Chapter 1: One
Chapter Text
“Do not resist. Surrender, and be remade. Though born of a vile source, these powers can be used for good or ill…the choice is yours alone.”
Tav was cloistered in an armchair in a quiet corner of the Last Light Inn, considering her predicament.
First, she was an outcast and a fugitive, exiled by her Order and too terrified to return to her city for fear of death, or worse.
Second—less existential but somewhat more imminent—she was a dice throw’s away from losing the last of her gold, and then some, to the sneering half-orc before her.
“On with it, Oathbreaker,” Fenris growled, tapping an impatient finger against his empty tankard. “I haven’t got all night.”
Steeling herself against the slight—Oathbreaker—she shook the dice in her hand and released it onto the table with an exhale.
A single dot stared up at her, taunting.
sh*t.
There was a time, Tav knew, when she could have talked her way out of this, when her powers of persuasion were enough to shift the wins of fate. Since she’d broken her oath, however—since the brain’s defeat, her friends’ dispersion across the continent—well. At best, she’d become the kind of feeble magic wielder that was laughed off the stage at children’s parties.
And at worst, she thought, feeling the room spin on its axis as the four tankards of beer she’d consumed coursed through her, she’d become a gambler, a drunk, and a colossal waste of space.
“Hand it over then,” scowled Fenris, already scanning the tavern for his next opponent. Tav reached slowly for her pouch, knowing she would come up short. Knowing that, without any gold, her aimless days loafing around the Last Light were over.
She was readying herself to bolt for the door when a voice intoned behind her.
“Well, well. How the mighty have fallen.”
Had she any confidence in her ability to move in a straight line, Tav might have proceeded with her escape. She knew that voice.
“Raphael,” she slurred darkly, not turning around. She hadn’t seen the archdevil since rejecting his offer of the Orphic Hammer and had hoped to keep it that way.
“Who would have thought,” the archdevil continued, sounding almost jubilant, “that the savior of Baldur’s Gate would wind up the town drunk! Penniless! Uncelebrated! And,” he surveyed Tav disdainfully, “disheveled.”
Tav knew that her wardrobe choices of late could be best described as “destitute,” but she scowled nonetheless.
“Shouldn’t you be in your House of Hope, luring innocent souls to do your dirty work?” Tav asked blandly. “Mystra says hello, by the way. The Crown of Karsus looks lovely on her.”
The devil’s eyes flashed, but his voice remained even.
“I see you haven’t lost your sharp tongue, at least. You’ll find I no longer have use for such trinkets, hero. I’ve set my sights a bit higher, these days. There are other ways, more powerful means, of usurping Mephistopheles and uniting the hells under my rule.
“And speaking of my father,” he continued, glancing idly around the tavern hall, “where is his newest creation? I’m rather surprised to find you here and not reveling in your spoils with the Lord Ascendant of Faerun.”
Fenris scoffed nervously from across the table. “You’re not suggesting she knows Lord Ancunin?”
Tav felt heat rise to her cheeks. “We went our separate ways.”
“Well,” grinned Raphael, his glee palpable. “Our little fallen hero, all alone in the Fog. And suffering, I can see, from a spate of terrible luck. Go ahead, hero. Pay the man.” Fenris grunted his approval.
“I don’t have enough,” Tav said slowly, turning to Raphael now. Gods, why had she had so much to drink? “But you already know that don’t you, devil?”
“I know a great many things, hero,” Raphael crooned. “I know that you broke your oath when you allowed your former paramour to ascend. That you refused to accept his immortal gift. That, for your act of generosity, you were abandoned by your lover, turned away by your Order, and stripped,” he snapped his fingers, conjuring up a chair in which he now sat, “of your magic.”
Tav stared at him, processing this laundry list of her failures. “Why are you here, Raphael?” His smile was lethal.
“I’m so glad you asked, hero,” he said, producing a pouch from his pocket and dropping it onto the table with a thud. “I am on the trail of a means by which to overthrow my father—in other words, a weapon, far more powerful than the Crown of Karsus. But alas,” he paused, attempting a piteous expression, “I am unable to retrieve it myself. I am in need of a sword-for-hire.”
“What weapon?” Tav shook her head, she hoped imperceptibly, trying to clear it.
Raphael leaned forward on the table, a gleam in his eyes. “None other,” he said, “than the Wand of Orcus.”
Across the table, Fenris erupted in a fit of coughs. “The Wand of Orcus? You can’t be—"
Raphael held up a hand. “It is very impolite to interrupt, you know. Particularly as I am generously offering to help you get what you are owed.”
“So,” Tav asked warily, “I retrieve this wand and you…what? Pay my gambling debts? That’s a weak offer, Raphael, even for you.”
“Oh, I play nothing if not fair,” Raphael said, his smile widening. “Among my numerous talents is the power to manipulate memory. To alter minds. I could, for example, cause the breaking of a certain paladin’s oath to slip,” with a wave of his hand he sent Tav’s empty tankard sliding off the table, “from Thalindra’s memory. You are acquainted with Thalindra, Head Paladin of the House of Vengenance, are you not?”
Tav’s felt herself go still.
“Are you telling me you could—”
“You retrieve the wand for me, hero,” Raphael continued, voice getting louder, “and I will erase the memory of your broken oath from the mind of every paladin in the Order of Vengeance. Your oath shall be reinstated, and your friends shall accept you once again.” He held out his arms, as if awaiting applause.
Tav’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch, devil? There’s always a catch, with you.”
Raphael laughed softly. “Even if there was, hero, I don’t believe you’d say no. I can see the desperation in your eyes.”
“Swear it.” Tav held out her hand, heart pounding at the thought of being welcomed back into her Order, of belonging. “Swear that if I retrieve the wand, you’ll get me my old life back.”
“Now look here,” Fenris muttered from across the table, his gruffness fading into panic. “You can’t go chasing after something like that. I don’t know who this man is, but I don’t trust him. Call us even. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
Raphael ignored him and took Tav’s hand, a binding magic swirling between them as he looked her directly in the eyes. “I swear it.” He smiled wickedly as the magic settled. “Your coin, my good man.” He pushed the pouch of gold across the table to Fenris. “You’ll find that I always settle my debts.”
In a flash he was gone.
All that remained was a scorched piece of parchment on the table before her.
A scorched piece of parchment, and a sliver of hope that this could perhaps be the stitch that would mend her broken heart.
Chapter 2: Two
Chapter Text
It was golden hour in the Lower City, the soft light of the fading day setting the cobblestones beneath her aglow.
“You are not welcome here, Oathbreaker.”
Thalindra’s words rang in her ears as she pressed her back against the House of Vengeance’s wrought iron gate. Thalindra, who had once been her friend and mentor. Thalindra, under whom she had worked for nearly seven years.
“I’ve come to renew my oath,” Tav had pleaded, eyes fixed on the enormous brass scales that adorned Thalindra’s office, tilting this way and that on an endless loop as her Paladins of Vengeance meted out justice.
Thalindra had laughed, a mirthless one. “You, who sent the souls of 7,000 innocents to the hells to be tortured for all eternity? You, who unleashed a monster upon this city?”
“I didn’t—”
“It has already begun,” Thalindra thundered. “He is gathering allies, summoning dark forces. He will poison and corrupt our city with his thirst for blood and power.”
Tav was silent. What could she say?
“You are unworthy of the Oath of Vengeance, unworthy to even stand within these halls. Get out.”
Without ceremony, Tav was swiftly ejected from the only home her adult self had ever known. And now she stood outside of it, overcome by the weight of loss after loss.
As her sadness gave way to tears, she heard a rustling behind her. Turning, she came face to face with a tall figure—withered, and aptly named.
“Withers,” Tav said, less surprised than she might once have been.
“I hath come to bid thou farewell.” The serenity in his voice was a mockery of the tumult in her soul.
Tav scoffed through her sobs. “Of course you have.”
“I thank thee,” Withers continued, either oblivious to Tav’s anguish or choosing not to acknowledge it, “for thy service to this city. I trust there are great things ahead for thou, yet.”
Tav stared at him, at the depthless wisdom behind his eyes.
“Great things?” Her words came out harsher than she’d intended, but she went on. “Great things? Look at me, Withers!” she gestured to the empty streets around her. “I have nothing!”
The skeleton stared, unblinking.
“You want greatness,” Tav continued, letting her anger take hold, “talk to the others. But me? I’m not a dragon-mounted warrior, or a vampire lord.” She balled her fists, heart racing. “I’m not the lauded son of a Duke. Twin goddesses have never gone to war over my soul, nor have any celestial beings ever asked to be my lover. I am no one. Nothing.” Tears were falling again, hard and fast, but she made no effort to wipe them away.
“I have no family. I had no purpose. But at least I had my oath. At least I had duty, a career, friends,” she gestured hopelessly to the House of Vengeance as the sun dipped beneath its sprawling copper dome. “And now I have no friends here, not even you. You asked me once, Withers—what is the worth of a single mortal life? Well, in the case of this mortal, not a damned thing.”
Withers gazed at her as she finished, unshaken.
“Fate spins along as it should, and thou own life along with it.”
Tav resisted the urge to roll her eyes, to scream. “To hells with Fate! I just want my life back.”
“I cannot return to thou that which thou hast not lost. Not yet.”
And as the sun set on the city, Withers disappeared, along with everyone and everything else in her life.
Chapter 3: Three
Chapter Text
As it often did, a wave of cool air wafting through the open window of Tav’s cramped room stirred her awake. Not the sun—never the sun.
The tragedy wasn’t lost on Tav that the Fogs had descended three months to the day after the shadow curse had been lifted. The region had been swiftly redubbed the “Fogged Lands”—less poetic, perhaps, but at least the Last Light had remained open.
The room spun as Tav stood and she swayed, bumping into her bedside table and felling a book to the ground with a thud.
Scratch, head nestled on his paws, eyed her ruefully.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Tav muttered, grasping for a carafe of water. “You know I’m doing my best.”
Was this her best? A glance in the mirror revealed a sallow face, one that hadn’t seen the sun in nearly eight months, blue eyes dull and red-gold hair aching to be washed.
Scratch huffed.
“Alright, you win,” said Tav, pulling on her cloak and grabbing Scratch’s ball from the table beside her. “Let’s see what the morning has in store for us, shall we?” She scratched his head affectionately and he trotted after her, down the Inn’s narrow staircase and into the frigid morning.
The Fogs had wrapped the land in an unyielding chill, and Tav clutched her cloak around herself more tightly as she heaved Scratch’s ball across the lawn.
The dog lunged after it with abandon, throwing himself into the dirt in a spectacular nosedive three feet from where the ball had landed.
Tav laughed—a real laugh. This gods-damned dog was the only source of joy in her life these days, and one of only two reasons she ever ventured outside her room.
That, and a humiliating but insatiable need for news.
It had been incredible, really, how quickly she’d been forgotten. From the savior of Baldur’s Gate to nobody. Worse than, considering the Order of Vengeance had expelled her immediately upon her return to the city, that the only life she’d ever known had been stripped from her.
The wind kicked up, sending a host of leaves swirling just above the ground, and Tav crossed her arms tighter still. The Oath of Vengeance—she’d taken it when she was only seventeen, after her parents were murdered in a goblin attack on their small village, a stone’s throw from Baldur’s Gate. She’d escaped to the city, blindly seeking revenge, and stumbled upon the Order.
No one from her village would have believed that Tav would pursue the life of a paladin. Tiny, daydreaming Tav, who seemed to float, invisible, beneath the surface of existence, who boasted no particular grit or cleverness or ambition.
But the Order didn’t demand special talents, merely loyalty and a thirst for justice, which Tav suddenly found she had in spades. She’d taken her Oath alongside two other young paladins—Gavin and Nathiri—and together the three had trained the requisite seven years. Tav had needed to work nearly twice as hard as her companions to wrap her petite form in muscle, to harden both her body and heart around the edges.
But she’d done it. And when their training was complete, she and her friends had pledged themselves to Thalindra’s service. For five years, Tav had devoted herself to carrying out justice in the walls of Baldur’s Gate. Not the glamourous, adventuring life she might once have dreamed up—but one that gave her purpose.
How she longed to return to those late nights in the guildhall, raising tankards of beer to honor their lost families, celebrating a noble day’s work. Hells, how she longed for late nights at camp, downing Fireswill with the rest of her unfortunate little cadre to dull their thoughts, to stun the tadpoles senseless.
“Morning, Tav! And a good morning to this good boy.” Scratch barked merrily as Cane, the wizened but affable innkeeper, approached. The dog flopped onto his back, pleading for belly rubs.
“Listen,” Cane lowered his voice to a whisper as he drew closer. “Is everything alright? Fenris was going on last night about some shady figure, something about the Wand of Orcus.” He shook his head. “Not sure what he was on about, but just…be careful who you associate with here, late at night. We’ve been getting some unsavory figures dropping by the tavern, ever since, well…” he raised his eyes to the thick wall of haze enshrouding the sky above them.
“Nothing to worry about, Cane,” Tav forced herself to smile. “I think Fenris had been hitting the bottle a bit hard, to be honest.” Her fingers found Raphael’s parchment in her pocket, clutched it nervously.
“Well,” Cane eyed her warily, “if you say so. I trust you, at any rate. You know,” he said more brightly now, pulling a newspaper from his own pocket and extending it to her, “they’re hosting some rather grand celebrations in the city this weekend, I hear, to celebrate the founding. You ought to go, get some color in those cheeks of yours.” He gave her a fatherly smile, making her chest tighten.
“Oh, you know me, Cane,” she laughed feebly. “I’m not one for fancy parties. Though I was thinking…I was thinking it might be time for me to move on. See what else is out there for me.”
Cane look visibly relieved, almost emotional at this.
“Well, that’s wonderful news!” He patted her shoulder affectionately, smiling broadly. “You know, Tav, you’re young yet—younger than I am, anyway,” he chortled a self-deprecating laugh. “You have a whole life ahead of you—time to find a nice man, perhaps, lay off the bottle a bit—just a bit” he raised his hands as she co*cked an eyebrow, “maybe give this spoiled child,” he patted Scratch once more for good measure, “a sibling to contend with?”
She smiled at him sadly, a smile that promised everything she knew she could never have, could never be. “Maybe you’re right.”
She waited until he had disappeared across the Inn’s threshold to unfurl the newspaper. She had known there would be parties, of course—and she’d known who would be hosting the most lavish of them. The Gazette’s society pages were littered these days with tales of Lord Ancunin’s legendary masquerades and galas, filled with pictures of Baldur’s Gate’s finely dressed elite mingling in the halls of the Crimson Palace.
Nearly as full, she thought, as the paper’s front pages were with tales of the Lord Ascendant’s great acts of philanthropy. It was…unsettling, how well liked he seemed to be, frequently lauded for his contributions to the city’s infrastructure, to the arts, to scientific research. Word had spread quickly of the development of a new potion that was said to keep a vampire spawn’s hunger permanently at bay, with Lord Ancunin as the project’s primary benefactor.
Tav had insight enough to read between the lines, to notice the buried reports of mysterious disappearances and violent deaths as the vampire lord quietly eliminated all those who would oppose him.
She was certain that the new members of the Council of Four, two unknowns who had been appointed with uncommon swiftness in the aftermath of Duke Stelmane’s passing and Duke Portyr’s retirement (announced the day after the Netherbrain’s defeat, Portyr citing exhaustion and a need for lifetime’s worth of stiff drinks), were little more than puppets, their strings deftly wielded from the halls of the Crimson Palace.
How else, after all, could he have secured unanimous Council approval to cast a Fog over the formerly Shadow-Cursed lands, to create a domain exclusively for Faerun’s vampire spawn?
Whatever influence he was wielding, whatever dark magic he was using to amass power, was growing.
She needed to be careful.
Fortunately, she thought, discarding the paper and retrieving Raphael’s parchment from her pocket, it seemed she’d be staying far away from Baldur’s Gate, at least for a while.
Raphael’s instructions were woefully vague. The parchment contained a map of the Fogged Lands, a location nearly twenty miles away marked with a golden seal. In Raphael’s elegant hand, a note in the margins read:
First, you are to purchase a sword. The Fogged Land’s weapon’s master and I have an agreement. You may place your selection on my tab.
Second, you are to go to the location marked on this map. You are seeking a book. It will know you when it sees you.
It was precious little to go on, but her heart thrummed at the prospect of a new sword.
Her old blade—the one she had used to deal the Netherbrain its final blow—was stashed in a trunk in her room. It felt wrong, somehow, to wield it again. As though it had lived its grand adventure and was now deserving of a long retirement.
Giving Scratch a farewell pat, she exited the Inn’s front gates and set out into the Fog.
The weapons master’s shop wasn’t far, but the walk was a dull one. Trees and bushes that had only just begun to bloom when the shadow curse was lifted had wilted again, looking forlorn. The air was gray and dense, enshrouding the barren landscape as far as the eye could see.
Tav thought distantly of Halsin, of how his heart must be breaking to see his beloved lands reduced to darkness and dust once more—of the role she’d played in this nightmare. She shook her head, dismissing the thought before it consumed her.
A bell tinkled as she stepped into the shop, the gnome behind the counter looking surprised to see her.
“Welcome, welcome,” he stood abruptly, ushering her in and taking a moment to survey her. He seemed disappointed. “In need of a weapon?”
“A longsword or greatsword, preferably,” Tav replied, all too accustomed to the look of doubt he cast her.
“Certainly.” The gnome hummed absentmindedly as he disappeared behind the counter and emerged with a variety of swords for her to try. Tav tried to bite back her disappointment at the selection.
The swords were of fine quality, really, perhaps even excellent. But compared to the Weave-infused, fantastical, even legendary weapons she’d encountered during her travels, these seemed, well—decidedly ordinary.
“A discerning shopper, are you?” the gnome asked, peering at the expression on her face and seeming to reassess her merit. “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ve got something I think you’ll like, just in the back here…” he disappeared again, for a longer stretch this time.
“There,” he smiled proudly as he emerged, laying a longsword on the counter before her with gentle reverence. “What do you make of that?”
“Adamantine,” Tav breathed in surprise, weighing the sword in her palms.
“That it is,” he grinned, coming around the counter to join her. “This one is a beauty—thought to have originated from the Grymforge itself.”
“Where did you get it?” It was all but identical to the sword she herself had forged so many months ago, the polished metal radiant. Though she’d favored a different weapon at the time, she found herself wondering why as she admired its luster, the shop’s dim lamplight dancing across the blade.
“Bought it off a wandering trader just the other day, as a matter of fact,” he replied. “Not sure he knew what he had, to be honest,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Tav took the sword’s hilt, turning to the line of woebegone test dummies waiting in one of the shop’s dingy corners. In a practiced movement, she sliced one of the dummies clean in two.
The weapons master looked impressed.
“Well, you certainly know your way around a sword,” he said, stooping to collect the clumps of soft stuffing that had had fallen to the floor. “Nice to get a real weapons enthusiast in here, for once! We haven’t had the business we used to, not since the Fog…” he froze, as if realizing he’d spoken out of turn. “But—ah—all hail the Lord Ascendant, of course.”
“Of course,” Tav replied, holding his gaze. After a beat, she laid the sword on the counter. “I’ll take it.”
“This will cost you a pretty penny, mind,” the gnome said, squinting. “I wasn’t planning on parting with it so quickly. But for the right price…”
“I’m good for the gold,” Tav responded quickly. “This is going on Raphael’s tab.”
“Of course it is,” the gnome laughed. “That man is singlehandedly keeping me in business.” It occurred to Tav that the gnome likely had no idea who the archdevil truly was. “Anything else you’ll be needing?”
“Nothing else,” Tav smiled, sheathing the sword on her back, savoring the weight of it. “Thank you for your help.”
She was armed, and she was ready. She was going to take her life back—or she was going to die trying.
Chapter 4: Four
Chapter Text
Tav set up camp several miles from the Last Light.
Camp, she thought, was a generous term for what this was. A woman, her dog, and a single bedroll, nestled in the shadows of a rocky bluff.
A cold breeze rustled the trees around her. She ought, she supposed, to light a fire.
She almost laughed at the obvious futility of this task as she surveyed the area, collecting twigs and brush for kindling. Scratch tailed her, sniffing, as she sat, piling her finds before her. “Here goes nothing,” she said to the dog. His tail wagged in anticipation.
Tav took a breath, trying to quiet her mind, to reach that source of power supposedly buried deep within her. “Ignis.”
Not so much as a spark ignited from her fingers. Scratch co*cked his head. Tav rubbed her hands together, urging herself to dig deeper within. “Ignis.” There was more force in her voice this time, but still no flame came to match it. “IGNIS.”
She was readying herself for a fourth attempt when a small object thudded to the ground beside her. A matchbook, stamped with the insignia of the Waning Moon.
“I’m sorry, I could not stand to watch that for another second.”
Raising her head, Tav saw a woman standing before her, a pack on her arm and a pair of twin daggers at her waist.
Tav scrambled to her feet, face heating with embarrassment. “You must be my guardian angel,” she laughed, feeling abashed. “I’m, well, I’m practicing my wielding, but I was about ready to—” she trailed off, taking in the woman’s features more closely. Her eyes fell on a pair of pointed canines, on eyes that glowed red in the moonlight. “Oh.”
“Oh?” the woman asked, folding her arms.
“I just—I didn’t realize you were—” Tav knew that she should backtrack, that she was being unfair.
“A spawn?” the woman completed the sentence, eyes icy. “I hate to break it to you, but we’re in the Fogged Lands. You might want to get used to seeing us around.”
“I know that,” Tav shook her head, admonished. “I didn’t mean—”
“You know, I thought that with Lord Ancunin’s influence Faerun might be ready to overcome this kind of overt prejudice, but—"
“Stop,” Tav pleaded, holding up her hands. “Please. I’m not prejudiced. I was just caught off guard, that’s all. Thank you,” she stooped to retrieve the matchbook, “for the matches. Truly, you just spared me a very cold night.”
The woman stared, not speaking.
Reaching into her pack, Tav retrieved a small vial of healing potion and held out her hand. “Peace offering? Sorry, I don’t have much—I accidentally spent all of my gold on a sword.” She nodded at her new longsword, discarded beside her bedroll.
The woman surveyed her. “Fine,” she replied, pocketing the vial. “I’m nothing if not forgiving. And a woman who ‘accidentally’ drops all of her gold on weaponry is a woman after my own heart.” She flashed a mischievous smile that reminded Tav so much of Karlach she felt her stomach churn. “I’m Celeste, by the way.”
“Tav,” she sighed in relief, shaking Celeste’s cold hand.
“So, Tav,” Celeste continued, appraising the small camp, “what brings you out into the middle of the Fogged Lands when I happen to know there’s a perfectly decent inn not far from here?”
“Just some sword-for-hire work,” Tav responded cautiously, unsure how much to divulge. “I have business in the west.”
“Mm-hmm,” Celeste intoned, “and what kind of business might that be?” There was an air of haughtiness about her, as though she were accustomed to getting her way.
“The private kind,” Tav replied, deciding. Celeste raised an eyebrow.
“Fair enough,” she replied, “you can have your secrets as long as I can have mine.” She smiled, brushing back a sheet of dark hair. “But how about this—we travel together. I, too, have some private business in the west, and there’s safety in numbers.”
Scratch, who had been nipping excitedly at Celeste’s heels as they spoke, whimpered in desperation, and Celeste bent to pet him.
“Besides,” she grinned as Scratch licked her face, “I like the sound of my own voice too much to travel alone.”
Tav stared at this beautiful stranger, so brazen in her request. Then again, Tav thought, where would she have been without companions on her quest to defeat the Netherbrain?
“Fine,” she smiled, secretly grateful for an ally to keep her from her thoughts. “I could use the extra blade, anyway,” she nodded at Celeste’s greataxe, “since you can see how well magic is serving me at the moment.”
“And you will be telling that story,” Celeste replied, unfurling her bedroll with a yawn, “after we both get some sleep. And don’t worry, by the way,” she unearthed a bottle from her pack and waved it. “I take Satumor. I won’t bite.”
Tav blinked. The potion, the one whose development Astarion had funded.
“I wasn’t worried,” was all she said as she settled on her bedroll, Scratch curling up beside her.
Celeste fell asleep quickly, but Tav lay awake for hours more, staring into the fog and wishing she could see the stars.
Chapter 5: Five
Chapter Text
She’d been in this nightmare a hundred times, and knew she’d live it a hundred more.
She was naked, knees braced against the cold concrete floor in a secluded corner of camp. There was a sharp ache in her gut, a gaping hole where her magic had once been that was threatening to cleave her in two.
She had just condemned seven thousand souls—seven thousand innocent souls—to the hells, to eternal misery. And for what? For the promise of something? For the very beginnings of what she wasn’t even sure was love?
She was even less sure now, as she stared up at the face that was almost Astarion’s. There was something new there, something feral and cruel and entirely inscrutable.
She loved him, she knew that much. Anything she’d done had been so that he could be happy, so that he could spend the rest of his days walking in the sun.
And she would stay by his side now, whatever happened. Even if that meant becoming his spawn. Even though she knew exactly how spawns were made, could feel herself suffocating at the thought.
Her hands shook with fear. But it wasn’t being drained of her blood and buried alive that she was afraid of.
“You’d almost feel sorry for the poor deluded souls, but they’re idiots who brought this upon themselves, so don’t.”
That’s what he had said about Cazador’s servants, of the mortals who had handed themselves over to him to be willingly used. Is that what he would think of her, if she went through with this?
She couldn’t take that chance. She couldn’t abide the thought of him being disgusted by her.
Before he could stop it, before she could lose her nerve, Tav lunged into his mind, seeking their tadpoles’ connection. What she found there shattered her heart irretrievably.
Look at her, degrading herself like this.
She felt a sudden jolt as he realized what was happening and forced her back out of his mind. She met his eyes with trepidation.
“Bad girl,” he snarled softly, advancing.
She was up in an instant, covering her body as best she could with her hands. “I can’t,” she managed to gasp as she slipped past him, gathering her clothes from the adjoining room. She met his eyes again, for one brief moment, not sure what she saw there. “I’m sorry.”
Gale and Karlach held her that night as she sobbed. The Oathbreaker Knight appeared the next morning, ready to reshape her life.
And though there were times in the ensuing days, as they continued their mutual struggle against the Netherbrain, when it seemed Astarion wanted to catch her eye, they never spoke, just the two of them, again.
***
Tav awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. It was always the same dream, the same words that haunted her every moment, waking or sleeping.
Look at her, degrading herself like this.
“I hate to offend, but you look like sh*t in the morning.” Celeste was stretched out on the bedroll next to her, rubbing Scratch’s ears.
“f*ck you, too.” Tav groaned, sitting up and wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
Celeste laughed. “I knew I liked you. Eggs are by the fire, by the way. I don’t eat, but I’ll be damned if I don’t earn my keep.”
Tav followed her nose to the crackling fire, letting her heart rate settle.
“You cook?”
“In a former life.” Celeste followed her to the fire, Scratch at her heels. “I was once a perfect little housewife in the upper echelons of Waterdeep.”
Tav thought instinctively to ask after Gale, but thought better of it. “And then?”
“And then, ten years ago, I was kidnapped and turned by Lord Morlin, and I became a slave and assassin for one of the most powerful vampires on the Sword Coast.” She curtsied, mockingly.
“And where is your master now?”
“He’s dead,” Celeste stoked the fire idly, “hence my newfound freedom. And that’s enough questions, I think, unless you’re prepared to share a few details of your own.”
“What do you want to know?” The eggs were light and fluffy, far better than anything she’d eaten since moving into the Last Light. Or, for that matter, for the better part of two years.
“Surprise me.”
“I’m a paladin,” Tav said, choosing her words carefully. “I spent most of my career carrying out justice for the House of Vengeance. Strictly lower city,” she added, smiling.
“And then?” Celeste threw her words back at her, eyebrows raised.
“And then I broke my oath,” Tav replied, setting down her plate for Scratch to lick. “And now I’m...” she trailed off, shrugging.
“Is that why you can’t use your magic?” Celeste pressed, now refolding her bedroll. “Can’t you buy oaths back, for a price?”
“The way I broke my oath was…irredeemable,” Tav said quietly. “The House of Vengeance wants nothing to do with me.”
“Just two wayward souls, then.” Celeste smiled. “What did you do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “It must have been truly terrible.”
Tav recoiled. “Nothing I’m ready to talk about.”
“Alright, fair enough.” Celeste raised her hands. “So, are you an Oathbreaker?”
“I suppose,” Tav sighed, tugging on her boots, “but the Oathbreaker magic isn’t…accessible to me, the way my old magic was. I’m just having trouble getting back on my feet.”
The two women hoisted their packs onto their shoulders, Tav unfurling Rapahel’s map.
“Is this where we’re going?” Celeste placed a finger next to the golden seal. Tav turned to look at her.
“I thought you had your own business in the west.”
“And I do,” Celeste smiled, “but first I’d so like to intrude upon yours. Besides, it wouldn’t feel right to leave the world’s smallest paladin to fend for herself.”
Tav glowered, but the women settled into a companionable rhythm as they trekked across the barren landscape. Celeste hadn’t lied about enjoying the sound of her own voice. She kept the flow of conversation steady as they walked, swapping tales of their once-mundane lives.
As it happened, Celeste had spent a good deal of time in Baldur’s Gate, and they passed the hours comparing their favorite city shops and after-hours haunts—Celeste’s tastes distinctly highbrow, Tav’s comparably humble—neither divulging any details of their current quests or past struggles.
They paused to rest in the early evening, setting up camp on an empty patch of earth, not so much as a root springing from the hard ground. In the distance, partially obscured by the fog, an enormous white stone building loomed.
“The mausoleum,” Tav murmured as realization dawned. Nearly a year ago she and her companions had stood in this place, ruminating on their conversation with Raphael, on how to proceed.
“I can’t ask you to do this, you know.” Astarion had separated himself from the group, was staring into the distance at nothing in particular as one pale hand traced the constellation of scars etched into his back. “An orthon—gods.”
“Of course we’re going to do it,” Tav had protested, coming up beside him. “If we can singlehandedly dismantle an entire goblin camp, surely we can handle one measly orthon.” She smiled crookedly, and he let out a laugh.
“And that particular display of bloodshed was a delight, darling, but we’re talking about a 500-pound stone-skinned demon.”
“I know.” They stood in silence for a moment.
“Tell me, darling,” he said finally, “are you never afraid? Where is your sense of self-preservation? Or do the paladins stamp all of that out of you, in the name of justice?” He spat the word out as though it tasted foul.
She was accustomed to his disdain for her profession by now, but somehow, in this moment, she felt that disdain herself.
“The paladins don’t care about people,” she said, feeling dangerous, treasonous as the words left her lips. “They care about the common good. As do I, to be clear.” She knew she sounded almost defensive. “I certainly don’t want to witness the ruin of Baldur’s Gate.”
“But...I care about people, too. I care about—well—you.” He raised his brows. “And Shadowheart, and Gale, and Karlach—about all of you,” she added quickly, knowing that admitting any feelings that had stemmed from their handful of late-night trysts would be veering into dangerous territory, indeed. “None of us deserve this. None of us asked for this. I suppose what I’m saying,” she exhaled, “is that I am terrified, more often than not.” She was letting her mask of bravery slip, she knew, but it felt good to say the words out loud. “But I want us all to come through this on the other side.”
“So,” he replied, a bit of mischief in his smile now, “our fearless leader isn’t so fearless, after all.”
Uncomfortable, Tav changed the subject. “What color blood do you think an orthon has?”
Astarion’s smile widened, revealing his fangs. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”
“Tav?” Celeste’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. “Are you still on the material plane?”
Tav blinked as the memory slipped through her fingers. “Sorry,” she said quickly, “I’m fine. I’ve been here before,” she gestured to the mausoleum, “in another life.”
“Well,” said Celeste, looking scornful, “I can’t say I envy you. Seems like this place has seen far better days.” As if on cue, a chunk of the mausoleum’s crumbling wall came loose, falling to the ground with a rumble.
Celeste laughed. “An apt metaphor for my life.” She peered again at Tav. “You don’t look alright,” she said, after a moment. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Something like that,” Tav muttered, not elaborating. Celeste was quiet.
“He never came looking for me, you know,” she said finally, kneeling to light the evening’s fire.
“I—who?” Tav asked, not comprehending.
“My husband.” Celeste laughed, a dark laugh that didn’t suit her. “We were so in love, or so I thought. He doted on me, spared no expense. We used to sit on our balcony, share a bottle of Elven wine, talk about how lucky we were to have each other, how our future together was as bright and vast as the stars in the night sky.”
Tav was startled to see tears welling in her eyes.
“But when I was taken—when I was turned,” she let out another mirthless laugh, “he didn’t even try. Word travels quickly in Waterdeep, you know. He told our friends and acquaintances that I’d left him. That I was nothing more than a common adulteress. That my absence shouldn’t be mourned.”
“That’s horrible,” Tav whispered.
“No doubt he thought I brought shame upon his noble family, going and getting myself caught, having the audacity to become a creature as grotesque as a vampire spawn.”
“That’s not fair,” Tav protested, her voice small.
Celeste smiled sadly. “I don’t believe in ‘fair’ anymore. Look where I am,” she gestured around them with an air of hopelessness. “From wine-soaked afternoons in the nicest neighborhood in Waterdeep to this, this desolate, decrepit wasteland. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she shook her head as if regretting her words. “I can roam freely here, which is more than I could say when I was under Morlin’s thumb, before Lord Ancunin came to power.” Tav flinched.
“It was just so easy” Celeste finished, “to forget about my husband, about my former life, when my mind was someone else’s. But now…now I remember what I’ve lost.”
“It was a ghost,” Tav admitted, finally sitting cross-legged across from Celeste, Scratch at her side, “that I was thinking of earlier. The ghost of a lost love.”
“I’m sorry.” Celeste reached out, giving Tav’s hand a squeeze.
“I’m sorry too.” Tav squeezed back, relishing this moment of friendship, of connection. “And for what it’s worth—you’re not grotesque. This lost love—he was a vampire spawn, too.”
Celeste’s red-rimmed eyes were horrified. “Well, now I feel awful for giving you such a hard time yesterday,” she cried, wrenching her hand away from Tav’s. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’ve been trying not to remember.” Tav smiled sadly.
“You know what?” Celeste plucked Raphael’s map from Tav’s pack and spread it out on the ground before them. “We’re going to be alright, you and I. Who needs love,” she pointed at the seal indicating their destination, “when you can have adventure?”
“We’re nearly there,” Tav replied, following Celeste’s finger. “Should we get some sleep?”
“Only if we promise to dream up very, very bloody deaths for the men who broke our hearts.”
“I’m not quite there yet” Tav said, smiling, “but Celeste?”
“Yes?” Celeste paused, her bedroll partially unfurled.
“I’m glad you’re here. Glad to have a friend.”
Celeste grinned. And amidst their tears and snot and battered souls, hope bloomed.
