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shenanigans-and-imagines · 3 months

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I Would Have Killed You

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Evie

A/N: This took forever, but hey! It's done. This is also my first experiment in using third person instead of second person when writing for Evie (Ace!Tav), so let me know if you want to stick with this or switch back to how it was before.

Warning: angst, blood, dissociation, Astarion being bad at emotions, heavy kissing

Summary: Astarion is reminded of the person he was before the tadpoles and what that means for his and Evie's future.

Word Count: 4.1K

It was so easy. Astarion almost felt bad for the little tavern mouse waiting at the door.

Almost.

He had been instructed to bring a bard to the palace. His master gave no explanation and Astarion knew better than to ask.

He had found this one playing at the Elfsong. They were a newcomer to Baldur’s Gate. No friends. No connections. Nobody who would miss them.

He gestured them into the hallway, plastering his most practiced smile.

The mouse gave him a tentative nod in return as they looked up and around, taking in the space.

The entryway succeeded in its intended effect, dwarfing all who stepped foot into its open maw. The walls were lined with deep reds contrasted against gold finery before pushing down a dark hallway. The only light came from a handful of candles and the clouded night just outside the windows. Of course, it didn’t look any more inviting during the day. Sunlight had not touched these halls in centuries.

Astarion guided them forward, placing a hand on their shoulder, just in case.

He tried not to worry. This was a new kind of trap he had put together, one improvised in the moment. It was rare for his lines to fail him so completely, but he had managed to salvage the conversation with the promise of employment. He was fairly certain it would work, but hardly the guarantee getting on his back would have assured.

Words drifted in his ears, something clever to disguise nerves.

He replied with his usual flattery; a few words assuring them how they were the best he had ever heard and something about his master being entranced.

He could hear their heart hammering as their eyes flickered from window to window, never focusing on one thing for more than a few seconds. Searching for an exit perhaps.

He kept his footsteps measured, quick to engage them in banal conversation. Couldn’t have the scurrying off now, not when he was so close.

A pair of double doors forced him to pause before turning to his offering. He said something he supposed was encouraging as they gave him something akin to a smile. At the very least their breathing was less shallow.

It was good enough and with a grand gesture, he opened the doors, revealing a table set for a lamb to slaughter.

Foods of various kinds covered the entire surface. The noise of smells bombarded his nose, sickly sweet and ripe as rot. Steam from vegetables and freshly prepared meats choked his lungs. Candles littered every surface. He could feel his eyes start to burn, whether from the smoke or brightness, he couldn’t be sure. All the same, he didn’t need his senses to feel his master’s smile as the lord rose to his feet.

Astarion gave a bow, followed quickly by the mouse.

It didn’t escape his notice how resolutely they maintained their gaze just left of his master’s shoulder and not the feast in front of them.

“I am glad to see you have found your way,” the master said, his voice decadent. “Please, join me.”

The mouse hesitated, caught between proprietary and something else. Astarion didn’t know how he missed it. Gods knew he had seen it in the face of his “siblings”. He wore it himself often enough. Little thing was starving.

A sense of calm came over him. He had been worried over nothing. Desperation was just as secure a motivator as lust.

Still, the mouse did try to maintain some dignity; something about not being able to accept such hospitality without earning it.

His master raised a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. If Astarion’s praise is anything like truth, you will more than earn a meal here.”

It was the excuse they needed as they took deliberate steps to the lord’s side.

“Astarion. You will join us.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t in a position to make it one. This held the promise of being wholly painless. Whatever game his master was playing, he would do his part.

Astarion spoke his thanks and took a seat on the master’s other side.

The mouse tried so hard. They waited patiently for the master to start the meal before serving themselves, careful not to overload their plate. This was an audition after all, they couldn’t risk making a bad first impression. Of course, it did nothing to quell the hunger in their eyes. Each bite was brought carefully to their mouth with such slowness it appeared painful.

Despite himself, Astarion had to admire their restraint. He wondered what they would do differently if they knew this would be their last meal.

He did his part to appear engaged. He moved food on his plate around and pretended to take a drink of wine, mindful to not let any pass his lips.

It would all be over soon. He would return to the kennels tonight with food in his stomach and the skin remaining on his back. He would not give the master an excuse. Besides, his lord seemed occupied assaulting the bard with questions.

Astarion tried his best not to listen. If the master wished to play with his food, there was little he could do to stop him. His part was done. The mouse was nothing to him. Sure, some of their conversation had been stimulating, but it did not make up for their fundamental stupidity. They deserved what was coming if they allowed themselves to be caught in such an obvious trap. So what if they were starving? What did they know of true starvation? Let them rot in a tomb for a year, unable to die. That would teach them to accept anything too good to be true.

“It is good to see you fed,” his master said. “If I may be blunt, you seemed near faint when you came in.”

The mouse gave an embarrassed look, answering with a self deprecating affirmative.

“Perhaps now you may give us a proper performance.”

They nodded, rising to their feet with more confidence than what they came in with. Astarion supposed a full stomach would do that. He wondered idly if that somehow made a difference to the quality of the blood. He knew his master too well to assume he was granting the little snack a kindness before their death. Perhaps fear spoiled the taste.

The bard took a position on the small podium just to the side of the dining table, pulling out a well kept violin out of a travel worn case.

“Let us see if your songbird lives up to expectations,” his master said, the words coming as light as a knife pressed against his throat.

Astarion’s spine stiffened, forcing himself not to swallow.

So, that was the game. Each of his siblings had received similar instructions no doubt. Find a bard in the city, any bard. He didn’t know the prize for finding the best, but he had a fair idea of what the punishment would be for bringing the worst.

His offering held their violin across their chest, ready for the lord’s request.

“Whatever is your favorite,” his master replied.

Astarion held his breath as the bard let go of theirs allowing strings to fill the air.

The first handful of notes came like a caress against his cheek, so careful and warm he nearly flinched. It didn’t shy away, and slowly he felt himself relax into its touch.

They were good. He had gotten an idea at the tavern, but that was for the unwashed masses of the lower city, not the private dining room of a palace. If anything, the change in scenery made their playing all the more potent.

The music slipped past his ears, boring deeper and deeper until he could feel it in his very bones. He found himself unable to look away. It compelled him back into his body and to the ever present here and now. Each note came as a release, an inspiration to keep living long enough to hear the next. If only they could play forever, perhaps they would never die.

There was something so familiar about it. Not the melody, but the phrasing, the shape of the notes as they whispered unknowable nothings into his heart. He knew that voice.

A smile spread across the bard’s face, content and lost in the music, wholly unaware.

Oh Gods. Evie.

Fear clutched his chest. He tried to open his mouth, but his lips remained placid. He felt the muscles strain with the effort and yet not so much as a twitch appeared on his face. He pulled at his arms, his hands, legs, neck, anything. He couldn’t move. His skin remained an impassive shell, trapping him inside his own body.

Bile rose in his throat. Cazador found him. It was the only explanation. Something went wrong with the tadpoles. The bastard was in his head.

To his horror the song came to a close.

Evie held her position as every good performer would, not even opening her eyes as the remains of the strings echoed into nothing.

A slow clap came from behind him filling the sudden stillness. How he didn’t flinch was beyond his comprehension.

She smiled in appreciation, giving a graceful bow. The triumph in her eyes made him want to wretch.

Run. Please, my love. Run!

“Beautiful,” Cazador said. “A truly remarkable songbird. It’s a wonder you were so eager to share Astarion. If it were me, I would keep her all to myself.”

Astarion felt the shell bow its head in respect.

“Far be it for me to deny you, master,” it said.

“Indeed.” Cazador then turned his sights to Evie. “I would have this settled tonight. Join me in my study so we may discuss the terms of your employment.”

“Oh…thank you,” she said, the uncertainty clear in her tone. “Will Astarion be joining us?”

“That will not be necessary,” Cazador said, his tone quickly losing its patience. “As it stands, Astarion has his own duties to attend to.”

Evie wavered, her eyes darting between him and the double doors.

This was their chance. Control of his limbs was out, but Astarion wasn’t about to give up. He dug in deeper into this mind. Surely the tadpole hadn’t been removed. It was just dormant, something. If he could just make contact. All he needed was a wriggle. The second he was free, he was going to tear the bastard’s throat out!

“I thank you for the offer, my lord,” she said. “But if it’s possible, I would like a day to think about it. If we could meet tomorrow morning–.”

“Do you think I make this offer lightly?” Cazador snapped. “If you wish to return to the streets in which you were found, you may. You are impressive, but do not think I cannot find another.”

Evie’s eyes widened, her hands clutching her violin tighter against her body.

The decision was written all over her face. She was still so hungry.

The shell’s aloof expression faltered. Brows cinched together as its mouth turned into a line.

“Oh go on little mouse. Off to the slaughter with you.”

Astarion froze. That wasn’t Cazador.

“I apologize, my lord,” Evie said. “I did not mean to offend. Of course, I am honored by your offer. I will gladly join you.”

A smile spread across Cazador’s face, one made of teeth and condescension.

“Excellent.”

He rose to his feet, gesturing to a side door leading out of the dining room.

Evie’s heartbeat came hard in his ears. Still she packed away her violin, preparing to follow Cazador wherever he would lead her.

Astarion’s throat tore with the effort to scream. His nail dug into the walls of his insides, pulling and grasping at flesh. He didn’t know how this was happening and frankly didn’t care. Anything beyond the beating of Evie’s heart was meaningless. He needed to get out. He didn’t care if he had to claw out of his own skin.

Evie all too soon joined Cazador’s side. The bastard placed a hand on her arm much as his own had before, guiding her out of the room to certain death.

There was only one option left. Instead of turning inward to the tadpole that, for some reason, had abandoned him, he pushed his thoughts outward.

Master. Please. Don’t do this. Hear me. I’ll do anything. I’ll bring you hundreds, thousands more. Whatever you ask of me, I will do. Just let her go. Please.

Cazador paused, turning his head slightly over his shoulder.

“You may go, Astarion. Make sure to clean this mess. And take the tray with you.”

The shell turned its gaze to the one closed tray left on the table. The faint smell of death and something else sickeningly familiar hit his nose.

“Not as festering,” it thought idly.

No, he thought. He was thinking these things. He was the one doing this. He was the one killing her.

He didn’t even look up as the pair of footsteps left the room, the door closing behind them with a decisive thud.

Like an animal he pounced on the tray, throwing the top aside to dig his hands into the fat, putrid rat waiting for him.

His teeth tore into its stomach, tainted blood mixed with other bile filling his mouth, but still he drank. It was a drop of water to a dying man, not nearly enough and only meant to serve as a reminder of absence. Still, he could not deny himself. This was more than he had in a week.

His victory would no doubt be short lived. Cazador would find some way to punish him later for some imagined transgression, but at least tonight he wouldn’t suffer.

Evie’s heart disappeared behind the door. He almost wished it would stay that way. Silence would bring him the gift of denial, but since when had he ever been lucky.

Somewhere far away, he heard a cry of fear transform into pleas for help, then mercy, and then just pain until even those fell to nothing.

He couldn’t speak, but gods did he scream.

----------------

In a sudden jolt, he was upright, darkness invading his vision blurred at the edges by orange candle light.

He was breathing hard. His heart didn’t race, but his limbs trembled all the same. In some attempt to calm himself, he raised a hand to his brow pushing back the hair that had fallen across his forehead.

He paused, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He had moved his hand. He was in control. His limbs, his breath, his body was entirely his own. A quick focus inward assured the rest. The tadpole was safe and sound, wriggling away.

The room around him started to come into focus. He was in the Elfsong. A quick glance revealed the rest of his companions fast asleep in their beds. For once he was grateful to hear Karlach’s snoring. He couldn’t be anywhere else.

His eyes turned to that one candle burning just beside him.

Evie had insisted, claiming she couldn’t sleep without one. It was a lie, of course. Astarion knew well enough she could fall asleep standing on her head if pressed. The candle had been for him; another small kindness to add to the ongoing list.

A slight shift in the bed refocused his attention, turning to the other laying beside him.

“Astarion? What’s wrong?”

Her voice was low and thick with sleep. Her eyes were barely open and her hair was a complete mess on the pillow. Now would be the perfect moment to tease her, to kiss her and slip back beneath the sheets, but he couldn’t bring himself to do any of it. He was too focused on the rise and fall of her chest and the steady rhythm of her heart.

“Astarion?” Evie repeated, concern now slipping into her voice as she turned more decidedly toward him.

He shook himself out of his head, slipping a practiced smile to his face.

“It’s nothing darling,” he assured. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t, I’m up now,” she said, stretching herself further awake.

She held her arms open to him. He knew he didn’t have to. It wasn’t a demand or even an expectation; merely an invitation, one he didn’t have the strength to decline.

He fell into her, wrapping her in his arms and burying himself in her neck. He let her scent fill his lungs, chasing away the lingering rot with the life of her blood and subtle musk of her skin. Her heart pressed against his chest so close he could feel it echo inside him like a memory. He felt her fingers card through his hair cradling his head against her in gentle assurance, as if she wasn’t holding a monster who could drain her dry with just the slightest parting on his mouth. Gods, what had he done to deserve this?

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her breath soft and warm against his ear.

He didn’t answer right away, pressing his lips against her neck as his mind turned searching for the right thing to say. Words continued to evade him as he moved his touch further up, catching the underside of her jaw, her cheek, the edge of her mouth, the tip of her nose until finally he landed on her lips. He kissed her softly, just a brush really, any more would be too much.

Another thing to add to the list, the solace in knowing he didn’t need to do anything else. No performance. No seductions. Just this.

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hand.

Her eyes were so soft, even as a crease worried her brow. He knew that was for him too. There was a time he would have scoffed at that look, dismissing it as pity instead of the care it was. Now it just made him ache.

His lips found hers again, kissing her long and deep.

He loved her. He knew that now. He had a suspicion he had known for a while, but couldn't allow himself to see it.

The word didn’t disgust him as it first might have done, but gods did it terrify him. His dream revealed more than one truth. He knew now the things he’d be willing to do, the parts of himself he’d be willing to sacrifice to keep her safe. By all accounts he should be cursing her name, but he just kept kissing her.

He couldn’t stop. His lips found new purpose, touching and tasting any inch of skin within reach. Nothing bad could happen just so long as he kept touching her. He’d hold her forever if he could, absorb her into his skin and keep her safe there. Nobody would hurt them ever again.

“Astarion?” His name came out in a choked breath, pulling him back to himself and to her.

He pulled back, going rigid in alarm as if he’d just be dunked in a tank of cold water. Somehow he had turned her beneath him, his body pressed between her legs and against her whole body. He pushed himself onto his hands, shame sinking into his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head, but it was plain enough by her expression to see she was overwhelmed. He could hear her heart hammering in his ears and cursed himself for not checking in sooner.

“I should have asked,” he said. “I wasn’t trying for more. I just–.”

“I know,” she assured. “Just needed to catch my breath. You know that thing mortals do.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. He could take a bad joke if it meant she wasn’t truly hurt.

Her hand found his cheek, simultaneously gentle and rough to the touch. He leaned into her, indulging in the sensation. It centered him in a way he couldn’t put into words. Something about the callous and healed cuts of her fingers made the reality of her all the more potent.

“You did nothing wrong,” she said firmly. “But I do think you need to talk about it.”

He let out a short sigh, knowing there was no side stepping the conversation and kissing his way out was now firmly off the table.

He fell back onto the bed, mindful to keep his distance even as his body yearned to have her close. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, instead focusing on the darkened wood ceiling.

“I killed you,” he said. There was no softer way to put it and he didn’t have the inclination to try. “I handed you over to Cazador without a second thought, all for a rat and a night’s respite.”

A mirthless laugh escaped his throat. Gods what a mess, but what else did he expect? This was still his life, for lack of a better word.

“Why do you trust me?” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She remained silent for a long time before he caught the glimpse of a shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“Well you did ask me very nicely.”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, turning his head toward her. “I would have killed you. The moment we met, I lied to you and held a knife to your throat. That doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty.”

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line, remaining agonizingly silent. He was tempted to use the worm, if only to get a glimpse of what exactly she was thinking.

“You’re right,” she said, carefully. “And I didn’t trust you, at first. But, that was then. This is now.”

Her hand found his, slipping between his fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve saved my life more times than I care to admit, for a start,” she continued. “You’ve stayed with me when it would have been more convenient to leave me behind. You’ve allowed me to be honest with parts of myself the world kept telling me to bury away. And because of this.”

She moved forward, closing just enough distance just to press the barest kiss to his lips. It caught in his chest, imprinting itself somewhere inside him no one else had managed to find.

“You’re still a scoundrel and a rogue,” she whispered, “but when it matters, I know you’ll be there. At least, you have been so far.”

“Always.”

The promise came so easily to his lips, but it was the truth, one he felt more deeply than he realized until that moment. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. The world didn’t get to do that to him.

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Evie moved closer, pressing herself against his side and draping her arm across his chest.

He took the offer, pulling her more securely into his arms. The fever had broken, but he would not deny himself relief from the symptoms. He contented himself with the warmth of her body and the perfume of her hair in his nose. He really did need to ask her what exactly she used. He’d buy the whole supply.

She tried to stay awake. He could feel her fingers trace nonsensical patterns into his skin. It didn’t last long. Her movements still and soon enough her body fell completely slack against him.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, lingering on the peace of the moment as a new resolve filled him.

Cazador would die, that much he knew for certain the moment he stepped into the city. He wasn’t going to spend the remainder of his life looking over his shoulder. He would have his revenge and tear that bastard apart for everything he had ever done to him, made better still by ruining his long awaited ascension and taking that power for his own.

He knew Evie’s hesitations. She’d expressed her doubts often enough, questioning if it was worth the price. He could understand why, after all it was her compassion that had allowed him to hold her like this, foolish as it was.

What was a little more blood on his hands if it kept hers clean. His “siblings” were no better than him. He’d be doing the world a favor. And in exchange, no one would ever control him again. No more pain. No more running. Nobody would touch him. He’d be free and Evie would be safe.

Once he ascended no force in the world would be foolish enough to try and take her from him. And if Evie agreed to become a vampire herself? If he could give her just a drop of that same power, not even time could touch her. They could have eternity. All it would take was a few meaningless deaths.

He wouldn’t let her trust in him come to nothing. He would keep them safe. Forever. For good.

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