In words, Tav has always found solace, whether sung or spoken. Lately, though, she has found comfort in the written word. Ever since this jarring journey started, she's written down the daily terrors she and her companions have encountered and found a cathartic feeling spread right after. As usual, she sits near the campfire with a quill pen in hand and her diary sitting on her lap. To her side is an inkwell, which is close to needing a replacement, but she always waits till it's fully gone before buying another. Of course, if this ran out before they encountered a merchant, she could always ask one of her companions for a spare inkwell. Astarion always seemed to have an abundance of it, and she could never figure out why, as she's never seen him write a letter or even a diary. It just sits dutifully by his side, as if it's waiting for someone to ask him to use it. Sometimes she contemplated sauntering over and asking to borrow one, but she always found herself a bit speechless whenever she met Astarion's intoxicating gaze.

She could tell by his signature playful smirk that he was fully aware of the effect he had on her. It was a bit frustrating how she became so heady and enraptured by the sight of him. It was almost infuriating how she, a master of words, became so wordless in his presence.

The quill pen she's holding is being pressed hard against her diary page. Only a paragraph's worth of events has been recounted so far and she finds herself disappointed that even when Astarion isn't around, her thoughts still drift to him. Focusing back on her task, she adds another paragraph but soon hears the sound of someone approaching her. Usually, her companions leave her alone unless it's urgent—well, all but Astarion, who needed as much attention as a neglected cat. Just like a cat meowing for attention, she hears the familiar sound of Astarion clearing his throat. Whenever he approached her, he never greeted her by name or by any of the many pet names that he used on rotation for her. No, instead, he always waited for her to say the first word, but not before…she tried not to think about what he clearly wanted. You see, if she were to look up, she suspects her eyes would meet his hungry gaze, which would, to quote the man himself, cause her to get lost in him. Yes, he's waiting for her eyes to stray upward, but she resists, instead focusing on finishing the page she was on.

"Astarion," she acknowledges.

"What are you doing, darling?" Astarion asks, his voice sounding almost like a purr. "Writing smutty literature? Preferably about me."

His tone gets a bit huskier when he says the word me. Tav resists the urge to roll her eyes. Whenever she didn't look at him, she found him easier to resist. Yes, his face was where all her problems started. It wasn't at all what other feelings were flourishing just at the sight of his dumb, smug face.

"No, I'm writing about the overall day. You know that."

"Yes, yes, you and your boring written retellings," he comments, probably remembering the time she read her recountings to him. "I thought bards were all about flair and embellishing, and yet..."

"How will anyone ever know how much you truly annoy me if not by written text, darling?" Tav says, finally raising her head to look at Astarion.

Astarion smirks in triumph, similar to the one he gives after a kill. His eyes sparkle

with satisfaction as he soaks up her attention.

"Do you invite all the people who annoy you to your bed, darling? Or am I just that satisfying, my sweet?"

Tav closes her diary, heat rushing through her. She clears her throat, but her mind is far from clear as she thinks of their nights together.

"I'm going to go pick out the camp meal. We should be well fed for our visit to the moonrise towers," she says, moving to get up but stumbling back into her sitting position.

Astarion tilts his head. "Yes, that. Are we sure this is going to work out, dear? I feel like we've only reached dead end after dead end. It's rather depressing."

"Don't lose hope, Astarion. No one's turning into a mind flayer under my watch."

"How reassuring, dear," Astarion responds, then gestures where Tav sits on the ground. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, Astarion, I was just going to—" She starts, but he sits beside her before she can remind him she's supposed to be going to choose the camp meal. "Guess not anymore."

"I've been thinking," Astarion says, observing his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "About death."

"Really? And what is causing such morbid thoughts?"

"I don't know, dear, maybe constantly being surrounded by it? Or perhaps the fact that I may die at any moment?" Astarion laughs self-deprecatingly. "I've died once already, and I'm still quite afraid of it."

Tav's face becomes serious. "I'll save you. I swear it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Astarion quips, fluttering his eyelashes.

He then lets out a light chuckle, "Gods, you remind me of the dashing heroes one reads about in books."

Astarion looks away from her, but she spots a guilty expression crossing his features.

"Didn't you say the same about Wyll?"

"No, I said Wyll was the dashing prince who you dreamed of rescuing you. You, however, are the dashing hero who gets herself into more trouble than she realizes."

"And what trouble have I stumbled into?" She says, thinking.

"Hmm," Astarion starts, tilting his head back. "Getting kidnapped and having a tadpole inserted in your brain seems like a lot of trouble, don't you think, darling?"

At the word darling, he looks back at her and she finds herself enraptured in his gaze, as usual.

"Well, then we're all guilty of that, aren't we?"

"Except I wasn't rescuing anyone, dear."

"What makes you think I was rescuing anyone before I got kidnapped? I could've easily been performing for a crowd."

Tav, a frequent traveler and a more than competent bard was known for her vibrant performances and tales that seemed everlasting. Although, since this mess started, she hadn't performed at all. Now, her lute was brought out only for battle, and never did she strum its chords and let a song take her over. She wondered if one of the symptoms of ceremorphosis was a loss of one's song and creativity. Or maybe it was the constant direness and responsibility on her shoulders that was holding her down. Either way, Astarion was right about her written retellings, as they were too matter-of-fact and didn't hold the flair a bard's tale should have. Still, they brought her comfort.

Astarion gives her a skeptical look.

"Fine," she admits. "I was chasing after a thief."

"And now you're sleeping with one." Astarion laughs with bitterness and a twinge of self-hatred. "Funny, how that goes."

Tav observes Astarion for a moment. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and his ruby-colored eyes are sparkling with sadness.

"Is something wrong, Astarion?"

Regret flickers in her after the question is asked because Astarion never gave a straightforward answer. Even in his most playful mood, the vampire kept his defenses high. Whenever she approached heavier topics, he became uneasy, and later on, he'd make sure his more sadistic opinions about others were heard. It was obvious to anyone who paid attention to Astarion that he thought pain was power, and the more pain he inflicted on others, the more he could pretend his own wounds weren't rotting.

"Hmm," Astarion says, his mind drifting a bit.

If Tav had to guess, it was swimming in dark waters.

"Oh, no, everything's fine," he replies a minute later.

"Are you sure?" Tav asks with concern, deciding not to drop the subject.

In the short run, it was better to pretend nothing was wrong. However, the more time Tav spent with Astarion, the more she got the feeling that there would be nothing short-term between them. How strange that someone whose heart was a frequent traveler as she was has become so ready to settle down and make a home with someone. Gods, she thinks to herself. Do I love him?

Part of her wants to run from the idea and stray away from it, but she doesn't. No, instead, she sits with the uncomfortableness it brings her until it leaves her longing. Before she can think of it, she reaches out to touch Astarion's hand, and he recoils, his eyes widening and becoming startled. Her hand hangs in the air. With a jerk, she pulls it back, apologizing profusely to Astarion.

The distant look in Astarion's eyes becomes more apparent, and his breath gets a bit heavier. His body becomes tense and poses like twisted metal.

"Astarion," she says, his name like it's a lyric in a song.

It doesn't work. Wherever Astarion is in his mind, she cannot reel him back. Minutes pass, and eventually, his heavier breaths get lighter. Sweat covers his brow, and he peers at her like he's never seen her before.

"It's okay," he says, but it sounds more like he's talking to himself than her.

He brushes his hair back, looking at Tav. "Sorry, darling. I just wasn't expecting it."

He takes another deep breath and holds his closest hand out to her for her to take. Hesitant, she moves her hand but lets it hover over his.

"Is this okay?"

Silence lingers between them both.

Astarion appears deep in thought and, for a brief moment, confusion etches his features, but then he bites his lip and nods.

"Yes, it's okay."

She lets their fingers intertwine and squeezes his hand.

"If anything's ever wrong, you can tell me."

He gives her a bittersweet smile, leaning his shoulder against hers. "I know."

"But you never do? Why?"

"Must we get into this now?" He complains, his voice rising in tone.

"Alright," Tav says, backing off. "But if you need someone to talk to..."

"Yes, I'll have your ear in an instant, darling. I know, I know."

For what feels like a timeless moment, they sit in silence as they lean on one another and hold each other's hands. Both of them wonder what the other is thinking. Tav wonders about Astarion's feelings for her. All the while, Astarion worries about what Tav thinks of him, but neither of them are aware of just how intertwined their hearts have become.