"Tav?"

The soft murmur from the doorway pulled her eyes up, a smile finding its way onto her lips. There he was, her Astarion, standing just inside the door, his eyes soft and round. He was dressed in dark leather trousers and a finely brocaded doublet, the gilded clasps cinched all the way up to his throat. Each article had been tailored to perfection, a gift to himself, courtesy of the small fortune of gold they'd come into on their adventure across Faerûn. As always, he cut a striking figure.

"Long night?" she asked lightly.

He stepped into the room, closing the door gingerly behind him, the lock clicking into place. His gait was casual and slow as he approached, each movement measured. Not a step wasted.

"I've had longer. And better."

"That doesn't sound very encouraging," Tav said, stretching her arms above her head, her shoulders popping. "Please tell me you didn't drink some beggar dry and spend all night looking for somewhere to hide the body."

Astarion paused, one slender hand coming to rest on his hip. "Oh, don't be so crass. A beggar? We both know I have more refined taste than that. Now a noble, on the other hand..."

"Hmm." Tav pursed her lips as his eyes flitted to her neck, the hint of a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe if you asked nicely, one of them would be kind enough to cater to your, uh, particular dietary quirks."

"Now, there's a thought I'd never considered." Astarion feigned consideration, tilting his head. "How would you propose I go about asking? A polite little dinner invitation, perhaps? Calligraphy on hand-pressed parchment? I could even bring flowers."

"Maybe hold onto the flowers until after the blood-letting."

Astarion snorted, the sound far more endearing than it had any right to be. "I suppose the poor soul wouldn't be able to enjoy their bouquet whilst bleeding out from the neck, would they?"

"It's the little details like that that matter."

"Indeed they do," Astarion said, his expression softening. "Alas, my dear, I'm afraid I didn't have the foresight to pick up flowers while I was out. For now, the best I can do is this."

From behind his back, he produced a bottle of wine and held it aloft with a flourish. The label was torn and faded, the bottle worn and dusty, the cork sealed with vermillion wax. Tav appraised him skeptically, sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist.

"You didn't steal that from the cellar of some highborn noble, did you?"

"Steal?" Astarion's brow rose in mock offense. "'Steal' sounds so…incriminating. Now that we're all making a habit of doing the right thing, I much prefer the term 'borrow'."

"My mistake. By all means, then. Borrow away."

"In my defense, it was just lying there," Astarion said nonchalantly. "Just sitting in the cellar, like it was waiting for me. Practically begging to be opened. How could I resist?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Astarion offered her a tight-lipped smile and crossed the last of the distance between them. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was perched on the edge of the mattress, his weight sinking the bed beside her. For a second, the bedside candle guttered, casting his face in shadow before the warm glow surged back, bathing his skin in gold and making his hair shine like silver. It was hard not to notice the rest of him, either. His perfect porcelain skin. His squared shoulders. And most of all, his fine leather doublet and the way it clung to his chest, accentuating the lean muscle beneath.

"Something the matter, darling?" Astarion remarked, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "Or simply admiring the view?"

He'd caught her, of course. Always did.

Tav matched his smirk with a smile of her own. "Maybe I'm just waiting for you to pour the wine. Had you considered that?"

"The wine," he repeated doubtfully. "Of course. Well, I can certainly rectify that. But first..."

He set the bottle aside on the nightstand and reached for her, his fingers sliding against her cheek. They were cold, his touch delicate, almost feather-light as he tilted her face towards his. She let him, her eyes locked on his, her skin prickling where he touched her. For a moment, the world seemed to still. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and chaste. Nothing more than a gentle meeting of their lips, yet it was enough to send a pleasant tingle down her spine and leave her wanting more. When she tried to slip her hand up to the side of his neck and deepen the kiss, though, he pulled away.

"That's it?"

The words escaped before she could stop herself. She hadn't meant to sound so... disappointed. But there it was, hanging between them.

"Oh, my love," he murmured. "There's so much more where that came from. But there is the little matter of the wine we should see to first. If you don't object."

When she didn't, he gave her a sidelong glance and plucked the bottle from the nightstand. With effortless ease, his long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, deftly peeling away the sealing wax. She watched as he set the wax on the bedside table and popped the cork with a flick of his wrist. The action was smooth and quick, with an elegance to it almost. Like he'd spent ages perfecting his technique. Which, she reminded herself, he had.

For two centuries, he'd been forced to master the art of seduction, honing his craft until it was almost instinct. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he looked at someone. Everything down to the way he opened a godsdamned bottle of wine. Every last affectation was all part of a carefully calculated act designed for a singular purpose: to ensnare and lure hundreds of poor, beautiful souls back to his master.

Tav winced at the thought, the image of Cazador's sneering face flashing through her mind. But then Astarion was tipping back the bottle, his throat bobbing as he drank, and she could think of nothing else.

He lowered the bottle, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. His eyes flicked to hers, a sly smile spreading across his lips, and she immediately knew that he'd done it intentionally, fully aware the effect his little performance would have on her.

"Thank the gods someone in this city has proper taste," he commented, shifting his focus back to the bottle. Turning it round, he regarded the label, eyes scanning the faded lettering like some seasoned vintner appraising a prize vintage. "Thayan Red, 1481. My, my. This must've cost a fair few golden lions."

Tav heaved an internal sigh. "Leave it to you to 'borrow' the most expensive bottle in the cellar."

"What can I say, darling?" he purred. "I do have an eye for the finer things."

"That's certainly a way to put it."

Astarion's mouth quirked, and he tipped back the bottle again, taking another long sip. "Mmm," he hummed, the sound low and appreciative. "Gods, how did I ever stomach that plonk we had back at camp?" His eyes narrowed for a moment, and a hint of distaste crept into his voice. "That bottle of red in particular. You remember the one. Awful. Like vinegar. Honestly, just the thought of that wretched swill makes me want to-"

"Hold on." Tav raised a finger, cutting him off. "First of all, it wasn't that bad. Second, if you hated it so much, why did you willingly down the entire bottle?"

"Uh, excuse me," he said in mock offense. "I had help, thank you very much."

"The bottle was already over half empty when I showed up."

"And-?"

"And, left to your own devices, you would have finished it off," she posited. "The only reason you spontaneously decided to share was because you were hoping I'd end up drunk enough to fall into your bed. Which you did manage to successfully accomplish, I'll give you that. The bed part, not so much the drunk part."

Astarion huffed, the bottle halfway to his lips again. "Yes, yes. You've made your point, darling. Not my finest hour. Now, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not spend the morning dwelling on old mistakes. At least, not any of mine."

In an instant, Tav's stomach sank, and her face fell. Mistakes. Is that how he viewed all those nights they'd shared?

Astarion immediately caught her change in demeanor and froze.

"Shit," he hissed, lowering the bottle. "No, I-" A flash of panic crossed his features. "That's not what I meant, Tav. Hells, by 'mistakes,' I meant-"

"No, it's fine," Tav said, her voice soft. Her rational mind told her he hadn't meant it the way it sounded. But the rest of her, the part that had once been made to feel so foolish, craved comfort. Reassurance.

Astarion let out a sharp sigh, bringing a hand to his temple. "Tav, you know I didn't mean that about what happened. About us. Don't you? I've said so before, those nights, it was...different with you. In a good way. And nothing about that has changed. The only thing I regret is how underhanded I was in going about the whole affair. Nothing else. I swear."

That was all she needed to hear. The remorse in his voice was evident, and the very idea of digging in and adding any more guilt to his tally was unthinkable.

"I believe you," she replied. "And for what it's worth, I don't regret any of it, either. Those nights we shared were special to me. Still are."

Astarion set the wine aside and took her hand between his.

"As they are to me, my love. Truly." Cupping her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "You were…wonderful. Better than I deserved, honestly."

For a moment, he quieted, his eyes flicking away and then back.

"But, uh, so long as we're on the topic of sex or-" He hesitated, clearing his throat quietly. "…lack thereof. I don't want you to think that just because we... haven't in a while, quite a long while, actually, that anything between us has changed. Because it hasn't. I care deeply for you. It's just that, well, everything is- it's a lot right now. Me and you and-" He released her hand to spread his palms, gesturing vaguely to nothing and everything all at once.

"Hey," Tav murmured, capturing his wayward hands and bringing them safely back to his lap. "It's okay. I understand. Really, I do."

"It's no fault of yours, you know that," he said, his words coming fast. "You're perfect, every last thing about you. I just…" His words trailed off, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at her and exhaled.

"Godsdamn it," he muttered under his breath. "I just...can't, or shouldn't, rather. Not right now."

"I know," she replied gently. "And I'm not asking you to. You've been through…more than I can even imagine, and the last thing you need is to be rushing into anything before you're ready. When you are, well, we can talk about it and see what happens from there. In the meantime, I'm content just to have you here with me. To whatever extent that may be."

For a moment, he just stared. His face looked almost confused, with his jaw tensed and his brows furrowed. As though he still couldn't fathom the fact that someone could actually care for him as a person, not solely for what he could provide.

"Thank you," he replied simply, the gravity behind the words not lost on her. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and for a moment, Tav was sure he was going to say more, but instead, he just reached for the bottle once more and took another swig.

"Well," he said, straightening his spine. "That was all rather depressing, wasn't it?"

"Astarion," she sighed, more exasperated this time. A caution against whatever flippant remark he had coming next.

Only he didn't say anything. Instead, he just laughed. That high-pitched, airy chortle, the one he did when he was nervous, or trying desperately not to be. The one he hid behind when he was putting on a front, afraid to let his guard down lest he get hurt.

It had been so long since she'd heard that laugh.

"Please don't do-" she started, but before she could get the rest of the words out, he was already bringing the bottle back to his lips, intent on helping himself to another hearty swig. Only it never made it there.

In a flash, Tav had a hand around the neck of the bottle, pulling it away from his lips, the liquid sloshing dangerously inside. "Ohhh no," she said, her tone edged with steel. "No. Stop. Astarion. Just stop."

Astarion froze, the bottle caught in a vice between them. His eyes darted between the wine and her face, his lip suddenly curling into a sneer, fanged teeth on full display. His shoulders had suddenly tensed, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. He looked like a cornered animal, fearful and desperate to lash out at anyone who dared come near.

"Put those away," she soothed, shooting a pointed look at his bared teeth.

For a moment, it looked as though he might just opt to rip her throat out instead. She could picture it, too. How he'd lunge across the bed, his body pinning hers, and sink his teeth into her neck. Maybe a part of her even wanted him to. Gods, she didn't even know anymore.

But then he sighed, a ragged, breathless sound, and the fight drained from him in an instant. As the tension bled from his shoulders, he released his grip on the bottle, his hand falling limply away.

Tav snatched it up, setting the bottle safely out of reach. "Now," she said. "Let's try this again, without the wine. Shall we?"

"Try what, exactly?" Astarion muttered, his gaze deflected elsewhere. "More of this…pretty little song and dance charade?"

"No," she deadpanned, her own frustrations creeping to the surface. "Talking. Like two rational, sane adults. Or at least two...adults. We can manage that much, can't we?"

He turned his head towards the veiled window. From that angle, his profile was accentuated by the backdrop of dim sunlight illuminating the curtain, his features coming off sharp and severe. The look on his face was familiar, his jaw set and his lips pressed together, his brows pulled low over his eyes. But when she studied him more closely, there was a look about him that told her he was a thousand realms away.

It was only then that she realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

"Oh, shit," she muttered, her frustration evaporating instantly. How had she not seen it the moment he walked in, all reserved and guarded? He had been practically radiating discomfort. She'd been so caught up in her own feelings she hadn't even noticed.

"Hey," she murmured. "Look at me."

His head twitched instinctively in her direction, but he stopped short of doing anything more than catching her eye out of the corner of his.

"Astarion," she tried again, her hand finding his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, and she pulled back but only slightly. "What happened? Last night when you didn't- when you didn't come back... Did someone-"

"Nothing so dire as that, my sweet." His tone was light, but his words were clipped. Forced. "I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Never better, in fact."

Tav furrowed her brow. She knew better.

"Every day you become a worse liar, you know that?"

"Do I?" He let out another hollow laugh. "Pity. After spending centuries perfecting my craft, too."

"That's enough now," Tav chided, albeit lightly. "Come on, out with it. Whatever happened, or whatever's bothering you. You can tell me."

Astarion let out a long, slow breath, and Tav could see his eyes dart to the ceiling. Any other night, he would have given her a hard time about it, mostly in jest. But whatever had happened had taken the fight out of him.

"All right," he began slowly, his tone low for an instant before brightening to a more artificially cheery timbre. "Welll, last night, I decided to pay the Lower City a little visit, as it were. Take in the sights. Revisit a few old haunts, the ones that haven't been reduced to smoldering piles of rubble, at any rate."

He paused, composing himself, but still, his next words came out in a rush.

"Which, as it turns out, was an awful idea! Just the absolute worst! The second I'd reached Heapside, I knew the whole thing was a mistake. There was this terrible, sickening unease roiling in my gut, but I just...kept going. Retracing my steps, putting one foot in front of the other, until..." He trailed off, his lips pressing together, his words dissolving into nothing.

He didn't need to say anything else for Tav to instinctively know the direction his tale was headed.

For the past month, every moment of Astarion's newfound freedom had been spent in the Upper City. By day, he took refuge from the sun in the safety of her home, and by night, he went out, prowling the streets under the cover of darkness. It was a part of the city he'd so rarely been allowed to venture into that the novelty of the whole experience seemed to captivate him constantly. From what he told her, he'd taken to visiting every corner of the Patriars' Quarter by night. Strolling along the promenades, wandering through the marketplace of the Wide - what was left of it, and meandering through the lavish gardens and parks. Taking in the sights, the wares, the sounds.

And the people.

Regardless of his own station, charming his way into ostentatious social circles had turned out to be second nature to him. Somehow, even personal estates and properties weren't off-limits. Not with a flash of that crooked smile or a coy cock of his head. The aristocracy of the Upper City fell for it every time. They seemed to adore him - or at least the act he put on, inviting him in with open arms and purses. So, it came as little surprise, given their collective penchant for excess, that Astarion somehow managed to wind up in the gaudiest manors for nights on end, surrounded by nobles, helping himself to the most lavish of wine, eavesdropping on scandalous gossip and whatever other secrets the wealthiest citizens had to offer. All of which he found to be an endless source of amusement.

More nights than not were just that. Him going out alone shortly after sunset, when the streets were still bustling with eventide activity, just a few hours before they emptied out and the nightlife shifted to the indoors of private clubs and estates. He'd disappear for several hours, go wherever the night led, have his fun, and return home, the faint scent of wine and blood on his breath.

Other nights, though, he'd ask her to accompany him. On those nights, he'd venture out a little later with her in tow, usually at the prospect of attending some lavish function or gala to which only a lady like Tav could get an invite. Despite the city's sorry overall state, the frivolities of high society managed to go on where they could, as if nothing were amiss. Although the attendance seemed notably diminished following the run-in several noble families had with Gortash.

Those nights, after the festivities had wound down, the two of them would often walk arm in arm through the lantern-lit streets, dressed in the finery to which he'd taken a fancy - finery to which she had a birthright. And he would point out every little detail, every trifling aspect of their surroundings, like she'd never set foot north of the gate in her life. The colors, the sounds, the smells. Everything. She entertained his ramblings, of course. How could she not? He had the eye of an artist, the tongue of a courtesan, and the mind of a thief. A deadly combination, one that, despite how insufferable he was, left her breathless and had her wishing those nights would never end.

As for what he fed on in the Upper City after the sun had set? Tav didn't have any more than suspicions. She didn't like to pry, and Astarion didn't exactly take her hunting while they were out together. Nor was he keen on voluntarily implicating himself by divulging his nightly diet, even to her. All she knew for certain was that no noble-born patriar or wealthy merchant had yet gone unaccounted for since the Mind Flayers had been driven from the city. As for their beloved local strays and household pets... Well, she'd learned not to look too closely at the Missing columns printed in the daily run of the Baldur's Mouth gazette.

All things considered, Astarion seemed at ease for the first time in his life there in the Upper City. Even genuinely happy at times. Sure, the villa was constantly on the brink of a Gale-induced magical disaster. And yes, occasionally, a certain Orthon would show up at their door and join in the evening festivities on the terrace. And, of course, every other day, Shadowheart's very presence threatened to bring the wrath of an angry god down upon them. Sometimes, they'd even wake up to an assortment of flayed and dismembered body parts arranged in a ritualistic circle out on the veranda. On top of all that, he had her hogging the covers and snoring to contend with every morning.

Yet, in spite of all that, it was somehow the closest thing to a normal life he'd ever known.

More importantly, at the end of the day, he had what mattered most. He had freedom, he had friends, a warm roof over his head, and a steady stream of choice wine. More than that, he had her. And thus far, he'd seemed content enough with all he'd found.

So, the idea that, on a whim, he had decided to pay the Lower City a visit? A place that reminded him of nothing but pain and misery? A place where, for him, no pleasant memories had ever been forged? A place where he had no friends or allies to speak of? It was so nonsensical and unexpected that Tav almost couldn't wrap her mind around it.

As his pregnant pause stretched out for a moment longer, she stared at the back of his head, at that perfect mess of silver tangles curling so prettily around his ears, until he swiveled his head slightly back in her direction.

When his eyes met hers, all she could do was whisper, "Why?"

"Ah, the question of the evening: Why," he retorted dryly. "The answer?" His frustration spiked, and he scoffed, splaying his hands wide. "Who knows? I certainly don't! Obviously, I didn't give it any thought beforehand, because if I had, for even half a second, I would have realized how stupid the idea was, and I wouldn't have ended up down there to begin with!"

Tav hardly knew what to say. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again.

"So, yes," Astarion said, filling the silence, his words bordering on theatrical. "My illustrious return to the Lower City. A night that could be summed up in two words: Utter. Shit. Hours of abject misery spent in those stinking streets. And what do I have to show for it? A thousand wretched memories dredged back up and rattling around my head, all of which I want no more than to be purged from my mind forever in the hottest fires of the Hells."

Before he could continue on his downward spiral, Tav stopped him.

"What...happened, exactly?" There had to be more to it than just a simple evening stroll through Heapside. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, no," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not at all. Let's just relive every last moment of my night, shall we? Every agonizing detail. What could it hurt?"

"You don't have to tell me anything," she quickly clarified. "If it's too much. Or you'd rather not."

Astarion went quiet for a long moment, contemplative, before finally shaking his head to himself.

"It's not a tale so interesting that it's worth telling, really," he muttered, his tone defeated. "I…wandered, mostly. Followed the path of my old routine like a mindless thrall. Surveyed a brothel here, an inn there. The same ones I'd visited night after night for centuries, back when Cazador..." He spat out the name and then trailed off for a moment. "Everything felt so different, and yet...exactly the same. Like I was seeing it all for the first time and remembering it for the thousandth."

For as stoic as he looked, Tav could sense his turmoil boiling just beneath the surface. She wanted so desperately to help, but she had no idea how.

"Roaming the streets was tolerable for the most part, I suppose. No one paid me much mind. But then, of course, I had to go and make my most dire mistake of the evening." His voice suddenly grew distant. "Walking straight through the doors of that tavern."

"Which one?"

"Oh, what does it matter?" He waved off the question. "They're all the same down there. Dingy, dirty hives of hedonistic debauchery. The point is, I'd scarcely stepped foot inside the damned place before I wanted to retch." He shook his head faintly, the bitterness in his tone rising. "It smelled rank. Wine. Ale. Bodies. Blood. Gods, the blood."

Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply through his nose, his nostrils flaring.

"I could taste it in the air. Every last bit of it. And it was...absolutely revolting. It was the last place I should have been, and I knew I had to get out, but..." He set his jaw, teeth grinding. "By then, the floodgates of miserable memories had already opened, and, well, need I say more?"

"Oh," was all Tav could think to say.

"Yes, 'oh'," he scoffed, his lip curling. "But don't fret, darling. It was nothing a bit of fresh air couldn't remedy, or so I told myself. It must have been quite the sight, the way I darted out of that fine establishment. Faster than I've ever run from the sun, I daresay. The patrons took it in stride, but, ah, not my finest moment. Still, in an effort to save face, I picked myself back up, forced on a smile, and…" He waved a free hand vaguely in the air.

"Now, you're here," Tav finished for him.

"Well, no," he replied, "not exactly. After that disaster, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself, so I relegated myself to wandering a while longer. Caught a rat in a back alley and wound up on the docks, of all places."

Tav scrunched her nose at the rat bit, partially out of distaste, partially out of pity. "Tell me you didn't-"

He sighed. "After a lifetime of feeding on vermin, there would have been no more fitting way to round out my night of self-inflicted misery. But, no. I didn't. I couldn't. The very idea made me..." He trailed off, his face twisting in revulsion. "Suffice it to say, the rat met its end in the river."

Tav nodded absently, and suddenly everything clicked into place. Not only had his jaunt in the Lower City subjected him to a dreadful, nightmarish night, reopening anew wounds that had barely begun to heal. It had also deprived him of the one thing his body desperately craved: blood.

No wonder he had been so reserved when he'd come in. On top of being freshly re-traumatized, he was undoubtedly hungry.

"Astarion," she tried gently. It was all she could manage to say.

But he didn't seem to hear her; too caught up was he in his grim recollection.

"Oh, and it gets better," he went on, a dry, hollow chortle bubbling from his throat. "With my dinner now drifting off across the Chionthar and no strength left to go hunting for anything else, the logical thing to do would have been to return to your estate, take shelter before dawn, and get some rest. Simple. Instead, on a whim, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to take a seat at the edge of the dock and, I don't know, stare into the river and wallow in my own disgust and loathing." He lifted a hand like he was offering the idea up for scrutiny. "Because at that point, why the hells not?"

Tav furrowed her brow. His emotions were clearly raw, and whatever composure he had mustered for the sake of telling his tale was crumbling by the second.

"All I wanted was to sit there for a while, in peace," he continued. "Take some time to-" Lifting a hand, gave it a little flourish towards the general region of his temple. "-sort out my head after everything. Which shouldn't have been too much to ask, considering it was the dead of night!" His hand lowered, splaying in exasperation. "But, nooo. Scarcely five minutes had passed before some fair-haired weirdo stumbled upon me, ranting about a secret subterranean civilization of crab people and offering me her neck with a side of stale bread crumbs!"

"Hold on," Tav all but blurted. "What?!"

Her mind could hardly comprehend the sheer inanity of the words he'd just uttered. And yet, it was somehow not the strangest thing she'd ever heard coming out of the commoners' districts. At this point, nothing that went on in the Lower City should have surprised her.

"Never mind the particulars," he drawled, waving it off. "That's hardly the point."

Tav's face remained frozen, lips parted slightly for a moment before she finally managed to ask, "You didn't actually take her up on it, did you?"

"What? Gods, no!" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. "Eugh. There was something off about her, and I don't mean the whole rambling nonsense, offering to let herself be drank dry on the docks thing. Something..."

He trailed off, his gaze unfocusing as if searching for a word.

"Malodorous," Tav ventured.

"No, she smelled fine, but…so does Gale, and he tastes dreadful." Astarion shuddered and made a retching noise in the back of his throat. "Like…bile."

Suddenly, the peculiar woman on the docks was the least of Tav's concerns.

"You bit Gale," she stated bluntly, her expression inscrutable.

"Uh, 'bit' is a rather strong word. It was more of a…prick, a nibble, for curiosity's sake." The look on his face turned sheepish, like a child who'd just gotten caught doing something he knew he shouldn't have.

When Tav didn't respond, he quickly added, "This was before you and I made our little arrangement 'official', of course. If that makes a difference."

The distinction was of little comfort, and the look she shot him made that clear.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. The man's a walking, talking buffet of magical power! You can't blame me for wanting to get a taste."

The way he purred out the last words like he was savoring each and every syllable made her skin prickle. And not in an unpleasant way.

"Who else have you sunk your teeth into?" she asked, unable to keep the suspicion from her tone.

"Apart from you?"

Unamused, Tav didn't so much as react.

"Just Gale. Once." Astarion held up his pointer finger as if to punctuate his words. "No one else, I swear. Not unless you count the occasional meal from the trail of corpses we left from that ravaged beach to Baldur's Gate. But that, may I remind you, was something which had been agreed upon prior."

The corner of her lips twitched. His response sounded genuine enough, but something left her unconvinced.

"All right, fine," he conceded, as if reading her thoughts. "I considered Karlach. Considered. And then promptly rejected the notion. There. Now, is this inquisition over?"

Despite the casual manner with which he had spoken, Tav could feel his growing annoyance. She didn't want to press him, but there was still something nagging at the back of her mind.

"Back to the weirdo on the docks," she prompted.

Astarion groaned. "Why? There's nothing more to be said. She made the offer, I politely declined, and now here I am. The end."

Sighing, Tav let it drop. He'd been through enough for one night. It would be nothing short of cruel to keep prying.

"Well, I'm glad you made it back safe, in any case," she said. "You had me worried, with the sun coming up and all."

"Mhn," he grunted in acknowledgement and folded his arms loosely across his chest, his gaze back on the window's drawn curtains.

Tav studied him, noting how the tension had returned to his shoulders, how tightly set his visage had become. Even after unburdening himself of the night's events, whatever unpleasantries had been exhumed were still gnawing at him. He was still holding himself together, for her sake, but he looked positively miserable.

She wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms and wrap him up in her embrace at that moment. To remind him that she cared, that he wasn't alone, and that no matter what he'd gone through or what he'd done, he was still deserving of love.

But she didn't.

If the way he'd flinched from her touch just a few minutes earlier was any indication, continued attempts were only likely to worsen things. Not make them better.

"If there's anything you need…" she tried instead.

"Don't trouble yourself, darling," he replied, flashing her a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm quite all right."

The lie hung between them, and for a moment, neither said a word.

"Of course," Tav eventually agreed.

As silence fell again, a pang of emotion rose in her chest. It hurt seeing him like that. On top of all the suffering he'd already endured, he didn't deserve the fresh agony of having his past ripped open anew.

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard against it, forcing the swell of emotion down.

"Astarion," she breathed. "I'm-"

"Don't."

His voice was soft, but the command came sharp and abrupt.

"Don't say it. Don't say that you're sorry." He hissed out the last word as if it was a curse. "Not for last night, or the past two hundred years, or…whatever else it is that has your bleeding heart weeping on my behalf."

The sudden vitriol in his words took her aback, as did the look he shot her, his eyes narrowed.

"Because, believe me, darling," he went on, ice edging into his voice, "I've heard enough empty apologies to last me ten lifetimes. Every last sympathy you could imagine, bandied about with all the weight of a feather on the wind." He scoffed. "And for what? What good have they done? None. They've never changed a damned thing for anyone, least of all me."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. He wasn't wrong. Nothing she could say would change the fact that his life and his body had been robbed from him. And no amount of well-meaning platitudes would ease his pain.

"So, please," he concluded, "keep your pity. Because I can assure you, I neither need nor want it. Understood?"

Tav's lips thinned. There was a time when his words would have wounded her, and the urge to lash back with something just as scathing would have been hard to resist. But the sting of his sharp tongue had grown duller over time. Now, his words only saddened her.

"Perfectly," she answered and meant it.

"Good." His reply was still curt, though the bite had left his voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me. It's been a long night. For me, at least."

Before she could reply, he was on his feet and crossing the room. As he disappeared behind the door to the adjoining study, she was left sitting there in silence. Alone.

For a fleeting few moments, she considered going after him to make sure he was all right, but she quickly decided against it. He'd made it clear he needed space, and she could give him that much.