He hadn't experienced food in his stomach for two centuries, but Tav's aroma of citrus and rosehips mingled with Gale's book-leather and cooking spices brought vividly to Astarion's mind what it was like to have a half-digested meal come back up.
He wove his way through the saplings toward the intertwining scents even faster.
Astarion had stopped in camp only long enough to pull on his boots, grab the Sussur Dagger and the Shadow of Menzoberranzan cowl. The dagger's innate ability to mute spellcasters with Silence would come in handy while executing the wizard, and the Shadow would keep him invisible until he struck the first blow. With the exception of one time he'd felled a goblin with a lucky strike from his staff, Gale was atrocious at hand-to-hand combat. He would be no match for an enraged vampire spawn.
Astarion had … no plan for killing Tav. His imagination simply refused to go there. Fine, then. He'd play Tav's death by ear. If this was Hell, an opportunity for murder would present itself. He had only to wait for it.
Not needing to breathe while running was one of the things that made vampires so adept at stealth. Living creatures were conditioned to expect harsh breaths from a charging predator. They were not programmed to expect silence.
Astarion came to a halt when he heard the worst thing in the world: not mocking laughter, not Tav moaning the wizard's name, not the wet slap of flesh on flesh.
It was Gale saying, "He doesn't love you."
Astarion caught himself with an arm around a tree.
Tav and Gale sat on a fallen log, upwind from Astarion. He could just make out Tav's green-clad back and Gale's earnest expression through the intervening leaves.
"I saw it on his face when you wrenched the head off the Avatar of Myrkul beneath Moonrise," Gale continued. "He wasn't merely impressed like the rest of us. He was plotting."
Tav's dear voice did not have its usual confidence. "Plotting, how? He's been very transparent with us about wanting help with Cazador."
Gale scooted closer to Tav with emphatic intensity. "As wonderful as you are, Tav, to Astarion you're a means to an end. That's what this has always been about: protecting him from Cazador. He treats you like a weapon to be wielded against his enemies, and that's what makes my blood boil. You deserve so much better than to be used as a tool for revenge and then discarded."
Astarion nearly sat down in shock. Gale had seen right through him. Or rather, right through the intentions he'd had when they'd first met.
It would explain quite a lot, if they all thought the same. Why Lae'zel "accidentally" tapped him with the handle of her warhammer whenever she turned. Why Wyll had barely missed him with Witch Bolt so many times. Why the others left nothing for him in the camp supplies except rags and broken crates, and furnished his tent with a wooden board for a bedroll.
He'd assumed it was because he was a vampire. In truth, they thought he was seducing Tav with the intention of breaking Their heart after he'd gotten what he wanted.
Tav was silent.
The leaves shifted to reveal more of the scene, giving Astarion an excellent view of Gale deciding to push his luck.
"Listen, if your monastery's restrictions on physical intimacy have left you pent up to the point that you're taking a vampire to bed, you have plenty of other options –"
"I sleep with Astarion because I admire him, not because I'm horny."
"Wha-? You? Admire him?" Gale sounded as stunned as Astarion felt. What in the world was there to admire about a spawn desperately trying to save their own skin?
"You recall that Lathander is opposed to the undead?"
"Yes! That's why your fascination with a vampire is so bloody unfathomable to me!"
"Astarion may be undead, but he still has ki."
What?
… What?
Gale was clearly suppressing a disdainful snort. "You know better than I that ki is a particular variety of magical energy that is only created by living things."
Tav's beautiful face lit up. "But that's what I mean! Ki is generated by the living. How does someone who has been undead for two centuries have so much of it?"
"That's a lovely theory, but –"
"I heard it, Gale. The first time I did my dawn prayers after the nautiloid crash. I heard your ki, Shadowheart's, Lae'zel's … and Astarion's. Louder than the others. Deafening, almost. And he can hear mine. He thinks it's me chanting without moving my lips. Gale, only people with lots of ki can hear it being channeled silently."
Tav gestured passionately as They spoke, like those streetcorner priests trying to win over an audience.
"After so many decades steeped in Cazador's negative energy and forced to deceive innocent people to avoid torture, he shouldn't have any trace of compassion, humor or kindness remaining, much less ki of that magnitude. Gale, he would have had to fight to hold on to it, tooth and nail, every day for two hundred years." Tav's features glowed with an almost religious fervor. "He had no teacher, no guidance, no monastery, no end in sight, never a single word of encouragement or explanation. Alone, he held onto his ki without even knowing what it was. No one's ever done that in recorded history. It would take a supernatural amount of determination. Such strength of spirit and character. He is incredible, impossible … a miracle."
"Ah," said Gale, clearly trying to sound wise and accepting, but not quite pulling it off. "A monk, drawn to a miracle. I suppose I can understand the fascination after all."
The impassioned tone They'd used to explain Their admiration for Astarion dropped away, like the sudden wilting of a flower.
"Yes. And if the only thing this incredible, impossible miracle wants from me is help taking down the monster who enslaved him, then he shall have it." He could practically hear Tav's lungs deflate. "But I need to tell him that he doesn't have to continue this … charade."
Astarion had been hit with Ice Knife once. Clear through the chest, front to back. The memory of that razor-thin shard of frost shredding his heart to ribbons could not compare to what he felt now, looking at the devastated expression on Tav's face.
"I think that's wise," the arsehole said sympathetically. "The sooner the better, really."
"Gale …" Their tone became gentle, like someone trying not to scare off the owlbear cub.
"Yes?" The wizard leaned forward eagerly, as if Tav were going to kiss him. Astarion flipped the Sussur Dagger so that he was holding it by its knifepoint, ready to fling it at Gale's throat. He'd kill the bastard right here, right now if he tried to manipulate a vulnerable Tav into sex.
"Please take your hand off my leg."
Gale looked down. Astarion stood on his toes to see what they were looking at.
The wizard's fingers had crept far too close to Tav's groin to be mistaken for a platonic touch. Gale's face went white, then bright red as he realized how the unsupervised appendage had betrayed him.
"Certainly. Right away. My … my apologies, friend." Gale snatched his hand back, clasping it in the other as if he were forcibly restraining it from taking further liberties.
Tav stood as soon as the hand was removed.
"Excuse me, Gale. I need to talk to Astarion."
"Of course. Yes. What … um … whatever you think is best."
Everything in Astarion wanted to follow Tav back to camp as They left. To throw himself down at Their feet and deny the accusations against him. Make Them understand he had amended that selfish plan after exactly thirty-two hours in Their company.
But he had work to do here first.
Soundlessly, Astarion rotated the dagger hilt around and around in his grip. This was as good a chance as he was going to get to kill off the wizard and float his body out to sea before it exploded.
However … what would Tav think of Their incredible, impossible miracle if Gale never came out of the woods?
Right now, he still had a chance to convince Them that he was what They thought. To convince everyone, actually, that what he felt for Tav was real. Convince them that he deserved to be free of Cazador. That he wasn't simply taking up space around the campfire, and occupying Tav's bed when one of them could have been there instead.
That he deserved Tav.
Speaking to what he thought was an empty forest, Gale choked out, "Am I not miraculous enough for you?"
Astarion's grip on the knife faltered.
Gale put his face in his hands and made an aborted little noise that Astarion knew all too well: the sound of someone who felt like their chest was caving in.
He decided Gale was experiencing enough punishment for one day, and faded back into the trees to let the wizard's heart shatter without an audience.
Astarion pulled the back flap of the tent closed and ripped off the Shadow of Menzoberranzan, revealing himself.
Seeing his expression, Tav's eyes widened in alarm. They grabbed for the Blood of Lathander. As soon as Their hand touched the handle, the mace bloomed with brilliant white light. Astarion put up his arms to block the sudden radiance.
"Where is he?" Tav demanded, the sun-colored ropes of power already winding around Their limbs. "Where's Cazador?"
Astarion settled Them with gestures from his raised hands, then took the mace from Their grasp and replaced it in the storage chest. The searing white light blinked out.
"He's not here. I'm all right."
Astarion touched the charm that hung from the ceiling support, which silenced all noises emanating from within each tent. Shadowheart had created them after an especially vigorous nighttime romp between Karlach and Wyll had embarrassed and annoyed the entire camp.
Tav took his face in Their hands and examined him with a furrowed brow. "Then why do you look terrified? You're shaking."
Astarion swallowed. "I heard what you and the wizard were talking about. I heard everything."