It wasn’t often bandits were stupid enough to attack them in broad daylight, but the influx of refugees from the Absolute must have been making them bolder because attack they did. They seemed to realize their mistake the moment they spotted Lae’zel, but that was about ten seconds too late to save their hides - or their heads, as she swiftly separated them from their bodies.
Taran was picking through the remains for anything useful when another figure, as yet unseen, burst out of the undergrowth and snatched her staff off of her back and darted away.
“Hey!” Astarion’s hand shot out to grab the ruffian by the shirt collar, but he simply wriggled out of it and kept going.
Astarion cursed and swung his bow off of his shoulder, but before he could nock an arrow electricity sizzled past him and caught the boy in the back. Taran stormed past him as he lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the faint burn there, and they snatched their staff out of the would-be thief’s limp fingers.
He was the only one close enough to see how their knuckles whitened around the wood, the fury and panic in her eyes.
She didn’t say anything as the others approached so he didn’t either, just watched her as Lae’zel declared the boy’s pockets empty and that they should move on. Taran fell into step beside him like normal, but their hands stayed wrapped around the staff and their eyes stayed on their feet, so Astarion gave them their peace as they continued up the road.
He finally broached the subject that night, as they lay together in the dark after his feed.
“Darling?”
“Hm?”
“This afternoon…” He felt her go rigid where his head rested in her lap and he let himself trail off.
It was a long, quiet moment before she spoke again, and when she did her voice was barely audible over the buzz of night insects around them.
“The staff was my brother’s.”
Which explained how viciously they’d cut down the bandit that had tried to run off with it.
“You said you had siblings,” was all Astarion said aloud.
“Two older, two younger.” A pause. “One older.”
They were both silent for a long time, Taran’s fingers trailing idly through his hair.
“His name was Coren.” Their voice startled Astarion slightly. “He was a sorcerer too - as far as I know it was just the two of us. This…this wizard came through from up north somewhere, he never really said. Spotted me and Coren shooting lightning at each other in an alley.” Her voice was fond with the memory, though the warmth was brief. “Said he wanted to take my brother with him, for training. My parents were skeptical - what did a wizard have to teach a sorcerer? - but in the end they decided it was better for him to be somewhere accidental lightning strikes were the norm rather than something to call the guard over.”
She took a deep breath that shuddered out of her. Astarion, at a loss for anything else to do, any other way to react, just brought one hand up to rest against her leg. Some semblance of comfort. They smiled, anyway, and squeezed his fingers with their free hand before they continued.
“He brought him back a few years later, to visit. We were all so happy to see him, but he was…” They shook their head. “He didn’t look right. He was pale, and it was like moving hurt him. No one said anything, not with the wizard standing right there, but we all saw it.
“Then the wizard said he wanted me to come back with him. To train me like he had Coren. And if Coren’s face had been pale before, it went to ash. He was staring daggers at me and I couldn’t figure out why. Mum and Dad didn’t know how to turn him down, I don’t think, so they arranged for me to meet him at the Ivory Harbor the next morning.”
“I remember that place,” Astarion interrupted, surprised. “It closed down, didn’t it?”
That made Taran laugh for some reason, mirthless and rueful. “I wanted to know what was wrong with my brother,” they went on, “so I went to the hotel to see him. They wouldn’t let me in.” Their voice turned bitter. “But that was fine, it turns out, because Coren wasn’t in the room. He was in the stable.” Bitterness turned to anger. “My brother was sleeping in the stable. He - he told me to run. Showed me this…thing that wizard had put in his chest, said it drained his magic to feed the wizard’s, and took a little of his life with every drop. Said it tied them together, and if the wizard died, so did he. He was trapped, he was dying, and he didn’t want me trapped with him. So he gave me his staff and told me to run.”
Astarion sat up, shifting his position until he was sitting against the same tree Taran was. Quietly offered his hand and let them link their fingers with his. She didn’t look at him as she went on, and Astarion didn’t try to make her.
“I took the staff,” she said, wrapping her fingers around it where it lay on the ground next to her. “But I didn’t run, at least not at first. First I found a way in the back of the building and up the stairs - I guess I looked like a cleaning girl or something, I wasn’t thinking about it that clearly. I was just trying to find that fucking wizard.”
“…what was this wizard’s name?” Astarion asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Taran said. “Because I killed him.”
It was a long, quiet moment between them until Astarion noticed the tears sliding down Taran’s face. He let go of their hand to wrap his arm around their shoulder, letting it hover there until she leaned her weight against him and let him hold her.
“I found his room.” Her voice was practically a whisper. “It was unlocked, because he was an idiot. And I ran lightning through his body until it burned.”
Astarion’s fingers squeezed her arm, his other hand coming up to take hers. “Then I ran,” she whispered into his chest. “I was so convinced the Fist was going to come after me, that they’d chase me across Faerun for this shitty fucking wizard - but they never did. It had just been him and Coren, and the hotel staff just…didn’t remember me, I guess, so I never heard anything about them looking for a tiefling. For all I know they blamed Coren when they found him dead, too.” Her fingers tightened around his. “For all I know my parents think I’m dead.”
“…you could see them,” Astarion said quietly. “When we reach the city.”
“…no.” They sat up, tipping their head back against the tree. “No, I thought about that, but…not until after we’ve sorted this.” They gestured at their temple. “Just in case we…don’t sort it. No sense tormenting them twice.”
“Ah. Good point.”
“…I’ve never told anybody that.” Astarion looked over at her, only to find her looking at him. “Not one person, for, oh…fifteen years? You’re officially the only person who knows.”
“…I am honored,” Astarion said after a moment of stunned silence. “By your trust and your confidence.” They gave a wavery smile and he leaned in to press his lips against her temple. “And if it’s any consolation, darling,” he murmured into her hair. “If they do arrest you as soon as we hit the gates, I know an excellent picklock.”
The attempt at humor was a risk, he knew, but Taran just gave a fond snort of a laugh and tucked their head against his shoulder, drawing the staff up into her lap to rest across her legs.