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“There you are! I hoped to ask you for a favor,” Astarion spoke in something akin to a lilt, as he always did. Lae’zel never knew what it meant because the man was rarely upfront. A favor could be any number of things with the vampire spawn. She didn’t have time to decipher whatever it was he wanted under every layer of his deceptive ways. Lae’zel continued to sharpen her weapon after sparing him a short glance.
“You cannot drink my blood, so find your feast elsewhere.”
“I already have, although I appreciate your evident concern.”
Sarcasm. How expected of him. She ignored whatever excessive and flowery gesture he paired with the phrase, focused on her task. Tav could wield weaponry and grapple enemies with artistic skill. No armor, weapon, or shield was beyond their ability. But githyanki were trained to be exceptional soldiers since they could walk and hold a blade. She would prove her worthiness and that of her people in combat, even though they had turned on her because of Vlaakith’s lies.
“Whatever favor you wish to ask of me, be prepared to be told no. I am not yours to order about.”
“Yes, yes, I’m quite aware that your warrior’s heart belongs to Tav. I presume all of Faerûn is, for the noise you two make,” Astarion stated more than complained and brushed the comment aside just as quickly. That did get her to smirk. Good. Let everyone know how Tav appreciates my skill in sharing pleasure. Not discouraged, the porcelain elf propped one arm up on his hip while the other draped at his side. “I am here for another matter entirely.”
“Then get to the point.”
“You have heard about this little issue with Cazador, have you not? Plans to sacrifice my so-called siblings as well as yours truly in a ritual that would make a devil shudder?”
She stopped before bringing her axe to the stone. Astarion never mentioned that wretch unless absolutely necessary, and that was a sure sign this was not one of his trivial whims. A flicker of fear or discomfort swam through his eyes when she turned to look at him. She wondered, then, if he could feel the expressions on his own face that he could never see again. Not even with the tadpole inhibiting other effects from his undead condition. Since it was the change that disturbed him, Lae’zel would continue on her usual path. Compassion to rival that of Tav did not fit every situation. She stamped her poleaxe into the earth and held the staff firm.
“You know that I have. What of it?”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure the favor I ask of you will make you happy. As joyful as you can get,” he amended, chuckling at her scowl. “When we confront Cazador, if it looks as though the battle won’t go our way, kindly use your battle prowess to save me the hassle of being captured. I’d be ever so grateful.”
His courteous bow did nothing to lessen the gravity of his request. Preparing for other options in the face of defeat was altogether different than asking for a permanent escape, particularly with a team as capable as theirs. Jaheira and Halsin were the newest, and still, they were not to be taken lightly.
“You deserve your vengeance against that cowardly bastard, and we will see to it that you get your chance at retribution.” Lae’zel had seen her lover say as much in similar words to Astarion before, and she expected no different than the dim disbelief that always earned from him. She would say it a thousand times more to make sure he learned what she had from Tav—affection and devotion, endless strength in the face of debilitating betrayal and suffering. Lae’zel knew better than to touch the elf unprompted, but she leaned forward all the same to make her point. “I am fierce and loyal enough to strike you down if I deem it necessary. But mark my words, fanged fool: We will protect you. We will not fail you when you need us most.”
Astarion faltered, dropping his other arm to be by his side as well and stepping back. No longer afraid. Surprised. Learning. She was a slow student in these instructions as well. It would not trouble her to remind him again when Tav was not the one he turned to in crisis.
“I… Thank you, Lae’zel.”
“You are all part of my creche too, and I will defend you until the last breath leaves my lungs. You have nothing to thank me for.”
She returned to her axe, and he to his tent after a brief pause. Whatever shifted between them would remain the same regardless of where they stood or what tasks they tended to.