Chapter Text
She was almost too much of an easy mark, all things considered. The other members of their ragtag party of parasite-invested weirdos seemed to distrust him on instinct, maybe sensing what was actually under his pretty skin, but not her. In place of any sense, the dimwitted bobble of a bard had forgiven him seconds after he’d tossed her to the ground with a knife to her throat. She didn’t even have a weapon on her, self-preservation apparently be damned. Instead of a dagger or sword, the idiot had a smashed up lute missing a few strings slung over her back.
Astarion was quite shocked the ugly thing had made it through the wreckage of the nautiloid crash at all.
He had nearly dismissed her completely, until he realized with growing horror at the Emerald Grove that the other survivors seemed to be listening to her. As she diffused an argument between the leader of the tiefling refugees and a mercenary, Astarion eyed his companions.
Surely the gith, or the cleric, or even the wizard would be more suited to call the shots. Astarion would even go so far as to say he could do a better job at directing their group, but he sensed that his attempts at leadership would be met with disdain at best.
In the distance, the mercenary takes a swing at the older tiefling, sending him sprawling into the grass. Astarion scoffs at the sight of Tav dirtying her knees as she kneels to wake him up.
Hearing a noise of discontent from beside him, Astarion turns his head to see Lae’zel crossing her arms.
Internally, Astarion leaps at the chance to influence the gith, desperate to persuade their group into exploring other leadership options. He’s only been enjoying the fresh air and sun on his skin for a few hours, but he’s already set on prolonging his freedom for as long as possible.
Outwardly, he simply cocks his head. “Is anyone else worried that we seem to be placing our chances of surviving our little tadpole problem on a bard? If you ask me, I’m not sure strumming a tune will get us very far, and she doesn’t seem to be very capable as a healer.”
“Chk. No one asked for your thoughts,” Lae’zel says, narrowing her eyes at Astarion. “And she is not leading us. I am simply unfamiliar with this area’s people… and customs.”
Astarion considers his next words carefully, but Shadowheart cuts into the conversation with a shrug. “She managed well enough on the nautiloid. And she risked her life to save me, for what it’s worth.”
Making a noise of disgust, Lae’zel looks the other woman over. “A foolish choice. I myself would have left you in the pod.”
Shadowhear steps closer towards the gith, her hand twitching almost imperceptibly towards the hilt of a dagger harnessed at her waist.
“And I would have left you dangling in that wooden cage,” she spits. “Fortunate for both of us then, that we aren’t the only two making decisions.”
The scene devolves further, Astarion watching in rapt attention to see whose blood spills first. It wasn’t his intention to start an argument between the two women, but he’s not one to stop a little entertainment.
Gale, unusually silent since the group pulled him from his portal, presses a hand to his forehead, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Mystra, preserve me.”
Sadly, any bloodshed is stopped with the arrival of Tav, blissfully unaware that Asarion was so close to knocking her down from her precarious position of influence. Her arms are full with supplies, and Astarion quirks a brow as she unceremoniously spills the items onto the ground.
Kneeling down into the grass again, Tav calls everyone to her and begins to sort through the supplies. Astarion eyes the grass stains and dirt the girl has managed to accumulate in the time they’ve wandered through the wilderness. He finds it oddly distasteful, watching her sully the colorful fabric of her jerkin and pants.
Years of luring in prey for Cazador have trained Astarion to break down and assess targets at a glance. Tav shows signs of a soft life. She seems a half-elf of some kind, the tips of her ears faintly tipped. Her clothing is finely embroidered and frilly, details common of a performer. Her hands, currently sorting through health potions and small bundles of food, only have calluses from where they’ve touched a lute’s strings. Her cheeks have a glowing flush to them, and he can see her teeth nearly sparkling when she smiles up at the group.
Gale lowers himself alongside her, helping her distribute the weight of the supplies evenly amongst everyone’s packs. Astarion touches the thread-bare seam of one of his sleeves, his mind drifting.
Tav’s hair is her biggest tell. Completely impractical, her bangs stick to the sweat of her forehead, and intricate braids loosely hang along the side of her head, leading back to a small bun that sits at the top of loose curls. It’s the color of spun sugar candy, surely adjusted with some type of magic or glamour.
Astarion feels the urge to tug, to rip her hair away from her scalp. He tries to imagine crossing paths with her in Baldur’s Gate, stalking after her during the night, but can’t manage to complete the scene. He knows, deep in his gut, that this spoiled brat wouldn’t have been caught dead in the back alley bars and brothels that Astarion was often sent to.
He sniffs, kicking a stray apple back closer to Tav’s reach. “Pray tell, darling, how much of our gold did you spend to acquire these supplies?”
Stilling, Tav shifts her weight to look up at Astarion. She opens her mouth to speak, but seems to hesitate. Reaching into her bag, she tosses Astarion a respectable pouch of coins instead.
“I turned a profit. Sold off some bits and bobs collected from the day, and threw in a few sweet words for the merchant,” she tilts her head. “This is normally where people thank me.”
He begins with a retort bitter on his tongue, but Gale deems it the perfect time to open his mouth again.
“I’ll be the first to thank you then, for your efforts to keep us alive and fed are much appreciated.”
The wizard smiles, helping Tav up from her place on the ground. Her cheeks flush, just slightly, and Astarion can hear her pulse quicken. As the two move onto exploring the area, Astarion spins a new plan in his mind.