Work Text:
The Names of Elves
“Where is she?” Astarion asked.
“I think she’s in the dining room,” said Karlach.
“She isn’t,” he replied. “I checked.”
“Surely,” said Shadowheart in irritation. “She’s permitted five minutes alone before you come sniffing around looking for her. I’m surprised she made it five minutes, come to think of it. Don’t you have something useful to do? You know, to help?”
Astarion looked at her and wondered if she was making a joke.
The cleric sighed. “Of course you don’t. Could you at least be a useless hindrance somewhere else?”
As long as that somewhere was where Tav was, then yes, he could. He wondered sometimes, as he stepped back inside to check the dining room again - just in case - if he was being just a bit, just a bit , too clingy.
It was difficult not to be. He got constantly stressed if she wasn’t nearby, thinking something terrible had happened. That bandits had kidnapped her or she’d fallen down into a well, or worse, that Cazador had somehow found them, and snatched her up as bait.
The last one seemed ludicrous. They were out in the middle of nowhere, protected and trapped by the Shadow Curse, with no reason to think Cazador could even find them. And even if he could, surely he would just take Astarion, not Tav. He’d send Petras and Leon to drag him back unconscious if required. He wouldn’t even need bait.
Still, Astarion worried.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Shadowheart?” said Gale dreamily, making it obvious where his mind was.
Astarion looked at him and wondered if he was making a joke.
“Oh Tav, of course. Wasn’t she just talking to the oxen in the stable?”
“She isn’t. I checked.”
“She may be down by the river,” said Lae’zel.
She wasn’t. He’d checked.
He was really starting to panic now, as he circled back to the stables and walked along the river, just to be sure. She couldn’t have drowned, she hadn’t been drinking and she was a good swimmer. Plus she hadn’t been outside in hours, he'd be able to smell her out here.
She was the only thing that had been his , ever since he crawled out the dirt that covered his own coffin, retching up dirt and congealed blood, before he went searching for Cazador, driven by an urge he couldn’t fight. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being far away, maybe hurt, needing him.
Besides, he had no idea what normal neediness was. His seduction strategy had hinged on constant attention and flattery from the moment he saw his mark, to the moment the ballroom doors closed on them forever.
Trying to maintain that level of dedication long term was exhausting, not to mention woe-fully unappreciated. She seemed to enjoy the attention most of the time but sometimes she was obviously exasperated by him, not to mention grouchy from lack of sleep. Maybe he was overdoing it.
This was definitely a crisis though. He could smell her in the inn, but not outside. She hadn’t left , she just wasn’t there , and it was baffling. She wasn’t even dead, he could definitely have smelled that. But he’d sorted through all the heartbeats in the place and couldn’t hear hers. He’d walked up and down the place, smelling her faintly everywhere, but not finding her.
There were too many people, too much noise, too many strange smells and sounds to pinpoint the only one he gave a damn about. So he went back inside.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Who, Lae’zel?” said Wyll, with a wink, clearly joking.
Astarion looked at him and decided he was heartily sick of all of them.
“Tav’s in her room, I think.”
“She isn’t. I checked.”
He’d even knocked, and she hadn’t replied. While he was fairly certain she was more than capable of ignoring him, he had checked anyway, and could neither smell or hear her. He’d even considered using his lockpicks on the door but that seemed excessive.
However, that had been fifteen long Tav-less minutes ago, and he thought excessive measures were now called for. So he picked her lock quickly, stepping into her small room, hearing it click as he closed it. Nothing.
But there was another door. He listened, and there was no heartbeat inside, and only the lingering smell of her that infuriatingly permeated the whole building. But he could hear … something. Splashing? He knocked, hesitantly, and sighed in relief when she calmly replied, “What is it, Astarion?”
He was tempted to ask if he could come in, but thought there was a decent chance the answer would be “no”. So he determined that it might be better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
It was a bathroom, and she was in the bath.
He locked the door.
It wasn’t a particularly big bath, but then again, she was not a particularly big elf, and she was submerged up to her chin in steaming hot water in the narrow tub. Rather unfortunately, the water was opaque, milky white, with a strange soapy floral smell, and he couldn’t see through it.
The water and the soap, he realized, was muffling her scent, and the sound of her heartbeat was being drowned. That was useful to know, for next time she so selfishly disappeared. Bathrooms would need to be searched.
“Twenty four minutes,” she said cheerfully, rubbing a washcloth under her neck. He had no idea what she was implying, but he sensed that he was in the wrong.
“What’s that darling?” he asked, confused, and slightly puffed.
“I’ve been in here, alone , for twenty four minutes.” She indicated towards an old dwarven pocket watch she had propped up on a cabinet, sitting on a towel, facing her so she could watch the time tick past.
“Were you lonesome, darling?” he purred.
She splashed some water at him, trying to hide a grin. “No, it was very relaxing actually. I liked the idea of you dashing about the place looking for me.”
As he dodged the splashes, she indicated with her head towards the window, which faced down to the shoreline. “I saw you searching along the river.” Here she smiled broadly. “ Twice .”
He would have to tone it back, he realized. It was funny now for her, watching the clock, knowing he was searching, gleefully waiting for him to find her, like it was a game. But if it occurred to her to even pretend to be annoyed today, then soon it would become a real annoyance very quickly, and he couldn’t risk that. She’d leave him anyway, no sense speeding things along.
“I have been looking for you,” he said, slightly accusatory.
“Yes, I know,” she replied happily, lifting an arm out of the water to rub with the washcloth. “I heard you knocking when I’d only just gotten in. So, I ignored you. Thought it might buy me some time alone.”
Outrageous behaviour. Selfish. No concern for his nerves.
He sat down beside the tub, crossing his arms over the edge and laying his head on them to look at her sideways.
“ I was lonesome,” he said plaintively, looking at her with the saddest cuddly little Astarion eyes he could muster, hoping she’d melt and invite him in.
“No you weren’t,” she said with a smile, totally unmoved. Gods he adored that smile, and the way it made her eyes squint and her nose scrunch. “You’re possessive. Obsessive . Like a dragon, sitting on a pile of gold. You can’t even let one tiny piece of your treasure slip away, not for a minute.”
“You’re my treasure,” he purred, and was hit in the face by another splash of water. “My hair, darling, not the hair.”
“Ah, yes, your hair,” she said knowingly, focusing on scrubbing a black mark off her shoulder. “That’s your true treasure. You love your hair far more than you love me.”
Astarion froze, but she continued to wash her arm, not realizing what she’d invertedly said. They didn’t speak of love. He hadn’t even considered that was the path they were on, but it suddenly seemed foolish for him to not have anticipated that potential eventuality.
He was obsessive over her, made it clear to everyone she was his even if he wasn’t allowed to tell them, and had his hands on her and his cock in her at every opportunity they could steal, to the point she had to bat him away to get anything done. Was it so unusual, if not today, then some day, she might decide she loved him, and expect him to love her back?
But she hadn’t said she loved him, and hadn’t asked him if he loved her. It was just an off-hand comment, but he knew Tav. Knew her clever mind would flip back on itself momentarily and realize what she had said, and question it. Maybe question him.
He wasn’t ready for those questions. And he only knew one way to distract them both from it.
Quickly he rolled up his sleeve and dipped his hand into the water, feeling around in the milky depths for her as she watched him from the end of the tub, letting her washcloth sink into the water, her bathing forgotten. He touched her ankle, and followed the line upwards, following the curve of her bent knee, and down again along her thigh, until he found what he was really seeking.
There was a sigh, and Tav leaned her head back against the towel she had rolled up to pad her head from the wooden tub, closing her eyes to the sensation of his gentle probing. In the hot water, he couldn’t feel any wetness. It was a different experience, to touch her without the usual layer of slick he so eagerly brought forth, even drank when he could.
Her hair was different, he hadn’t even noticed. She’d undone all the pins and ties and the braid at the front and just swept it up into a large messy bun at the top of her head, wrapped around with a ribbon to keep it out of the water. All around her face and neck, short damp hair was stuck to her skin, and there were a few long tendrils floating in the water.
Without the lubrication, he could feel her better. The folds that were usually tucked away under her slit were rougher than he expected, but delicate, and he traced along their edges with one finger, watching as she breathed deeply and tilted up towards him, almost unconsciously.
Very small and young, he always tended to forget how young she was until he was reminded, her skin taunt and unlined. If she were not so slim, he was certain she’d still have that soft pudginess of youth, but her lack of appetite had evidently taken that away before time could.
She hardly looked twenty, a human would think she was barely of age. But he was good at telling elf ages, their true age, and figured she had to be at least thirty, thirty five at most. Not quite as old as him, or as old as he had ever gotten, before he was turned, but hardly a dramatic age gap, especially between elves. The two centuries as a vampire might be more of a concern for anyone inclined to question their respective ages.
He grazed his thumb along her clit, stroking it softly to watch the small shudder run up her body. Always very responsive, open minded if a bit shy, and easy to satisfy, at least sexually. Emotionally he was at a bit of a loss with what she needed, or wanted. But this at least, he was good at. Her hand emerged from the water to grip the side of the tub, and he stared at her freckled fingers with curiosity before focusing back on her face, her eyes still closed, a slight furrow in her brow as she focused on what he was making her feel.
Astarion thought often about the fact that he had only been thirty nine when he had been turned into a vampire, and remained frozen forever in time. Not quite a child, not quite an adult. But a freak, an aberration, certainly a monster. Especially after all the things he’d done. He looked grown up to most mortals, but he wasn’t, not really, not to his former people and certainly not to himself. He’d never gotten to complete his adult rites, his first life had been taken away, and how he lived the second time was chosen for him.
Tav inhaled sharply as he gently probed his finger inside her, continuing his stroking thumb, moving both together to elicit the little sighs he enjoyed so much. Then he leaned his arm against the tub and propped his head on it, watching the ripples form in the water from his movement beneath the surface.
She wasn’t so much younger than he was, really, vampire portion aside. She was in the time of her life for foolish mistakes and stupid decisions. It was almost encouraged, for elves, while they were young, to be reckless and explore things with abandon. Almost everything was forgiven before they undertook their sacred rites, and then they could step forward as adults, mature, worldly and full of wisdom. That was what she was doing with him, he reminded himself. Making a mistake everyone was honour-bound to pardon.
He moved a second finger in, pumping slowly and watched her face twitch for a brief moment as she adjusted to the slight stretch, then relaxed again. His fingers curved as his thumb circled faster, and her hand gripped the tub tighter.
One day, there would likely be a husband, or a wife, possibly children, maybe adventures, glory, honour, a happy home full of love, and he would just be a vague memory. She would not be Tav, certainly not his Tav, she would have a new name. He didn’t know where he’d be, she would have left him long before that. All he could hope was when she was old and bent, remembering her childish affair with the vampire, that she smiled at her silly younger self, and did not regret him.
It was not so much to ask, really, after what he’d endured.
Tav came with a shuddering gasp, not loud or intense, but softly, clenching him with her insides. The hand that wasn’t gripping the tub reached down to hold onto him as he slowly stopped moving and cupped her, letting her squeeze her thighs as the shakes stopped, and withdrawing it as she relaxed.
She took a long deep breath as the shaking passed, and leaned back against the tub with her eyes closed, seeming quite content.
“When are we going to tell them,” he asked suddenly, unexpected even for him. Her body stiffened, and her eyes opened, staring at the ceiling. He probably should have given her at least a minute of post-orgasmic bliss before asking these sorts of questions.
“Soon,” she said vaguely.
“They all suspect anyway,” he muttered petulantly. Worse, they all knew , but he couldn’t say that.
“I know, Astarion, I know,” she said irritably. “I know they suspect. Everyone isn’t as stupid as you seem to think, and you’ve hardly been subtle about it like I asked.”
“Then why –“
“Because I’d rather not tell them now, just to be humiliated and pitied when it’s all over.”
He couldn’t help but frown. Why on earth would she be humiliated and pitied for leaving him? She’d be praised by most of them, surely. Gale would throw her a party when she left Astarion, he’d probably already sorted out decorations in preparation for that happy, happy day.
Tav took a sudden breath and sank down under the water, completely submerged underneath the surface, and he watched as the ripples slowly disappeared. She could hold her breath for quite a while a while. Useful information for later, he couldn’t help noting.
They all already knew, that was what was driving him mad. And he couldn’t tell her that they knew. But they knew that he knew they knew. Only she didn’t know they knew, and they didn’t know the others knew, so really nobody could admit to knowing even though they all did , and she just didn’t know it.
His head was starting to hurt just thinking about it, and tried again more slowly to review the situation while he waited for Tav to reemerge.
Tav knew that Karlach knew, because the barbarian had caught them together, but that she could be relied upon not to tell. Shadowheart probably knew since the start and kept it a secret because her religion demanded secrecy. Lae’zel had seen him stumbling out of Tav’s bed one morning and simply didn’t care enough to gossip, not realizing how juicy the others would find it. Wyll had worked it out for himself, seeing the way Astarion took care of her when she wasn’t well, but he was discrete. Gale had overheard them fucking – Astarion had made sure of it – and of course he couldn’t mention it without sounding like he’d been listening intentionally and coming off as some kind of voyeuristic degenerate.
Tav popped back out from under the sill water with a gasp, her hair soaked, wiping her eyes and blinking hard. Probably hoping he’d forgotten his question, or was willing to take the hint and drop it. She looked at him and seemed slightly disappointed when it was obvious he had not, and would not. Evidently it was a night for both of them to try and avoid difficult questions. Maybe he should just let it go.
“Will you hand me that, please,” she said finally, pointing to a vial on the side table. She pulled the ribbon from her hair, and he watched the ridiculous length unravel down as she poured some of the thick sticky liquid onto her scalp, foaming up blue bubbles she washed it.
He was tempted to take over, run his fingers through her hair so she relaxed under him, and they could both forget the other’s awkward fumble at a subject neither wanted to touch. It was going to take her awhile to wash all that hair.
But he was annoyed now. He was sick of her being ashamed of him, hiding him. Wasn’t he beautiful? Wasn’t he strong, and powerful? Didn’t he make her come, hard and often? Didn’t she care about him at all? He didn’t want her to love him, knowing it wouldn’t stop her leaving and just feel worse when she did, but gods, he wanted something . Some acknowledgement that he was doing this right .
“Why don’t you cut it off,” he asked in irritation. Her eyes closed and her lips pursed as she massaged harder, lifting it up to get at her scalp, ignoring him. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
He had meant, why did she keep it so long if she kept it so tightly bound up. Wouldn’t it be easier, to keep it short, if she was so insistent on keeping it neat, especially on the road. She wasn’t like Shadowheart, who let her straight raven hair down around her shoulders as she strolled around camp, solely to flick it around and watch the others react to her beauty. Tav hid hers away, rarely showed anyone, not even him – hells, he’d encouraged that, to ensure the hair wasn’t used to hide behind.
Not that he didn’t like Tav’s hair, or he wanted her to cut it off, that wasn’t what he meant. He liked it very much. Much more than Shadowheart’s, that was for sure. Maybe even more than his own, although he’d hate to have to choose.
He should really just let the matter drop, but he couldn’t. “I meant –“
“I know what you meant ,” she snapped, and he sensed he’d pushed far too hard this time. “You don’t like my boots or my clothes or my scar or my hair, you make that all quite clear, but woe betide I don’t tell you every day about how beautiful you are, or fail to notice your new clothes, or mess up your hair.”
She fixed him with a glare. “You probably don’t like my tits, or my freckles, or my face, or my eyes, just like Durge, except you, unlike him, just have the common sense not to mention it because you do seem to at least one part of me, thank gods for that at least, and you sometimes know enough to keep your mouth shut , even if it’s just because you want my legs open .”
The words were coming faster now, things she had pent up inside for weeks. “And you don’t like how I spend my money or when I help people or when I cover myself up. But you’re certain you like presents, and when I help you, and when you get to see me, but nobody else, only you , Astarion.”
The scrubbing became even more vigorous as she worked up her anger along with the lather.
“Gods forbid Gale say a kind word to me in your presence, or Lae’zel sits with me at dinner, or Shadowheart puts her hand on my arm to get my attention, because I’m yours, aren’t I Astarion, and you don’t people touching your things. Even when I tell you over and over again that they’re all just friends, just being kind, and it's normal, and you’re the only one who could possibly have a problem with it.”
Her hands slapped the water.
“You like when Wyll is nice to me, just because you’re hoping for a chance of the three of us in bed together, and you don’t care what I do with Karlach simply because I can’t end up in bed with her. And everyone we talk to is a threat to you, because you’re convinced that everyone, everywhere is just itching to take what’s yours .”
She was back to glaring at him, and it was rather unnerving. He was never quite sure what he was expected to do or say in these situations. That’s why he preferred to avoid them, yet this time he’d certainly brought it upon himself.
“And as for Halsin,” Tav snapped. “He’s not even considered trustworthy enough for me to be in a crowded room with, despite the fact he’s been nothing but civil, and nothing more than that. Because you don’t trust him, for no reason, and you don’t trust me, Astarion, again, for no reason. You don’t trust anyone , and it’s exhausting .”
She was speaking so fast she was barely breathing.
“But you want me to tell you everything, to trust you, trust you, always trust you, “trust me darling ,” is all you say, but you don’t want to tell me anything about yourself. It’s all half-truths or jokes or secrets. From the start, when you told me you were nobleman and a magistrate, and not a vampire’s spawn. Maybe it all really is just lies, and I’m just the fool who believes any of it.”
There was a quick inhale, and she sank quickly down under the water again. Not for long this time, rinsing the potion out, before she popped back up, pushing her hair tightly back from her face with both hands, silent for now. He dared not speak, because he knew she was far from done.
Sure enough, after a few awkward, silent moments, she continued, more quietly, “you don’t like anything about me, but you’re very sure you want me to tell everyone how much I like you , and that I like being with you, and most of all that I like fucking you. Because it’s not about me, or us, it’s about you , and that ravenous pit of an ego you have, and how badly you want everyone to love you and admire you even when you treat them like dirt. You think you can be ‘obsessive-rude-entitled-needy-spoiled-clingy-demanding-Astarion’, then act shocked when people don’t like you.”
Tav took another deep breath.
“You give nothing for free, there’s always a price, and you demand everything and it’s still never good enough. And even when you get it, you just always want more. You don’t like me , you just like how I make you feel , and that’s not the same fucking thing.”
He was always slightly stunned when she made these speeches. It always rendered him speech- less , though he really, really needed to be able to defend himself. She would have been a good lawyer, he had to admit.
So with nothing to say, Astarion turned and sat with his back leaning against the wooden side of the tub, thinking carefully, running lines through his head. It was at least a minute before he spoke.
“I do like you, darling,” he said finally, and even he knew how childish and pathetic it sounded. It was such a weak little pebble inside the ocean of accusations she’d just thrown.
She made a scoffing sound.
“No Astarion,” she said, sounding very tired all of a sudden. “It’s just a game to you, somewhere warm to rest your cock for the time being. And once the tadpole is out, I’ll be lucky if you even stop to wave goodbye as you get your boots on your way out the door.” She thought about it for a moment and let out a barking cough that could have been a laugh. “You don’t like your boots , so even that’s overly optimistic. Silly, stupid Tav.”
She was right, he didn’t like the boots she’d bought, they didn’t match any of his belts, but surely that wasn’t important.
“You won’t even remember me once this is over,” she said, and he heard the little catch in her voice. “I’ll be one of dozens of silly things you used until you got bored. A hundred of them, maybe a thousand, maybe even more. So, you’ll forgive me if I’d just like to enjoy it while it lasts, and I don’t want to tell everyone that I’m stupid enough to think it means anything. Because you’ll be gone, and I’m the one they’ll pat on the head and say, ‘oh poor little Tav, silly little fool’ once you’ve moved on to the next shiny thing that takes your fancy, and I’m left here alone and sad and pathetic . We both know it’s coming, it’s what you do, so don’t tell me it’s not.”
There was silence for a moment, only the sound of the water as she continued washing her hair with trembling fingers.
“You don’t even like my name,” she said, chuckling joylessly. “Child-name or not, it’s all I have, and you hate it. It’s short and it's common and it's ordinary and that’s just fine for short, common, ordinary little me. I’m sure yours has some grand, special meaning that sums you up just perfectly, Astarion, something beautiful and poetic and complicated, but I’m just Tav . And I was fine with that, until you came along.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath and he could hear her fighting back tears. “I didn’t ask for this , Astarion. I didn’t sneak into your tent or drag you off to a waterfall or invite you into the woods when you were drunk, that was all you . So don’t ask me when we’re going to tell them, when I’m going to be the one left here humiliated afterwards, telling them that you’ve gone, because gods-knows you won’t, and I’m going to be the one who isn’t even going to be able to tell them where or why. I probably won’t even know you’re gone til after you’ve left. You might just forget to tell me you’re leaving me, but don’t you worry, I’ll figure it out eventually, even if I’m not as clever as you.”
He leaned his head back against the tub, feeling like he’d been drained. She sounded like she was finished now, and he wondered if that meant they were finished too.
Was she wrong, really, about any of it?
Still not sure what to say, he just listened to the sound of scrubbing fingers, splashing water, hair being wrung out, the occasional sobbing breath that she choked down. Until she was done taking her anger out on her beautiful hair and she just sat quietly, probably hoping he’d just leave and get it over with, before anyone found out about them and she had to explain it.
She was wrong about a lot of it, he thought, suddenly angry.
“Little Star,” he said abruptly.
“What?” she said, distracted momentarily by confusion. He turned his head to look at her.
“My name,” he continued. “’Astarion’. It’s ‘Little Star’. My father used to tell people it meant ‘Loyal Son’ and my grandfather thought it meant ‘Shining Prince’, but my mother picked it. She knew the ancient words and she knew it meant ‘Little Star’.”
He hadn’t said it since he was turned. Cazador had used it as a mockery.
Tav stared at him in disbelief. Elves didn't usually tell people their adult ages, or speak the meaning of their adult names to anyone but their most trusted inner circle. It was a sacred thing, something they dwelled on for a century until their adult rights were complete. But he didn’t have an adult name to keep secret. He’d never had his rites, he was turned long before that. The shame of being 'Little Star' was all he had, and he kept it as guarded as he possibly could.
“I hated it,” he continued. “I was such a serious person back then, and I was stuck with this ridiculous diminutive name, and all I wanted was to grow up and change it and be treated like I had some value and not like I was a child playing dress up.”
He closed his eyes at the memory of mortal problems that seemed so trivial compared to the life of a vampire slave, and turned his head back forward, not looking at her.
“So I bought fancy grown up clothes and I combed my hair back straight and I stood up in a courtroom where they had to take me seriously and I would introduce myself as Mister Ancunín, but every now and then someone who knew proper Elvish would hear ‘Astarion’, and laugh, and everyone would know I was a fraud and a child, and I hated it. But I knew all I could do was wait to change it.”
He heard the water lap against the tub as she moved closer to him.
“I had books ,” he rasped. “ Dozens of them, translating ancient elvish into Commonspeak, and I kept notes on which words I liked and which ones I hated, and I’d sit there splicing together a language I didn’t speak to make a new name that seemed like it fit me, and I was so sure one day I would find something that was perfect. You’re right, I was obsessive. I am obsessive.”
Her head was near his now, but he didn’t turn to look at her.
“I was thirty nine, darling,” he said, remembering a huge party being planned for his fortieth, a birthday he never saw, locked away in Cazador’s palace, with all the guests who’d been invited thinking he was dead. “And now I’m … two hundred and thirty one. But I will always be thirty nine. And I'll always be fucking ‘Little Star’.”
Neither of them spoke for a minute as the water stilled.
“I’m thirty three,” she said softly. “Just thirty-three. I’m just Tav.”
She took a deep breath in before she continued, the words coming in a rush. “My mother picked out a beautiful, complicated name with an abstract meaning that needed to be explained to be understood. But then she died having me, and my father decided it was far too long a name for such a little tiny thing like me. He took me to my grandparents, and he said he’d come back for me when he decided.”
Tav paused, breathed, and seemed to consider whether to keep going.
“He was gone for weeks. He would sit in a tavern and drink all day and night until he passed out, and he’d ask everyone who came in to tell him every name they could think of, and he’d buy them drinks until they ran out of ideas.”
She stopped for a moment for a breath before continuing, faster than ever, as if she was afraid that he’d interrupt her.
“None of them were right, so he kept drinking, trying to think of a name. Trying to forget his dead wife and a baby left home with her parents, a baby he didn’t know how to take care of, and knowing the first step was thinking of a name for me and he couldn’t think of anything. Sure he had failed as a husband by letting her die, but he was damn sure not going to fail as a father by getting my name wrong.”
Another breath, a slight catch in her throat, a tale told to her because at that age she couldn’t possibly remember it.
“And one night he went out and got himself drunker than he’d ever been before, which wasn’t saying much because he didn’t drink before my mother died, but he was definitely drunk then, and for the last time. He fell outside in the gutter, with his head in a cowpat, and he looked up at the sign outside the tavern. It was so dark he couldn’t read the words properly, only a bit from the light shining from inside. All he could see was “Tav,” and he decided that sounded just right. And nothing any of my grandparents, on either side, could say would convince him otherwise.”
He heard her sink down in the water, as if she was hiding. She was always hiding, and running, til the tapdole dragged her down and trapped her here with him.
“Grandmother was furious ,” she whispered, sounding scared but delighted. “She was formidable, and proud, and stubborn. She came from an ancient royal line and never thought my father was good enough for her daughter, and wasn’t this just the proof of it, this ridiculous name he insisted on for her granddaughter. She was terrifying, and he was so scared of her usually even though he pretended he wasn’t.”
Another breath as she straightened back up.
“Grandfather didn’t say a word, he was frightened of her too, and he was on the council, and had been to war, so it shows you what she was like. He probably thought it was stupid too, but he was scared that Father would take away his only daughter’s child, so he said nothing.”
She let out a chuckle.
“She started to tell people my name was Tavyelena, that was her compromise, and it still probably wasn’t good enough. Hoping it would catch on, hoping to just browbeat Father into submission, but he made her stop. Tav, he said, her name is Tav, just Tav, she doesn’t need a big name, she’s enough just as she is. And he wouldn’t let her see me until she agreed to it.”
Astarion had to remind himself to breathe whenever she did.
“My other grandmother was a lot better about it. She was a Quendi, and she told me ‘ tav’ means ‘to endure’ in Quenya, and surely that was as good a name as any. And Grandpa said that was what I was supposed to tell people, if they asked why ‘Tav’ of all things, I was to say, ‘to endure’, and not the bit about the drunken fall into the cowpat and the tavern sign Father couldn’t read properly, because it made his son sound like a fool.”
She was quiet for a moment. Astarion knew that was what she could have told him, truthfully, that it meant “To Endure,” and he’d never ask more questions.
But she hadn’t.
He could have told her Astarion meant “Shining Prince," and some translations would have agreed.
But he hadn’t.
“And I was just Tav,” she said softly. “From then until now.”
They both sat for a few moments, heads close, her in the tub and him outside of it, not touching, but nearly, quietly dwelling on the intimate revelation of each other’s names, the slight showing of their souls.
She had told him the whole truth and for once, he’d done the same. And even though it was only their child-name and not their adult-name, he knew she felt like he did – raw, and vulnerable.
“Darling,” Astarion said firmly. “That cannot possibly be true.”
He was relieved by her peal of laughter as she moved back into the center of the tub.
“It’s what they all said,” she gasped, as she laughed at the absurdity of it. “And Father never lied about anything.”
Astarion rolled onto his knees and crossed his arms over the edge of the tub, his elbows dangling in the water. Tav sat in the middle, her body beneath the milky water, now blue from her hair tonic.
“Two elves with ridiculous child-names,” he said definitively, but scared of breaking the tentative link they’d both tried to make. “I like that.”
Her hair swirled in a circle around her, floating on the surface. He reached out and twisted one tendril around his finger.
“I like your hair, darling,” he said softly.
“You pull on it a lot,” she reminded him.
“I pull on it because I like it,” he corrected, and she seemed satisfied with that.
He put his hand out to her and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I like your freckles.” His finger ran down her face. “I like your scar.”
The fingers went over her mouth. “I like this.”
Tweaked her nipple. “And these.”
Cupped her groin. “You know I like this.”
She was smiling now.
“You are short, darling,” he continued. “You’re not ordinary. And you’re absolutely not common.”
He moved his hand in the water, watching the hair drift through his fingers, and decided to keep being honest, no more jokes, or half-truths that were basically lies, or outright lies, or just not saying things she didn’t want to hear.
“I like that you’re kind, and generous,” he said softly. “I hate that you waste your money, but I always like my presents, even when I don’t. I’d rather you stole it for me and kept the money for yourself. I hate when you’re embarrassed, but I like it when you feel like you can stop, because you trust me not to make you feel bad, even though I do sometimes, but that makes me feel wretched. So I’ll try not to do it.”
He wrapped the hair around his fist and pulled it gently to make her move a bit closer, so he could whisper.
“I hate that you’re always getting yourself into trouble, darling. I wish you wouldn’t, because then I’m in trouble right there with you. But I’d come running to get into trouble, if it meant pulling you out of it. I like that you want to help people. I especially like when you want to help me , because darling…”
Gently, he pulled her closer. “Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m completely useless without you.”
He tried to remember the rest of it as she giggled.
“I hate watching you with other people,” he confessed, and her smile faltered a little. “Whether they’re strangers, or friends. It makes me furious. You’re the only thing I’ve had in two centuries that was mine , and I don’t like sharing you with them. But I’ll do better.”
He paused. “Except with Gale .” The smile came back, and became a grin.
“But darling,” Astarion said in a whisper. He beckoned to her with one crooked finger and she leant even closer. “I really do hate your clothes. That’s why I’m always trying to rip them off you. I’m hoping you’ll just run out and be naked all the time but you keep finding new ones and I can’t keep up. That’s why we have to stop this looting nonsense, darling.”
Tav tried not to laugh, but she failed.
“And my boots?” she said, teasingly.
“I… I’ll get you new boots, darling.”
She laughed and moved closer still, so their heads were touching again.
“And your boots?”
“They’re … very comfortable.” Her head tilted to look at him under her eyebrows. “We just have to get me a belt that matches.” The head tilted back, a fair compromise.
“I like you as well,” she said quietly, but she’d never shied away from saying it, so she didn’t have to make another speech. She’d said more tonight than in the whole time since the day he’d met her. “And you have very nice clothes.”
He took her face in both his hands and made sure she was looking at him.
“It’s not a game to me, darling,” he said gently.
It wasn’t, it was deadly serious.
She murmured, and smiled, so he kissed her. He was tempted to strip off his clothes and get into the bath with her, but he held back. This was more important.
“It means something ,” he said quietly, although he didn’t know what, and hoped she wouldn’t ask. “We don’t have to tell people until you’re ready, but you’re not going to be humiliated. I said I won’t leave you when this is over. I meant it, I promise, I swear . I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”
They stared at each other for a minute.
“Do you trust me, darling?” he whispered, and she nodded as she leaned back in to kiss him.
He meant it, he wouldn’t leave, he knew that. She would leave, she almost just did , but not yet, he couldn’t let her leave yet.
He wasn’t ready.
He just wanted her to be his for just a little while longer.