer vessel, and that apparently the gith had been very adamant on leaving Shadowheart to burn alive in her pod, something Shadowheart was still very clearly upset about. There was some bickering, some swearing, and some mild threats of violence, but both Shadowheart and the gith had eventually fallen into a tense calm.

The gith had introduced herself as Lae’zel before explaining that her people knew a cure for their current predicament, and that the cure was located somewhere she called a creche. Whatever the hells that was. Lae’zel had apparently heard her tiefling captors discussing someone who had seen githyanki nearby, and that must have meant one of their strongholds was in the area.

Tav had then revealed the details of her conversation with the tieflings. Under the guise of needing a healer—which Astarion figured wasn’t quite a lie—she had gotten the tieflings to reveal the location of their encampment: a druid’s grove near the top of the incline, around a mile away. However, the tieflings had mentioned something about the grove not being open to strangers, especially not after dark, so the group had decided to make camp and visit the grove in the morning.

That was almost an hour ago, and the sun was giving out its last bit of light before dipping beneath the horizon. As it turned out, only Tav, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart had the supplies to set up a tent, but the two clerics had extra bedrolls to spare for him and Gale. Lae’zel had found an open patch of grass near the beach that was far enough away from the trees to ease fears about wild animals finding their little camp. It was far from luxury, but anywhere Astarion could lay down without Cazador breathing down his neck was good enough.

Astarion was setting up his bedroll around the fire Gale had started and found his eyes wandering to Tav. Out of solidarity, she had refused to put up her tent and elected to sleep out in the open with him and Gale. Shadowheart and Lae’zel had not followed her example and were putting their tents up on opposite ends of the clearing. Gale meanwhile had begun walking the perimeter of the camp and was setting up protection spells for some extra insurance against attacks, leaving just Astarion and Tav by the fire. Astarion watched her removing her armor piece by piece, first the large chest plate followed by the tough leather shirt underneath, leaving her in just a loose shirt and leggings. The more she stripped away, the more it became clear how far down her scars ran. Her arms, hands, and upper chest were all mottled with puckered tissue, interspersed with patches of white flesh.

“It’s vitiligo,” she said suddenly. He blinked. Apparently he wasn’t being as subtle as he had thought.

“Sorry?”

Tav looked up, and in the dark her infernal eyes almost seemed to glow. She pointed to a spot of white skin just above her elbow, stark against the surrounding red flesh.

“These little patches. It’s a skin condition. My body doesn’t make enough pigment, so sometimes the color gets washed out.” She looked up with a crooked smile. “It’s not contagious.”

Astarion hadn’t even realized he was leaning away from her.

“Ah. Yes, of course. I knew that.”

Tav gave him a look that he wasn’t sure was a good one.

“Besides,” continued, looking back down to where she was running a cloth over a crossbow. “You’re so pale already, I doubt it would make much of a difference.”

Astarion huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t blame me for wanting to keep all this,” he gestured up and down his body, “looking its best.” He blinked. “Not that the spots don’t suit you, of course. They’re charming.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

Astarion shot her his best smile, but only saw a slight scrunch form between her full brows. Tav was speaking again before he had a chance to take control of the conversation.

“Speaking of, not to be rude of course, but I couldn’t help but notice you are rather…pallid.” Tav turned to face him fully, crossbow abandoned in her lap. “Don’t get a lot of sun?”

Astarion met her gaze. There was something in Tav’s expression, a pinch in the corners of her eyes, that he couldn’t put his finger on. So, he shrugged and let an easy grin fall over his face.

“I spend my days in an office, darling. Not a lot of time for sunlight when the Fist have you pouring over every minor case this side of the Chionthar.”

“Are you sick, then? The paleness could be due to…lack of blood flow, perhaps? Poor circulation?”

Astarion caught the suspicion in her eyes this time. An arc in her brow as she worried the skin of her lip between her front teeth. He cursed himself. Tav was a cleric of Lathander. They were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out the undead. Combined with the other events of the day, she was definitely on high alert.

So, he smiled. Leaned back onto his hands, purposefully catching the fading sunlight that was streaking into camp past the trees. He didn’t need a mirror to know the rays were directly on his face now.

“Alas, I am but one victim in a long line of porcelain elves. Just be grateful you got me and not my father—staring at him in this light would blind you.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not. Astarion couldn’t remember his father’s face.

“But I do appreciate your concern, dear. Should I feel under the weather, you’ll be the first I call.”

Tav took a long moment, staring at him in the sun, obviously fighting some internal battle. Astarion watched, begging her to let the matter drop, to turn away, to give him his first easy night in two centuries.

At last, her lips curled up in a slight grin, but he could still see a sliver of hesitation in her eyes.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to be nosey. Cleric’s instincts, you understand.”

“Water under the bridge, darling."

There was a clatter and a shout, and they both turned to look over at where Shadowheart and Lae’zel were bickering over what looked like a broken crossbow. Tav sighed and stood, brushing dirt off her pants as she turned away to calm the storm once again.

“I’ll take the first watch tonight,” he called after her. Tav glanced back, a question in her eyes, but she simply nodded. He watched her go, her tail curled up high against her back, shoulders strong, hair well-combed.

An uneasy feeling stirred in his stomach. Tav was suspicious, and watching him walk in the sun was only going to stop her snooping for so long. Eventually, she was going to start digging like Lathander’s lapdogs always do, and the game would be up when she inevitably found out the truth.

Astarion drew his brows together. Vampires were far from the most well-liked creatures in Faerûn, and he didn’t trust any of the people in camp to let him stay if they found out what he was. At best he’d be cast out, at worst he’d be staked. And as much as Astarion hated to admit it, he knew he’d be useless by himself. Two hundred years deprived of freedom led to rusty survival skills. He needed this group, if for nothing else just to keep him safe for the time being. More importantly, he needed Tav. Her approval was a necessity to earn his place in her makeshift party. It was just a matter of how to earn that approval.

His stomach growled, and he was once again reminded of how hungry he was.

Tav’s favor was a tomorrow problem. For now, he was going to find himself a godsdamn rabbit for dinner.

Break of Dawn, Chapter 2 (Astarion x Tiefling! Tav)

A/N: Okay second chapter and Astarion finally shows up lol. Featuring Tav's spidey sense immediately clocking something is Weird about this random elf and Shadowheart being really good at making friends. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated!

Warnings: None except for Shadowheart's snark. Expect smut and violence in later chapters.

WC: 5k

Break Of Dawn, Chapter 2 (Astarion X Tiefling! Tav)

Thankfully, while she did wake up with a headache again, it wasn’t nearly as severe as the one that had roused her early. Tav groaned, feeling like she had just been at the receiving end of a rothé stampede, before remembering that what had actually happened wasn’t much better. It took a moment for her to wonder if the fall had killed her and she was now laying there waiting for Kelemevor’s judgement, but the distant sound of birds and what felt like sand beneath her fingers convinced her otherwise. With a great amount of effort, Tav peeled her eyes open, only to be immediately met with sunlight. It took everything she had not to curse Lathander and to instead be grateful that at least she was being blinded by the actual sun and not Avernus’s hellfire.

She let out a deep sigh and sat up. Looking around, she noticed that she was, in fact, on a beach, which explained the sand. The beach was also on fire. Or, at least, the wreckage scattered about the beach was on fire. Tav was almost shielded by the burnt remains of the illithid ship, now sinking into the tide, and she couldn’t help but think the mindflayers could have at least had the courtesy to crash the ship in a way that would’ve protected her eyes from the sun.

Tav pulled herself to her feet and did her best to brush the sand and dirt from her clothes. Her breastplate was dented but intact, but her leather pants were ripped up and her boots needed a good repair. The tips of her hair were also singed, though she had needed a trim, anyways. After a general once-over, Tav determined that, while she was probably bruised from head to toe and would likely be walking with a limp for the foreseeable future, she had no grave wounds. She channeled some healing magic to patch together a gash on her upper arm, but the effort left her so drained that she didn’t bother with any of the other cuts. Tav knew she needed time and rest for her magic to replenish itself, and she could only hope she wouldn’t be tussling with any mindflayers before she got a nap in.

After gathering some herbs she’d noticed on the shoreline, Tav began the journey forward. She didn’t have a clue where she was but knew answers wouldn’t present themselves if she stayed in one place. However, she didn’t make it far before she stumbled on a familiar figure.

There, sprawled in the sand further up the beach, was Shadowheart.

Tav jogged forward, hoping she was finding an unconscious ally rather than a dead one, and was relieved when she saw the slow rise and fall of Shadowheart’s chest. As Tav bent down to wake her, she took note of something clasped in the half-elf’s hand. Tav leaned closer to get a better view and realized it was a small, angular object, covered on all sides in what she recognized as gith script, though Tav couldn’t recall if it was of githyanki or githzerai origin. She figured that the object was what Shadowheart had paused to gather from her pod, and while her curiosity tempted her to snatch the artifact, Tav stamped the urge down and instead did gave Shadowheart’s arms a shake.

She woke slowly, grunting at the light much like Tav had, and when her green eyes focused, Tav caught a flash of surprise.

“You’re alive,” Shadowheart said, not sounding fully convinced. “I’m alive. How is this possible?”

Tav shrugged and helped Shadowheart to her feet, watching as she tucked the artifact back into a pocket.

“Your guess is as good as mine. What matters is that we survived.”

Shadowheart huffed and began to dust off her armor, though the details were still smudged over with grime. “I suppose you’re right. Do you know where are?"

“I was hoping you may have an answer to that,” Tav replied. “I don’t recognize the area, though I haven’t gotten the chance to really look around yet. Maybe we’ll find something familiar.”

“We?” Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay together?”

“It makes the most sense,” Tav said. “We’re both infected and need to find a cure. We stand a better chance surviving out here if we travel together.”

A wry smile crossed Shadowheart’s face, and it was only then, in the light and away from the turmoil of battle, that Tav took note of just how pretty the young woman was.

“A logical plan. If you hadn’t been running around with that gith, I’d say you were pretty smart.” Tav snorted, but Shadowheart’s words did bring up something she hadn’t noticed yet.

“Speaking of, where is she? I saw you fall off the ship but I lost sight of her.”

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Shadowheart said. “She wasn’t going to spare the energy to help me, so I won’t spare any energy on her.” Something flashed in Shadowheart’s eyes and she seemed to hesitate slightly before continuing. “On that note, I did want to thank you for that. Staying behind to free me. You didn’t have to, and it would’ve honestly been the smart move to save yourself instead of risking your neck for a stranger, but you did anyways. I’m grateful for that.”

Tav smiled and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind a pointed ear.

“I wouldn’t have just walked away and let you die. I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I did.”

“Not many people would’ve shared that sentiment,” Shadowheart mused, and Tav couldn’t help but wonder if Shadowheart counted herself amongst that crowd. “Regardless of your reasoning, you saved my life. I won’t forget that.”

Before Tav could say anything, Shadowheart looked around the beach and let out a deep breath.

“Well, enough with the heart-to-hearts. We’re losing daylight. We should find somewhere to make camp for the night.”

Tav looked towards the horizon and noticed Shadowheart was right. With how low the sun was, she figured they maybe had a few hours before dark. In unfamiliar territory, Tav didn’t relish the idea of getting caught in the wilds when the sun went down.

“Agreed. Let’s get moving, then.”

The pair began moving up from the beach towards the tree line, taking note of a large stone door that appeared to lead into some kind of temple, but it was locked and neither could pick it, so they continued on. Tav said a small prayer to herself every time they passed the body of someone who had clearly been caught in the crash, which earned her a look from Shadowheart every time.

“You’re a cleric too, aren’t you?” Tav asked, to which Shadowheart nodded. “So then you know it is only natural to want to lay the dead to rest.”

Shadowheart paused a moment, pursed her lips, and said nothing.

As they passed through the smoldering remains of the illithid vessel, Tav attempted to make small talk, but the conversation was stilted, with Shadowheart seemingly uncomfortable discussing herself. When Tav had pressed on which deity Shadowheart served, she had clammed up, stating that it was a private matter. Tav attempted to ease her worries by affirming her own worship of Lathander, but that only seemed to make Shadowheart more wary. After taking care of a few rogue intellect devourers in the wreckage and picking over the bodies, Tav began to run down a list of patrons in her head that would’ve commanded such secrecy. Kelemvor wasn’t off the table—given how nobody was particularly eager to befriend someone that hung out in cemeteries all day, Tav wouldn’t be surprised if Shadowheart wanted to keep that to herself—or perhaps her god was simply less popular. Loviatar, perhaps? Or Mask, maybe, though Shadowheart didn’t seem like much of a thief.

While Tav was pondering, she watched Shadowheart reach down into the pockets of a corpse and retrieve a piece of fabric, which she used to begin wiping down her armor. In the sunlight, Tav caught a glimpse at the front of Shadowheart’s breastplate. Blazoned right in the center was a large black circle decorated with golden arches almost resembling a setting sun. It wasn’t familiar to Tav, though as she began to take notice of Shadowheart’s other accessories, namely those revolving around more big black circles, a sick feeling curled up her spine. Shadowheart couldn’t be…could she?

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk or will you actually do something useful in the near future?”

Shadowheart’s quip broke Tav out of her train of thought. She blinked and smiled up at Shadowheart but could feel that it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Sorry, I…I think the tadpole is eating at my brain.”

Shadowheart didn’t look entirely convinced but seemed not to care about what had caused Tav’s lapse in focus, since she just shrugged and hopped down from the ledge she’d been on.

“Alright, but if you plan on dying a horrible death, please do so from a safe distance away. I’ve fought enough mindflayers for one day.”

Tav laughed. It didn’t shake the worry and suspicion that had started brewing in her stomach.

After looting what parts of the ship they could access, the pair started up a small cliff only to come across a large sigil sputtering against the side of the mountain. They glanced at each other before raising their hands and creeping closer, ready with magic if the situation called for it. Tav moved right to the front of it, while Shadowheart stayed further back. When Tav gave her a look, she said, “In case you need backup, of course,” accompanied by a wry smile. Tav curled her lip, but wasn’t able to say anything in response, as it was at that moment when a hand suddenly shot from the depths of the sigil. She yelped and stumbled back and the hand and its accompanying arm began to wave erratically.

“Hello?”

A voice called out, seemingly from deep within the rune itself. Tav approached, head tilted in curiosity, watching the hand move.

“Some help? For a wizard in need?"

Tav turned to look at Shadowheart, who seemed just as confused, before looking back at the hand.

"Are you okay?” she called, at a loss for what else to say.

“I assure you I will be, once a potentially kind soul helps me out of my current predicament!” the voice yelled back, sounding far more chipper than Tav would’ve expected for someone apparently stuck in a mountain.

She gave the rune a look and reached out with her own magic, asking Lathander for his guidance to lead her around the spell and calm its wrath. She followed his direction until she felt confident to raise her hands and began to channel a countercharm. Tav watched the jagged edges of the sigil begin to soften, and from inside, she heard the voice call out again.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s doing the trick! A good tug should do it now."

Tav grabbed the hand and, with Shadowheart behind gripping her shoulders, began to pull backwards. She could feel the sigil fighting back until, with a pop, its power sizzled out, and the pair fell backwards as the individual inside the rune sprang loose. Shadowheart stumbled away, but Tav landed in a heap—for the third time that day, she snarked to herself—with the stranger on top of her. She looked up and met the very surprised gaze of a man, who immediately began to stutter.

“Oh! By the Weave, I am so sorry, that was most unbecoming of a gentleman, I apologize, my lady.” He continued to ramble as he stood, reaching down to help Tav up in a reversal of their previous position.

“Really, I don’t normally tackle people who save my life by way of thanks. Not that my life is often in need of saving, mind you, I promise I am not some wayward adventurer, I’m just a humble wizard who got themselves into a spot of trouble with an errant group of illithid, and, well, we can all see how that went—”

Tav glanced over at Shadowheart, who looked like she really wished they had just ignored the rune, before turning back and holding up her hands.

“Hey!”

The man clamped his jaws shut, and Tav noticed a blush high on his cheeks. Whether out of embarrassment or from their earlier close proximity, she had no clue.

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously, it isn’t a big deal.”

A smile broke out onto the man’s face, deepening the lines around his eyes and lips. He was handsome, in a scholarly sort of way, with dark hair curling around curved human ears and bright brown eyes indicative of all overly curious wizards.

“Oh, I think rescuing a rather unlucky wizard is a rather big deal, actually. But,” he held up his hands, “I can assure you that I am most grateful for your kindness. I just wish I had something in the way of thanks.”

Tav smiled. This man was odd, even for a wizard.

“Thank me by explaining how you wound up in that stone. Not a normal location to find someone.”

“A most unusual circumstance, to be certain,” he replied. “One in a long series of most unusual circumstances I have experienced today.” He raised a brow. “Circumstances I believe all three of us share? I saw you. On the mindflayers’ ship, I mean.”

Tav glanced at Shadowheart, who very clearly did not want anything to do with the current situation, and realized she was going to have to do the talking.

“Yes, we were both on the ship, along with a gith woman who seems to have been lost in the crash.”

The wizard’s eyes widened.

“So it was a gith attack that brought the ship down? I had my suspicions, but…” He trailed off before shaking his head. “Anyways, it was a tumble out of that ship that put me in the situation where I needed to find a way to spare myself the particularly quick death I was facing as the ground approached. When I sensed the magic in that stone, I reached out, hoping to slow my fall, which I was successful in doing so, at the cost of sending myself across the Weave and into the stone itself.” He shrugged. “Magic, eh? Never know where it will take you.

"But, sudden real life applications of the forces of gravity aside, since we were all unwilling passengers on the nautiloid, I imagine all three of us were at the receiving end of a spontaneous and unwanted insertion in the ocular region?”

It took a moment for Tav to decipher what on earth the man had just said, but when she did, she grimaced.

“If you mean the tadpole, then yes. I take it you got one too?”

The man smiled, but there wasn’t much mirth behind it.

“Indeed. As much as I love getting firsthand experience with the lesser-known cultures of Faerûn, I can say this was one encounter I would have rather avoided. Are you aware of the…eh, shall we say violent conclusion such an infection brings?”

Tav’s scowl deepened.

“Unfortunately. We have days, a week at best, before we’re mindflayers ourselves.”

“Right you are,” the man responded. “Now, I can’t help but notice you bear the symbol of Lathander,” he pointed to the center of her breastplate where the Morninglord’s sun blazed, “which leads me to hope that you are perhaps a cleric skilled in the ways of much needed cerebral surgery?”

“You seem to know enough about our condition to know that we’ll need more than a cleric to solve this problem,” Shadowheart suddenly butted in. The man gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“No harm in asking, I suppose.”

"Well, we were on our way to find some kind of civilization,” Tav said. “Since we’re all in the same boat, do you want to tag along?”

At the same moment, the man’s face split into a broad grin as Shadowheart scowled deeply.

“I did not want to impose on your hospitality—”

“Then don’t,” Shadowheart muttered, to which Tav shot her a glare.

“—but I must admit I was rather worried I was going to have to figure this out on my own. It is a great relief to have found allies in arms. Or, tentacles, perhaps.”

Tav rolled her eyes and watched Shadowheart do the same before smiling.

“Great. I’m Tav, this is Shadowheart. And you are?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“Oh goodness, where are my manners?” He thrust out his hand. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your most grateful service.”

“Waterdeep?” Tav said as she shook the wizard's hand. “That’s where I’m coming from.”

"Ah!” Gale responded, his face bright, clearly happy to have someone else from his city nearby. “A resident of the Spires of the Morning, I take it? A beautiful temple indeed. Once, when I was a young and rather unwise student at Blackstaff, I spent the festival of Sornyn within those walls, and, well, perhaps got a little too indulgent in the celebrations, and…”

Gale continued to recount stories from his time at Blackstaff as the trio resumed the trek up the mountain.

“Are you just going to pick up every stray we come across?” Shadowheart hissed out the corner of her mouth as Gale suddenly switched from stories about his student days to ruminations on illusion magic. Tav let a smile cross her features.

“I picked you up, didn’t I?"

Shadowheart opened her mouth, probably to bite out a reply, but found no words, causing Tav to laugh.

“Besides,” she continued, “a wizard is always useful to have around.” She glanced behind her, where Gale continued to ramble seemingly without the knowledge that he had no real audience. “Lack of social skills notwithstanding.”

Shadowheart huffed. “Fine, but the moment a fireball gets too close to my eyebrows, I’m putting him back in that stone.”

Tav had rejoined Gale’s one-sided conversation about Waterdeep when, about half an hour of walking later, the sun now hanging low on the horizon, Shadowheart suddenly stopped up ahead of them and held up a hand.

“Hold on,” she called back. “Someone’s up ahead.”

Tav jogged up to Shadowheart, Gale hanging back with a quick excuse that he was the only one of them without armor or a big threatening weapon, and looked over her shoulder.

Shadowheart was right. Further up the road, a lone figure stood in front of a few broken illithid pods. All she could make out from a distance was a deep maroon overcoat and a shock of white hair.

“Everything look alright?” Gale called, which apparently drew the stranger’s attention. The figure turned, causing Shadowheart to grumble.

“Great. Now we have to talk to him.”

“Maybe he’s another survivor?” Tav mused.

“Or maybe he’s a petty thief hoping to make a quick payday."

Tav sighed. “Only one way to find out.”

Her grip tightened on her mace and she began to cross the gap between her and the stranger. Behind her, she heard Gale talking to Shadowheart.

“A rather brave soul, that one.”

“You call it bravery. I call it idiocy.”

“I’ve found the two often work hand in hand.”

Tav was too far away to hear Shadowheart’s inevitably rude reply.

As she got closer, she was able to make out more details of the stranger. He was a man, slightly shorter than both Shadowheart and Gale but taller than her without including her horns, with prominent elven ears poking out from beneath curly white hair. He was dressed in well-made clothes, complete with a ruffled collar and elegant belt, leading Tav to wonder if she’d stumbled across a hapless patriar.

“You there!” he called. Gods, even his accent was posh.

“Yes?” Tav replied, stopping once she was close enough to talk without yelling but not so close he could reach out and grab her if he felt inclined to. “What’s wrong?”

The elf gestured into the grass. “I’ve got one of those wretched brain things cornered in the brush, but I don’t have anything to kill it with. I hoped you may be a fair bit more capable than me.”

“What’s going on?”

Tav turned to see Shadowheart and Gale approaching.

“He says there’s an intellect devourer in the grass. Must’ve escaped the crash.”

“Ah!” Gale said, a slight wince to his features. “Nasty things, intellect devourers. It’s said the greater the intelligence of a person, the more intellect devourers are drawn to feast.”

“Sounds like you won’t be having much trouble, then,” Shadowheart replied, earning an immediate stutter from Gale. Before they could bicker, Tav turned back to the elf, who was watching with a mix of amusement and confusion.

“Let me handle this."

She stepped forward, keeping a close eye on the man as he flashed her a charming grin and extended his arms in a mock bow. This close, with the setting sun shining directly on them, Tav got a better look at him. Unlike Gale, who was attractive in the same way that old libraries were—warm and comforting with an air of refinement earned with age—the elf was every bit a stereotypical lady-killer. Strong jaw, sharp nose, high cheekbones. He was a handsome man who clearly knew it, radiating confidence and oozing charisma. It was almost enough to distract her from his eyes.

Tav stuttered in her steps when she met his gaze. It was piercing like the rest of him, but far from the usual greens or blues she’d expect from an elf. In the sun, his eyes were like wine, deep rich red. It was enough to make her heart stumble, but not from attraction or even arousal. Not when she was certain she caught a glimpse at a sharp tooth between his full lips.

“Losing your nerve, darling?” His voice was low, layered with a charm Tav knew was meant to ease her mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that had shot up her spine. All her training under her Dawnmaster, learning to spot the enemies of the Morninglord, telling her to be on her guard. There was a prickle behind her heart, and she almost let her instincts convince her that she was looking at a beast. But the sun was up, and the elf was standing directly in its light. She blinked. False alarm.

“No, of course not.” She stepped forward, shaking the feeling of everything she’d ever learned at the Spires crawling up her spine and nudging the parasite aside to scream into her ear that there was something wrong here—

A rustle in the bushes, and a boar sprinted out from the foliage. Tav let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and suddenly there was a knife at her throat and she was being pulled into the dirt.

She saw both Shadowheart and Gale’s hands raise, fire blazing at the tips of their fingers, as the elf clutched her close to his chest, the silver of his blade digging into her scars.

“Don’t move,” he hissed into her ear. “We don’t want to mark up that pretty neck of yours, now do we?"

“Watch yourself,” she heard Shadowheart call. “You’re outnumbered.”

“And I have your friend at knife point,” the elf responded. “You’ll stay back if you want her blood to stay inside her veins.”

Tav’s brain finally caught up with her. She shook herself and heard the elf bickering with Shadowheart and Gale. Her horns dug into the ground, her tail pinned beneath their combined weight. Tav scowled to herself. She was really off her game today. Even if the elf wasn’t what she thought he was, he still had a blade to her throat, and that made him a threat regardless.

She threw her head to the side while the elf was distracted with her companions and her horns collided with his chin. He hissed, and she took his moment of distraction to slip loose, coming to her feet with hands outstretched. She let holy fire spring to her fingertips despite how low her reserves were running. She really needed a nap.

The elf sprang up to mirror her, his knife clutched in his hands and his pretty face marred by a scowl.

“No weapon, huh?” Tav quipped, nodding to the blade. “If you wanted to rob us, you’re off to a bad start.” The elf’s expression went darker and she watched him squeeze the handle of his dagger.

“Don’t play games with me, tiefling” he growled, and once again Tav was sure she saw pointy teeth. “I saw you on the ship. Walking about without a care in the world. What did you do to me?”

“What did I do?” Tav balked. “Do I look like a mindflayer? I was abducted just like you. Infected with one of their tadpoles.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he hissed back.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” she responded with a smile.

Before he could snap back, the pain she was becoming begrudgingly familiar with flared up. She saw streets illuminated by streetlamps, the flash of sultry smiles. There were sheets under her hands twisted in ecstasy, lips against her neck, and...

Fear. So much fear that it was clogging her throat. A light against her eyes, terror in her heart, a pair of red eyes, the glint of something sharp—

The connection severed and Tav was back in her own mind. She looked up and met the confused gaze of the elf.

“What…what in the hells was that?” he said.

“The tadpole. It’s what the illithids put in our heads,” she replied. “It connects our brains, lets us see into each other’s minds.”

The elf took a moment, staring at her and clearly wondering if she was telling the truth, but he eventually lowered his knife.

“Well, that certainly…explains things.” He sniffed. “Is that all these worms do or are there other…side effects that you know of?"

“They are actually the first stage in the illithid life cycle,” Gale piped up from behind her. “Mindflayers require hosts for their larvae, given they do not have the biological requirements for sexual reproduction. After a brief but agonizing gestation period, the host body is consumed and a newborn illithid takes its place.”

The elf blinked and turned to Tav. She sighed.

“They’ll turn us into mindflayers if we don’t remove them.”

The man’s pale skin went even paler, and he opened and shut his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Turn us into…?” He cut himself off with a harsh laugh. “Of course they will. Why did I expect anything different?” The elf shook his head and a wry smile crossed his face.

“And here I was ready to decorate the ground with your insides. Apologies."

Tav scrunched her nose and nodded, not quite willing to openly forgive him but having no stomach for another fight.

“So, have you lovely people made any headway in figuring out how to control these things yet?” the elf continued. Tav drew her brows together.

“We need to remove them, not control them.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, obviously, but first things first.”

Tav looked back at Shadowheart and Gale, who were already looking at her, clearly waiting for her to make a decision. She let a breath hiss through her teeth.

“We only just got this problem, same as you. We were trying to find some sort of civilization to see if they’ve got a healer that could help, if you…” Tav trailed off, and she could practically feel Shadowheart’s glare against the back of her head. “If you wanted to tag along.”

Shadowheart sighed.

The elf perked up, clearly pleased and surprised with the turn of events.

“Well, I was ready to go this alone, but who am I to turn down such wonderful company?” The charmer’s smile returned as he lowered into a half bow. “My name’s Astarion.”

“Tav,” she replied. “That’s Shadowheart and Gale.”

“A pleasure to meet your…well-armed acquaintance,” Gale said from behind them.

“Yes, well,” Astarion said, fully tucking away his dagger, “I suppose it is.”

He grinned, wrinkles creasing around his bright red eyes, and Tav was again struck by that feeling in her chest, like her Dawnmaster was somehow yelling at her all the way from Waterdeep that she was missing something. She frowned. Maybe he just had drow somewhere in his heritage. No reason to jump to conclusions.

“Well, that was lovely,” Shadowheart said, sounding like the past fifteen minutes were anything but, “though I feel the need to remind everyone that we are on a rather tight schedule and we’re running out of daylight. Shall we continue, or are there any more wayward vagabond you plan to pick up?”

“Vagabond?” Astarion gasped. “I am no such thing. Merely a simple bastard.”

Tav shook her head and turned the way they had been heading.

“Yes, let’s keep moving. We don’t want to find out what sort of monsters are out here at night.”

She couldn’t stop herself from looking at Astarion when she said that. He responded only with another salacious grin as the group began their journey again.

Tav mentally kicked herself. She’d been hoping for vampires all day. And as she looked up at Astarion’s back, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she’d finally gotten her wish.