The warm internal afterglow from doing the circus dryad's "love test" with a playful, giggling Tav only lasted as far as the Gur camp.

Wyll and Karlach were probably the least judgmental pair who could have accompanied Astarion and Tav on that day, but they still gave each other looks when Ulma revealed that Astarion had been one of the spawn who'd kidnapped the monster hunters' children.

Damn Petras for shouting Astarion's name during the raid. Witless idiot.

Tav was disturbingly quiet, even when Astarion promised revenge against Cazador.

As their party was leaving, Tav gestured for the others to stay back while They and Astarion kept walking. At the base of the small hill nearby, Tav asked, "Why didn't you tell me there were children to rescue?"

The Shadow of Menzoberranzan was crumpled in Astarion's fist. How he longed to put the hood on and just … disappear.

"Tav, they're dead. It happened the evening before the nautiloid attack. That was months ago. Cazador wouldn't have sent us to 'collect at least seven wee morsels, this very night' and then have waited two months to consume them."

"He compelled you? Or he told you to, and you did it?"

Astarion could take the Gur leader telling him he'd "lived a life of violence and sin"; he couldn't take Tav's disappointment that he hadn't resisted the command to deliver innocent children for slaughter.

"You don't know what it was like!" he protested, willing Tav to understand. "There was no way out. I tried to resist him once, in the first decade of my slavery. I found … a darling boy. Who I couldn't bear to bring back to him. So instead of hurting that sweet man … I ran. For weeks, I ran. I almost made it to Amn before they caught me."

While he told Them of his year-long punishment in the tomb, Tav's face softened. So did the faces of Karlach, Wyll, and even Gandrel. Dammit, he should have realized a monster hunter's hearing would be keener than average.

Astarion decided if they were all going to eavesdrop on his painful memory, he was going to make them take it on the chin. Turning their way, he snarled, "So don't you ever judge me for 'doing what Cazador ordered.' "

The eavesdroppers looked gratifyingly contrite.

Recognizing that they had an audience, Tav gestured for Astarion to follow Them up the hill to the two benches at the top.

Astarion dragged his feet, swallowing nervously when Tav put one of Shadowheart's privacy charms down on the bench, creating a bubble several meters across that would trap their words inside.

"Well?" he demanded, cursing the shakiness in his voice. "You obviously want to say something."

Tav stared out at the ocean for an unbearably long span.

Astarion shivered.

"This 'darling boy'," Tav asked. "He was an elf? Dragonborn? Half-orc?"

"Human."

Tav's eyes narrowed, still gazing out at the sparkling ocean below. "What name were you using then?"

Astarion couldn't remember all his aliases from over the centuries, but the incident with fourteen-year-old Helios was burned into his brain. He'd had nothing to do for an entire year in darkness but obsess about what he could have done differently. Some weeks in the tomb, he'd been proud of himself for scaring that unreasonably-trusting young man out of Baldur's Gate and all the way to Reithwin Town in the Polymorphed shape of a giant vampire bat. Other weeks he'd fantasized about what would have happened if he had simply slit the boy's throat.

"Kilreth," he said. "I don't tell marks my real name. Why are you asking?"

"Kindred?" Inexplicably, Tav's eyes lit up.

"No, it was pronounced 'Kilreth'," Astarion corrected with a frown.

Tav started to smile. "You're 'the ancient vampire, Kindred'?"

"Kilreth," Astarion repeated. "Not 'Kindred'. And white hair doesn't automatically mean 'ancient'. Many moon elves have white hair from birth." His frown deepened. "Where did you hear the name Kilreth?" Astarion could think of no reason Tav would know even a bastardized version of a fake name he'd used two centuries ago.

Tav's grin grew wider, Their eyes glittering with delight. "I always thought Kindred was a strange name, especially for a vampire lord. But it was Kilreth all along, and he was a spawn. He was you."

Astarion shook his head. "What are you going on about?"

With an exaggerated gesture, Tav traced the edge of Their right ear, the one exposed by the braids he'd fashioned that morning. Rather than the sharp point of a pure-blooded elf, it was a leaf-like shape that announced Their human ancestry as clearly as a ringing bell.

Human … ancestry.

"But …" Astarion protested numbly. "You don't look anything like him."

"Hellion Onasis lived eight generations ago on my father's side. And I take after my elven mother, anyhow. Almost a carbon copy."

"Helios," Astarion mumbled. "His name was 'Helios', not 'Hellion'."

Tav threw back Their head and laughed. "How stories change over so many generations! We don't even have his name right, much less yours." Still grinning, They grasped his upper arms and pulled him closer. "My ancestor didn't escape 'the ancient vampire, Kindred'. It was you. You let him go." They repeated in a tone rich with wonder, "You … are the reason I'm alive."

Then They kissed him.

It did nothing for him sexually, but it wasn't meant to. His first kiss with Tav was born of pure joy, the simple thrill of being alive by chance.

"Three brothers," Tav whispered against his lips.

"Hmph?" Astarion slurred. "Tree bubbles?"

Tav leaned back but kept Their arms around him. "My parents have four children together. My human grandparents had five others besides my father. And those aunts and uncles had kids, too. I've got seventeen cousins, many of whom have children themselves."

"Mmm-hmm?" It was a struggle to focus on anything besides the warmth of Tav's touch.

"Humans can have a lot of children in eight generations." Tav tenderly arranged the curls at the side of his head. "There are thousands of people who are alive right now because you spared Hellion."

"Helios."

Tav giggled. "Right. That's going to take some getting used to, since I've heard it wrong so many times. My point is: you did the best you could, when you could, and now eight generations of humans and half-elves owe you their lives."

Astarion had always thought of the year in the tomb as his breaking point, when his willpower to resist Cazador had been truly shattered. For centuries, he'd resented Helios for going on to presumably live a full, free life while Astarion languished in slavery and degradation.

He'd never imagined the descendants that the merry, foolish boy might have had. Never considered that the young man's spark of cheer and goodness and willingness to trust might have been passed down to future generations, one of whom was now laying a feather-light kiss on his brow.

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead," he admitted. "I just didn't want him to die."

"You treated him like a person, not prey," Tav insisted, "and it made a difference."

Astarion's face almost flushed with pleasure. "Maybe all the difference, if his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchild defeats the Nether Brain." He counted the "greats" on his fingers.

Tav chuckled softly and rubbed the tip of Their nose against his. "With a little help from our friends, we'll do just that."

He'd never forget this clifftop, nor his first real kiss with Tav. It wasn't only the novelty of standing in broad daylight. It was the gentle, undemanding touch of Their mouth and the affectionate embrace out in the open where anyone could see. No hidden motives, no secret shames, no sudden unmasking of an ugly desire to devour and dominate another person. Just Tav, hugging him in public like he was someone They cherished.

Uncaring reality asserted itself when Tav finally pulled back and the diagonal sash of Their Garb of the Land and Sky snagged on the curved tines of Astarion's Dark Justiciar Half-Plate. The magic-infused fabric tore most of the way across.

With a noise of mild consternation, Tav clapped a hand over the rent in the patterned cloth. The spell fizzled and snapped beneath Their restraining fingers as it tried to return to the Weave.

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," Astarion apologized. "Let's get that repaired before the enchantment dissipates."

"Right, then. Back to Danthelon."

Astarion shook his head. "Danthelon's a merchant, not a spellweaver. You need Carmen across the street. She's fairly a wizard in her own right when it comes to repairing enchanted clothing." He snatched up the privacy charm and gestured back down the hill. "After you, my dear."

Wyll and Karlach approached them with concerned frowns.

"What's wrong?" Wyll demanded when he saw Tav holding a hand to Their chest. "What did – what happened?"

Astarion glared, knowing that Wyll had barely avoided saying, 'What did he do to you?'

Tav waved Their free hand airily. "Wardrobe malfunction, that's all. We're headed to Carm's Garms to get it sorted. What about you two?"

Wyll's eyes remained narrowed. "I think we'll tag along."

Karlach gasped in delight. "Shopping? Fuck yeah!"

Wyll's scowl softened at seeing his bedmate so girlishly excited.

"Oh, but …" Her almond-shaped eyes glanced sideways at Wyll. "We were going to stop at Sharess' Caress to … uh …"

"See if Kithrak Voss has any news for Lae'zel," Wyll interjected.

"Yes, that is –" Karlach coughed. "That is what I meant."

Astarion rolled his eyes. "Darlings, please do not feel any need to be evasive on our account. If you need to stock up on fireproof sex toys at the brothel shop, go do so. No one at camp is under any illusions that you two are platonic friends these days." He thought about it as Tav smirked behind Their hand and the lovebirds gave each other cheeky grins. "Except maybe Yenna. I don't think she knows about the birds and the bees yet."

"Let's keep it that way for a little longer," Tav suggested. "Get some more ingredients for Shadowheart's privacy charms while you're out and about, yeah?"

Wyll agreed, and Karlach dragged him off by his elbow with only the slightest of hesitations.

The Steel Watcher at the South Span Checkpoint was still out of commission, so they were able to stroll right on through and into Carm's Garms in Wyrm Crossing.

As he'd hoped, Carmen Pennygood was there, and didn't recognize him. He usually tried to avoid sharp-eyed merchants such as her, who seemed to see right through disguises. He'd heard of her awful shop patter, but that her skill with a needle and thread more than made up for the lack of pizzazz.

Carmen shooed away an annoying blond man to focus on her clearly well-to-do customers, and assured Tav that she would have no trouble repairing the sash without dispersing the enchantment that let the wearer deal Force damage while Step of the Wind was active. Tav unclipped the sash from the rest of the garment and handed it over as Carmen tried to interest them in the few items on display. Her talent was supposed to be superior to Figaro's, but the show-floor was practically empty of originality.

"Surely this isn't everything," Astarion chided her. "Not at an establishment like Carm's Garms."

Carmen's face stiffened. "I have a contract with my brother Figaro at Facemaker's Boutique. Until the winter solstice, my sophisticated evening wear for gentlemen and ladies can only be sold at his shop." The shopkeeper eyed Tav appraisingly and stepped closer. In a low voice she remarked, "But you're neither a gentleman nor a lady, are you?"

Astarion felt a sudden pressure around his wrist and looked down to find Tav's fingers encircling it like a painless but unyielding bracelet. He also noticed that his own fingers were wrapped around the Sword of Life-Stealing's hilt, which was half-drawn from its sheath at his hip.

Carmen Pennygood was unfazed. "Not to worry, friends, I can be discreet. I have an abundance of Third Style customers."

"Third Style?" Tav kept Their eyes on Astarion's hand until he released the sword hilt.

"Your accent isn't quite from around here," Carmen said conversationally, as if a blade-wielding rogue hadn't been moments from decapitating her. "I take it there is a different term for the Third Style where you come from? Those who are neither male nor female, whether by birth or by choice?"

"I grew up in Cormyr," Tav said, Their fingers now caressing his wrist. Astarion folded his other hand over Theirs protectively. "People with my body type are known there as In-Betweens."

"Excellent," Carmen responded. "While I repair your garb, the upstairs workroom has a wide variety of Third Style garments."

Tav looked at Astarion.

He raised his eyebrows. "A little shopping never hurt anyone."

Carmen placed the sash in a glass case that seemed to dampen the snapping blue sparks, and led them up a creaking set of stairs to a wider room with bolts of cloth and project-covered tables, plus racks upon racks of expensive garments on rails across the ceiling.

The merchant retrieved a wrought-iron hook from a corner and pulled down one of the rails so that a row of flashy outfits dangled at chest height.

"Feel free to peruse any of these racks. Only remember to put each one back up before cranking down another." She bowed elegantly on her way back to the stairs. "The repair of your garment should take something less than an hour."

Tav grinned at Astarion. "I'll try them on if you will."

Dressing and undressing with someone in the same room, but no expectation of sex, was a new experience for Astarion. Especially because They kept Their eyes averted until he was completely clothed again.

He rather liked it.

Tav stripped and donned the same styles as he, but with an almost reverent regard for the items. By the third set, it occurred to him that it might be the first time Tav had put on clothing that wasn't the unisex garb of a monk, nor the binary styles available to the general male-female populace.

The Backless Extravaganza Tav indicated they should try on next had an enormous "keyhole" cutout over the wearer's back – exactly the size and shape of Astarion's scars.

He felt his face lapsing into a neutral expression. "I'd rather skip that one, if it's all right with you."

Tav picked up on his lack of reaction. "Right. The scars. They're quite large, then?"

"You've seen them before." Astarion re-arranged the criss-cross feminine undershirt of Raffish Garb around his neck, and didn't look at Tav.

"I haven't, truth be told. When Raphael removed your clothes to show us, I didn't look."

"Darling, are you saying you haven't seen me naked?" He gaped at Them.

Tav lifted the flat of Their hand to mid-chest. "I've seen your front, from about here up."

"You must have been curious why a devil would be on our heels throughout the Shadowlands. And what I look like sans apparel."

"Well, yes, on both counts, but … it was such an invasion of privacy. I certainly wouldn't want to be stripped to the skin in front of our companions and have everyone gawk at my naked body. For, uh, obvious reasons."

"Quite understandable." Astarion pointed to a row of green silk and golden accessories. "I recognize this design. It's Angelic Scion, new this summer." He unfolded an abbreviated hip scarf for Tav to put on. "This is the main piece, believe it or not, and the rest is gilded vambraces and arm rings."

Tav began to don the brief garment. "Looks like it comes with some sandal straps but no sandals. Definitely not for wearing around the city, then."

"Not unless you want to cut your feet on broken glass."

Refusing to be distracted by the application of pretty baubles, Tav asked seriously, "Do you want me to kill him?"

"Who, Raphael? Aren't we going to kill him anyway? He's a soul-stealing hell creature."

"Yes, but what I mean is: do you want me to kill him for you?"

"As revenge for stripping me naked, you mean?"

"Yes."

Astarion felt his expression turning frosty, a contrast to the fire of outrage in his guts.

Raphael's smarmy voice glided out of the past, like a snake winding around his ankles. 'You've kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.'

The devil had said it as though the centuries of slavery had been Astarion's idea. As if he enjoyed being the plaything of Baldur's Gate.

As if he were a filthy, craven thing who deserved public humiliation.

Astarion's lip lifted in a snarl. "Yes," he said. "I want you to kill him extra bloody. For me."

Tav nodded gravely. "Consider it done."

Something tight began to unravel in his chest. It wasn't any emotion he could identify, so he put it aside for later examination.

Astarion plucked another gilded item from the rack. "I suppose this is what makes this 'Third Style', rather than an ordinary outfit."

The chest piece he'd selected had the same flair as the woman's metallic brassiere that normally came with a female version of Angelic Scion, but was broader and flatter to fit a more masculine chest. It was gorgeous, but not something a man would consider essential to the look.

Tav reached out for it as if They were afraid it would disappear on contact with Their fingertips.

"Would you like me to help you put it on?" Astarion offered gently. Tav's biceps were big enough that buckling the delicate snap behind Their back could prove difficult.

Tav nodded, holding the two halves to their pectoral muscles.

Astarion moved behind Them and fastened the clasp, laying a kiss on Their shoulder before coming back around to admire Them.

Tav continued to hold the chestpiece to Themself, eyes closed like They were savoring the feel of the solid decoration on Their skin. Emotions flitted across Their face too fast for his eye to follow.

If he survived to be a thousand, he thought, he'd never forget the sight of Tav in this place: standing in a ray of sunlight from the high window, Their tanned skin complimented by the shimmering gold and rich green of Their clothing, gripping the customized breastplate like it was a gift from the gods.

Astarion decided that if some future situation offered the Vampire Ascendant a choice between killing Carmen Pennygood or letting her live ... he'd spare her life.

Tav opened Their bright eyes and looked to him for his opinion.

His voice came out soft and sincere. "My love, you are astonishing."

They beamed.

Astarion took the last piece of the outfit from the hangar. "Allow me." He knelt before Tav and slid the golden garter up Their thigh, letting his fingers linger in their task until Tav's skin warmed beneath his palms.

He looked up the length of Their body with a smoldering glance he knew worked like a charm, and cupped Their thigh in both hands as his fingers slowly drifted back down.

Suddenly Tav asked, "Do you want me to be a woman?"

Astarion choked on nothing and had to cough, so unexpected was the question. He stood up, hand held to his mouth.

Tav kept Their eyebrows raised until he stopped sputtering.

"Darling, I prefer the shape you are right now, but I would love you no matter what sex you were."

Tav frowned, not comprehending. "You destroyed the male amulet, though."

"True." He chewed his lip, careful not to puncture himself with the fangs. "I wasn't ready to see you so … changed. It brought back some bad memories."

"Memories?"

He nodded, saying nothing.

Tav slid both of Their arms around his waist and set Their forehead against his right temple.

Astarion sighed tremulously. Tav, ever the perfect companion, wasn't going to make him elaborate on this if he didn't want to.

The murmur of the daytime crowds outside the shop continued to break against the building's walls, a rising and falling rumble as soothing and ceaseless as a monk's chant, or ocean waves.

Eventually he asked, "You know how Polymorph works, yes? The target remains in the altered form until they take sufficient damage to return them, unharmed, to their true shape?"

Tav nodded, Their brow gliding over his temple as smoothly as water over a river rock.

"Well, a devious mind could figure out how to Polymorph someone so they could put them through excruciating pain and not have to heal them when the spell ends."

Tav held him closer, and did not ask questions.

"It's also really hard to fight back in animal form." He motioned with his left hand. "I did get in a few good pinches as a crab, however." He didn't add, 'Before they twisted my limbs off.'

A tiny puff of laughter escaped Tav. "I have no doubt you got them good."

He let Tav hold on to him, and he willed time to stop right there, forever.

"Do you think that's why we haven't found the others yet?" Tav asked eventually.

The only things they'd located at Sharess' Caress so far were that fucking slime Raphael, a very beat-up Voss, and a pair of drow whose wandering hands he'd had to literally slap away from touching Tav. Fraygo's Flophouse had been equally empty of spawn.

"Torture is … a likely possibility. The flophouse is Dalyria's territory. If she were okay, she'd have been there." But no one at the cheap inn had seen any "half-tieflings" – the spawns' preferred way of explaining their fangs and glowing eyes – in over a week.

A tenday in the Kennels was a very long time.

There was a commotion down the stairs, and Carmen's voice protesting loudly, "You can't go up there without an invitation!"

"Dear lady, this is very important, I assure you," said Gale's posh voice.

Tav frantically tried to reach the clasp for Their breastplate, the one piece of the outfit that might tip someone off to Their true sex. Astarion felt a series of hot and cold flashes: hot panic for Tav's privacy, cold anger that Gale was barging in on an intimate moment, and a flush of warmth that Tav trusted him with this information, but Gale not at all.

A master at removing women's underwear, Astarion reached behind Them with one hand, unclipped the fastening and caught the chestpiece in his other hand before smoothly scooping it into a shopping bag.

Tav barely had time to mouth 'Thank you' before Gale bounded to the top of the stairs and stopped dead at the sight of Them.

"Tav! You look …." Gale struggled to find a descriptor that wasn't salacious. "Comfortable." He began blinking excessively. "A mite over-exposed, given the perils of our adventure, but I suppose it adds a thrilling edge to leave oneself open to danger and … other things." He ogled Tav's chest openly, as if They were a bare-breasted woman bouncing about town.

Astarion stepped between the wizard and the monk, snatching Tav's Cloak of Displacement from its spot on a chair and handing it over his shoulder to Them.

"I assume there is a good reason for this interruption of our personal time?" he purred dangerously, pleased with the implication that they'd have been rolling on the floor naked if Gale's arrival had been delayed by a few minutes.

"Of course there's a good reason!" Gale snapped. "They're here."

"They, who?"

"Spawn."