Dangerous Thirst

Chapter 7: A Young Man's Folly

The pair returned to Tav's home mentally and physically exhausted. Tav was ready to collapse onto the floor. Astarion had been right in some ways. He was not prepared to face Cazador Szarr. The thought of attempting to kill him right there in the studio had crossed his mind. After feeling the full scale of what Cazador could do, he realized a straightforward approach would not have worked at all. Had he been a lesser man, had Kelemvor abandoned him, he would be eating from the ground on which Cazador walked. What a fool he'd been. Worst of all, he'd exposed his weakness. He'd taken the painting home to destroy it, but there was something sacrilegious about it, not only because his god was fond of it, but because it did not feature just himself. Oskar had breathed life into it. He'd captured a real moment and made it as immortal as the subject. There was something to be said about that.

"What in the bloody hells was that?" Astarion was pacing about the main room in front of the fireplace.

The painting was hung above the mantle. Now that it was there, Tav felt it would always be there, staring down at him. Always there for him to relive the moment. He wasn't even sure Astarion was fully aware of what was in that painting that made even Tav afraid.

"There are several answers to that question," replied Tav, "It would be easier if you told me which one you wanted."

"You resisted him!" exclaimed Astarion, "Two hundred years and I've never seen anyone do it! Then suddenly, you come along and you brush away his charms as if they were nothing. Explain it to me. How did you do it?"

It was an effort for Tav to keep his face plain and tone neutral. "I cannot answer that question."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"I don't understand you." Astarion said softly, almost to himself. "I was convinced, all of us were going to die in there. I was afraid. I was going to run, but you didn't let me do it. You forced me to stay in the same room as my tormentor as I dangled you in front of him like a steak in front of a starving dog. I didn't have to see his face to know that he was taken with you. I have never seen him act the way he did with you toward anyone else. Not even me. He was trying his hardest to possess you. I do not think he has ever had to try to do anything. Have I run away from a cruel master only to find myself in the hands of an evil cruller one?"

"I am not your master, Astarion."

"Aren't you?"

Tav was silent.

Astarion laughed mirthlessly before his lips curled into a sneer. "Did it amuse you to watch me suffer? I know that I enjoyed watching you squirm. Your heart was racing and I know that it wasn't fear. And I know that Cazador struck a nerve when he said you'd never been with anyone. That means it's true."

"Stop." warned Tav.

"Answer me this; Is it my fault?"

"Astarion."

"I understand it all now. You still want me. Well, here I am. I'm all yours."

Tav drew his hand crossbow and aimed it at Astarion. His hand was unwavering as he aimed the weapon at the vampire's heart. He hated that he was so calm, that he could have pulled the trigger and aimed true as always. It betrayed the fear he really felt, the anger that festered within him. It was a feeling that inspired him to act in a way that was so horribly irrational.

It was almost too painful to bear. Astarion was stepping closer now, white hair glimmering like silver in the dimly lit living room. Just like in the painting. There was a dangerous look in his eyes and playful smirk on his lips. He ignored the hand crossbow aimed at his heart. He fully believed that Tav wouldn't kill him where he stood. And that, Tav thought, was even more dangerous.

"That is not why I brought you here. You know it isn't." Tav's voice was like a whisper. "Don't make me kill you."

"Is that why you were able to resist his charms? Because you wanted me instead?" Another step.

Tav tightened his grip on the crossbow. His hand ached.

The ugly memory he had been repressing returned to him unwillingly. He saw Astarion Ancunin for the first time at one of his father's parties. It had only been days after his own debut, his first time attending a party as a man of high society. What he remembered most was the laugh that caused him to turn his head in the elf's direction. What a sound it had been, perfectly pitched and utterly delightful to the ears. He left whatever conversation he'd been having with some noblewoman in lieu of trying to get that much closer. Their eyes before he had a chance to think on what to say. Astarion had told him he was handsome, perhaps one of the most handsome humans he had ever seen. How fortunate for Tav to have had wonderful looking parents. His family had inspired many a bard's ballets. Astarion told him of his philosophies, his political opinions, and his ambitions. Young Tav had been quite taken, not knowing that the elf's every word was shaping the way he would see the world forever. They kept each other's company for the entire duration of the party. What a pair they made.

When Tav had finally gathered the courage to ask to see the elf again, Astarion had laughed at him. He had made a mockery of a human's frail and pitifully short lives. He had been beautiful then, but what about in a few months? A few years? Elves had the pleasure of looking young and beautiful for a human's lifetime several times over. Astarion had described Tav as a flower which had already bloomed and whose only real purpose was to be plucked, then wither and die like all the others. Astarion had no use or desire for flowers.

Young Tav had nearly wept, his pride and heart were wounded so fatally he thought that he might never rise again. Never before had he considered that he might get old or that he might grow to hate being human. Once he thought his mother and father had aged beautifully, but now he saw the thin wrinkles in their face. How long before he was the same? What point was there in love if it was to die so quickly? Foolishly, Tav wished that he could be young and beautiful forever. Wished to be spared the tragedy of the death. But because someone had listened, because a god had been moved by his foolish, youthful grief, that he was still here... young and beautiful and afraid of love itself. Forever seemed like such a long time when you outlived the ones who mattered most.

"I hate you." Tav's voice was full of pain. Everything everywhere around him was changing, but he was still the same young boy of his youth with all of his shattered ego and pride. He was still angry with Astarion for making him hate being human, for simply being who he was.

The vampire stopped, mid step. The rawness of Tav's pain cut Astarion like a knife. And the words cut deeper still. The heat on Tav's cheeks was not blood, but angry tears unshed by a boy from over two centuries ago. Something like remorse passed over Astarion's face. But it passed quickly. Yes, it was too late for feelings such as that. The vampire must have known it for he took yet another daring step, letting the crossbow press into his chest. He didn't seem to mind it.

"Say it again." whispered Astarion.

"I hate you." repeated Tav.

Astarion moved in, closing the small gap between. He was so close now that Tav could see the flawlessness of his face. Not a line, nor wrinkle, no sign of an age a year past a human's prime. His lips were as scarlet as the ones Oskar had painted of him in his portrait.

"Again."

"I-"

Tav didn't get to finish his sentence. Their lips brushed against each other, the feeling altogether too soft and foreign. Too pleasant. Tav's heart was still racing as Astarion fell to the floor with a bolt sticking out of his chest.