To Baldur's Gate

Chapter Twenty-Two

I led him through the dimly lit halls of the house, past the few small framed pieces of art and measley bits of furniture, and up a narrow staircase that led to the four rooms upstairs. Della and Raefi had always shared a room, with their twin bunks nestled in the corner of their medium sized room. Mother had her own room across from the washroom, and my small room was adjacent to hers. There was a worn carpet runner that led from the stairs all the way down the other wall down the hallway. 

"Well this is cozy," Astarion commented, glancing from corner to corner of my childhood home. Each crevice was lined with memory. There were bookcases lining the walls, sketches pinned by the windows, and my mother's piano tucked into the corner. She hadn't played it since my father was killed. 

"What was your home like?" I asked, taking his hand and leading him to my old room. 

"I don't remember. Cazador's castle is all I can conjure in my mind, but that was never as nice as this." 

 My door had my name carved into it to alert any trespassers just who they might find on the other side of the door. I found myself wondering why Raefi or Della hadn't taken my room yet and covered up the name. Maybe some small part of them wished I was still living there. I opened the door, and a wave of sweet jasmine hit my nose. The few plants I had were still alive, thanks to the magic I had imbued them with, and all along the walls were collections of art that I had created. Paintings, sketches, canvases, and bits of murals littered almost every inch of the room. Even the window was painted to look like one of the stain-glass windows in old religious temples that we had once learned about. 

"This is very ... you." Astarion smiled, the ends of his fangs showing. "I have to say, it's rather adorable. Are all these little drawings yours?" 

I nodded, embarrassed to have all my practice art up on the walls for him to see. "I started when I was very young, so they're not good. Oh, yes!" I found in my dresser drawer a case of my favorite paints along with a box full of brushes. "Thank the gods this is all still here. I was scared mother might have sold my things." 

"Do you have an easel or something to use?" Astarion peered over my shoulder to see what I was digging around the drawers for. 

"No, I could never afford and easel. I do, however, have a spare canvas around here somewhere ... ah ha!" I saw the clean white edge peaking out at me from under my bed. "Voila! Now we're getting somewhere." I patted the bed, signaling Astarion to sit down. When he did, the bits of evening fire light filtered through my bedroom window, the colors catching and dancing across his ivory skin. Astarion looked at me and I wished in that moment he could see what I saw. His beauty and ferocity. I set my canvas up and began to prepare paints. 

Astarion's eyes widened and he shifted around on the bed. "You didn't bring me up here to make love in your childhood bed?"

"Well, I might have had that intention, yes," I laughed. "But I really want to paint you. It'll be a present - when we reach Baldur's Gate and you have somewhere to hang it." I paused what I was doing. "That is, if you want it, it might not be that good and I don't want to assume that you'll love it enough to want to keep it." 

"Tav, I've seen your drawings. Mere charcoal sketches. They're nothing compared to the art in the Szarr Palace," Astarion gave me another smile, softer this time. "This will be my most cherished possession, I assure you." 

"Okay," I took a deep breath and wet my brush. "Let's begin." 

Astarion took a delicate pose, sitting at an angle on the bed, looking out the stain glass window to the west. I took small strokes to catch the kaleidoscope of color in his eyes and face, then traced the curve of his full lips and the sharpness of his nose. I blended colors to the side and wiped off the excess onto my clothes, not caring if I got paint on my tunic. I mixed four different shades to grasp the mulberry red of his eyes, and even more the find the crisp white of his hair. 

After hours, a knock startled me out of my haze, stilling my hand. "Who is it?" 

"It's Shadowheart. Can I come in?" 

I stood and set down my brush, then went to open the door. Astarion flopped back onto the pillows, no doubt exhausted from hours of posing and sitting still. 

I invited Shadowheart to join us but she declined, simply letting me know that the others were getting ready to sleep. 

"Your mother offered us beds but we told her our cots would work well enough," Shadowheart said. "We'll all be downstairs by the fireplace. I assume you will stay up here?" Her words were meant for me but her eyes wandered to Astarion's still form laying on the bed. She raised her eyebrows at me. 

"I think I might stay here. Who knows when the next time I'll get to sleep in my own bed will be?" 

"Fair enough. I'll see you in the morning, Tav." Shadowheart gave me a quick hug, then disappeared back down the stairs. I closed my door and locked it, giving in to the illusion of privacy. I silently removed my boots, leggings and tunic before tucking myself in next to Astarion. As soon as my warmth found him, Astarion threw an arm over my torso and pulled me closer, wrapping me up to his chest. 

"Mmm this is nice," he murmured, his chin grazing the top of my head. We were fully spooning now, bodies as close as they could be on my tiny bed. 

I felt incredibly drowsy as I lay there, wrapped in my love's arms and eyes slowly drifting shut. The remains of my painting were left to dry for the night, waiting for me to finish it in the early hours of the morning. The torches outside remained lit thanks to some drow's magic, and the hazy light cast shadows along my walls, flickering with every nudge of wind outside. 

Before long, I heard Astarion's soft snoring, his face curled into my neck as the rest of him cradled my body with his sleepy warmth and sweetly musky scent. I let my eyes close, and my own mind fell silent as sleep took me.