Archive of Our Own

Tav led the party from Wyrm’s Rock fortress back to their camp outside of Rivington, his mind racing desperately after their conversation with Gortash.

He had– calling them memories would have been generous at best. But there were flashes, now, scattered amidst the rivers of blood and mountains of gore. Late nights in Gortash’s estate, poring over sulphur-stinking maps and illithid rune slates. A winding path, lined by stalagmites, leading to a massive, cavernous hall of rust-red-stained stone– a temple. His temple.

When the party arrived at camp, Tav split off, to give the others the space from him that they’d asked for. He managed to muster a smile for Yenna as she waved excitedly at him– what a sweet girl. So sweet, so precious, so innocent, such a perfect little sack of helpless blood and guts and gore and meat for him to cut riptearbleedkill–

Shit. Tav stumbled away from Yenna, away from everyone, retreating into the abandoned barn and closing the doors behind himself before sinking to his knees in the half-rotted hay.

It was him. It was his fault. It had been his fault this whole fucking time. Tav had worked with Gortash, had conceived of this whole plot, had put it into motion. Had slaughtered thousands, thousands to progress it. It was his fault that so many had died, that so many more had been doomed by the same damned tadpoles Orin had messily shoved into his skull. His fault that his friends were stuck in this nightmare, his fault that the whole world was one bad day away from being ruled by the Dead Three themselves and one worse day away from something utterly unimaginable.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

He wished desperately that the emotion filling his wretched, blood-stained limbs was surprise.

His companions, his friends (though, were they still? Almost certainly not, not after this. This was a betrayal too many, a bridge too far, after all the horrors he’d caused, and Tav couldn’t remotely blame them for it) were talking, their voices getting steadily louder, overlapping more. In his state, hazy and horrified, Tav couldn’t make out the words, but he could hear the sharp bite of Astarion’s tone, the low rumble of Halsin’s, the anger in Jaheira’s voice that she so rarely let slip, Gale’s monologue near-unending even as the others spoke over him, Minthara as cold and harsh as ever. Wyll and Lae’zel and Shadowheart, their volume beginning to rise.

Karlach, her voice loudest of all.

“–with fucking Gortash!” she yelled.

Tav flinched, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle a whimper.

He should go out there. He should talk to them. Should apologise. Should accept whatever reckoning they deemed fit for him. Should… should…

“I think you’ve said and done more than enough. Leave me be.”

“Bhaal’s Chosen. One of the originators of this plot.”

“How does it feel to have your past revealed to us, Chosen of Bhaal?”

“There truly is nothing we can take for granted.”

“You’re lucky I’m sympathetic towards a fellow amnesiac. That’s all I’ll say.”

“You've become death incarnate. Entirely unpredictable and intractable.”

“Give me time. A lot of it.”

My fault. My fault. My fault.

Tav was weak. He knew that. Weak and pathetic and exhausted, after endless tendays fighting the enemies he himself had apparently sicced on them, after so very long fighting the Urge, fighting his Father, fighting himself, and failing, again and again and again. His friends– his former friends, he couldn’t lay claim to them, would never be able to again– would be better off without him, wouldn’t they? He’d known it all along, but that damned weakness inside him had made him ignore that fact, cling to the kindness they showed him, pretend like the affection and care and laughter and brief, stolen seconds of joy that the others had given him, that he had tried so hard and failed so often to give them in return, would be enough.

Tav had to bring an end to what he’d started. He had to kill Gortash and Orin and destroy the Brain that he had helped to unleash (there’s a sudden flash of something almost like a memory at that, his own hands lowering a crown onto a writhing mass of flesh before shouting over his shoulder at allies whose faces he had finally seen again, of the Brain calling him kingmaker back in Moonrise, it was his fault, his fault). But afterwards…

Better for everyone if he was dead. Best for everyone if he had never lived, clearly, if his companions had done as they should have and killed him in return when he’d butchered poor, sweet Alfira, if Astarion had followed through on the promise Tav had wrung out of him afterwards and killed Tav when his Urge had taken him over on that wretched night in Moonrise, if he’d died years and years ago before his daggers could ever find purchase in another. His body was littered with scars, knife wounds and lash marks and incisions and burns and bites and injuries he’d never been able to identify, long since healed over; if only any one of them had been enough to destroy him.

Perhaps he should go now, anyways. Leave the Prism and the Emperor within it here, find some hole to crawl into and die where he couldn’t ever touch anyone else again. His companions were clever, brave, powerful; they didn’t need his help to defeat the horrors he’d wrought. He could only be a burden, a liability, a danger. They couldn’t even rest easy with him around, knowing that his tenuous, fragile control of himself could slip at any moment, knowing they all risked waking up to another gored body in their midst, Tav standing over it with blood on his hands and a joy in his heart that made him sick to his stomach.

He remembered Gortash’s warning, then. One of the people in their camp had been replaced. Orin was toying with them. With him. His sister, taunting and threatening his companions, because of him… just another one of the endless dangers Tav had brought down upon his friends’ heads. It was his fault Orin was after them.

Maybe, if he was dead, she’d leave the rest of them alone.

It would be so easy. Tav was a master at taking lives (my fault, my fault, my fault). His own would be no different. A brief moment of pain, less than he deserved for all he’d done, and then it would all be over. The world would be safe from him, his Urge, the control his Father held over him. He could never hurt anyone else ever again.

Tav’s knives were sheathed at his sides. It would be so easy. So easy. A final moment of weakness, and then… well. Whatever torment awaited a soul as broken as his after all he’d wrought. Even that thought was comforting, in its way. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Tav remembered the agony of the Steel Watch’s psionic interference, as Gortash had ordered him to show due respect (a sudden half-memory of leaning over blueprints, offering suggestions, helping to design the metal monsters that held the city in Gortash’s iron grip). He remembered the monster Orin had turned into in his dream, his vision (the Slayer, Bhaal’s Slayer, the suddenly remembered agony of his own flesh ripping apart as the beast took hold, a flare of white-hot jealousy that made him ill). Tav was weak. Useless. He couldn’t defeat the other Chosen– clearly. They had bested him once already, even before he became this broken, shattered wretch, living every moment in terror and pain. He couldn’t even stop himself, how could he possibly hope to stop the monsters that he himself had positioned?

No. Better to end it all now. The others would understand. Would be grateful for it, once the shock wore off. It would be better this way.

Tav drew his blades.

“Gale, I swear, if you don’t shut up for once in your life and listen to me–” Astarion snarled.

“Listen? About what? After everything Tav has done, surely you cannot be about to defend him! You of all people, Astarion, I expected to be furious about this,” Gale said.

“He was working with fucking Gortash!” Karlach yelled for the fifth or sixth time, her engine sparking until her entire head was wreathed in flame.

“It is because of him that an Elder Brain has awakened. It is because of him that we are all destined to be ghaik,” Lae’zel snapped, before loosing a long string of gith curses.

“We can’t just ignore this. We have to– we have to do something,” Shadowheart said.

“And what would you suggest that we do?” Minthara demanded. “Banish him from our party and let the tadpole reclaim him entirely? You cannot believe that our chances would be better if Tav were back under the Absolute’s control.”

“So long as Tav is willing to fight his father, we cannot give up on him,” Jaheira said. “To do so would be to deliver him right back into Bhaal’s hands.”

“Thank you!” Astarion said, throwing his hands up. “A couple of words from a man we all know to be a manipulative liar at the absolute best, and you’re all ready to turn your backs on the person who is the only reason any of us have gotten this far.”

“And the reason we’re all here to begin with!” Gale said. “You cannot possibly pretend that this doesn’t change everything.”

“Gale does have a point,” Wyll said softly. “We all knew Tav was a bit frightening, but to learn that he’s not just Bhaalspawn, that he was the Bhaal cult’s leader, Bhaal’s Chosen– that does change things.”

“Does it? Tav warned us all about his Urges, the moment we met him, and ever since then, he has fought them at every turn, no matter how much it hurts him to do so. He has saved all of our lives more than once. He turned Gortash’s little alliance down without a second of hesitation today. He has been nothing but painfully, stupidly kind since the moment we met him.”

“He led the Bhaal cult, Astarion,” Karlach said. “How many people d’you think he’s killed? Thousands? More? He was working with Gortash. He– he–”

“You heroic types put so much value on friendship and courage, and yet the second Tav needs the barest hint of either from you, you're willing to abandon him to a fate worse than death. A fate he has already asked me, more than once, to kill him rather than let him fall to,” Astarion snapped.

All the others’ eyes went wide.

“Hold on, Tav asked–?” Shadowheart began.

But Astarion ignored her. “Gale. When you told us all that you were a literal ticking time bomb that had to consume our extremely limited supply of valuable artifacts or blow us all to bits, and the latter part might still happen anyways, Tav squirreled away every single slightly-magical item we found to give to you in case you needed it, and told you that he wasn’t giving up on you, that he would stand by your side. When your useless goddess told you to blow yourself up, it was Tav who talked you down. Or have you forgotten that already? It was only a couple of days ago, I thought you were smarter than that.”

He spun on Shadowheart. “When you were ready to kill Aylin, he stopped you. If your little cloister hadn’t sent you out on this quest, because of Tav’s plot, you would still be a mindless slave to Shar, without any clue about your parents. The same goes for you, Lae’zel; without Tav, without the damned parasite dragging you down to Toril with us, you would still be Vlaakith’s loyal, loving thrall. Wyll, don’t pretend for even a moment that you would ever have tried to negotiate yourself out of Mizora’s pact had Tav not stepped in for you, you’re far too noble and self-sacrificing for the thought to have even occurred to you. Without Tav, the shadow curse would still hold sway over Moonrise, and you, Halsin, would be throwing yourself at anything even approaching a way to resolve it and nearly dying in the process every time, and you know it.”

He turned again, this time locking eyes with Karlach to see that hers had gone wide. “And you– Tav wasn’t the only one who saw the memories of your ignominious escape, you know. If the nautiloid hadn’t snatched you up, Zariel’s legions would have cut you down. If Tav hadn’t talked Wyll down, he very well might have done the same. The only people in this whole group who might possibly have been genuinely better off without Tav are Minthara and Jaheira, and yet somehow, they’re the only ones who have a single ounce of sense about this whole ordeal!”

“Astarion–” Gale began.

“Tav found us all, brought us all together. He was the one who guided us through that nonsense with the grove, and the Underdark, and Lae’zel’s stupid crèche, and the shadow curse, and the fight with Ketheric. How many times has he thrown himself in front of an arrow or a blade meant for one of us? How often has he saved our lives in battle? How many times would we have found some way to kill each other if he hadn’t stepped in and talked us all down? We need Tav, and you all know it. But instead of showing him even a modicum of the same care that he’s shown us time and again, the second he needed your support in turn, you all told him he was an irredeemable villain and you’d have been better off without him. You’re all fools, the lot of you.”

Silence, thick and weighty, followed Astarion’s words.

“Astarion is right,” Jaheira said eventually. “I will not pretend that this did not make me doubt. But Tav has more than earned our faith. In all the time we have known him, he has resisted Bhaal’s influence. I have seen Bhaalspawn defy their father before. Then, like now, they could not do it alone. Take a moment, all of you. Get yourselves together before–”

And that was when Yenna sprinted out of the old, abandoned barn, the hems of her sleeves stained red.

“Something’s wrong, you have to help,” she said, Wyll catching her as she stumbled to a stop. “Tav looked so upset and he was really nice and so me and Grub were gonna bring him some food to make him feel better but when we went to go find him he was just lying on the ground and he wasn’t moving and he wouldn’t get up and there was so much blood and I think something really, really bad happened–”

Panic overwhelmed every other thought in Astarion’s mind. Gortash had told them about a doppleganger in camp, and Astarion still let Tav wander off alone, let himself get distracted by this stupid fucking argument, and now Tav was hurt, was possibly dying–

Astarion just barely managed to avoid bowling poor Yenna over as he darted past her into the dilapidated structure at the edge of camp.

The barn reeked of blood. Tav’s blood. Astarion spotted Tav immediately, crumpled in a heap in a corner of the barn, blood spreading in a pool around him. His knives, coated in just as much blood as the rest of him, had fallen from his limp hands.

There were tears on his face.

Astarion was by his side in an instant, rolling Tav onto his back with shaking hands. He’d been stabbed, over and over and over again. What in the hells had happened? How had they not heard it?

“Wake up,” Astarion pleaded, taking Tav’s face in his hands, willing his beloved to open his eyes, to do something, anything, anything, he would take the bloody Urge right now if it meant Tav was alive. “You have to wake up. Gods damn you, get up!”

“Watching gods,” Jaheira said quietly.

“Don’t just stand there, help him,” Astarion snarled, whirling on the others to see Halsin and Shadowheart standing over him, the others lingering in the doorway.

The healers got to work immediately, Halsin scooping Tav up in his broad arms and carrying him over to the makeshift hay-bale beds the party had set up in the old stables. The second he’d laid Tav’s horribly limp body down, he and Shadowheart worked together to cut away the tattered remnants of Tav’s shirt, exposing the wounds to the air. The quiet murmurs of spellcasting and the soft green and blue glows of their respective healing magic filled the stable. Slowly, the stab wounds littering Tav’s torso– gods, there were so many, how had none of them noticed?– began to stitch themselves closed.

Astarion knelt down next to Tav’s head, petting shaky hands through his hair. “Come on. We’ve got you, darling. You’re not dying like this. All right? You’ll be all right. Wake up, my love. Please.”

It felt like it took far too long, but eventually, eventually, the flow of fresh blood slowed to a stop, and Tav shifted beneath Astarion’s hand. He groaned quietly, his eyes clenching shut for a brief second before they slowly, slowly slid open.

Everything hurt.

Tav supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; he was dying, wasn’t he? Or dead already, if he was lucky. That was supposed to hurt. It always looked like it hurt, right up until the very end, until that last, stolen second of peace. But this hurt was lasting too long– Tav knew how to kill, the wounds he’d inflicted had been precise. And it wasn’t fading away into a cold, soothing numbness like it had when Astarion had drained him dry. He was being dragged back into it, back into his body, into himself.

Had he failed at this, too, after everything?

Tav groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut, before he forced them to open.

At the sight before him, panic flooded his aching, exhausted limbs.

Astarion– Astarion– was leaning over Tav, petting through his hair. Beside him, Tav could see Halsin and Shadowheart, their hands glowing blue with healing magic, stitching Tav’s flayed skin back together. Behind them, the rest of the party hovered in the doorway of the old stable, the fear in their eyes plain even from here.

“Darling,” Astarion said softly, and Tav’s gaze snapped back onto him, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re all right. We have you. What–?”

“No,” Tav forced out through numb lips, shoving himself away from Astarion, from Halsin and Shadowheart, from the watchful eyes in the doorway. He scrambled back, tumbling off the haybale bed and landing on the hard-packed earth below with a thud that jostled his every aching muscle and half-healed wound. “No, stop, please–”

“Love, please be careful, you’re still hurt,” Astarion said, reaching for him again. “What in the hells–?”

Tav curled in on himself, shaking his mangled, worthless head so hard the whole world spun. “No– don’t heal me, don’t save me, just let me go, please, you’ll all be safer, better without me, please just let me die.”

Astarion’s gorgeous eyes went wide, horror flooding his lovely face. Tav shrank back further, the guilt so thick he thought he could choke on it. Gods, he’d fucked this up, too, he’d hurt Astarion again, after everything, he couldn’t even do this right, how fucking pathetic–?

But then– then there were arms around him, Astarion’s arms, yanking him into a near-crushing embrace. Tav thrashed, trying to pull himself free, to go hide away somewhere the achingly wonderful people he’d hurt so badly couldn’t find him to try and fail to patch the long-since shattered pieces of him back together, to ensure he could never hurt any of them, anyone else, ever again.

But Astarion didn’t let go.

Gods, Tav was weak, with blood loss and pain and bone-deep exhaustion and the desperate, pounding, aching desire to sink into Astarion’s arms, to let the man he loved so desperately hold him close and tell him more of those beautiful lies he had said so easily when they first met.

Tav failed in this, too. His struggling grew weaker and weaker, reduced to the pathetic spasms of his aching limbs, slowly shifting from pushing at Astarion’s chest to clinging to his shirt, from shaking his pounding head to burying it in the crook of Astarion’s neck, from pleading for him to just let go to great, gasping sobs that tore through Tav’s entire body, making his injuries flare with white-hot agony as he fell apart in his lover’s arms.

The whole while, Astarion clutched him close, practically cradling Tav’s shaking body in his lap, whispering soothing words Tav could barely hear, let alone decipher, into his ear.

At some point, another voice spoke from above them– Gale. Tav flinched at the sound before he could stop himself, and he felt Astarion’s head snap up, heard the wordless snarl that emerged from his throat. Why was he doing this? Let Tav face the others’ wrath. It was no less than he deserved. He’d been a coward to try and avoid it, he knew. He was just– gods, he was just so weak. So exhausted. But if he’d been dragged back from the brink to face this reckoning, better it happened now. Better to get it over with.

There were more voices, then. Halsin, low and perhaps the softest Tav had ever heard him. Jaheira, a faint quiver behind her firm tone. Gale responding, followed by the others– Wyll. Shadowheart. Minthara. Lae’zel. Karlach, and that voice made Tav bury his face further in Astarion’s neck, the guilt rising like bile in his throat– maybe he would actually have thrown up if there had been anything in his stomach, he hadn’t been able to keep a meal down for more than a few hours for days now between the Urges and the dreams. Then there were footsteps, soft against the scattered hay, and Tav felt as the rest of the party dispersed, leaving him and Astarion alone.

Stupid. Dangerous. Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they see how risky it was, to let anyone be alone with Tav? He’d failed to protect them all, yet again, after everything. All of them were smarter than this. Astarion was smarter than this. Astarion, who had already seen Tav at his worst, had faced an entire night with the Urge that Tav had failed so badly to control trying desperately to destroy him. Astarion, who had spent so, so long living in fear. He deserved better than this. He deserved better than Tav, whose only purpose had ever been to cause fear and pain and destruction and death with every single thing he did.

But Astarion didn’t leave. He just kept clutching Tav close, murmuring more soothing words into his ear, pressing horribly, wonderfully gentle kisses to the parts of Tav’s face he could reach from where they were pressed up against each other.

And Tav was weak and pathetic and so, so tired, too tired to do the right thing for once in his useless life and pull away from the comfort he wanted so very desperately and deserved so very little.

Tav wasn’t sure how long they sat there, tangled in one another’s arms. The shadows in the stable had shifted and lengthened by the time he finally forced himself to lift his head, to face his reckoning for this extra horror he’d brought down upon the head of the man he loved.

“There you are,” Astarion breathed, one hand leaving its place around Tav’s back to cup his cheek, instead, to wipe at the tears still trickling down his face. “Oh, my love.”

“M’sorry,” Tav mumbled, his voice hoarse, his throat sore, his tongue swollen in his mouth.

Astarion tsked softly at him. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” His hand left Tav’s cheek to dig around in his pack instead, pulling out a bottle of water and holding it out. “Here. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you’re likely dehydrated besides. I believe Gale ought to be working on some food for you, the useless wizard should be done with that soon.”

Tav shivered, taking the bottle in shaking hands. “But… why?”

“Why?” Astarion asked, his eyes going wide. “Wh– you just almost died, Tav. You need–”

“No,” Tav said, shaking his head and ignoring the way the whole world spun as he did. “Why did you save me? You should have– gods, I– I was trying to protect you. Protect all of you. After everything I’ve done– it’s my fault you’re all here. My fault you’re in danger. My fault you– I– gods, you’d all be better off if I was dead, you should have just let me die–”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion hissed, fury colouring his voice.

Tav flinched before he could stop himself.

Astarion softened again, cupping Tav’s cheek once more, forcing him to meet those red eyes he loved so much.

“Not a single one of us would be better off without you, darling,” Astarion said. “And none of us want you dead, for the gods’ sakes.”

“After everything I’ve done… I’ve killed so many people, Astarion. I– thousands. Thousands, and I enjoyed it, I– I should have told you all, when I found out I– because that was part of the vision I had, too. Some of my memories came back. Not– not much, not anything real, flashes and images and feelings and– but I remembered the Temple, I remembered leading it, for years and years and years I– it was my fault. All of this is my fault. I can’t–”

“Love–”

“You all should have killed me after Alfira. You should have– I asked you to kill me if it took me over again, and you didn’t, you spent a whole night with me shouting all sorts of awful things and trying to kill you and you should have just stabbed me the second I woke you up, I should have died on the fucking nautiloid so none of you ever had to–”

“Tav, stop,” Astarion interrupted sharply.

Tav blinked, startled out of his spiraling thoughts, meeting Astarion’s fierce gaze.

There were tears glittering in his eyes, and at that sight, the guilt nearly threatened to swallow Tav whole again.

“I’m not going to argue with you, not while you’re like this,” Astarion said. “But, Tav, I need you to hear me when I say this. I won’t give up on this. I won’t give up on you. I– I care about you. And I won’t let you forget all the good you’ve done for all of us, for the whole world, for me, because of who you used to be when Bhaal had control of you.” Astarion sighed. “None of that was you, my love.”

“It was. It was me. I– Astarion, I tried to kill you, I– gods, I tried to kill you. We should have known– I can’t do this. I can’t beat him, I–”

“Now, hold on,” Astarion said. “You didn’t kill me. You woke me up, and asked me to help you save me, and then fought it with everything you had for the entire night. In case you’ve forgotten, darling, only one of us has actually successfully killed the other, and you forgave me for it rather disturbingly quickly. I like to think I know you quite well by now, love– that thing that had you that night could have been Bhaal’s Chosen. That creature might have created the Absolute. But that wasn’t you.”

“It was–”

“Darling. I know you. You’re the man who invited that poor child to stay with us, who drags us out of our way to help every pathetic little innocent you see. You’re gentle, and caring, and kind, even though you shouldn’t be, even though I know how much it hurts you to be that way, how much easier it would be for you to go back to being who you used to be. You put so much effort into being better than you were destined to be, better than you were.”

“I– I’ve hurt so many. Killed so many. I’ve hurt you, all of you, by– by doing this, by setting this into motion, and– and I don’t even know if–”

“Do you blame me, for the lives I gave away to Cazador over all those years? All the people I lured in for him to kill?” Astarion asked.

“No,” Tav said immediately, shaking his mangled head so hard it hurt. “No. Never. Of course not. It– none of that was your fault. It was Cazador’s.”

A barely-perceptible tension in Astarion’s shoulders relaxed at the declaration, and he squeezed Tav closer. “Then why would I ever blame you for what you did while Bhaal held sway over you?”

“That– it’s different,” Tav insisted. “It is. I wasn’t– it wasn’t like you, he wasn’t controlling me or compelling me or–”

“Oh, come now,” Astarion said. “I’ve seen what happens to you when your Urges take over, and it looks quite a lot like compulsion to me. Trust me, my dear, I would know.” Then he sighed. “And… I know how hard it is to try and fight that. How much easier it is to follow orders before they’re the sort that you quite literally can’t refuse. You– you’re far stronger than I ever was, for how hard you fight your Urges. It… wasn’t long before Cazador hardly had to compel me to get me to do his bidding.”

Tav felt his heart sink and his chest grow tight, as they so often did when Astarion talked about the horrors Cazador had subjected him to. “Astarion…”

“I’m not saying that for your sympathy, love. I’m saying it so that you know what I mean when I tell you I don’t blame you for the things the man you used to be did. Not just because you aren’t that man any longer, but because the creature you were and the creature I was, back before the nautiloid… Well. I understand.” He ever so gently tapped a finger to the skin below Tav’s right eye– the one with the tadpole in it. “I can feel how much it hurts you, you know. To fight your Urges as hard as you do. And I am utterly awed by how you manage to do so anyways, every single day.”

Tav shivered, setting the water aside and curling in closer to Astarion, as though he could crawl into his chest, burrow himself into his very heart. “I… gods, Astarion, I– I’m so tired. I’m so tired.”

“Oh, my love. I know,” Astarion said mournfully. “But I meant it, what I said that night. You can beat this. We can beat this.”

“You didn’t know, then,” Tav whispered. “What– what we’d be up against. What I– gods, Astarion, I–”

“You are the strongest man I know,” Astarion said, cupping Tav’s face in his hand once more. “If there’s anyone in all the realms who can do this, it’s you. And you don’t have to do it alone, darling. I’ll be with you the whole time. As will all of the rest of them, if you’d like them to be.”

“Give me time. A lot of it.”

Tav shuddered again, before he could stop himself. “I– will they? I don’t– I wouldn’t blame them. If they didn’t– they’re all so upset, and they have every reason to be, I– I can’t ask them to– after everything–”

“They were all being remarkably stupid, even for them, after our little… conversation with Gortash. Karlach, I can’t blame, after what that bastard did to her, but the rest of them lost their heads. But I managed to talk them down, I think. And right now, after… they’re just worried about you.”

“You talked them down?” Tav asked quietly, feeling a shaky smile curl his lips. “That’s an image.”

Astarion smirked. “They certainly seemed suitably chastened.”

“I… thank you. For that. For… for sticking up for me. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

“Hm. I think you and I will simply have to agree to disagree on that last point, for the time being. Regardless… I’ll always stand by you, darling. And not just because of how much you mean to me.” He huffed out a soft, bitter laugh. “You did the same for me, when everyone learned I was a vampire. Us monsters have to stick together, amongst all these heroes and relentless do-gooders, don’t we?”

Tav snorted weakly, tucking his face into the crook of Astarion’s neck. “Lucky us.”

“Lucky us,” Astarion murmured.

They sat in silence for a long moment more.

Finally, Tav forced himself to speak again. “I’m sorry.”

Astarion nosed at Tav’s temple. “Whatever for?”

“All of this,” Tav said. “And… and all of… this.” He gestured to himself, the shaky limbs and myriad wounds littering his torso, the pitiful spectacle he made. “You didn’t sign up to play nursemaid, I know you’re not– I’m sorry.”

Astarion clucked his tongue gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Gods know you’ve put up with enough nonsense from me already.”

“Not putting up with,” Tav said immediately, picking his head up to meet Astarion’s gaze, to try and impress upon him how much he meant the words he was saying. “There’s no putting up with happening, not from me. I lo– I care about you. I just want you to be happy. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, Astarion, I–”

“And I am far happier with you by my side than I ever was without,” Astarion said. He smiled, then, a soft, shaky thing. “Where would I be without you to say such intolerably sweet things?”

Tav shivered again, guilt flooding him once more, guilt at his most recent failure, at having attempted it in the first place, at subjecting Astarion to this, to him, at everything he’d ever done in his wretched, miserable life. “Not sure if that makes up for it…”

“Of course it does.” He was opening his mouth to continue when the doors to the stable swung open.

Tav jumped, then winced as the motion pulled on all his half-healed wounds.

Standing in the doorway, closing the door carefully behind her and holding a bowl of soup, was Jaheira.

Immediately, the guilt grew utterly overwhelming, and Tav shrank into the circle of Astarion’s arms before he could stop himself, as though that would protect him, as though he deserved Astarion’s protection from this.

“Welcome back, cub,” Jaheira said, her voice only slightly gentler than normal. “Here. Gale made lunch. And your wounds still need tending to.”

Tav shivered, but forced himself to straighten up, though he still felt far too weak and pathetic to try and pull free from Astarion just yet. “I– I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jaheira. For all of this, and for all of this, and for– I know my saying it doesn’t actually mean anything, I know I– and I know it was cowardly of me to try and– and give up, without actually fixing any of what I did, I’m sorry, I’m so–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaheira said, even as Astarion’s arms tightened around Tav once more, a frown pursing his lovely lips.

“I did not come in here to lambast you,” Jaheira continued. “We all did more than enough of that earlier, I think, and you apologised to each and every one of us when we did. Now it is our turn. I am sorry for doubting you, cub. And so are all of the others, which they will tell you themselves, once you are ready to see them.” She sat down in front of Tav and Astarion, a grimace dancing across her face. “Ugh. I am getting too old for all this adventuring. But I will stick it through, by your side. I have said it before, and I will say it again. So long as you are willing to stand against your wretched father, I will stand with you.”

“I… Jaheira, I’m so tired,” Tav breathed. “I’m so– it hurts. Every time he– I won’t let myself hurt anyone. I can’t let myself hurt anyone else, not after everything I… but I don’t know how long I can fight him. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep this up much longer. What if… what if it never ends? What if he never lets me go? If I have to spend the rest of my life like this, I don’t– I’m going to fail, eventually. I’m so tired. And the next time he takes me over, the next time the Urges win, I– I don’t know what will happen, how many people will die, how many awful things I’ll… I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.” Tav shivered, shoving away the wretchedly familiar wave of lightheadedness that followed those words. His Urge, his Father screaming for blood. How much longer could Tav hold them off? “You’d all be so much safer if I was gone.”

Jaheira sighed, a wretched sort of sorrow filling her eyes. “Bhaal has a stronger hold on you than he ever did on my old friend. It will not be easy to break it. But it can be done. Our whole little band is proof that even the gods themselves are not infallible.”

“We would be safer without the two walking time bombs we’ve recruited,” Astarion pointed out. “We would be safer if we didn’t have a habit of pissing off gods and devils– Vlaakith, Shar, Mizora, Zariel, Mystra, the Dead Three themselves. We’d be safer if you would stop taking up every hopeless cause you stumble into. Frankly, the rest of you would be safer without a vampire amongst you, especially one with my… complications.”

Tav tightened his arms around Astarion’s waist instinctively at those words, shaking his head and then wincing at the pain that lanced through him with the motion.

“We are not going anywhere, cub,” Jaheira said. “Do us the favor of doing the same.”

“If… if you’re sure,” Tav breathed. “I can… I’ll try. I can try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Astarion said softly. “Now, are you going to eat that soup and let Jaheira tend to the rest of your wounds, or will I have to tie you up again and make you?”

Tav snorted, leaning into Astarion’s embrace for a moment longer before sitting up and taking the bowl Jaheira handed him with shaking hands. He felt too shaky, too nauseous, the tacky, drying blood still coating his hands too distracting, to actually eat much, but Astarion pressed a kiss to Tav’s temple when he reluctantly sipped a bit of the broth off the spoon, and Tav decided it was worth it to try for that. As he ate, Jaheira leaned closer, her hand hovering over the wounds still littering Tav’s stomach as a faint blue glow filled the stable.

The sharp pain of the stab wounds faded as Jaheira’s brow furrowed in focus, leaving only the ever-present, lingering aches of Tav’s headache and his Urge alike.

Pathetic, weak, useless excuse of a child, the wretched, grating, ever-present Urge in his mind crooned, the words echoing endlessly in the shattered cavern of Tav’s skull. How far you have fallen. To have spilled Father’s blood, and not even ended the life it belonged to. To have let others see your shame. Sacrifices-to-be, all of them. You could kill them. They trust you so completely. They think you weakened. It would be so easy. Pull the knife from the vampire’s hip, plunge it into his chest, see his eyes widen in fear as his own blood coats his lips before you spread it further, tear the Harper’s wrinkled limbs from her meatsack torso until this stain upon your Father’s legacy is reduced to nothing but blood and gore in the dirt.

Tav took another bite of the soup to try and hide the way his hands trembled at the words. It curdled on his tongue, the flavour of it– it was delicious, rich and spiced and warm and comforting– only serving to make his bile rise higher in his throat.

Wretched waste. Their flesh would taste so much better. Feel it tear beneath your teeth as you rend them apart, rip and gore and coat yourself in blood enough to wash the shame of this greatest possible sin from your skin, bathe in their pain until the whole world trembles beneath your bloodied blades as the crimson dawn crests the sky and the corpse-mountains pile higher and there is naught left but blood and gore and Father’s–

Cool lips pressed to Tav’s temple once more, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Stay with me, my sweet,” Astarion murmured.

Tav winced. “Sorry.”

Astarion tutted. “Ridiculous man.”

The soft glow of healing magic faded once again, and Jaheira sat back on her heels, sighing heavily.

“I have done what I can,” she said. “But you will need to have Halsin or Shadowheart take a look at it, too, I do not specialise in healing like they do.”

Tav nodded shakily. “I should… should go out there, anyways. Should talk to everyone.”

“I am more than happy to tell them all to fuck off for the entire night if you’re not ready to talk to them yet,” Astarion said. “Don’t make yourself suffer for their sakes. All right?”

“No, I– I can’t just hide in here,” Tav said. “I have to… to face this.”

Coward.

Tav didn’t know whether that was his own thought or the Urge. He didn’t know whether it mattered.

Astarion and Jaheira exchanged a look Tav couldn’t hope to parse.

“He won’t believe us until he sees it for himself,” Jaheira said, before pushing herself up with a grunt of effort and a loud cracking sound from her knees. “Come, cub.”

Astarion unfolded himself from around Tav, rising to his feet with the sort of lithe grace that still took Tav’s breath away. He held a hand out in offer, and Tav took it, letting Astarion pull him to his feet and blinking away the brief light-headedness that accompanied the movement.

“Alright, love?” Astarion asked softly, not letting go of Tav’s hand.

“Fine,” Tav said. “Let’s… fuck. Let’s get this over with.”

Astarion and Jaheira exchanged that strange look again, though they didn’t say anything.

Tav took a deep, bracing breath, then pushed the stable door open with the hand not still clinging to Astarion’s.

The rest of Tav’s companions were gathered around the embers of a cooking fire that had been lit in the middle of camp, speaking quietly to one another, the dishes from Gale’s lunch piled next to the fire. As Tav approached, they all fell quiet, their eyes locking one by one on him.

“I’m so sor–” Tav began.

Then he was interrupted as a body slammed into his, yanking him up off the ground and squeezing him tight enough that his ribs ached, the heat of Karlach’s engine pounding against his chest as she hugged him like she was trying to squeeze the Urge out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed, wrapping his arms around her in turn and biting back the way the Urge flared at the contact. “Gods, Karlach, I’m so sorry, I’m so– I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

“Thank the gods you’re all right,” Karlach growled simultaneously, only squeezing Tav tighter as he succumbed to the embrace and let his head drop onto her slightly-smoking shoulder. “Fuck, soldier, don’t you ever scare me like that again. You’re all right. You’re not allowed to go anywhere. Got it? You’re staying right here. We’re getting through this shit together. You and me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tav said again, his voice catching in his throat. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. To all of you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Shadowheart said softly from behind Tav, her hand– delicate and soft and suffused with the soothing warmth of her healing magic– landing on Tav’s back as she joined the hug. More arms surrounded them, too, the steady warmth of Halsin’s embrace, the corded muscle of Wyll’s, the gentle softness of Gale’s. Tav wrestled back a fresh wave of tears, held so gently in the arms of his friends– his friends, his friends, gods, how had a wretch like him ever gotten so unbelievably lucky?

“If anything, I feel as though we should be apologising to you,” Gale said. “Much as I hate to admit it, Astarion was correct. You have stood unflinchingly beside all of us as our wrongdoings were revealed, and you never once judged or criticised or scolded us for our secrets, or for concealing them. We ought to have done the same when your past was uncovered.”

Tav shook his head fiercely as Karlach finally let him down to stand again, though she kept one hand firmly on his arm as the others hesitantly retreated.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Tav said firmly. “You were all– all well within your rights to be angry. More than. I– gods, I’m so–”

“There you go again, granting us all grace once more,” Gale said gently, patting the shoulder that Karlach wasn’t clinging to.

“We’re with you, in this fight,” Wyll said. “I knew Gorion’s Ward, when I was young. I told you before, you can do the same that they did, and I still believe it.”

“They were never as far gone as I was. Am,” Tav breathed. “I– are you all sure? You don’t– after everything I’ve done, to all of you, to the whole world, I– you’d all be so much safer if I weren’t here. I would– I understand, if you want me to leave, if–”

Karlach’s grip tightened on Tav’s shoulder, her flames spiking. “You’re not going anywhere, soldier. Got it?”

“Ch’k. There is still work to be done, and no one better to do it than you,” Lae’zel said firmly.

“Your death or departure do us no good,” Minthara said. “If nothing else, we will need your particular skills to finally kill Orin, once we find where she has fled to.”

“She’s already beat me once,” Tav pointed out softly.

“You didn’t have us, then,” Wyll said.

“If that fucker was telling the truth… it sounds like you didn’t have anyone at all but Gortash,” Karlach said softly. “That’s not a good place to be. Trust me.”

Tav met her eyes again. “Karlach–”

“I have a million questions,” Karlach said. “And I– I’m still angry. But I don’t want you fucking dead, soldier, and– and I know I’m not being fair, being mad at you. Even if the old you was Gortash’s best fucking mate, now-you’s told me a million times we’re gonna kill him just as hard as he deserves. Long as that didn’t change, I’ll be okay.”

“It didn’t,” Tav said immediately. “Never. I– gods, Karlach, I wish I had answers for your questions, I– but I still just… I don’t remember. I don’t know. I– if I did, if there was anything at all in my useless fucking brain you’d be the first to know, but I– I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Karlach said. “We’ll kill Gortash. And Orin, for that matter. And whoever else we need to to get to them. And hopefully all that’ll be enough to keep your Urge happy, too.”

“I think it’s time I used your own words against you,” Gale said. “There will be no heroic self-sacrificing happening. Not from you, or from any of the rest of us. Does that sound like an acceptable deal to you?”

Tav huffed out a half-laugh, the last, lingering tension in his limbs bleeding away. “I– I’ll try. I’ll try.”

“Well, I suppose that will have to do, for now,” Gale said. “What now, Tav?”

“Tav needs to rest,” Halsin cut in, before locking eyes with Tav. The concern, the warmth, the care in that golden gaze was enough to send Tav reeling. “Your wounds were severe, and all the magic in the world will only do so much if you do not take the time to recuperate.”

“Okay,” Tav said quietly. “I– you all shouldn’t wait for me, we’ve got so much to–”

“The whole city will be shut down for the day, after Gortash’s sham of a coronation,” Wyll said. “There won’t be anything we can do until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Which is excellent news, because I really ought to get started on dinner,” Gale said.

“Dinner? We just finished lunch,” said Wyll.

“Yes, but I have been waiting for an unoccupied afternoon nearby to some sort of civilisation so I can finally introduce you all to one of my mother’s very best recipes. It’s a traditional Waterdavian–”

“Gale, if you make us eat another stew, I’m going to throw you in the Chionthar,” Shadowheart threatened.

“I like Gale’s stews!” Karlach said.

“Ch’k. Soft-bellied istik. If you insist on arguing, I will prepare the rations,” Lae’zel said.

“Absolutely not, our leftovers from the crèche were more than sufficient experience in githyanki cuisine for a lifetime,” Gale said. “You are all uncultured swine. There are quite a few intellectual societies in Waterdeep that would kill for the honour of having a Deka– my family recipes every night.”

“Well. I, for one, am excited to try this family recipe of yours, Gale,” Halsin said warmly. “Will you need any assistance in the preparation?”

“Thank you, Halsin! Yes, actually, if you could begin dicing some onions and potatoes, we ought to have plenty in the chest there, Mystra knows Tav stops us to scavenge for food often enough.”

The whole group laughed at that, and Tav felt himself do the same, as everyone began to disperse, still talking, laughing, bickering.

Tav hadn’t ruined everything. Not with Gortash’s revelations. Not with his weakness afterwards. Miraculously, impossibly, the achingly wonderful people Tav cared so much about still somehow, somehow cared about him in turn.

An arm, cool and steady and soothing, wrapped around Tav’s waist, and he leaned into it, the exhaustion and lingering aches beginning to catch up to him.

“Come on, darling,” Astarion said, taking more of Tav’s weight without complaint and leading him over towards Astarion’s tent, and the myriad pillows and blankets and cushions the two of them had pilfered that were piled inside. “You need to rest. Druid’s orders.”

Tav laughed, letting Astarion help him down onto said cushions, arranging them both so he was cradled between Astarion’s legs, his back to his vampire’s chest. Tav couldn’t help but be grateful for the contact. He so desperately didn’t want to be alone.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, long after Astarion had deposited one of his books into Tav’s hands and picked out another for himself.

“Whatever for?” Astarion asked softly.

“This. All of this. All of… for not… not giving up on me. Even though…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Astarion said. “And neither are you, love. I promise.”

Tav twisted until he could meet Astarion’s gaze, one slightly-shaky hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Astarion… can I kiss you?”

“Always,” Astarion breathed, leaning down to meet Tav’s lips with his own.

Tav melted into the contact, as he always did, the gentle motion of Astarion’s mouth against his chasing all other thought from Tav’s mind.

Eventually, Astarion drew back, smoothing a hand down Tav’s side. “Rest. I’ll wake you if anything interesting happens. All right?”

Tav nodded, settling into Astarion’s arms once more.

Gods, Tav loved him so much. More than a wretch like him should ever have been capable of.

It wasn’t enough. Tav wasn’t sure if anything ever would be, to make up for what he’d done, what he’d wrought, the damage he’d inflicted on the city, on his friends, on the world. But… but, maybe, like this, Astarion’s arms around him, the laughter of his friends echoing across the camp, hope in the air for the first time since Tav had heard Gortash’s voice again… maybe he could make it through this anyways.