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Chapter Text

Though Astarion heard the telltale crunch of gravel and the swish of robes, he’d fully expected Gale to stride past in that self-important way he always did en route to his tent. This time, however, the footsteps came to a halt in front of him.

He hadn’t needed to see the tops of the wizard’s surprisingly nice boots to know it was him. Not when his nose tickled the way it always did when too close to so much magical energy. He fought back the urge to sneeze.

Gale’s magic had an acrid smell to it, similar to what lingered after a lightning strike. Though he was no expert, Astarion thought that was what magic in its purest form smelled like. The type of spell could alter it, but he always caught the scent of it there underneath.

Astarion continued to study the book he held, pointedly ignoring him. The others were all off at the Emerald Grove hobnobbing with the Tiefling refugees and the druids. The druids that somehow managed to make Gale’s arrogance seem tame by comparison.

Particularly that insufferable High Half-Elf who spent all of his time licking Kagha’s boots…

When Gale didn’t take the hint, Astarion gave a long suffering sigh and lifted his head.

“I thought I’d find you here!” Gale said in that nauseatingly chipper tone of his.

Astarion quirked an imperious brow. “Because I explicitly stated I would be staying behind at camp?”

Gale waved a dismissive hand. “No. Because you and I are the same.”

Both brows went up that time. “You walked all the way back here just to insult me?”

Gale grinned. “Come now, we both know you don’t mean that.”

“I can assure you that I do. I can’t think of a single similarity between us aside from our parasitic little stowaways.”

“Oh? I can think of plenty.”

Astarion reluctantly closed the book, using his thumb to keep his place. “Enlighten me. I need to know what defects you see in my character so I can remedy them as quickly as possible.”

Gale gave a small shake of his head. “For one, I know what it’s like to need time to myself and away from others. How they can sometimes be…” He pursed his lips, “Too much.”

Astarion snorted delicately. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m at my best when I have an audience.”

“And yet when we camp for the night, you seem to prefer a book to the company of others. When you joined our little group, I thought our peaceful evenings had come to an end. Instead I was pleasantly surprised to find you’re as voracious a reader as myself. I wondered why so many of the bookshelves we’d come across on our travels were empty until I saw the veritable stockpile you’d collected.”

He frowned, surprised to find himself at a loss for a suitable quip to discourage the wizard’s further examination of his character.

“You become so engrossed, sometimes I forget you’re even here. And you go through them all so quickly, even the weightier tomes. Histories, treatises, magic, religion…” Gail tilted his head to catch the title on the spine of his current study, squinting in the dim torchlight. “Tonight it appears to be Fringe Philosophy Volume Five.”

“You do realize that you aren’t the only person in camp capable of reading, don’t you? Though I do wonder about Lae’zel. She seems far more likely to beat someone to death with a book than to read it.”

“I’d wager you wouldn’t say as much to her directly.”

He scoffed. “I don’t know, the bloodthirsty little thing might take it as a compliment.”

“You’re not as skilled at changing the subject as you think you are.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Who said I was changing the subject?”

“Why Fringe Philosophy?”

“What?”

“I know why someone like myself would be interested in it, but it’s an odd choice for some light reading. As are most of the other books you seem to enjoy. You don’t strike me as the scholarly sort.”

“What, you can’t picture me dying alone in a dusty room beneath the weight of all the scrolls and books perilously stacked around me?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that’s what you think of scholars such as myself.”

“Clearly I didn’t give you enough credit. After all, you left your dusty little room long enough to be kidnapped and tadpoled like the rest of us.”

“Thanks for that,” Gale drawled.

Years of practice with his marks were the only thing that allowed Astarion to smile back at him without fang.

“Still, I don’t understand what you have to be embarrassed about.”

Astarion’s lips immediately flattened into a thin line. “I’m not embarrassed about anything.”

“You are,” Gale insisted. “Here I am trying to compliment you and you’re doing everything in you can to weasel out of it.”

“Compliment me? You’ve been maligning my character since you sauntered up.”

“I’ve always been told I’m too direct, but perhaps for once I’m not being direct enough. You have a keen mind under all of your attempts at flirtation and talk of murder.”

“Attempts?”

“There you go doing it again! Deflecting! Yes, attempts! You may not be my type, but I’m not completely immune to your charms. I don’t know if anyone is, aside perhaps from those who prefer not to engage in such activities at all.”

“Ah, yes, monks and the like. Though you’d be surprised...”

Gale sighed, looking heavenward. “I meant those who have no interest in the joys of the flesh whatsoever. They do exist, you realize?”

Thinking back, Astarion supposed he had realized to a degree. At the time he’d filed those sorts away in his mind as prudes or perhaps rare individuals in genuinely committed relationships. Were there really people out there who weren’t interested in that sort of thing at all?

“I consider myself adjacent to them,” Gale continued. “I don’t love freely. I need to feel a true connection with someone before I even start to consider entering into a relationship. You struck me as alike in that regard too.”

“I what?”

“It’s not an insult! To someone like me who's not easily swayed, all of your flirting comes across as a bit…” He paused, carefully considering his words. “A bit of a…show. Yes, you say those things, but it doesn’t seem as though your heart is truly in it. If you had a real interest in any of us, I believe you would leave off the pretenses and pursue the person with actual intent.”

Astarion hadn’t realized his grip on the book had tightened until the cover began to press painfully into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Don’t worry,” Gale hurried to continue. “I don’t think the others are aware of it. I think you play your part perfectly for them. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t need to pretend with me.”

Pretend?

Astarion had the sudden urge to throw the book at the damned wizard’s head.

They’d spent mere weeks together and he thought he knew enough about him and his life to make such bold claims?

“You don’t know anything—” he began.

Gale was quick to cut him off. “All that I’m saying is that you can be yourself around me. Without pretense. Without expectation. Maybe I didn’t put the sentiment into words as well as I could have, but that’s what I meant. And, who knows, maybe I’m entirely wrong about you. Though I’m usually not wrong about things like this.”

Astarion took a deep breath, forcing his rising anger down again. Whether he liked it or not, he needed the damned wizard and all the rest of them if he was going to survive this. He’d spent too many years under Cazador’s heel and, while he knew the streets of the Lower City better than the back of his hand, he was at far more of a disadvantage out here in the veritable wilderness. The world was so much bigger than Cazador’s palace and the Lower City.

And, most importantly, he needed to not turn into a Mind Flayer.

Fine. He was nothing if not adaptable. If the wizard was more interested in (ugh) shared scholarly pursuits, then so be it.

“If you really must know, I like to read a variety of subjects because you never know what can prove useful.”

“So you decided to read the entirety of Fringe Philosophy Volume Five because it might be useful?”

Astarion stood straighter, somehow managing to stare down his nose at the taller wizard.

“Knowledge is power, and I aim to be the most powerful person wherever I go.”

It was the one thing Cazador couldn’t take from him. Everything had belonged to him from the skin on Astarion’s back to the pillow he had rested his head on in the daylight hours. Though Cazador had spent centuries trying, he couldn’t entirely lay claim to the thoughts in Astarion’s head. There were few things Astarion had access to within Szarr palace, most notably the wine (when entertaining their guests), Cazador’s terrible taste in art, and the sprawling library Cazador had collected over the centuries.

Though Godey cautioned against permitting the behavior, it had amused Cazador that Astarion spent so much of the little free time he had reading.

“You give the boy too much credit, Godey. It’s not as if the pretty little thing comprehends the vast majority of it.”

True, some of the weightier tomes had taken time for him to parse through, but it wasn’t as if he’d had an actual life to live over the centuries. He hadn’t initially been drawn to rambling histories or dense scientific works, but exposure had bred familiarity. Astarion couldn’t recall much of his time as a magistrate, but he did know he hadn’t risen to the position through nepotism or his pretty face. He’d had a fascination with the law from a young age and had worked hard to earn his place there.

He wasn’t foolish enough to claim any sort of intellectual prowess, but he made up for his deficiencies with dogged determination. Though Cazador had liked to think of himself as an intellectual, Astarion was convinced he was more interested in surrounding himself with the trappings of an acacemic rather than actually becoming one. The books were always left in pristine condition by Cazador’s many fanatical servants but, more often than not, Astarion had felt the give in their spines when he’d been the first to finally open them.

“And what sort of power does that particular book grant you?” Gale prompted, bringing him back to the present.

Astarion shrugged. “Hard to say without the first four volumes. It’s primarily concerned with something called Netherese magic.”

Gale’s gaze sharpened. “Did you say Netherese?”

Astarion couldn’t help but note his sudden intense interest. “I take it you’re familiar?” he asked with feigned nonchalance.

“A bit. What does it say?”

“So far the author has waxed poetic about the foolishness of dismissing Netherese magic outright instead of studying it. From what I gather, the magic seems rather volatile.”

“Exceedingly so,” Gale agreed, absently rubbing at his sternum. “Where did you pick up something like–? …hang on! I distinctly recall seeing that in the Enclave Library!.”

“Oh?” Astarion smiled, this time perhaps with a bit too much fang, though Gale was apparently too outraged to notice. “How strange that it’s here now.”

Gale crossed his arms, shooting him an admonishing look.

Astarion held his wrists forward with an expression of mock chagrin.

The wizard was silent a long moment before giving a frustrated huff. “...I suppose there’s no harm in…borrowing it for a bit. It is a library, after all.”

“I’m nearly done with it,” Astarion said, lowering his arms. “I could take it back in another hour or so…”

Gale’s eyes fell once more to the book, lingering there.

Astarion lifted it, watching in amusement as Gale’s gaze hungrily followed the motion.

“Or…” Gale trailed off.

“Hmm?”

“...if you’re nearly done with it, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I took a look at it myself before we return it…”

“We?” Astarion’s free hand leapt to his unbeating heart, his earlier unease having nearly evaporated now that he had the upper hand. “If you were to read it, that would make you my accomplice. And we both know how much your silly little morals mean to you.”

Gale’s cheeks warmed. Astarion didn’t know him well enough to determine if it was due to shame or embarrassment at being caught out.

“Oh, shut up,” Gale finally snapped, turning on his heel and stalking off toward his own tent. “I’ll find another unstolen copy somewhere else!”

Astarion’s mocking laughter followed him every step of the way, yet neither of them commented on how the book came to lay by Gale’s pillow when he woke the next morning.

Chapter Text

Their time at the Goblin Camp had started out easily enough, what with Tav being a Lolth-Sworn Drow. They’d been allowed to walk right in and whenever anyone expressed a hint of suspicion, Tav had simply stared them down or said something particularly Lolth-Sworn-Drow-ish.

Gale had been hesitant to travel with the Drow at first, but though Tav was all too happy to use intimidation to their advantage, they tended to only dole out violence as needed. Even if “as needed” was a bit of a stretch at times, as evidenced by the corpses and pools of blood currently around every corner.

He and the others had long since accepted Tav’s determination to leave no nook unlooted after a battle, which gave them all plenty of time to rest until the Drow tired themself out. Gale would have preferred to rest at camp, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and he wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down the rare magical artefacts they often uncovered in the strangest of places.

Wending through the labyrinthine stone hallways, he attempted to retrace his steps to find the way back outside. The stench in the stronghold had been bad enough prior to the battle and now he was becoming desperate for some fresh air. Turning down what he thought was the main hallway, Gale paused on spotting Astarion seated on the stone steps facing the torture rack they’d found Liam on earlier.

When he’d first met the elf, Gale would’ve expected him to be overindulging in the spoils of their victory at times like this. However, he’d long since realized there was more to the rogue than met the eye. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the two of them had much in common.

Gale had spent the entirety of his life surrounded by scholars, and he was willing to bet most of them weren’t half as well read as Astarion. Since he’d learned as much, he’d tried to wheedle Astarion into sharing his thoughts on various topics. He’d been oddly resistant at first, almost shy about his wealth of knowledge in an entirely un-Astarion sort of way. Perhaps shy wasn’t the right word. Self-conscious might be more apt.

But why? Gale had never hesitated to display his prowess on a topic, which had caused many to label him as wise beyond his years at best and an arrogant and/or insufferable prick at worst. Whatever others thought of him, there was a reason he’d drawn Mystra’s attention in the first place. Why should he apologize for that?

True, everyone in their ragtag band of involuntary adventurers had their secrets. Astarion just seemed to have more than most. He hid it all behind a gregarious facade, rightfully convinced that most wouldn’t think there could be anything else lurking behind a big personality. But Gale knew, and he struggled to consolidate the two wildly different sides he saw in him. Outwardly the elf was a loud and unrepentant flirt, but as he grew more comfortable amongst their companions, Gale believed his true self was coming into focus.

Astarion didn’t talk about himself and went out of his way to deflect any attempts to get to know him better. He had a wicked sense of humor, but only seemed to tease those he genuinely cared for.

It was as if Astarion, the self-proclaimed extrovert of the group, didn’t actually know how to interact with people beyond a surface level. Perhaps Gale was more attuned to this after his self-imposed exile in Waterdeep. It had been harder than he’d expected to open up to others again when he’d rejoined the world, though it was a relief to banish some of the loneliness that had crept into his life after his gross miscalculation with the piece of the Weave he’d uncovered.

To Gale, Astarion was the sort who left a roomful of people convinced they’d made a friend for life while, in fact, they knew only the persona he’d carefully crafted for them. A persona designed with minute attention to detail that ebbed and flowed as the elf picked up on different facets of their lives and personalities and altered himself accordingly. Astarion was as approachable and engaging to the jaded barmaids at a tavern as he was to the most self-absorbed members of the nobility. At times, Gale found himself a touch envious of how easily he moved among them, ruffling feathers only when he meant to.

As good of a judge of character as he was, Gale had no doubt he too would’ve been fooled by Astarion if he’d only spent a few hours in his company. But with prolonged exposure, Astarion’s calculated attempts to endear himself to the others were more obvious. He always began with flirting and, if that didn’t work, he got to know the person better and then presented them with the perfect companion.

With Tav, he was a rogue with an appreciation for the Drow and a penchant for violence. With Lae’zel, he discussed weaponry and technique while also encouraging her to share more of her knowledge of the Ilithids (well aware of how eager she was to boast about her people’s expertise). For Shadowheart, he was a kindred spirit and the teasing between them was mutual and almost familial.

It was a bit different with Wyll, perhaps because the Blade of the Frontiers valued honesty and directness above all else. Astarion oddly appeared to find the monster hunter’s crusade to end injustice naiively endearing. He also only seemed to be genuinely affronted when Wyll said something disparaging about him. Gale thought his interactions with Wyll were far more revealing of his true character than Astarion intended.

Meanwhile, Gale felt the teasing Astarion directed at him in particular was a bit more pointed. He’d yet to determine if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Some of their conversations strayed toward magic, though much of the time they camped near one another in companionable silence. Whatever the cause, it seemed as if Astarion didn’t feel as much of a need to put up a front with him. Maybe it was due to their prior conversation, or maybe he was just aware he wasn’t the only one in the party good at reading others.

When Astarion didn’t react to his approaching footfalls, Gale rested a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention. Before he knew what had happened, the wind rushed out of him as he was slammed into the cold stone floor. Astarion pinned him there, holding a dagger to his throat. Gale froze, at a loss for words even if he’d had the breath to speak them.

When Astarion didn’t immediately move to slit his throat, Gale tried to meet his eyes. Astarion stared through him, his body still poised to strike the killing blow.

Had his eyes always been red?

No, it had to be a trick of the light.

Gale finally managed a soft cough and slowly lifted his hands, palms out. It wasn’t the best way to indicate he was unarmed as a wizard, but the gesture made Astarion blink. His eyes suddenly focused on Gale’s and he abruptly stood.

Gale waited a beat before he sat up, brushing his fingers across his throat to check for any wounds. He found nothing there but the sweat and grime of battle.

“...are you all right?” he hazarded, breaking the silence that had been building between them.

Astarion faced him at the foot of the small set of stairs, his back now to the rack. He stood so still, Gale wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

“Astarion?” he tried, pulling himself back to his feet.

“Hmm?” Astarion murmured sounding worlds away.

“Are you all right?” he repeated, gingerly probing the spot on his lower back that had taken the brunt of the fall. He was certainly going to have a bruise. Though it could be worse, he could be dead.

“You startled me, is all,” Astarion finally answered, voice oddly flat.

“I’d say that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“You should know better than to sneak up on rogues. We can be a bit…twitchy,” he replied, crossing his arms and frowning disapprovingly up at him.

Gale would argue twitchy was also a vast understatement. He hadn’t thought Astarion was the type to suffer from battle fatigue, though he supposed he didn’t know much of the High Elf’s life prior to their shared experience with the Illithids. He made sure to appear as a spoilt noble who philandered his days away, albeit with a mildly alarming bloodlust that competed only with Tav’s.

Lae’zel was much more practical about her bloodlust.

Perhaps Gale had been too quick to judge him on that front. He was a damned good shot and, despite his slight frame and the few inches Gale had on him, he’d overpowered him in an instant. Gale certainly couldn’t fault him for keeping his past private, especially considering his own secrets.

Whatever the case, Astarion seemed determined to bluster his way past Gale’s concern. Even if he eventually decided to open up to him as the others had begun to, it likely wouldn’t be for quite some time.

“I was just going to get some fresh air, if you’d like to join me. I believe there’s a door to the right of the rack.”

“We’ll go out the front,” Astarion retorted, breezing past him and back the way Gale had come. Gale’s gaze drifted to the torture rack once more before he turned to follow him.

From what he could recall, there were fewer corpses out the side entrance. Astarion, however, had clearly made up his mind. And even if he didn’t want to discuss…whatever that had been, Gale felt he probably shouldn’t leave the elf alone at present. At bare minimum, it seemed as if he could use a distraction of some sort from wherever his thoughts had been.

As they approached one of the blessedly non-blood covered tables, Gale watched cautiously as the Owlbear crept closer to them. Tav was the group’s self-designated animal translator, having decided to learn the spell recently. Ever since, the Drow’s love of looting had come to compete with their love of speaking to every animal they crossed paths with. Gale had meant to ask about that particular interest, but hadn’t had the opportunity. His working theory was that the Drow was drawn to the animals because they weren’t native to the Underdark. Or it could just be refreshing to Tav that the animals didn’t immediately react to them with fear or aggression. Frankly, it was rare they came across someone who didn’t voice an opinion of their Drow companion.

Astarion took the seat opposite Gale, indicating his company wasn’t entirely unwanted. The elf seemed entirely unconcerned with the cub’s presence. Rather, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back in the way he often did when in a patch of sun. The gesture always reminded Gale of Tara, though he doubted Astarion would appreciate the comparison.

“Mmm, now that’s better.” The words had been spoken so softly that Gale had almost missed them entirely.

“You don’t suppose it’s hungry, do you?” Gale asked.

Astarion lazily opened one of his eyes a small sliver, doing nothing to dissuade Gale of his resemblance to Tara.

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s eating,” Astarion answered, closing his eye once more.

Gale grimaced, reluctantly turning back toward the cub. “Ah. So it is. Do you think Tav will be much longer?”

Astarion snorted. “Last I saw them, they were muttering to themself and fiddling with some suspicious looking tiles. We might as well accept the fact that we live here now.”

Gale sighed heavily. “It’s not something that could wait until tomorrow, is it?”

“Short of hitting them over the head and dragging them back to camp before they woke up? I doubt it.”

“We can’t just leave them here either, can we?”

“You know how they are. Another contingent of Goblins could march right up to them and they wouldn’t even notice.”

Gale absently tapped his pointer finger on the table, glancing up at the impending sunset.

He gave a sudden jerk when Astarion went suddenly bolt upright in his seat. Gale almost didn’t see the dagger leave his hand, so quick was the movement.

Hang on, that was the direction the Owlbear cub had been in.

“Astarion!” Gale shouted in protest, head whirling back toward the cub.

The cub ran over to Astarion’s side, entirely unharmed. The goblin it had been about to dine on, however, had Astarion’s dagger lodged in its throat.

“Did you think I was trying to kill the Owlbear?” Astarion asked after a beat, brows winging up.

Gale hesitated, but that was all the answer Astarion needed. He abruptly moved to his feet and stormed over to the goblin. Upon ripping his dagger from its throat, there was a spray of fresh blood.

Astarion stood there with his back to Gale now, staring down at the goblin as the pulses of blood from its throat grew weaker and eventually stopped. Once again, Gale was left to wonder if he was even breathing with how statue like his posture was.

“Astarion, I’m sorry,” Gale offered lamely.

Astarion ignored him, kneeling instead to wipe his dagger on the least dirty portion of the goblin’s tunic. The Owlbear waited patiently at his side, watching curiously. He pointedly ignored it too.

“Astarion…”

He suddenly spun on his heel, his expression sharp enough to cut glass. “While I do enjoy a bit of murder here and there, I don’t generally go out of my way to kill the helpless,” he snapped. “I couldn’t care less if the creature lives or dies, but I do have some scruples.”

“But you saved it,” Gale protested.

“I did no such thing! I simply prevented the goblin from killing one of us first!”

There was an odd venom to his words that Gale couldn’t begin to understand.

“Astarion—“

He was cut off as by a victorious shout from Tav as they and the others approached.

“An entrance to the Underdark!” they proudly proclaimed.

“What?”

“They uncovered an entrance that looks suspiciously like it leads to a former Selunite Outpost,” Shadowheart answered, lip curling back with a hint of disgust. “The only reason we’re not down there right now is because a former Minotaur indicated we may want to rest first.”

“Former Minotaur?” Gale echoed.

“The creature was destroyed by bursts of power from what appears to be a Moonstone,” Lae’zel cut in. “I believe we should harness the power of this weapon, but Shadowheart wishes to destroy it.”

“And I suggested we sleep on it,” Wyll cut in, bringing up the rear.

Gale had to appreciate Wyll’s gambit. Though the disagreement between the two was unlikely to be solved overnight, it would be much easier to play audience to once they weren’t all covered in various bodily fluids and exhausted from hours of battle. The fact he’d managed to tear the three of them away from Underdark spoke to how badly they all needed rest.

“Where’s Astarion?” Tav prompted, causing Gale to glance back in the direction he’d last seen the elf. The Owlbear was also conspicuously absent, though this time Gale was convinced it was because it had followed after its supposedly unwilling protector.

“I believe he may have already returned to camp,” Gale offered. “Perhaps along with the Owlbear cub. It seems to have taken a shine to him after he finished off the not-quite-dead goblin it tried to eat.”

Lae’zel appeared unimpressed by the gesture, though Gale caught a hint of approval from the others. Particularly Tav.

“Well then, we shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Wyll said, starting in that direction. “Can’t let him get too used to the peace and quiet and decide to leave the rest of us behind.”

“He would not dare,” Lae’zel replied, a note of warning in her voice as she followed.

Gale smiled faintly as he moved to his feet, managing only a small wince at the resulting twinge of his bruised back. He supposed he deserved it by this point.

Chapter Text

Camping along the Risen Road was a vast improvement to Emerald Grove or the Goblin Camp. No Tieflings to wail about the injustices they faced, no reek of Goblins and, best of all, there was plenty for Astarion to hunt without having to worry about his little secret getting out.

As usual, he’d waited until the others had drifted or tranced off before slipping away.

Though he was still obsessed with the novelty of warm sun on his skin, he had a new appreciation for how quiet evenings could be outside of Baldur’s Gate. Though the daylight hours had a similar silence to them in Szarr Palace, he’d never actually been able to enjoy them. There he was either being tormented in the kennels, struggling to trance in his shared room with his brothers and sisters, or (worst of all) with Cazador.

Even when the sun was high in the sky, he didn’t feel truly safe from his master.

Former master.

Leaving camp at night had its own risks. There were plenty of roving bands out there who would happily slit your throat for something as humdrum as a loaf of bread. Not to mention the fact Cazador had undoubtedly sent his siblings out looking for him. He doubted he would have to worry about Cazador himself hunting him, though the length of Astarion’s current absence was unprecedented.

As each day passed, Astarion became increasingly convinced he was better off dead or transforming into a full Mind Flayer than returning home to whatever punishment awaited him there. Especially since it would likely make being entombed for a year seem like mercy in comparison.

Astarion forced his concerns down once more, turning his full attention to the hunt. With fewer settlements nearby, there was plenty of prey to choose from.

By the time he returned to camp, he was nearly glutted from the deer he’d caught. Thoughts and worries about his past and of Cazador were buried beneath the waves of utter bliss rolling through him.

“Now what in the world has you smiling like that?”

Astarion paused, belatedly realizing he hadn’t reentered camp with the stealth he should have. He found it hard to care though, with what felt like sunshine filling his veins. He turned to see Gale seated by the fire, having drawn first watch. An unfamiliar book lay open in his lap. Astarion doubted he was doing quite as much watching as he should have been.

“Hmm?”

Gale gestured toward him. “You look like a cat who’s gone and eaten the canary.”

“Do I?” Astarion drawled. “Though I suppose there are worse things to resemble.” He gave Gale’s purple camp ensemble a pointed look.

“Ha, ha,” Gale shot back, though per usual the insult rolled right off of him.

“What have you got there?” Astarion asked, gesturing to the tome.

If Gale noticed the rather blatant change of topic, he didn’t comment. Rather, his face lit up in the way it always did when he was given the opportunity to lecture someone into a stupor. Astarion was in a good enough mood to humor him for once.

“Ah! You recall our recent…visit to the Goblin Camp? I found a book there you hadn’t yet managed to squirrel away.”

“Oh?”

Gale lifted the book, revealing its faded green cover. The title was almost indecipherable with how many religious symbols had been inscribed on it.

The Curse of the Vampyr.

Well, that certainly sobered him up.

“And here I thought we only needed to concern ourselves with goblins and religious fanatics.”

Gale laughed and some of the sudden tension in Astarion’s shoulders eased.

“True, but it can’t hurt to read up on some of the other dangerous types out there. Have you read it?”

Astarion shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t recall, so if I did it must not have been terribly interesting.”

Gale rested the book once more in his lap. “It reads a bit like an old wives’ tale, though I’m sure there’s some truth in it.”

“Terribly familiar with vampires, are you?”

Gale waved a dismissive hand. “Not that I know of. If I have ever run into one, it was more than likely one of the spawn rather than a vampire lord itself. From what I understand, they tend to stay out of the public eye.”

“Do they?”

“Of course! They have quite the disadvantage during the day, for one. For another, they certainly wouldn’t be knowingly welcome in any cities or villages. I’d imagine they also have their own kind to fear. Take Jander Sunstar, for instance.”

Astarion’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

“He remained in Waterdeep for a time. He vowed to destroy all vampire kind.”

“Seems like a conflict of interest,” Astarion said, still hovering just beyond the brightest of the fire’s light. “I take it he wasn’t successful.”

Gale shook his head. “Afraid not. If rumors are to be believed, he’s now a prisoner in Avernus.”

Pity. Astarion wouldn’t have been opposed to steering him in Cazador’s direction.

“Though he hasn’t been mentioned as of yet,” Gale continued. “I doubt there’s much of a historical nature in this book. So far it seems to be more about how to identify potential vampires.”

Astarion forced his expression into one of only passing interest. “Actual information or more fear mongering?”

“A bit of both, I think. Though I don’t believe there’s much out there in the way of factual documentation. Not readily available, at any rate. The Gur might have more reliable records.”

Astarion’s lip curled. “Ah, yes, The Gur. You give them too much credit.”

Gale arched a brow. “They are known for monster hunting.”

“They’re nothing more than roaming gangs of cut-throats.”

“If that’s the case, I would’ve thought they’d be your kind of people. What with all the throat cutting.”

Astarion’s hands curled into fists so tight, he could smell the blood from where his nails rent the flesh of his palms. He remembered almost nothing from his time before Cazador but one memory remained, crystalline in how vivid it was.

The dark alleyway. The jeering faces above him. The nauseating reek of alcohol, sweat, and too much of his blood. Gods, the pain. At the time he’d thought there was no greater pain he could have felt. He could almost laugh at how wrong he’d been.

The Gur had been clumsy in their attack, nearly stumbling over one another in their frenzy to kick and punch him. Too eager to mete out their own form of justice. They’d been driven by anger at a ruling he’d made as magistrate. The blows had been too numerous to count, too frequent to differentiate from one another. When so many bones were broken so quickly together, the sensation lost its novelty.

Cazador had shown him what true pain was. Cold, calculated. Almost clinical in how it could be dealt. The smallest and most precise of cuts could lead to what felt like unending agony. As if he’d mapped out each individual nerve, striking them like the keys of an organ.

“Astarion!”

He jerked at the sound of his name, Gale suddenly coming into focus again. The wizard’s face was pinched with concern and he had stood, though he hadn’t approached him.

“What?”

“Your hands,” Gale said, gesturing toward them. “You’re bleeding.”

Astarion lifted his hands, opening them to reveal a neat row of puncture marks on each palm, thin trails of blood spidering across his pale skin. A few weeks ago, a wound like this would have barely bled. Gorged on blood as he was now, he was almost in awe of how much escaped the cuts.

“I must be feeding you too much, boy, if you would let that go to waste.”

His hands began shaking, the lines of blood on them running together and down his arms.

A sudden yelp brought him back to the present and he watched, bewildered, as Gale furiously beat at the burning hem of his robe with the bedroll he’d previously been seated on.

“...do my eyes deceive me, or are you presently on fire?”

The fire out, Gale dropped the bedroll and straightened. The red in his cheeks was undeniably due to embarrassment this time.

Astarion stared at him a long moment before a startled laugh escaped him. And once it started, he found he couldn’t stop. Now he was the one doubled over, though for an entirely different reason.

“It is not that funny!” Gale protested, the color of his face darkening.

“Th-The mighty Wizard of Waterdeep… Now this truly is a tale for the ages!”

“Will you shut up and let me look at your damned hands?” Gale snapped.

Astarion decided to take pity on him for once and held his hands out as requested. Gale cradled the right one in his own, squinting down at it in the firelight. Astarion would’ve been surprised if the marks hadn’t mostly healed already, though they’d certainly left quite the mess behind. Thankfully he’d been in his camp clothes, which meant the blood hadn’t soaked into the fabric of his sleeves.

Gale’s hands were rougher than he’d expected. Astarion hadn’t thought it possible to develop calluses from scholarly pursuits, though perhaps these had formed during their weeks of travel together. They felt so warm against his own perennially cool skin.

“Wait here,” Gale said, releasing him.

Astarion snorted, immediately turning back toward his own tent. Gale caught his arm. Astarion’s eyes dropped to where the wizard’s fingers wrapped around his bicep. His skin practically glowed with life against the porcelain of Astarion’s own.

He lifted his head to comment on Gale manhandling him, only to pause when he saw the intensity in the wizard’s expression.

“You’re hurt. Let me help.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”

Gale released him, pointing to one of the bedrolls that hadn’t been turned into an impromptu fire blanket.

“Darling, if you’d wanted me in bed, you only had to ask,” Astarion drawled as he took a seat, legs crossed.

Gale looked heavenward before stepping away to gather the necessary supplies. While he was distracted, Astarion was tempted to toss the book into the fire but he felt it would only draw more attention to how uncomfortable it made him.

Upon his return, Gale took a seat next to him. Astarion reached for the bowl of water and the rag he’d brought back. Gale caught him, wrapped his fingers around his forearm and turning Astarion’s hand palm up.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you to let me help,” Gale answered, dipping the rag into the bowl and squeezing out the excess water before he began to dab at his palm.

His touch was almost featherlight as he carefully cleaned away the blood there. He studied Astarion’s hand with the same intense scrutiny he reserved for his studies, but kept his ministrations gentle.

No one had ever helped him clean up like this before, at least not that he could recall. Astarion had long lost count of the number of hands that had touched him over the centuries. The caresses of his more considerate conquests, the bruising grip of the more demanding… But this…

This was different.

There was no expectation of reciprocity and no threat of future violence. Back at home he’d been left to lay in his own filth, waiting in agony to heal enough or for the pain to become manageable enough for him to crawl to the washbasin and clean himself up.

“Why are you doing this?”

He’d only meant to think the question, but it had slipped from between his unguarded lips in his moment of befuddlement.

Gale glanced up at him, their faces only inches away.

A few weeks ago, Astarion would have waited a moment before closing the distance. Gale seemed like the type of mark who needed it to be special. To feel like Astarion was slowly being overcome with his interest. No hungry kisses, but rather lingering looks and “accidental” touches. An air of innocent romance rather than one of carnal lust.

Another memory came unbidden. A dark tavern, a shy and inexperienced young man. It had been one of the very few times Astarion had genuinely wanted to make it good for his mark. The man had deserved to know what it felt like to be kissed, to be truly cherished, before Cazador destroyed him.

He’d tried to avoid such targets when he could. But as if they could sense it, so many had been drawn to him like moths to a flame. Over and over he’d found himself drawn right back, wanting to pretend just for a few hours that he could make a genuine connection with someone. That there could be something more. That he could be something more.

They’d always been the easiest to lure back to Cazador’s palace, and the hardest for him to lead there. Often dawn would be approaching before he could force himself to take them. Or perhaps it had been Cazador’s compulsion? But it was what he’d wanted to believe, wasn’t it? That he had to do it. That it wasn’t his fault. But he’d been the one to pick them, hadn’t he? He had the entirety of the Lower City to choose from, and yet he’d picked them.

“Why am I doing what? Helping you?”

Astarion met his eyes before quickly looking elsewhere.

Gale gave his forearm a soft squeeze. “We’re a team, aren’t we? If we don’t look out for each other, who will?”

Astarion wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the claim. The naivety. What sort of charmed life had Gale lived that he could spout such drivel with a straight face?

And yet he was here, putting action to word.

Astarion didn’t know what to say, so they sat there in silence as Gale finished tending to his hands.

Chapter Text

Vampire.

Astarion was a vampire!

Well, technically a vampire spawn.

But still.

The red eyes at the Goblin camp hadn’t been a trick of the light. His odd behavior when Gale had asked about The Curse of the Vampyr made perfect sense.

…come to think of it, Gale couldn’t recall ever seeing the bastard eat either.

Gale hadn’t been the only one to miss the signs. It appeared as though everyone else had been equally in the dark.

Everyone but Tav, who’d apparently offered up a vein once or twice and hadn’t said a damn thing about it.

But was it fair for Gale to judge Tav on that front? They probably had more in common with Astarion than most, what with everyone they came across immediately assuming they were an imminent threat. Gale could relate, what with the ticking time bomb in his chest. He hadn’t shared that little tidbit with anyone but Tav yet, and then only out of necessity. The guilt of hiding it from the others ate away at him every day.

Truth be told, he was more annoyed than anything else that he hadn’t figured Astarion’s bloody little secret out on his own. He had literally been discussing a book on how to identify vampires WITH a vampire and hadn’t noticed.

Cold beauty? Check. Charm? The vampire certainly thought so. Cannot bear to be of the common folk?

Gale was beginning to wonder if the author had met Astarion and simply penned their first impressions.

It must have taken everything in Astarion’s power not to laugh in his face.

No, that wasn’t true. Astarion had been on edge. Had clenched his fists so tightly he drew blood.

“Only Cazador would know to send the Gur after me.”

As much as Gale wanted to learn more about his past, this peek behind the curtain made his stomach roil.

“If I lose the tadpole, Cazador has control over me, body and soul, and I return to the shadows.”

Of their group, only Gale recognized the name. Finding out the noble was a vampire lord hadn’t shocked him, not with the bits and pieces he’d learned of him over the years. Finding out Astarion had been one of his enslaved spawn for the past two hundred plus years, however…

It explained a lot, and made him wonder even more.

The scholarly part of him wanted to learn about Astarion’s life as a vampire spawn. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said there wasn’t much written about vampires and their ilk, particularly in the academic sense.

But his vampirism seemed like the one part of his identity Astarion wanted the least to do with.

He’d spent two centuries without the sun, without agency, without who knew what else. He’d looked haunted when discussing his past and the ever present threat of Cazador. Was it any surprise he wasn’t keen on losing their little Illithid stowaway if it was all that kept him free?

Gale’s eyes kept drifting to Astarion on their way back to camp. Dozens of questions swirled in his mind, everything from “how old are you” to “why didn’t you think you could tell me.”

Age was difficult to discern when it came to elves. As far as he knew, Astarion could have been anywhere from thirty to three hundred or even older. Elves weren’t even considered to have reached maturity in most cases until they hit the century mark.

Come to think of it, he had no idea how old Tav was either.

And as for why Astarion hadn’t thought he could tell him… There were probably countless reasons. Astarion was actively being hunted by a sadistic vampire lord, for one. For another, hadn’t he lectured Astarion on how people were distrustful of vampires because of how dangerous they could be?

Still, it stung in a way he hadn’t expected. Had Astarion thought he would take him back to Cazador? That he would treat him any differently? Would he have if he’d known from the beginning that the rogue was a vampire?

He’d had unfounded reservations about Tav, after all. A prejudice he wasn’t even aware of until they met on the ravaged beach.

Upon reaching camp, Tav and Karlach joined Astarion in his tent. They kept their voices low, so Gale couldn’t be sure what they discussed. Astarion looked more like himself by the time the went to their own tents to bed down for the night.

As the others began to drift or trance off, Gale became increasingly aware of how loud the usually comfortable silence between himself and his neighbor was. He’d become accustomed to their unspoken camaraderie, not realizing as much until its conspicuous absence.

Having drawn one of the later watches, he tried to get some sleep. Instead, he found himself repeatedly glancing at the fall of fabric blocking his line of sight to Astarion’s tent. After switching sleeping positions for the umpteenth time, he finally gave up and abandoned his bedroll altogether.

Opening his tent flap, he glanced curiously toward Astarion’s tent, some of his newfound unease lifting on seeing the still lit torches surrounding it. Astarion sat on an oversized cushion, bent over his camp shirt. Torch light danced over the metal pins he held between his lips.

Gale watched as he arranged them in the fabric with a deftness indicating long practice. He never would’ve thought Astarion would handle such repairs on his own.

One more reminder he didn’t know him half as well as he thought did.

“I can feel you staring,” Astarion said, words slightly muffled due to the pins.

Gale’s shoulders jerked reflexively up and he straightened his spine. “Is that a vampire trait?” he blurted.

Astarion slowly looked up, eyes narrowing. “It’s a rogue trait.”

“Ah, I see.”

Astarion arched an imperious brow as he stared back at him.

“...I didn’t realize you were so proficient with a needle and thread.”

He pulled his remaining pins out of his mouth, setting them in a small metal tin on the ground beside him.

“What do you want, Gale?” There was a weariness to the words, so disparate from his usually flippant tone.

Gale weighed his options before climbing to his feet and closing the distance between them, Astarion’s gaze warily following him.

“May I?” Gale asked, gesturing to one of his other cushions.

When Astarion didn’t protest, he seated himself. Up close, he became acutely aware Astarion was shirtless. His pale skin gleamed in the moonlight. For the first time, Gale looked at him and felt he actually saw him.

Gale wasn’t blind. He knew Astarion turned heads everywhere he went. But seeing him here doing something as mundane as patching up his shirt, he couldn’t deny how ethereally beautiful he was. From his soft white curls to the gentle curve of his neck, he was grace itself.

Had he always been? Or had the vampiric curse altered his appearance beyond giving him sharp fangs and red eyes?

Astarion shifted where he sat. Though he turned toward Gale, the wizard was left with the impression the movement wasn’t for his benefit. It didn’t exude his usual elegance.

“You have yet to tell me what you want,” Astarion said, frowning.

Gale hesitated a moment before offering, “I’m not often at a loss for words...”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“…yet another trait we share.”

Astarion snorted, though some of the tension eased from his shoulders and he returned his attention to his work.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Astarion hissed, jerking his hand back and scowling down it. A ruby red droplet of blood welled from where he’d accidentally stuck himself with the needle.

“Sorry for what?” he snapped, eyes blazing and fangs bared.

The sight sent an unexpected bolt of primal fear through Gale. This was a predator. He was in danger.

But he wasn’t. Astarion wouldn’t hurt him. Even lost in the memory the Goblin Camp evoked, he’d stayed his hand.

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel as if you could trust me. I’m sorry I haven’t yet earned your trust.”

Whatever Astarion was expecting, it clearly wasn’t this. His brows drew together and his fury was extinguished as swiftly as a snuffed candle. Without his masks of charm or anger in place, he looked…lost. Tired.

Oddly vulnerable for a purported monster of nightmares.

“You…what?”

“I should have been a better companion to you.”

“A companion? Not just a temporary ally?”

“I understand if you don’t feel the same. We’ve been brought together under unusual circumstances, after all. Compariot, perhaps? Tadpoled acquaintance? Fellow Mind Flayer to-be?”

Astarion sucked in a sharp breath and a startled laugh escaped him. It felt like the first time Gale had seen him laugh too. Truly laugh, unguarded and with a hint of fang.

Even that had been a show?

“Tadpoled acquaintance?” he echoed.

Gale smiled, giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “I am happy with whatever best resonates with you.”

“Even though I’m a vampire? A vampire spawn, no less?”

“I’m far more concerned about you being a book thief.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Gale considered him. Their eyes met and they gazed curiously back at one another.

Astarion was the first to look away.

“You aren’t the only one with secrets. Maybe that’s part of the problem. I haven’t exactly been honest myself.”

“Oh? And here I thought your silly little morals wouldn’t allow such a thing?” As he spoke, Astarion lifted his injured finger to his lips, brushing his tongue across it. The wound closed before the blood had a chance to dry.

“We all have our reasons, don’t we? Though it seems we both trusted Tav with our respective secrets.”

“Trust is a strong word, but they have proved loyal, surprisingly enough.”

“Agreed. Tav is the only one I’ve confided in until now.” He took a deep breath. “I was once Mystra’s Chosen.”

He forced himself not to immediately launch into an explanation of what that meant. Instead, he watched the now familiar furrow of Astarion’s brow as he processed the information and drew his own conclusions. From their nightly book discussions, Gale came to realize that, chatty as he was, Astarion was slow to voice his thoughts on deeper topics. As if he were reluctant to share them despite how articulate and erudite he clearly was.

“I see. I suppose that makes sense. Even I can acknowledge you have some talent.”

Gale rolled his eyes. “How magnanimous. May I continue?”

Astarion waved him on.

“Initially she was my teacher, but our relationship changed over the years to that of lovers.”

Gale had his undivided attention now. “You were involved with a goddess?”

“Is it really so hard to believe?”

He shrugged. “It’s not the sort of thing you hear every day.”

“I suppose not, but yes I was.”

“As in the past tense? Did the two of you part ways before or after you received your little stowaway?”

Gale took another steadying breath. “Before.”

Astarion didn’t offer a quip this time.

“I wanted to be more than her student. I wanted to be her equal. I wanted her to understand I could be so much more. We could be so much more together.”

A small frown pulled at the corners of Astarion’s lips.

“You mentioned Netherese magic the other day when we were discussing Fringe Philosophy Volume V. Are you familiar with a mage called Karsus?”

“The name rings a bell, but I can’t say I’m overly familiar.”

Gale nodded. “To be more precise, he was a Netherese mage. He sought to become a god by assuming the divinity of the Goddess of Magic, Mystryl. To preserve the Weave, the goddess sacrificed herself. The Weave became unreachable for a time and Karsus and the Netherese empire both fell. Eventually Mystryl was reincarnated as Mystra and the magic returned.

“I learned of a tome purported to retain a piece of Weave from that era. I sought it out to return it to Mystra, but I underestimated its power. It burrowed inside me, much like the tadpole, and now I must consume magical artefacts to keep it stable.”

Astarion tilted his head. “What sort of magical artefacts?”

That was what he was concerned about?

Gale waved a dismissive hand. “All sorts. I try not to consume books, but those, magically imbued clothing, amulets, rings…”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it! Tav said they must have misplaced my Ring of Colour Spray, but I knew they were lying! You ate it!”

“I didn’t eat it,” Gale protested. “I simply…absorbed it.”

“Absorb your own damned items!”

Gale laughed despite himself. “I just told you I’m carrying around a dangerously insatiable bit of magic, and that’s your takeaway?”

“It was my ring!” He shot a dark look in the direction of Tav’s tent. “I knew I couldn’t trust them! Misplaced it, my arse!” But there was no venom to the words.

“It doesn’t bother you then? My dangerous insatiable little problem, I mean.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed further into mere slits as he turned back to him. “Only if you intend to eat any more of my items without asking first.”

“Fair enough.”

Some of the mostly put upon hostility left his expression as he pursed his lips. “I would ask what it was like to lie with a goddess but, knowing you, I can only assume you both discussed magical theories until you came. Though I suppose I can’t fault you for not immediately succumbing to my charms if your former paramour was a literal goddess.”

“I wouldn’t say that was the only reason.”

Astarion snorted, tying off his final stitch and cutting the excess thread with his teeth. He lifted his shirt, studying his latest repair. Now the garment had Gale’s full attention, he saw what looked like dozens of repairs having been performed so expertly they were nearly invisible if one didn’t know to look for them.

“You may want to consider replacing your shirt,” Gale offered. “We certainly have the gold for it.”

Astarion didn’t look at him as he replied, “I have no intention of replacing it.”

“Why not? I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance to spoil yourself with something new. Frankly I’m surprised you’ve kept it for so long. You don’t seem the type.”

Astarion continued to stare at the repair, though his thoughts seemed elsewhere. After a long pause, he said, “...it’s the only thing that has ever truly been mine.”

“What?”

“It’s…what I was wearing the night my…Cazador changed me. It’s the only thing I have from before I…became his spawn.”

Gale’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I can see why you’ve taken such good care of it then. Is that why you learned to sew? Or did you already know how?”

Astarion seemed surprised by the question. “I learned.” He hesitated. “Cazador isn’t the type to lavish his slaves with anything. Regardless of my status, I refused to wear rags.”

“Was it just you?”

“Was I his only spawn?” Astarion slowly lowered the garment. “No, there were seven of us. Six now, I suppose. Unless he’s turned someone else in my absence.”

Gale nodded, absently toying with the hem of his own sleeve. “You mentioned he would be looking for you.”

Astarion’s lip curled back. “Yes. It’s one of his rules. We aren’t to leave his side unless ordered to.”

“Did he have many rules?” Gale asked, trying not to look as though he were watching him too carefully. Astarion had clearly been through a lot and bore the metaphorical scars for it. He didn’t want to cause him any unnecessary distress, especially now he seemed comfortable enough to share some of his painful past with him.

“...there were four primary ones. I imagine I’ve broken all of them by now.”

“What would happen if he found you?”

Astarion tensed, forgetting to pretend to breathe. Gale recalled how still he became at the Goblin Camp and the other night by the fire. He hadn’t been breathing then either, had he?

“Nothing good,” Astarion finally answered, voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I would belong to him again in body and soul if I lost the tadpole. When a vampire lord speaks, his spawn must obey. They are nothing more than his puppets to do with as he wishes.”

“I see,” Gale murmured. “But you were still aware? You were still yourself despite it all?”

“If you’re asking if I had a sudden epiphany when the tadpole was forced on me, the answer is no. I was present for all of it. We all were. You have no idea what it feels like to be a prisoner in your own body…”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “You said you’d been with him for two centuries..?”

“Yes.”

Gale tried to imagine two hundred years under the thumb of someone like Cazador Szarr. The vampire played the part of a somewhat reclusive noble of Baldur’s Gate. He and the other students at Blackstaff had been warned to steer clear of Szarr if ever in the city, but their instructors failed to mention he was a vampire lord.

Did they know?

A vampire lord would have been considered the perfect target by his more ambitious peers. They would have significantly bolstered their budding reputations by defeating one. Not to mention the equally powerful temptation of riches and rare artefacts to plunder.

If their instructors knew what he was and hadn’t pursued as much for themselves, Cazador truly must be a force to be reckoned with.

Deep in thought, he didn’t realize he’d worn out the fabric of his sleeve until he heard the telltale rip. Without Tara present to remind him not to pick at it as he often did while thinking, its fate had been inevitable.

This time Astarion was the one to take him by the forearm, turning his palm upright as he surveyed the damage.

“Take it off.”

Gale blinked. “Pardon?”

“Unless you’d prefer to wander around looking destitute. Do you know how to sew?”

Gale’s face warmed. “I must admit, needlework wasn’t included in the curriculum at Blackstaff. I’ll have to suggest it be added alongside courses on survival skills.”

He hadn’t realized how dependent he’d become on magic until the tadpole sharply curtailed his abilities. How embarrassing.

When he didn’t immediately remove his shirt, Astarion snapped his fingers impatiently in his face.

Sighing in defeat, Gale pulled the garment over his head and surrendered it. Astarion took it, nose wrinkling. “We’re out in the wilderness, and yet your clothes somehow still smell like books.”

“I don’t see why you’re complaining. You clearly love the scent of books judging by how many you’ve been carting around.”

Astarion ignored him as he studied the tear and inspected the rest of the shirt for other damage.

Gale almost brought up the fact Astarion hadn’t commented on their mutual state of undress, but he refrained. As he said before, he thought those sort of remarks were put on by the elf and this lapse only further convinced him.

Though Astarion must have seen the mark the orb seared into the flesh over his sternum, he gave no indication. His reaction, or lack thereof, was a far cry from Mystra’s revulsion upon seeing it.

Perhaps he thought it was a tattoo..?

Either way, Astarion accepted the mark as easily as he had Gale’s confession of his darkest secret and deepest failure.

Bare minimum, Gale thought he’d call it tacky. The self-consciousness he’d felt upon baring it faded. He wasn’t thrilled to have the mark, but preferred to think of it as a testament to his will to live rather than the heretical brand Mystra saw.

“Since you mentioned you learned to sew after you became a vampire, I take it you weren’t a tailor prior to?”

“I was a magistrate.”

Whatever Gale had been expecting, it wasn't that. And yet, now he’d gotten to know Astarion better, he could see it.

“Here you’ve been teasing me about my love of books when you went into one of the most bookish careers there is!”

Astarion paused, his needle buried in the middle of his latest stitch. “You don’t think I was given the position?”

“Why would I think that? Sure, you’re prone to whining and trying to weasel your way out of our more demanding adventures, but you’ve never not risen to a challenge. I bet your instructors hated you. You seem like you’d go out of your way to find the trickiest questions and scenarios to throw at them. I have no doubt you were one of the best, if not the best, in your studies and that you drove everyone positively mad as a result.”

He tilted his head as he looked almost shyly up at Gale. “...you really believe that.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Am I wrong? I’ve already told you, I’m right about most things.”

“I don’t remember much from before I was turned, but…I do recall one such scenario, now that you mention it.”

“Only one? I’m sure there were more.”

Astarion smiled then. Genuinely smiled. Gale had never thought his features drawn until he saw them entirely relaxed. He was struck in particular by how young he looked.

Gale no longer had any doubts he must have been at or under a hundred years old when he was turned.

Astarion’s life had been cut short just as it began. He should have been one of the famed nobles of Baldur’s Gate by now, undoubtedly in a position of even greater authority. And with that smile on top of everything else? The entire city would have been eating out of his hand just for a glimpse of it.

Though Gale was immune to Astarion’s feigned charm, he was coming to realize he wasn’t nearly as safe from the authenticity the vampire hid behind it.

Chapter Text

Though they’d dipped their toes into the Underdark twice now (once beneath the Blighted Village and once beneath the Defiled Temple), this was their longest foray yet. As excited as Tav was to return to their home, they confided in Astarion that, were they to run into any Drow from their House, a bloodbath would inevitably follow.

Astarion certainly wasn’t opposed to bloodbaths, but he understood Tav’s concern. No doubt he’d feel the same way upon returning to Szarr Palace, knowing there were no friends for him there.

There never had been.

Tav hadn’t said as much, but Astarion wondered if they also feared how they would react if they ran into one of the Matrons in particular, whether or not they were of their house. Though the Drow didn’t have vampiric compulsion at their disposal, they had their religion and the liberal dose of brainwashing that came along with it. He spent many nights listening to Tav philosophize and fret about their standing with Lolth given their escape from the Underdark.

Astarion promised to intervene if Tav seemed in danger of succumbing to their old ways. Tav promised him the same. As preposterous as their declaration was, they’d vowed it with such conviction Astarion hadn’t had the heart to respond with some witticism or other.

He didn’t know what he’d done to earn the Drow’s confidence. Maybe it was his interest in Drow culture? Though he’d yet to admit why…

Tales of the Drow had always fascinated him, partly because they were so rare but mostly because they were taboo in Elven circles. He learned of the Drow through childhood religious teachings on Corellon Larethian, the creator and preserver of the Elven race. Astarion had been captivated by the story of Lolth’s rebellion against Corellon and how Lolth (then Araushnee) morphed from being the Consort of the Elven pantheon’s ruler to an exiled traitor.

She’d had everything one could hope for, even as a deity, but she wanted more. She could have ruled alongside Corellon for all eternity, but that wasn’t what she wanted and she’d ruthlessly and unapologetically pursued her own ambitions.

He’d always wondered how, even despite her many attempts to kill and usurp him, Corellon couldn’t bring himself to destroy Lolth. How it hadn’t mattered she’d become a monster in the end because he could never forget his Araushnee.

Over the years, Astarion outgrew the gods and came to view Corellon as a sentimental idiot with a death wish. He almost entirely forgot about his childhood interest in the Drow and their goddess.

And then along came Drizzt Do'Urden, spinning Lolth’s story on its head by forsaking his goddess, his upbringing, and his home to become a hero of mythic proportions.

Astarion had been mortified when he realized he’d fallen for a different version of the same damn story. Yet he devoured every crumb he came across pertaining to the man. Even now, he couldn’t ignore how mesmerizing the Underdark was solely because he could be standing in the same spot Drizzt once had!

Gods, he needed to get rid of this tadpole and walk directly into the sun to preserve what little dignity he had left…

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Gale prompted, startling him from his asinine musings.

“Nothing!” he nearly yelped.

Wyll drew up beside them, eyeing Astarion suspiciously. “You may not want to know the answer, Gale.”

“I don’t know, I think I might,” Gale said, grinning now. “Our vampiric companion is so quick to share his carnal and bloody thoughts. I must admit I’m intrigued to know what guilty pleasures he keeps to himself!”

Astarion would stake himself through the heart before he admitted the truth to either of them. He crossed his arms, doing his best to stare impassively down at the taller men, but a haughty look would only buy him so much time.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Fuck, why was he struggling for a distraction now of all times?!

“What’s got you three clucking all conspiratorial like?” Karlach asked as she slowed her pace to join them.

Gods above, did no one in their damned party have anything better to do?!

Her head abruptly whipped forward again. “Hang on, is that mushroom walking?”

Astarion could have kissed Karlach for her sudden (yet inevitable) lapse in focus.

“Myconid!” Tav corrected, pointing excitedly. “I’ve always wondered what one would taste like!”

Everyone now turned to stare at Tav.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

With the bulk of their face hidden by their cowl, the Drow’s expression was impossible to read

“I’m suddenly feeling the need to ask what Drow eat down here,” Karlach said, eyes wide.

Tav’s eyes narrowed. “…I feel as if I’m walking into a trap of some kind.”

“Oh, gods… Answer the question!”

“…normal things. We’re just normal people.”

Astarion turned his haughty expression up to its maximum strength, directing its full power at them.

Tav threw their hands up. “Mushrooms, lichen, rothe, lizards, spiders, the flesh of—“

Karlach slapped her hands over her ears. ”Nope! No! Forget I asked!”

“Tchk, first a vampire in our midst and now this.” Lae’zel drew a nasty looking dagger Astarion longed to have a better look at. “If you decide to take a bite of me, I suggest you ensure I am truly dead first or it will be the last thing you do.”

She punctuated the sentence by flipping the dagger into the air and sheathing it in one swift motion.

“Ssin'urn…” Tav murmured as they watched, a note of reverence in their voice.

Astarion’s brows winged up. Tav turned toward him.

“Ilharessen zhaunil alurl.”

Astarion leaned forward, snapping his fingers in their face. “Jala cahallin xal tlu elg'cahlin!”

Tav blinked. “An intriguing interpretation of the proverb, but I catch your meaning. I appreciate the reminder, khal’abbil.”

Astarion couldn’t help but grin. They’d agreed to watch out for one another, determined to draw each other back from the brink of falling into old habits.

Khal’abbil. The honor of a trusted friend wasn’t one easily bestowed by the Drow. The concept of trust in any form was all but foreign to them. Tav had been quick to reassure him they meant it genuinely, and not ironically or sarcastically as was more common.

With how Drow society was structured, Astarion found they had quite a bit in common as a vampire spawn and a Drow forced to live as a male in their violently matriarchal society.

He’d approached Tav the night before with the intention of seducing them. Tav had become the de facto leader of their strange little group and Astarion knew only one surefire way to ensure their protection.

Instead he found he wasn’t the only one long accustomed to using his body to curry favor. They wound up crying together, holding each other as they mourned everything that had been taken from them. It was terrifying and cathartic and overwhelming all at once.

And then, when they’d parted ways in the wee hours of the morning, Tav called him their friend.

Astarion didn’t think he’d ever had a friend before. Not one he could recall, anyway. Tav’s friendship was a gift he would cherish, even if it felt like something so delicate he could shatter it with a single misstep.

If Tav wanted to pursue Lae’zel, Astarion wouldn’t stop them. However, he would strive to always be there to help them safely navigate the ghosts of their past.

“I didn’t know you spoke Drow,” Gale offered, pulling him back to the present.

Gods, Astarion hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. At least he could take comfort in the fact not all of them had darkvision.

“…a bit.”

How in the hells had they managed to get back on this topic after Tav had all but admitted to cannibalism? Astarion was starting to wonder if the gods had heard him over the years after all and decided it was more fun to just fuck with him.

“Should we follow the walking mushroom?” Karlach cut in.

“It may lead us back to its colony,” Tav said. “Though they can be a bit touchy about visitors. It would probably be best if we all didn’t go at once. They might think we’re attacking them.” They paused. “…unless we are attacking them?”

“No!” Came the immediate chorus from Wyll, Karlach, and Gale.

Tav threw their hands up in a placating gesture. “Just checking! Perhaps we should split into two groups? Half of us can set up camp and the other half can investigate the Myconid colony?”

“Ah, actually, there’s something else I need to take care of,” Gale said. He and Tav shared a look.

“It’s too dangerous to go alone. Take Astarion with you.”

“What? Me? Why?” Astarion demanded.

“Because you’re going to volunteer to help make camp otherwise and somehow we’ll come back to find only your tent set up.”

Damn.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll go run Gale’s little errand with him.”

The telltale crinkle at the edges of the Drow’s eyes was the only sign they were smiling under the cowl.

“Thank you. Ah, before you go… Actually, this could be helpful for all of you if you run into any Drow without me. You’ll need to watch closely and repeat this exactly. I cannot stress how important it is to be as precise as possible.”

Tav reached up to pull back their cowl before shifting their stance. They schooled their expression and began an intricate set of motions with their right hand in what looked almost like a pattern for spellcasting.

Astarion had to bite the inside of his cheek to silence the delighted sound that tried to escape him. This was the Silent Tongue! Tav was teaching them the Silent Tongue!

He didn’t know much about the language, aside from it being exceedingly complex. It also once gotten Drizzt into trouble when the Thistledown family misinterpreted his motions as an impending magical assault.

Everyone moved into a loose semicircle around the Drow, watching Tav repeat the gestures.

“Is this some kind of warding spell?” Gale asked. “It reminds me of arcane magic, but I don’t sense anything.”

“It’s Drow Sign Language,” Tav answered. “This will likely stop one of my kin from killing or maiming you too badly. If they respond by trying to lead you somewhere though, you must not go with them. Even if you have to flee or kill them.”

“What does it mean?” Shadowheart asked as she carefully practiced the motions.

Tav pursed their lips. “…that you are slaves of one of the most powerful Drow Houses.” They paused. “…assuming it is still one of the most powerful Houses. It hasn’t been that long since I left, but you never know! It should be a safe enough bet.”

Lae’zel bristled. “My people would never—“

“It’s just a precaution, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart interrupted.

Tav nodded. “A Drow would not question it. My people have similar views of our prowess. L'elamshin d'lil Ilythiiri zhah ulu har'luth jal. The destiny of the Drow is to conquer all.”

Lae’zel still glowered.

“I don’t know, Tav, perhaps the signs are too difficult for her,” Shadowheart said, smirking.

“Kainyank!” Lae’zel spat, sneering at her.

Astarion, Gale, and Karlach were the quickest to pick up on the intricate gestures, even though it took several rounds of practice to get the message right.

Shadowheart, Wyll, and Lae’zel, on the other hand…

“Wyll, you are standing too confidently. The Silent Tongue is not spoken with the hands alone, but also with the body and face. Lae’zel, you cannot make that expression, they will try to kill you on sight. Shadowheart, you must hold your hand just so. Otherwise you imply you are an entirely different sort of slave and I can assure you that is not what you want to convey…”

Karlach took pity on Tav, taking over the teaching when the Drow reached the point of speaking entirely in their own language, their tone bordering on incensed as their left hand began to stray more and more frequently toward the dagger strapped to their belt.

Tav stepped away, pinching the bridge of their nose and continuing to mutter to themself, their free hand clenched into a tight fist at their side.

“I take it you weren’t a teacher..?” Gale hazarded.

Tav rounded on him, switching back to Common, their normally subtle accent now heavily coating each word. “No, I was not an an'kin! If I was an an'kin, they would have been culled nearly an hour ago!”

“But we’ve only been at it an hour or so..?”

Tav threw their hands up. “Exactly! They would not have been given the honor of being sacrificed! They would have been struck down by the an'kin! Only the three of you may have survived!” They paused, turning to Astarion. “…though you may have become a sacrifice.”

“I hope that is a compliment?” Astarion hazarded, quirking a brow.

“Of course! The Spider Queen prefers stronger sacrifices, especially surface elves!” They paused, staring intently at him. “…perhaps you should be particularly careful while we are in the Underdark. I will not be the only one to see what a perfect sacrifice you would make…”

Astarion reached over, squeezing Tav’s shoulder hard enough to make them flinch.

“Darling, as flattered as I am, I must remind you that you asked me to point out when you stray toward streea rather than elghinn.”

“The difference being..?” Gale asked, brow furrowed.

“My understanding is streea indicates death in the name of queen or house, as opposed to the less fanatically charged elghinn.”

Tav nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Astarion.” They reached up, giving his hand a brief squeeze in return. “Sometimes I forget I now strive for death in my own name and on my own terms.”

Astarion would take what victories he could, though he hoped to help Tav break their ties to their sadistic goddess too. The mere mention of such last night sent the Drow into a near panic.

One step at a time.

“There’s something I meant to ask earlier,” Gale said. “If so much of the body is involved in the Silent Tongue, why do we only use one hand for this message?”

“Ah! It’s so, should the other be absent, you’re still able to communicate properly. You can use either hand, but since you all have both, I thought it wasn’t necessary to teach for both.”

Gale blanched. “…ah. Good to know. Yes, I can see why you recommend limiting interactions with others of your kind.”

“Precisely!” Tav considered him, frowning faintly. “Your errand. Is it the orb?”

Gale sighed, nodding. Astarion suddenly realized how exhausted the wizard looked. It annoyed him that was probably intentional on Gale’s part. He wouldn’t want the others to know about his condition, but more importantly (for the wizard at least) he wouldn’t want to worry anyone.

Idiot.

“I guess my Ring of Color Spray didn’t tide you over for long,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Tav, who at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Unfortunately, no,” Gale said. “My…hunger has been growing stronger and more frequent.”

“Well, I suppose if we must,” Astarion said, motioning for Gale to lead the way.

Tav rested a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to them, unsettled by the earnest look in their eyes. “Astarion, please be careful.”

“Of course, dear,” he answered, giving their hand a reassuring squeeze. The corners of Tav’s mouth quirked upward.

“Come along now,” Astarion said, smirking at Gale. “Though perhaps I should lead the way given your kind’s terrible eyesight.”

Gale snorted. “My kind? Wizards?”

“Humans,” he replied as he started off.

“I suppose you have a point.”

Astarion waited until they were a decent distance from the others before he spoke up again.

“So, we’re looking for a magical artefact? What, precisely, qualifies something as one?”

Gale considered the question. “Anything imbued with enough Weave to satisfy the orb.”

“Am I likely to recognize one on sight?”

“It depends. Sometimes the most innocuous enchanted object can be enough. I’ll be able to sense it though. While we have some potential items at camp, unfortunately they’re needed more for our communal survival than my own.”

Astarion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Now he knew what signs to look for, it was obvious the wizard was struggling. He leaned heavily on his staff and the hair at his temples was damp with sweat. In the odd bluish lighting of the Underdark, he had an almost corpse-like pallor.

Astarion was not carrying him all the way back if he lost consciousness.

“I have an idea,” he said as they reached the outskirts of what looked like a former village. “Why don’t you take a seat somewhere out of view and I’ll have a look around.”

Gale frowned. “You heard Tav, it would be unwise to split up even further.”

“What would be unwise is if you dropped like a felled tree and alerted everyone in the vicinity to our location,” Astarion retorted.

Gale didn’t look remotely pleased by his assessment.

“I’m a rogue, darling. I know how to be discreet. I can’t say that’s your forte at the best of times, let alone now. I’ll check back in every so often to assure you I haven’t been waylaid by a pack of fanatical spider cultists.”

Gale reached out, tentatively resting his hand on Astarion’s shoulder. Astarion reflexively tensed before he forcing himself to relax once more. Gale dipped his head, expression as serious as the bomb in his chest.

“What a perfect sacrifice you would make,” he intoned, lowering the pitch of his voice to mimic Tav’s.

Astarion stared back at him a long moment before slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the veritable hyena shriek that tried to escape.

Gale threw his head back and laughed right along with him.

“I cannot believe you just did that!” Astarion accused once he stopped cackling long enough to get words out.

Brushing tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes, Gale struggled to reign himself in too. “Apologies. I had to. I was beginning to think I’d have to knock Tav over the head to stop them from offering you up to Lolth on the spot.”

He gave a small shake of his head, grinning with full fang. “Perhaps I should trance with one eye open while we’re down here…”

Gale beamed back at him. “Though in all seriousness, if you insist on this course of action, at least allow me to provide you with some additional protections.”

“If you must,” Astarion drawled with a dismissive wave.

“Perhaps an invisibility spell?”

He shrugged, thoughts drifting to the cheap ring he always kept stowed in his pocket. It had a powerful enough obfuscation spell attached. He pulled it out, making Gale pause.

“What is that?”

Odd question. “What does it look like?”

“A powerful bit of magic. Is it something you found on our travels?”

Astarion glanced down at the tarnished little thing.

“Please, Astarion. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.” Leon had begged,

“You’ve plenty of other choices! Have Dalyria look her over if you’re so worried!”

He was livid that Leon had considered let alone actually come to him for such a favor. He spent as much time as possible avoiding the master and Leon had the gall to request he draw Cazador’s ire on purpose?

“I can’t,” Leon protested. “You’ve seen the way she looks at her. She’s nearly as bad as Violet.”

Astarion couldn’t argue with that, though there was something different with Dalyria’s regard. Like she was sizing Victoria up for something other than a meal.

“It’s your night with the master!” He was still healing from his own days before… “If you’re so desperate, ask one of the others!”

Leon’s jaw tightened. “You know why I’m asking you.”

Ah, here it was again. The other spawn insisted Cazador had a particular interest in him. Yes, Cazador said his screams sounded the sweetest, but that meant nothing as far as Astarion was concerned.

“Even Godey commented on it the other day,” Leon continued. “The master is different with you.”

“Different as in even more sadistic?” he spat.

“You’re the only one who can buy me enough time to take her to one of the healers.”

Astarion crouched defensively then, fangs bared. “I said no, Leon!”

“Astarion, she could die!”

“And be rid of this hell unlike the rest of us? You should be thrilled!”

The scent of magic hit the air and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Papa..?”

The building magic vanished in the span of a beat of the child’s heart. She stood in the doorway of the dormitory, leaning heavily against the frame.

Leon flew to her side. “Victoria, I told you to stay in bed!”

He scooped her up and she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, her unfocused gaze trying to land on Astarion. He glowered back at her. Good riddance. Szarr Palace was no place for a human child and a vampire spawn was no father for one.

“You said you’d tell me a story, but you didn’t come back,” she protested, voice soft.

“I know, sweetheart. Papa just needed to speak with Mr. Ancunin.”

That time she did meet Astarion’s eyes, her own fever bright. “He can listen too. Does he know the one about Catti-brie and how she got her sword Cutter? It’s a sword that can make good people do bad things. Like…like…” She trailed off, turning her head back toward the hall as though afraid the monster in question would hear her. Her arms tightened around Leon’s neck.

Leon stroked her back, murmuring words of comfort into her hair.

Cutter, Khazid’hea in the Drow language. It was an apt enough comparison for the compulsion Cazador controlled them all with, which was probably why Leon shared the story with her in the first place.

Not that any of them were “good” by any stretch of the imagination.

Astarion swallowed hard, fists tightening at his sides. He didn’t owe either of them a godsdamned thing.

Leon turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Astarion bit out before he could stop himself.

Leon paused, glancing back at him.

“If I were to do this. If. It won't be cheap. You know what you’re asking of me.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Name your price.”

“I want you to enchant something for me.”

“Such as?”

Astarion wracked his brain for a way to word the request without revealing too much in the process. “…an invisibility spell.”

Leon’s expression softened a touch, like he’d guessed why he wanted such a thing regardless. “Invisibility spells are only temporary, you realize? An obfuscation spell would be better.”

Leon was a dreadful negotiator. This was nothing like trying to make a deal with Yousen.

“An obfuscation spell then. I want it within the tenday. And you have to provide the item to be enchanted too.”

“I need him distracted until after sunrise.”

Astarion clenched his teeth, forcing back the wave of panic trying to rear up at the words. “It had better be a damned good spell, Leon. You don’t want me coming back for a refund.” He eyed the back of Victoria’s head as he spoke.

Leon tightened his arms around his daughter. “It will be. You have my word.”

His word wasn’t much, but it was all they could ever offer one another.

Astarion took a deep breath before he stalked out the door past them. He needed to find Cazador before he came back to his senses.

It had easily been one of the worst nights of his life, but the ring came in handy more times than he could count. It had brought him a sense of privacy and safety he never would have achieved otherwise under Cazador’s roof.

“Mind if I take a look?”

Astarion closed his hand around the ring. “Are you going to eat it?”

“For the last time, I don’t eat the artefacts, I absorb them! And I promised you I’d ask first, didn’t I?”

Astarion sighed, unfurling his fingers.

Gale gingerly took the ring from his hand, studying it in the dim light. “This is some fine work. There seems to be an underlying enchantment to further obfuscate the ring from magic users. Fascinating! Do you know the caster? I should like to meet them.”

“You probably will, though I don’t know if he’ll be inclined to speak with you.”

Not with Leon preoccupied by Cazador’s command to hunt him down, at any rate.

“Does it have a name?” Gale asked, handing the ring back.

“A name? No. Why?”

“Something as powerful as this usually does.”

Astarion considered before offering, “Xan'ss.”

“More Drow?”

He shrugged. “Seems fitting, given our present location.”

Gale considered him. “You know, there’s a series of books you might be interested in featuring the real life tales of a Drow ranger.”

Astarion went preternaturally still. “…oh?”

“Damned if I can remember the fellow’s name now though! It’ll come to me, I’m sure.”

Astarion released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…well, I suppose if you remember you’ll have to let me know.”

“Of course! Now, how about See Invisibility? Should be easy enough, and the Duergar are prone to those sorts of tricks.”

“All right. Cast away.”

Gale eased his weight from his staff. The scent of magic rose around him, though it smelled…different.

Wrong.

This was no lightning strike. This was pungent, almost bitter. Astarion wrinkled his nose when it began to burn rather than tickle. Gale’s magic washed over him, feeling more like an ominously damp blanket than the warm cocoon he’d come to associate with the wizard’s castings.

“Are you all right?” he asked as Gale sank against his staff in the aftermath.

“Fine. Where should I wait?”

“One of these ramshackle houses should be hidden enough, but let me check first.”

Astarion turned away from him only to freeze when he came face to face with a female Drow. Her blood red eyes bored into his and the corners of her lips crept upward into the specter of a smile

“Astarion?” Gale prompted behind him.

“My dalninuk isn’t right about many things, but he is right about you,” she said, her voice like the rasp of thorns against silk.

Dalninuk?

She reached forward, her gaze pinning him in place. Her warm hand came to rest against his cool cheek and he flinched, his eyes reflexively dropping to the ground.

There weren’t many aside from Cazador who could so effortlessly evoke this kind of response. Everything in him screamed to kneel at her feet in the hopes whatever pain she inflicted would be mercifully lessened in exchange for his obedience. It took all of Astarion’s fledgling self-worth to remain standing.

“I see someone trained you well, though I know it wasn’t Div’anam. There is one thing he’s wrong about though,” she said, tightly gripping his chin and turning his head slowly from one side to the other.

“You’re too pretty for a darthiir. I’d keep you as a xi’hum rather than waste you as an or’shanse. At least until you ceased to sate me. But you wouldn’t, would you? You’d be a good little rothe. I would keep you chained to my bed in nothing but a bera’lut and you would spend your days begging for so much as a scrap of affection…”

Astarion began to tremble, his thoughts grinding to a halt as a fog-like haze settled over his mind. He was sinking into it. It enshrouded him like Gale’s not-right spell had, muffling his senses and leaving only an uneasy numbness in its wake.

She looked past him to Gale, eyes narrowing. “I’d suggest you keep whatever spell you’re preparing to yourself, iblith.”

“Am’anis!”

The female drow released him and Astarion struggled to swim back up to the surface of his consciousness. He was vaguely aware of another rapidly approaching figure. He also sensed more than saw when the woman dropped whatever spell had kept her hidden.

“It’s Ilharess now, dalninuk.”

He knew that voice. Tav.

Tav came to a halt in front of her, their eyes widening before they quickly lowered in deference.

Dalninuk. Brother.

Gale wrapped his hand around Astarion’s upper arm, gently easing him back from the woman. Am’anis. Tav’s sister. The similarities in their features seemed obvious now, though hers were warped with euphoric maliciousness.

“You’ve spent far too much time from home, if you’re speaking without permission. Harl'il'cik.”

Tav’s knees hit the ground immediately and they didn’t react when Am’anis reached down to pull their cowl back. She backhanded them hard enough that they crumpled to the ground. Tav pulled themself upright and she struck them equally hard across the other side of their face. The scent of fresh blood made Astarion’s mouth water, even as his breathing quickened.

“Telanth,” she commanded.

Tav pulled themself upright again, dark bruises already beginning to blossom on their face. They bowed their head as they answered, “Vendui', Malla Ilharess.”

She cupped their cheek in much the same way she had Astarion’s. Her thumb dug into one of the bruises, but Tav leaned into her touch, a faint smile coming to their face.

“I missed you, dalninil,” they said, voice soft. “You were the hardest for me to leave behind.”

“I saw you teaching your herd of colnbluth how to pass as slaves of our House. You’ve grown soft. You should have begun removing fingers to encourage the speed of their learning.”

“I know.” Tav lifted their head, unshed tears glistening in their eyes.

She tsked. “You have always been too soft. You would have stayed if I had asked you then. You would stay now.”

A tear spilled down their ruined cheek. “...please, don’t ask me to.”

“You slaughtered those elg'caressen so beautifully,” she replied gleefully. “Their Houses still have not recovered, they may never return to their former glory! Mother was a fool to try to marry you off. She should have kept you in the sheath of House Hael’fein, ready to draw you at a moment’s notice.”

She brushed her thumb across their cheek, smearing the lingering tearstreak.

“Please, Velve,” Tav pleaded, voice catching.

“Only you could call me something so foolish and continue breathing,” she said. “I killed mother for myself, but also for you.”

“I know,” Tav sobbed. “I will never be able to repay you.”

“No, you won’t. You did me a great service when you killed those Matrons. For that, I will allow you and your colnbluth to return to the surface. However, if I find you down here again, I cannot guarantee I will let you leave a second time. I have missed you too much, Div’anam.” She leaned down, brushing her lips against their forehead.

“W-Will I ever see you again, dalninil?” As Tav spoke, they fisted their hands in the woman’s cloak, like a child would a security blanket.

“Perhaps,” she said, stroking their hair. “Send word first next time because I will not display weakness in front of the others. If anyone sees us together I will bring you to heel and you will return home.”

“I understand,” Tav insisted. “Asanque, Malla Ilharess. Aluve’.”

“Aluve’, dalninuk,” she replied before turning and vanishing from sight.

Astarion’s breathing finally settled, though he still felt shaken. Gale’s hand remained on his arm, reassuring rather than constricting.

“Who was that?” Gale asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tav’s sister,” Astarion answered, voice equally soft, so as not to disturb their Drow companion.

Tav had slumped forward onto all fours, their long white hair shielding their face from view. Silent tears fell like raindrops into the dirt below.

“Should we..?”

“I think they may need a moment.”

Gale nodded. “...are you all right? I couldn’t see what was happening, but I could hear her...”

Astarion wrapped his arms around himself, staring in the direction she’d gone. “I’ve read about Drow women, but this was the first time I’ve met one. I think it’s safe to say I have no desire to run into another. The sooner we’re back on the surface, the better.”

“Agreed,” Gale said as he withdrew his hand.

Astarion glanced toward him, noting his skin had taken on a greenish tinge. The wizard’s hair was plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck with sweat. The stench he’d come to associate with the orb surrounded him now even though he didn’t seem to be using any magic.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. Didn’t do more.”

“More what? Like throwing a fireball at someone you couldn’t even see? I enjoy my eyebrows right where they are, thank you.”

Gale shook his head. “She was hurting you and I felt powerless. Between the invisibility and my current state, I was afraid of doing more harm than good. Regardless, I should have done something. What if Tav hadn’t come along..? …do you think they’re all like that? I’ve heard stories, but…”

“No, I don’t think so,” Astarion answered, watching as Tav slowly rocked back into a seated position. “From what I understand, the Drow don’t typically have such strong familial bonds.”

The wizard gaped at him. “What?”

“I’d say the two of them are unusually close for siblings.”

“She beat them! She threatened to kidnap and weaponize them!”

“But she didn’t,” Astarion said. Not that it endeared him to the sadistic bitch.

Far from it, in fact.

“She threatened you! Threatened to…to–”

“There’s a difference between windowshopping and sampling the merchandise, darling,” Astarion replied in a put on drawl. “It sounds as if she started following us before we parted ways with the others. If she truly intended to act on what she said, I don’t believe we’d still be standing here, do you?”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Astarion cocked his head. “Do what?”

Gale frowned, brow furrowing with what looked suspiciously like concern. “Refer to yourself like that. Like you’re something to be bought and sold.”

Astarion very nearly laughed in his face. Bold of him to assume gold had changed hands as far as his “services” were concerned.

That wasn’t entirely true though, was it? There had been a handful of occasions where he’d gone down on his knees out of his own necessity. Cazador wasn’t the type to give his spawn pocket money after all. Astarion had, thankfully, quickly graduated to pickpocketing and outright theft.

“I’m serious, Astarion. Your worth doesn’t lie in the services you provide to others. It’s something you foster within yourself and, if those around you are lucky, something you share with them. You’re quick-witted, immeasurably skilled, and I’d wager you aren’t nearly as selfish as you’d like others to believe.”

He’d just begun to feel more like himself, and now Gale was determined to throw him off kilter all over again.

“You must really be ill if you think I’m not twice as selfish as I let on.”

Gale looked as though he wanted to protest, but he blessedly let the subject drop.

“I may need to sit down a moment before we return to the others,” Gale said, easing himself onto a nearby boulder. He hesitated before asking, “Did you catch much of what they were saying?”

Astarion took a seat beside him. “Bits and pieces. I believe you got the gist of what she said to me. She referred to you as a piece of shit. Tav called her something like…honored mother? She mentioned Tav killed some… Hm. I’m not entirely certain how the word translates into Common. Bitches? Cunts? Something along those lines. I’m assuming matrons of other houses. And Tav affectionately referred to their sister as a “dagger”.”

“I inferred more than I thought then. With family like that, who needs enemies?”

He shrugged. “She can rot in the hells for all I care, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy her dedication to her sibling.”

He couldn’t imagine any of his so-called siblings ever standing up to Cazador on his behalf. They were all too busy trying not to draw their master’s attention. He reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the cool bronze of the ring.

Leon never would have made him something like it if he hadn’t been desperate to help his daughter.

Gale’s weight shifted, his side gradually pressing against Astarion’s. Looking far more put together than they had moments before, Tav strode over and tentatively rested a hand on the wizard’s forehead.

“He’s burning up,” they said, voice rough with emotion. “Were you able to find anything before my sister came along?”

“We didn’t have a chance to look. Is there anything back at camp we can spare? He did mention he could explode if he lost control of the orb...”

“I’m sure we could find something,” Tav said. “I’ll have to look through our supplies.”

“I am still here, you realize?” Gale cut in weakly. “I don’t think we have the luxury of parting with any of our equipment. At least not until we’re back aboveground.”

“Even if we left now, it would take us a few days to reach one of the exits. Can you hold out for so long? No offense, but we need everyone at full strength if we’re going to make it back out alive. We need your magic,” Tav insisted.

Astarion pulled the ring from his pocket, dropping it into Gale’s palm. Gale sucked in a sharp breath.

“Astarion, I–”

“Consider it a small price to pay to get us out of this godsforsaken place,” Astarion said, hoping he only imagined the slight quaver in his voice.

“But it’s your Xan'ss.”

“Xan’ss?” Tav echoed. “Word?”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me then, won’t you? Unless you think you can’t produce something of similar quality…”

“I should hex you for that,” Gale retorted. “..are you certain?”

“I suggest you eat it before I change my mind. You still owe me for the Ring of Color Spray too. I’ll add both to your tab.”

The wizard huffed out a laugh. “You have my xan’ss too then.”

“And now I’ve changed my mind. Give it back. Enjoy your detonation.”

Gale smiled warmly back at him. “I did tell you I’m right about most things, didn’t I?”

“I’d say it’s exceedingly selfish of me to not want to be murdered in the Underdark or to die via spontaneous combustion.”

“Nevertheless, I thank you for your contribution,” Gale answered as the ring began to glow.

The hint of the purple symbol on Gale’s chest Astarion had, up to this point, assumed was a tattoo also began to glow. Gale closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he thrust the hand with the ring toward his chest. If the wizard hadn’t been sitting, Astarion got the impression he would have staggered backward from the sudden rush of wind and magic swirling around him. The scent of the orb briefly spiked before diminishing into almost nothing.

Gale’s color immediately improved and the shadows all but vanished from beneath his eyes. He sat up straighter, sighing contentedly.

“I must admit, I’m disappointed I didn’t get to watch you try to chew it up with those square little teeth of yours,” Astarion said.

Tav laughed, some of the tension easing from their shoulders. “I thought that was what he was going to do when I gave him a sword a while back. I was disappointed too.”

“My sincerest apologies for not realizing I needed to learn sword swallowing techniques to satisfy you both in return for your contributions.” Gale said with a roll of his eyes.

Astarion met Tav’s gaze and they both burst out laughing that time.

“…that isn’t what I meant and you both know it,” Gale grumbled, absently rubbing his beard as he stood. “If you’re through laughing at my expense, perhaps we should head back?”

Astarion stood too, stretching in the process. “Yes, I suppose so. We don’t want Tav’s sister to have a change of heart, after all.”

Tav’s expression sobered. “She won’t. Not right now, anyway. Regardless, it would be wise for us to finish our business here quickly.”

“You don’t have to obey her,” Gale offered, voice gentle.

“It isn’t obedience, Gale,” Tav protested. “It’s respect.” They paused. “…and love. Am’anis loves me too. She has every right to force me to return with her. She also has every right to punish me far more severely than she did for talking out of turn.”

They reached up to pull their cowl back in place, though it didn’t hide the fresh tears forming in their eyes. “She’s always been there for me. We’ve shared a special bond since before we were born. She’s my twin, my older sister by several minutes.“

“What did I tell you, darling? The Drow have a very different family dynamic from what you’re accustomed to. Though I wager the closeness of their bond is considered abnormal amongst their kind.”

Tav nodded. “She would have been punished for being so lenient with me.”

Gale’s mouth remained set in a grim line as they started back the way they had come. He didn’t expect the wizard to understand, but at least he knew well enough to let the subject drop. Tav seemed equally grateful.

With each step back toward the others, Astarion shook off the remainder of his disquiet, able to rejoin them at camp without any indication whatsoever of the events of their little trip.

Chapter Text

Gale remained on high alert after their run-in with Tav’s sister in the Underdark. Seeing how effortlessly she shattered Astarion and Tav’s well-fortified defenses rattled him. Thankfully they saw very few other living (albeit briefly) Drow during their remaining time below the surface. Primarily Nere, whose head Tav gleefully lopped off, and Dhourn, who Tav was equally enthusiastic about killing.

The only Drow Tav invited into their party was Xargrim, the dead man they found beyond the Guardian Gate. Gale hadn’t been upset when the reanimated corpse was knocked off a cliff during their fight with the Spectator. To each their own, but he didn’t care much for necromancy outside of an academic interest.

He didn’t manage a good night’s sleep until they returned to the surface and he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t revisit the Underdark any time soon.

From there, they journeyed to the Rosymorn Monastery, now Crèche Y’llek.

Well. It had been Crèche Y’llek. Lae’zel was as eager to dispatch of her fellow Githyanki as Tav once she learned of Vlaakith’s deception.

Gale was doing his best not to tally up the number of vengeful gods they left in their wake. Any time his thoughts strayed too long in that direction, he found himself struggling to sleep again. He could only hope their future endeavors would be far less religiously fraught.

Then again, he was beginning to wonder if they may be in the running to become Bhaal’s Chosen with how many corpses they also left behind. …if Tav and Astarion didn’t try to kill the god if they ever met, of course. He was growing increasingly concerned there were fanatical Bhaalists out there with far less blood on their hands.

Whatever happened to the cozy evenings he spent reading to Tara by the fire in Waterdeep? They felt so far away now, almost as if they were part of someone else’s life…

Though he supposed he was in a way. The old Gale had been snuffed out the moment he accidentally absorbed the orb. He’d lost his status as Mystra’s Chosen, his relationship with her, his life, his destiny, and his future in one fell swoop.

All he had left was the bomb in his chest and the Illithid tadpole in his skull.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. If he was honest with himself, which he tried to be, his relationship with Mystra had been waning prior to the incident with the orb. He’d seen less and less of her, watching helplessly as she slipped from his life like grains of sand through his fingers.

Their interactions became relegated solely to physical intimacy. Even then she felt distant. Like those brief moments were something she allowed him to perform for her rather than something she was equally invested in. Gone were the days they basked together in mutual afterglow. Instead, the instant she achieved her release, she sent him away saying she had other matters to attend to. It was as if the only thing she considered him useful for anymore was an impersonal tryst. He began to dread the encounters. She felt like a stranger and it became increasingly difficult for him to ‘show up’ as it were. Instead, he settled into just servicing her, hoping if he stuck around a little longer, she might come to care for him again.

Tara had warned him long before he finally began to see the signs. Well, Tara and Elminster. Elminster knew Mystra far better than most, having had a similar relationship with her centuries before. Gale tried not to think about that fact too much.

His mother had never liked Mystra, which always struck Gale as odd. Who wouldn’t want a literal goddess for a daughter-in-law? True, Mystra wasn’t the type for traditional marriage, but the principle still stood. He’d insisted on the two of them meeting when their relationship became more serious. Just a short visit to his mother’s home.

Mystra had looked shockingly out of place amidst all of his mother’s homey touches as she wended her way through the organized chaos of the little house’s common areas. His mother was a bit of a clutter bug, but she deeply cared for every item that graced her home. Nearly every piece had some story or memory attached to it.

“This is the charmed unbreakable plate my gran once slammed onto the table during a fight with my grandad. It split right down the middle. The shopkeeper they bought it from was stunned when they brought it back to him. He was able to repair it, but if you look closely you can still see the discoloration from where it broke.”

Gale, just a boy then, held the plate this way and that until he spotted the imperfection. “But if it was broken, why didn’t they throw it away and get a new one?”

“Some broken things are worth fixing. The plate was part of a set my grandad gave her for an anniversary gift. Gran was a bit clumsy and was always breaking things. She scolded him for spending too much on tableware, but he’d insisted they’d wind up spending even more over time if she kept breaking everything she touched.”

“If it’s unbreakable, why did it break?” he asked, looking up at her. She smiled as she so often did while kneading dough. His mother was a prolific baker.

“Gran wasn’t a magic user, but you know we have some sorcerers in our family line. Their best guess was her latent magical abilities were triggered by her emotions and they proved stronger than the charm on the plate.”

“She must have been really powerful,” he surmised as he set it back on the counter.

Another memory had bubbled up when Mystra stopped to look at the windchimes hanging in the corner of the living room, rather than out in the small garden.

“Aren’t those supposed to be outside? There’s no wind inside!”

His mother looked up from the book she was reading by the fire. “The windchimes?”

Gale nodded. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could just barely reach the kite shaped piece of wood tied to the center string. He batted at it with his fingertips, grinning as the tinkling of bells filled the air.

“Normally, yes. But I like to bring them inside on windier days. They hang beside your father’s office window, you know? He says he can’t work with them rattling away all day.”

Gale glanced toward the door of his father’s study. It was closed, per usual. Night had long since fallen, but he hadn’t come out. His mother had taken him his dinner separately and then collected the dishes when he finished.

“But you like them, don’t you?” Gale protested. “You love music!”

She smiled. “I do. Sometimes you have to compromise though. You have to take others’ feelings into consideration.”

“He should just wear earplugs. Or cast a silencing spell,” Gale answered, once more batting at the windcatcher. “It’s so pretty, mum! How could he not like it?”

“Your father can be sensitive to some sounds. Much like how you don’t like wool socks or peas.”

Gale wrinkled his nose. “Wool socks are itchy and peas are mushy! Any time you put peas in something, they’re all I can taste! I know you tried to hide some in the pot pie we had for dinner!”

“I know you know. I found them all huddled together on your otherwise empty plate.”

He huffed. “Tara doesn’t like them either. One day I’m gonna learn how to magic them away and then you’ll never find them!”

She laughed, the sound as pleasing to his ears as the tinkling of the chimes. “I’ll save you the trouble and accept it’s a losing battle to get you to eat peas.”

He grinned, turning back to her. “Really?! No more peas?”

She rested a hand over her heart. “I swear it. No more peas.”

He was so delighted that he wanted to do something for her in return, though he didn’t know what.

And then the chimes moved of their own accord.

“Morena!” his father called, voice muffled from behind his door. “The whole reason I asked you to bring those blasted things inside was so I could concentrate!”

His mother’s eyes widened, her hand leaping to her mouth. “Gale, did you do that?”

She’d always looked at him like this in his early days with magic, her expression a mixture of pride, awe, and joy. She

had some latent magical abilities too, like her gran, but never really pursued them. His father, a wizard, was the true magic user in their home.

“Morena!” His father opened the door, scowling. “Did you hear me?”

She turned to him, beaming. “I did, dear. It looks as though our little wizard learned a new spell.”

His father strode over then, watching as the chimes rang again of their own accord. “Of course he did,” he grumbled, studying them intently.

“What spell is it, Gale?”

He shrugged. “I dunno! What kind of spell does it look like?”

The longer his father stared at the chimes, the deeper his frown became.

He spent days trying to figure out how to silence the windchimes before finally giving up and casting a silencing spell over the corner, much to Gale’s disappointment. He was sure his mother was disappointed too, though she never said as much.

When his father left them, Gale had immediately removed the silencing spell. The chimes still rang to this day at irregular intervals.

“Is this something you did?” Mystra had asked as she perused them.

Gale smiled. “Yes. My father was never able to figure out how to stop them.”

She reached up, taking hold of the windcatcher. “I suppose I can see why. It is not a difficult spell, but it certainly is not something you would find in a textbook.”

Gale felt her call upon the Weave and, before he could protest, the magic from his childhood faded away.

“There. I do not know how you put up with that noise for so long.”

His mother frowned as she brought a fresh pot of tea from the kitchen. “I quite liked the sound. It’s always made me feel like a part of Gale was still here with me, even when he was leagues away.”

Mystra made a noncommittal noise in return as she continued her exploration of the room.

She’d been perfectly polite, albeit reserved. The same was true of his mother. Gale tried his best to bridge the conversational gaps to no avail. Mystra hadn’t lingered much longer and never touched the tea or the delicate pastries his mother had spent so much time making.

“Does she make you happy?” his mother had asked after the goddess’s departure.

“Of course! I wouldn’t be with her if she didn’t.”

“I’m not sure what I was expecting,” she said, staring down into her third cup of tea, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. “Does she treat you well?”

“How do you mean?”

She looked up, gaze drifting to the now silent windchimes. “Do you feel as though you can be yourself with her?”

Not the easiest question to answer. Mystra always encouraged his scholarly pursuits and they had many lively discussions about the theories and applications of magic. But she wasn’t interested in discussing the more mundane aspects of his life. Why would she be? She was a literal goddess of magic with aeons behind her. Why would she care about things like what he had for breakfast or the new bookshop in town?

He had friends for that, and of course his mother. She was always happy to indulge him when he waxed poetic about food and the everyday joys of his life in Waterdeep. He didn’t want to bore Mystra with mortal banalities like those. She’d no doubt lost count of the books she’d read, the places she’d visited, and the things she’d eaten over the years.

“She is a goddess, you know?” he deflected.

“So you’ve said.” He was unable to interpret the meaning behind the small frown his answer elicited. “Just remember it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. That there’s nothing wrong with asking someone to meet you halfway.”

She’d asked him to restore his spell on the windchimes before he left that evening.

Tara was right. He’d spent too much time with Mystra and not enough with his family or friends. He forgot what it was like to be surrounded by others with mortal cares and concerns. Cooking for his newfound companions and seeing the looks on their faces as they reveled in his mother’s recipes brought him more joy than he could have ever imagined. He’d spent hours in the kitchen with her while growing up, but rarely had time to engage in culinary pursuits once he began his magical studies in earnest.

He’d been so alone after the incident with the orb, largely by his own doing. He’d let his boyhood friendships languish as his relationship with Mystra deepened. When she cut ties with him he felt like he had no one to turn to and only had himself to blame. Though, even if he’d diligently cultivated those bonds, he didn’t know if he would have sought any of his friends out. They all knew him as the prodigy of Waterdeep and Mystra’s Chosen. How could he face any of them after he lost her favor all because of his own arrogance?

Knowing he was responsible for the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with the goddess hadn’t made her rejection hurt any less. She’d cast him aside, leaving him to sort through the mess on his own. He’d hoped she would understand why he pursued the scrap of Weave in the first place. He tried to explain he’d done it for her. He’d expected her to be angry, but never imagined she would cut all ties with him. At the very least, he thought she would help him figure out what to do next, while secretly hoping she could just use her powers to save him.

She’d done neither. Instead she’d left him to his fate without so much as a second thought.

He’d spent decades of his life with her. Had planned his entire future around her. Yet she’d left him with nothing but the ever present reminder he had ruined both their relationship and his life with one single stupid mistake. He’d retreated to his tower in Waterdeep and, despite his protests, Tara joined him. She’d helped him find magical artefacts to keep the orb at bay while they searched together for a cure.

It had been the lowest point in his life.

As horrible as the additional threat of becoming a Mind Flayer was, Gale was grateful to have met his new friends. They were an odd bunch, but being with them felt almost as good as being home. Yes, he valued his solitude and being around so many people was overwhelming in the beginning, but they’d all stopped feeling like people long ago and now felt more like family. His early days of retreating to his tent to escape the cacophony of sights, scents, and sounds were long behind him. Now the riot of colorful tents, the smells of weapons oil and smoke, and the near constant chatter were fond reminders he was no longer alone.

“If you keep daydreaming, you’re liable to walk right off a cliff,” Astarion said, sidling up to him.

Gale snorted softly. “Believe you me, I always try to keep my surroundings in focus even if I’m woolgathering.”

Astarion cocked his head to one side. “Oh? And how many times did you run into something while reading before you learned that lesson?”

Gale’s cheeks warmed and he pursed his lips.

The vampire smirked, all fang.

Gale was relieved to see Astarion had bounced back from the encounter in the Underdark. Tav had taken a little longer, melancholy lingering over them like a dark shroud. He guessed it was because they missed their sister, even if he struggled to understand why. Yes, he knew the two were close by “Drow standards,” but he couldn’t fathom allowing that closeness to outweigh the pain she so readily inflicted. He struggled to view their disturbing sibling dynamic as anything but familial abuse, regardless of cultural nuance.

It had also deeply unsettled him to see how easily Astarion had fallen back into what appeared to be old habit. If he hadn’t been there, if Tav hadn’t found them, what would have happened? He’d been in no shape to fight off a Drow, let alone an invisible one.

Why hadn’t Astarion reacted the way he had in the Goblin Camp? It seemed so instinctual for him then, but he hadn’t even reached for his blade this time. Maybe this, too, was…instinctual?

How many times had Astarion been put in a similar situation that he gave up so readily? No, gave up wasn’t the right turn of phrase. If Gale had to guess, he’d reacted the safest way he’d known how, much like Tav. Whatever had gotten them through the horrors they faced with as little pain and suffering as possible. Little seemed like an understatement there too. What had been done to them that readily acquiescing to such violent possibilities seemed like the best option?

He’d hated seeing Astarion like that. Silent, still. It was similar to how he acted when they spoke by the fire about The Curse of the Vampyr, but worse. There it seemed as though the threat was only in his memory. With Tav’s sister, the physical threat had been imminent, destined to become another row of bricks on the foundation of the atrocities he’d already suffered.

He was startled from his thoughts again when Karlach spoke up ahead, concern in her voice. “Oh, no, someone’s grandad is lost. We should help him.”

Gale peered around her shoulder, eyes widening. He’d know that vermillion hat and that long silver hair anywhere. Elminster!

Their brief reunion went worse than he’d feared. As nice as it was to see his old friend’s familiar face, the message he brought from Mystra had effortlessly reopened the wound Gale thought was finally starting to scab over. He found himself happier to see Elminster leave their camp than he felt upon initially spotting him.

They made camp earlier than planned at Elminster’s request, though evening had quickly fallen by the time Gale finished speaking with the archmage. Karlach insisted he stay the night (had she referred to him as his grandad?), but Elminister was equally insistent he must be on his way.

Needing a moment to himself, Gale strayed to the edge of camp, staring out at the all-consuming darkness of the Shadow-Cursed Lands only a mile or so away. He didn’t know how long he sat by himself before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He jerked back in alarm, hand flying toward his staff. Astarion arched an unconcerned brow from where he sat beside him.

“Gods above!” Gale blurted, hand changing course to hover just above his heart. “How long have you been lurking there?!”

“Lurking? And here I thought I was just lounging.”

He certainly looked the part, hands resting in the grass behind him as he leaned back, returning his attention to the stars.

Gale scowled and he relented.

“Hmm, ten or fifteen minutes, perhaps?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

He shrugged. “You seemed lost in thought. I imagine you have a lot to think about, given your ex-lover sent that ancient fuck to oh so politely ask you to kill yourself.”

Not the way Gale would have phrased it, but he supposed he couldn’t argue with his interpretation.

“Ah, yes. That.”

“You said he was a friend of yours?” Astarion continued. “If he’s your friend, I’d hate to see who you consider an enemy.” He paused, considering his words a moment before adding, “I don’t like him.”

The statement caught Gale off guard. “What?”

“Your Elminster. Your goddess’s errand boy.” His lip curled and Gale recalled the way Astarion’s hand came to rest with feigned nonchalance over the hilt of his dagger when he first caught sight of the wizard.

“He’s not an errand boy. He’s the most famed and respected wizard in the realms.”

“So you said earlier.

“What’s not to like?”

Astarion tipped his head back as regarded him. For someone who didn’t actually need to sleep, he looked oddly tired.

“Where do I begin? He bitched incessantly about going out of his way to find you and immediately demanded to be fed, though I’m fairly certain he was one of those…what do you call it?” He pursed his lips. “Simulacrums.”

Gale blinked. “You caught that?”

Astarion snorted delicately. “Powerful as he may be, I doubt he’d smell solely of magic.”

“Hang on, you can smell magic?”

“Don’t go all Karlach on me.”

Gale shifted so he could fully face him. “You can’t just say something like you can smell magic and not expect me to want more details.”

“For your book? You realize you won’t be able to pen it if you aren’t alive to do so. I’m certainly not going to do it on your behalf. All that knowledge will be trapped in whatever bits of you, if any, are left behind.”

Gale felt an odd pang at the words despite the way Astarion so breezily spoke them.

Had he come there to…comfort him?

“May I continue?”

Gale nodded, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“He forced you to wait to hear what he had to say, even though he knew the impact it would have on you.”

“...I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him,” Gale protested. “It wasn’t happy news.”

Astarion made a sound of derision he would’ve been horrified to learn made him sound like Lae’zel.

“He couldn’t even do you the decency of coming himself, and no doubt he’s had plenty of time to think on how to say it. Gods, the man is insufferable when he speaks. I see now where you get it from.”

Gale laughed despite the roiling emotions in his gut. “You’re hardly one to talk!”

“At least what I say is interesting. And I don’t beat around the bush. Listening to the two of you converse was like trying to read the dictionary backwards. My head still hurts.”

“Thanks for that. Elminster is a very important man. I doubt he has the time to pay me a direct visit himself.”

“You would’ve made the time, were your roles reversed.”

He said it so softly, Gale almost missed the words.

“You’ve a Lolth-sworn Drow, a cleric of Shar, a Tiefling certifiably sans heart, a Githyanki warrior, and a Warlock who made a literal deal with a devil, all of whom you barely know, who would lay down their lives for you at a moment’s notice. And yet two of the people who should care the most about you can’t be bothered to do a damned thing aside from cheerfully suggest you go off and kill yourself.”

“They wouldn’t have suggested it if it wasn’t–”

Astarion rounded on him, eyes blazing. “It was an asinine thing to ask! How do they know it would even work? They’re actively playing into your hero complex and desire to make amends in an attempt to force your hand! How is this any different from the choice Mizora gave Wyll when he was at his most desperate? Would you say that was fair of her to do too?”

Gale flinched at the venom in his words. “He did it to save lives–”

“What about his own life?!” Astarion demanded. “Who was there to save him? None of the people he traded his soul for, that’s for damned sure!” That’s the problem with all of you idealistic idiots! You never once stop to think about yourselves!”

He leaned forward, jabbing him in the chest to punctuate his next words. “Mystra, Shar, Lolth, Vlaakith! They’re all the same! They don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves and yet they ask you all to smile fondly as you walk backwards into the hells to do their dirty work for them. They expect you to do it with fanatical love in your hearts and their names reverently on your lips! No matter how much it costs you!”

Gale winced, rubbing at the spot just above his heart in the aftermath. Astarion glowered back at him, as if daring him to disagree. He considered his next words very carefully.

“And what if it did save us all? Save all of Faerun, for that matter?”

“You can’t be saved if you’re fucking dead,” he snapped, lurching to his feet. “She didn’t even know about the Absolute before, Gale. All she revealed is she could have eased the burden of the orb from the beginning but she chose not to. People like the gods and your precious Elminster are the same as people like Cazador and Raphael. The only difference is the latter don’t pretend otherwise! Who gives a damn if it’s frowned upon to meddle in mortal affairs? I fail to see how that’s any different from fucking one! Actually, the only difference seems to be that it doesn't personally benefit her to intervene on your behalf!”

Astarion turned on his heel and stormed off in the direction of his tent, leaving Gale unsure if he wanted to thank him or hex him. Either way, he didn’t follow him. Instead he forced his unconsciously clenched fists to loosen and tried to calm the storm of emotions simmering just beneath his skin.

That was all easy for Astarion to say. He didn’t have fealty to any of the gods. He didn’t know what it was like to be their Chosen! To have the very essence of the Weave at his fingertips!

“Just remember it’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Easier said than done, especially with the fate of the realms hanging in the balance. What was one life, his life, compared to the countless others he could save with his sacrifice? He would be forever remembered as the hero who gave his life to stop the Cult of the Absolute. He would be absolved in Mystra’s eyes. He could finally make amends for his reckless lapse in judgment. He’d been seriously considering it after speaking with Elminster.

And yet, all of a sudden, detonating the orb felt like the worst decision he could possibly make.

Chapter Text

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were every bit as dreadful as they sounded. Even worse, in a sudden fit of religious fervor, Tav called their Drider guide-to-be a “damned creature,” an “abomination,” and “an insult to their queen.”

Kar'niss then added further fuel to the metaphorical fire, calling Lolth a “spider bitch.”

The Goblins tried and failed to deescalate the situation, which might have been hilarious under different circumstances. Instead the whole fiasco resulted in one of their more difficult fights by far.

Courtesy of the aforementioned and now dearly departed abomination.

And Tav. Couldn’t forget their contribution! If they’d just taken a few deep breaths and/or consulted with the rest of the party, all of this might have been avoided. They really needed to have another chat about the differences between streea and elghinn and why the Drow wasn’t supposed to be partaking in the former anymore…

The bulk of their supplies were destroyed in the melee, but at least they received a fun little bell for all their trouble!

Worst of all, the desolate wasteland made Astarion feel like he was back in the crypt beneath Szarr Palace. He ached to feel the sun once more on his face. He’d only basked in its rays a few months now, but at present he would give almost anything just to catch another glimpse of it.

Halsin warned them the vast majority of the Shadow-Cursed Lands inhabitants would be dead or undead. Astarion had planned to ask Tav for a nibble here and there, but how could he with the party rationing their remaining food?

He might’ve drained the Goblins or the Drider, if only they hadn’t burnt to a crisp in the literal fire along with their supplies…

Well, the Goblins and supplies that hadn’t fallen over the cliff, anyway, all of which were equally unreachable. Gale and Shadowheart tried to recover something, anything, with their magic but the pit inside at the back of the Goblin’s temporary camp may as well be bottomless.

It was difficult to tell how many days had passed since they entered this godsforsaken darkness. Even when Astarion was back in Baldur’s Gate, his activities limited to the night, he could still gauge the passing of time. This felt like one long unending night in comparison.

It was a stark reminder of his fate should he lose the tadpole.

They’d also been amply warned about the lack of light, but apparently no one thought to mention the godsdamned cold. It wasn’t a simple chill in the air either. The curse leached every ounce of warmth from them. Astarion felt like he was trying to stay afloat in a lukewarm body of water, his body heat constantly siphoned away by the currents.

It seemed an apt enough comparison. Even if the only experience he’d had with bodies of water after being turned was of the torture variety. It felt like acid on his skin. Almost worse than being flayed.

Almost.

As a newborn, Astarion had wondered why Cazador bothered to outsource so much of their punishment to Godey. He quickly realized it was because the sadistic bag of bones didn’t have the same sensitivities as a vampire. Cazador couldn’t have physically forced his head into a stream, for example.

He could have ordered Astarion to do it himself, but then he’d be left with nothing but a dead vampire spawn for all his trouble.

No, the only thing he had to gauge how long they spent in the Shadow-Cursed Lands was his growing thirst.

Thirst itself wasn’t new to him. Cazador knew a hungry dog was an obedient dog. Astarion was forced to teach himself how often he actually needed to feed to be in peak condition after his escape. Once every three days seemed sufficient, if he was able to drink down something larger. Smaller, more frequent blood meals also sufficed, though they weren’t nearly as satisfying.

The wildlife grew sparser the closer they got to the dead lands and his last meal prior to crossing into them was a sickly rabbit he put out of its misery.

He would’ve much preferred to drain Gale’s beloved Elminster, but Gale would’ve been opposed regardless of the fact the old fool only showed up to tell him his ex-lover would ever so much appreciate it if he would kill himself. Though he supposed if he was a simulacrum like they guessed, it didn’t have any blood to let.

Mystra’s directive was precisely why Astarion wanted nothing to do with the gods. He’d learned about as many as he could over the centuries, begging them all for mercy at his lowest moments in naive desperation. None answered. They were just like Cazador, interested only in using their powers for their own gain. Why anyone bothered to worship them was beyond him. The Mind Flayers had done more for him than any god when it came to his escape from Cazador, regardless of the fact they intended to force him into their own form of enslavement.

Under Cazador, at least he still had his own mind to retreat to. While he didn’t think the Mind Flayers practiced Cazador’s particular brand of torture, the knowledge he could lose that last bastion of himself had him unable to trance some nights.

Fuck Mystra. Fuck the Mind Flayers. And, most of all, fuck Cazador.

Yes, Astarion was intimately familiar with how his body reacted to the different stages of starvation. Moodiness came first, followed by fatigue. His tongue would feel heavy in his increasingly dry mouth. His throat would begin to burn and his gums would ache. His wounds took longer to heal. His skin became dry and more prone to breaking. He lost weight quickly, ribs becoming more pronounced and his eyes sinking back into his skull.

Somehow it was worse now he finally knew what it was like to not be thirsty all the time. For the first time in centuries, he knew what it was like to drink his fill.

A few months ago, he doubted he would’ve had many compunctions about grabbing one of the others and drinking them dry. He’d felt almost feral then. Without Cazador’s compulsion keeping him in check, he drank himself silly more than once. It was probably only the leftover fear thaf made him choose the boar for his first meal after the crash rather than something more humanoid. Once the initial desperation passed, his head cleared and he was able to keep himself in check.

Minus a moment of weakness with Tav, of course. But the fateful encounter turned out far better than he could have hoped.

It was so strange to be in a position where any of his traveling companions would likely open a vein for him now, yet he actively chose to suffer rather than ask.

What happened to him over these past few months to make him willingly decide to go without?

With so much to worry about, including their own needs, Astarion was able to avoid scrutiny from the others. He played his part well, albeit a little more quietly than usual. It was difficult to think of memorable witticisms when he was too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

Until he inevitably slipped up and walked directly into Gale’s back, nearly sending himself and the wizard tumbling to the ground.

By the time Astarion registered what happened, he was blinking owlishly up at the wizard who kept them both upright via the hands wrapped firmly around his biceps.

Astarion thought Gale might be saying his name. His lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. He was just so relieved he didn’t have to focus on keeping himself upright for a moment. The shadows in the corners of his eyes began to eclipse his vision and his disjointed thoughts scattered to the wind as he sank into the other man in a way he never would have were he in his right mind.

The next thing he knew, he was jerking upright and spluttering, his mouth filled with the taste of bitter bile.

“--all right?”

The sudden panic gripping him eased when he registered the blue hue of Gale’s tent. He’d never been inside it before, but it was as familiar to him as his own. The wizard sat beside him, face oddly pallid in the dim light. The arm around Astarion’s waist loosened, no longer needed to help him stay seated. The sleeve on Gale’s other arm was rolled up to his elbow, his wrist baring the distinct markings of a vampire bite. And, since Astarion hadn’t yet sealed the wound, blood continued to flow from it, threatening to seep into Gale’s robes if it didn’t stop.

Astarion shot him a disapproving look before taking his and lifting it to his lips, brushing his tongue across the broken skin to simultaneously clear the trail of blood and close the wound. It was all he could not to gag at the taste.

While he hadn’t sampled many humanoids aside from Tav and during battle (now everyone knew his bloody little secret), he’d never tasted anything like this.

What in the hells was wrong with him?

Thankfully he didn’t blurt out the stupid question. Of course it was due to the Netherese orb. Astarion tried very hard not to think what it might be doing to the rest of the wizard if it had already tainted his blood so thoroughly.

Gale’s imminent demise from exsanguination avoided, he could now focus on the next most pressing matter at hand.

“Do you have a death wish?!” He all but shouted, voice shooting up an octave with his outrage.

Gale arched a brow as he stared calmly back at him. “Not any more than usual, though I am still considering Mystra’s request.”

“Hang her request! What sort of idiot offers himself up to a starving vampire?!”

“Ah, so that’s your concern.”

“Of course that’s my concern! I very well could have taken everything you had! Where are the others?! I need to yell at them too!”

He immediately looked around as if he could spot them through the tent walls. He didn’t hear or smell them either…

“I suspect they’re still exploring the nearby ruins.”

Astarion ignored his mounting desire to kill Gale on purpose now for being so godsdamned reckless. Instead he settled for jabbing him in the sternum.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“For being a stupid twit! I could have killed you!”

“But you didn’t.”

No, Astarion changed his mind. He WAS going to kill him. He was going to hurl Gale off the first cliff they came across, raise him from the dead, and then do it all over again for good measure.

“Never do that again!”

Gale’s expression sobered, his brows knitting together as his gaze dropped to his lap. “I apologize, I didn’t intended to force it on you, but–”

Astarion’s eyes flashed and he lurched forward, grabbing the front of Gale’s robes in both hands and giving him a shake hard enough to rattle the wizard’s teeth. “Never put yourself in danger like that again! Especially where I am concerned!”

Gale reached up, gently wrapping his warm hands around Astarion’s icy ones.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died yourself, you realize?” he coaxed.

Did he hear himself? Did he know how ridiculous he sounded?

“No, I wouldn’t have! If there is anything vampires are good at, it’s survival! Lack of blood won’t kill me. If it was possible, I would have died long ago!”

The time Cazador had kept him entombed for an entire year, for instance.

“Noted. Not exactly something The Curse of the Vampyr delved into, in my defense. I also find it concerning you’ve gone without so many times.”

He had the nerve to give Astarion’s hand a squeeze to punctuate the statement. Was it pity? Had the tadpole burrowed too deeply into the part of Gale’s brain tasked with self-preservation?

…was he just that genuinely altruistic?

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to shove your godsdamned hat down your fucking throat!”

Gale promptly closed his mouth, though the look he gave him implied he was doing so under duress.

It took Astarion a moment to force down the anger threatening to consume him and, even once he began to think somewhat clearly, he didn’t release his death grip on Gale’s robes.

“What would we all have done without you?” Astarion finally demanded.

What would he have done without him?

The burning in his throat now had nothing to do with his slaked thirst.

Gale’s features softened as he stared back at him. Reaching up, he gently cupped his cheek. The palm of his hand almost burned with how deeply the cold had seeped into Astarion over the past few days.

He’d miscalculated his thirst, a mistake he wouldn’t make again. He overestimated how much there would be for him to feed on as they approached this accursed place. He’d also underestimated how much fighting they’d have to do once there. He assumed it would be similar to the Underdark, the only other extraordinarily dangerous place he’d visited.

Minus home, of course.

Combat wasn’t new to him. Cazador often pitted him and his siblings against each other. He enjoyed watching them fight to the brink of death. The winner received a rat to feed on while the loser’s punishment was left to Godey.

Astarion had become very good at defending himself against the only fucking people who didn’t matter. While he hadn’t been as proficient at delivering Cazador’s preferred blood meals, he’d arguably been his most skilled fighter.

His victories were always short lived, as Cazador’s other appetites became insatiable after. Astarion wasn’t sure what his former master liked more, his “sweet screams” or asserting his dominance over his “champion” while Astarion was still injured and bloodied. No matter how decisive his victory, Cazador never failed to remind him of how helpless he truly was.

Prolonged fighting against more than six opponents, however, was new and unfamiliar. He burned through his reserves so quickly now.

“You’re doing it again,” Gale said, thumb brushing featherlight across Astarion’s cheek.

He blinked, gaze refocusing on the wizard’s chestnut colored eyes. He’d thought them uninteresting mere weeks ago, but now he struggled to look away.

“Doing what again?”

“You get this faraway look. Like you’re somewhere else. Somewhere that isn’t…” He pursed his lips. “Somewhere I don’t want you to be. It always seems to upset you.”

Astarion blinked again. “You’re still touching me.”

“Do you want me to stop? I thought you might pull away if you did, but I wasn’t sure.”

“I…don’t know.”

Gale smiled softly, continuing to gently stroke his cheek. “Just say the word and I will. Or we can stay like this for a little longer, until you’re sure.”

Astarion didn’t know how to reply to that either, so he didn’t.

“I had no idea you were so concerned with my well-being,” Gale continued.

He huffed, scowling. “Well, now you know. I hope you also know how serious I am about you never doing that again, you damned fool.”

“I’ll try. But I want you to try too.”

“Try what?” he demanded.

“To let us know when you’re in need. To let me know.”

“To what end? No one has had enough to eat for days. Asking for something to tide me over would only make it worse.”

“You forget there are several of us. I imagine we’re all able to donate, barring perhaps Karlach. We can share the load.”

He paused, eyes searching Astarion’s with an intensity he couldnt begin to understand. “You seemed…different the past day or so. It took me entirely too long to realize why. Then I thought I was watching the life slip from you… ”

Astarion finally glanced away. “...thank you.”

The corners of Gale’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Of course. Happy to be of service.”

“There you are!” Tav suddenly called from just outside. “Everything all right?” The tent flap twitched back as they poked their head in. Seeing the two of them seated so close together, their brows shot up and a mischievous grin cut across their face.

Astarion narrowed his eyes back at them. Tav had taken far too great an interest in his dealings with the wizard as of late. He was beginning to suspect it was the real reason they’d volunteered him for Gale’s errand in the Underdark.

All because he’d made exactly one blood drunk remark about how Gale’s smile reminded him of the sunrise. Once he “sobered up,” he couldn’t even recall what he’d meant by the remark.

“All is well! I felt a bit faint and Astarion was kind enough to help me set up my tent so I could recover.”

Astarion gave him a sideways look, but remained silent.

“May as well bed down for the night,” Tav said. “You should keep resting. We’ll handle dinner. I’ll bring you some once it’s done. Astarion, keep an eye on him, will you?”

Tav didn’t wait for a reply, the flap fluttering closed as they went to collect the others.

“If you weren’t feeling faint before, I’d imagine you certainly are now,” Astarion shot back at Gale.

Gale chuckled. “Truthfully? I don’t believe I could stand right now even if I wanted to.”

“Then you should probably lay down instead of doing…whatever this is.”

“Probably,” he agreed, not moving so much as an inch.

“Do you…need anything? Water?”

Gale shook his head. “I’m a little cold, but that’s all.”

Astarion could relate. Even with Gale’s blood taking the edge off his own chill, he was hardly much warmer. His skin was cooler to the touch than most, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He lifted his face from Gale’s hand, earning a frown from the wizard that came and went so fast he almost missed it.

Astarion splayed his hand across Gale’s chest, easing him back onto the bedroll.

“Astarion, I–”

“Shut up,” he said almost cheerfully as he pulled the blankets up over the both of them.

He hesitated, feeling oddly out of his element despite his proficiency in the carnal arts. This wasn’t carnal though. Maybe that was the problem..? But Gale, the nonsensical saint he was, had gone out of his way to help him. This couldn’t be that different. The end result must be somewhat similar.

He scooched further down the length of the bedroll, propping himself up on one elbow as he considered the best approach. Gale stared at him, eyebrows raised in silent question. His face was just the slightest bit red. Astarion hoped he wasn’t becoming feverish. As if he didn’t feel guilty enough already…

He hated being indebted to anyone. Especially someone like him. Gale wouldn’t even have the decency to hold it over his head. No, he’d insist there was nothing to pay back and then Astarion would feel EVEN GUILTIER, the bastard.

He nudged him, flicking his wrist in silent command. Gale slowly rolled onto his side, facing away from him. It felt…strange, but he tentatively slipped his arm around the other man’s waist as he settled behind him.

“Astarion?”

“I believe I told you to shut up. Get some rest. I’ll wake you when Tav returns.”

It wasn’t until Gale nodded off that Astarion felt comfortable wrapping his arm more securely around his waist. Gods, he was so warm. For the first time since they entered the Shadow-Cursed Lands, he felt like he found a hint of sun in the unending darkness. He fought back the ridiculous urge to bury his face into the nape of the wizard’s neck and wrap himself around him like a second skin to soak up as much of his warmth as possible.

Thankfully, his resulting sneeze from such close proximity to his concentrated magic didn’t rouse Gale.

Chapter Text

The Last Light Inn was a welcome reprieve after so much time under the Shadow Curse. For the first time since they entered the desolate wasteland, they were able to marginally let down their collective guard.

After Jaheira tried and failed to slip Tav truth serum, that is.

The familiar faces from the Emerald Grove felt like a homecoming of sorts. Seeing Raphael though…

“You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.”

Gale would never forget the fleeting look on Astarion’s face when the devil bared his scars for all to see. Anger, shock and, worst of all, resignation. Astarion had hinted at the sorts of duties Cazador forced on him, but Gale felt he had a much better understanding now. Astarion recovered quickly, had pretended to be unconcerned by how he’d been so publicly exposed.

But Gale knew.

His grip on his staff had been so tight, he half expected to see the indents of his fingers in the wood. He’d wanted to throw everything he had at the devil, but it would have been suicide.

“My old - well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”

Of course Cazador was the “artist”. From the brief glimpse Gale saw, the runes appeared to be in Infernal. Karlach looked horrified upon seeing them.

The pale elf vanished immediately after the encounter, returning only when everyone else turned in for the night.

Gale looked up when he saw him hovering in the doorway.

“Tav said you divvied up a few rooms and I’m supposed to share with you.”

“Yes, with so many of the Tieflings present, we’ve had to double up. I hope you don’t mind.”

Astarion stepped into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked over to the dresser at the foot of the second bed, setting his backpack down on the floor and using the small washbasin there to clean up. Gale was acutely aware how the mirror on the wall in front of him remained empty.

Ablutions complete, Astarion began to change out of his armor and Gale returned his attention to the book in his hands to afford him some privacy.

“What are you reading now?” Astarion prompted, almost like an afterthought.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he answered, glancing at the book’s cover. “The True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow: Volume One. Oddly enough, I know a Tenebrux Morrow from back in Waterdeep. I’d thought it a rather unique name, but maybe not.”

Astarion turned to study the cover as he finished unfastening his gauntlets. Gale got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh at him, though he couldn’t fathom why.

“I’ve heard of those. Is there any mention of her encounter with the dark master of Braovia?”

Gale skimmed the next few pages, brow furrowing. “No, I don’t believe so. I’ve just gotten to the part where the captain details the unfortunate passing of Norls.”

“Ah, yes, the poor dear. Where did you find the book?”

“Downstairs. One of the Tieflings recommended it to Lae’zel. She demanded they remove it from her sight, so I took it. I can’t imagine why. I’d have thought she’d be interested in a book about the Astral Plane.”

Astarion covered his mouth and quickly turned away, an odd cough escaping him.

Gale narrowed his eyes at his back. “Are you all right?”

“Fine!” he answered with a bit too much conviction. “Perhaps we can discuss it with her in the morning.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, setting the book on the bedside table. “You’ve read it then?”

“I have.” As he spoke, he removed his glossy black corslet and the linen liner underneath, revealing the dozens of lurid scars on his back.

Yet another thing he hadn’t trusted Gale with. Or any of the others, except probably Tav.

For some reason, the thought made him frown.

“Astarion?”

He glanced back over his shoulder at him, catching his line of sight. “Oh. Well, now you’ve seen them, there doesn’t seem to be much point in hiding them anymore.”

“You didn’t have to. Hide them, I mean. Or you still can if it makes you more comfortable.”

“I know. It’s just…I don’t exactly enjoy flaunting them. Though it’s far easier to change and wash up when I’m not trying to hide the damned things.”

Gale hesitated before hazarding, “Why..?”

Astarion’s lip curled back from his fangs. “Because he could. He…enjoyed carving poetry into our flesh. He said there was no better artform. That it reminded him of home. Though it appears this wasn’t a verse for once...”

“Tell me you didn’t—“

“No, Karlach offered after she saw them earlier. I suppose I could have asked her sooner, but…” He trailed off, frowning.

“It isn’t something you felt like flaunting?” Gale supplied.

“Precisely. And I didn’t realize the marks were Infernal.” He turned where he stood, back now facing the mirror though the glass remained empty. “From what she could determine, it seems like a fragment from a larger text. It may be part of an Infernal pact.”

“An Infernal pact?” Gale’s stomach sank at the thought. “But why would he need to involve you?”

“I haven’t the slightest. I hadn’t thought him the sort to make deals with devils, but I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always craved power. I imagine a devil could supply quite a bit of it.”

“But in return for what..?” Gale murmured, more to himself than to Astarion.

“Perhaps it’s something I could ask Raphael.”

“I can’t say I recommend that course of action. While we may have leverage in regard to his other interests, I don’t believe we do for this. If you truly desire to enter into a bargain with him, I hope you’ll discuss it with us all first. No one here wants to see you hurt. And we all know what Wyll’s endured because of his pact with Mizora.”

Astarion didn’t immediately answer, instead pulling his white shirt on over his head. Finally he offered, “I’ll consider it.”

It wasn’t the promise Gale hoped for, but it would have to do for now. He watched as Astarion sank onto the other bed. Though the inn’s amenities weren’t the finest, they were a far cry better than their bedrolls and the cold hard ground.

A sudden movement in the direction of Astarion’s things made Gale jump. He watched, dumbfounded, as the cat from downstairs climbed out of Astarion’s pack, stretching lazily.

“Is that His Majesty?”

Astarion glanced over as the cat stalked toward him. His Majesty gave Gale a condescending look before leaping up onto Astarion’s bed.

“I gave him some milk and promised to hide him from Tav,” Astarion answered as His Majesty surveyed his new kingdom, weighing his options on where best to declare his throne.

“Hide him from Tav?”

“They’ve never seen a hairless cat before. They thought he was ill at first, but then went on a diatribe about wanting to respect the creature’s boundaries while also desperately wanting to pet him. I didn’t need Speak With Animals to know how the cat felt about it all. I’ve vowed to protect Tav from themself, since they hope to eventually win him over.”

Gale smiled. “I see. How very kind of you.”

Astarion wrinkled his nose, eyes sliding closed as he lay back against his pillows.

“I take it you’re a cat person then?”

“I’m not an anything person.”

Gale was inclined to disagree, smiling as His Majesty curled up against the vampire’s side. Astarion, eyes still closed, obligingly draped the blanket over the cat, leaving only His Majesty’s small nose visible. Scratch and the Owlbear Cub had begun to receive similar treatment when he thought no one was watching.

“I know it’s not the same, but I just want to say I know what it feels like to have something forced upon you.”

Astarion cracked an eye open, rolling over so his cheek rested on his outstretched arm. “What?”

“Regarding your scars. It’s not the same thing, but when the Netherese magic bound itself to me, I felt…violated. Ashamed. Embarrassed.”

Astarion opened his mouth to reply, but Gale hurried on.

“I’m not saying you felt the same, I’m simply describing my own experience. I wondered how it could have happened to me, what others would think if they knew. What it meant for me. How it stripped me of my life and my agency.

“Mystra wasn’t pleased. Neither was Elminster. Not knowing what would happen, I left everything behind and returned to Waterdeep, holing myself up in my tower with only Tara for company.”

Astarion opened both eyes now. “Tara..? I don’t believe you’ve mentioned a Tara before.”

“I haven’t? We go way back, though I haven’t seen her since I left Waterdeep.”

Astarion’s lips thinned. “Oh?”

“Oh, yes. She’s my dearest companion. I wonder how she’s doing… Perhaps spending time with mother.”

Astarion, apparently sensing this was bound to be a longer conversation, propped his head up on his hand. His expression was oddly unreadable. “Well, that does sound serious.”

“Serious? How so?”

“She’s met your mother.”

Gale’s brow furrowed. “Of course she has. I conjured her when I was only ten.”

Astarion’s brows crept toward his hairline. “Pardon?”

“My parents wouldn’t let me have a kitten, so I conjured her.”

Astarion blinked.

“Did I forget to mention Tara is a Tressym?”

Astarion let out a bark of laughter and His Majesty poked his head out from underneath the blanket to shoot him a disapproving glare.

Astarion gently stroked his back through the blanket. “Apologies, love. It won’t happen again.”

Seemingly satisfied, His Majesty retreated once more into his royal chambers.

“I should have known you were talking about a cat,” Astarion said with a faint smile, the strange heaviness in his expression abruptly vanishing.

“She’s more than a cat. We belong to one another.”

“I’m sure you do. So your mother is still alive?”

“Yes, though I haven’t been to visit her in quite some time. Perhaps I’ll have a chance when all of this is over and done with.”

Gale hadn’t thought much of home since he accidentally absorbed the orb. Not until those memories with his mother resurfaced the other day.

Mystra had sent Elminster to ask him to detonate the orb, to kill himself in the hopes of maybe taking the Elder Brain and the Absolute with him.

Yet as he’d sat there contemplating her request, he hadn’t thought about the pros of sacrificing himself for the sake of others or about finally having a clear path to forgiveness as far as Mystra was concerned. If she’d asked the same a few months ago, he feared he would have followed through with her request with only a brief internal debate.

Tara would have tried to stop him, of course. Would have likely enlisted the help of his mother to do so. Would he have held strong to his decision as they pleaded for him to reconsider? While the wound Mystra left was still so fresh and raw?

Probably… Back then he would have done anything to right his great wrong. Anything to win back even a scrap of Mystra’s favor. Because who was he without her?

She’d been a constant in his life in one way or another since he first felt the call of the Weave. She’d been his goddess, his muse, his teacher, and his lover. He’d reshaped and reformed himself around her, trying to mold himself into her perfect companion.

And yet she’d abandoned him when he needed her most. He had given her everything and she’d given back…

Nothing.

She could have helped temper the orb sooner, but she hadn’t. Not until she wanted something from him. Not until she thought him useful again.

Instead, after being approached by Elminster…no, Elminster’s simulacrum, memories of his mother had bubbled up. Memories of her teaching him what a real relationship should be, of her asking him if Mystra had made him happy, of him defending Mystra despite how miserable he’d been with her…

He had been miserable, hadn’t he? Trapped in a relationship where only he ever seemed to put in any real effort.

Astarion was right. If their roles had been reversed, he would have helped Mystra in any way he could. He would have stayed by her side and tried to help her find a cure.

Suddenly he envisioned a different introduction all those years ago. A silver haired man weaving through his childhood home and meeting his mother.

What would Astarion have thought of the windchimes..?

“Gale?”

Gale blinked, refocusing his attention on the actual Astarion right in front of him. Judging by his expression and the pinch of annoyance in his voice, it wasn’t the first time he’d said his name.

Astarion, who’d been tortured for centuries by a sadistic master. Astarion who tried to deflect any positive interpretations of his actions. Astarion who had already risked his life countless times to keep him and the others safe.

Astarion who sat silently by his side while the weight of Mystra’s request crashed down on him. He hadn’t even realized he was there, that he wasn’t facing the orb and his destiny alone again. Not until Astarion had moved and shaved a few years off his life in the process.

Astarion, who Gale was beginning to struggle imagining a life without…

Nothing was beyond the gods’ powers. Mystra could help someone like Astarion as easily as she turned the page of a book. But the gods weren’t interested in helping someone like Astarion. He’d only attracted the attention of a Devil with his plight.

If Mystra loved him, if she’d ever loved him, would she do something so simple for his friend?

No. She wouldn’t.

Funny how easy it was to accept her leaving him to his own fate, but resenting her for something he’d never even asked her, for someone she’d never even met.

“Are you there?” Astarion drawled, waving his free hand in Gale’s direction. “Have you fallen asleep with your eyes open?”

Gale blinked back the sudden moisture in said eyes and tried to clear his throat of the unexpected lump in it. “What?” he croaked.

“You did, didn’t you! If you were that tired, you should have said so! Can’t have the great wizard of Waterdeep dead on his feet.”

“I wasn’t asleep. My mind was elsewhere. What is it?”

“I asked about your father.”

Ah. Him. “Can’t remember the last time I saw him. He and my mother parted ways while I was still at Blackstaff. What about you? Do you have any family?”

The light in Astarion’s eyes dimmed and his gaze dropped to the lump under the blanket now snoring far more loudly than a cat his size should be capable of.

“Only my so-called sisters and brothers. The other spawn. Cazador made sure of it.”

Shit. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Astarion’s voice grew softer, barely above a whisper. “Sometimes…Sometimes I like to think they’re still back at home, having forgotten all about their wayward son. …sometimes I like to pretend I remember what they looked like while they were still alive…”

Gale swung his legs off the side of the bed and made his way over to him, kneeling down beside Astarion’s.

Astarion closed his eyes, breathing slowly in through his nose and then out through his mouth. While he did so, Gale gently took his hand in his, thumb brushing against its cool back.

“...you’d think it would get easier,” Astarion murmured. “That eventually you could move past such a thing. Could leave it behind you. That at some point it would all be too much and you could just…stop feeling anything.”

“I know what you mean,” Gale offered, voice equally soft. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. It was thoughtless of me.”

Astarion gave a brittle laugh. “You don’t bring up bad memories. Most, if not all, of the good memories I have are from our travels together. I’m over two hundred years old, and yet sometimes I feel as if I’ve only just begun living.”

Gale wanted to be there for him now in his grief, even if he was two centuries too late. He hadn’t known him long, but he had a feeling Astarion wouldn’t appreciate such a sentiment right now. Not when Gale doubted he’d intended to share something so personal. Not when it seemed he wanted to pivot so readily back to the present and happier times.

He could relate. He’d never thought being infected with a Mind Flayer tadpole would be one of the best things that ever happened to him, and yet here he was. He, too, felt like he’d only just begun living.

“Well, here’s to two hundred plus more,” Gale offered, smiling faintly. “Perhaps once we’ve dealt with our little stowaways, I can take you to meet Tara and my mother.”

Astarion’s eyes slid open again and he stared deeply into Gale’s, searching them. He huffed out a laugh.

“Ah, yes, mother dearest, may I introduce you to my murderous little vampire friend? You’ll give the poor woman a heart attack.”

“She’s made of stronger stuff than that. After all, she’s dealt with all my wayward attempts at magic over the years. You know about Tara, but I haven’t told you yet about the Magma Mephit or the Death Slaad.”

“And here I’d thought you were boring,” Astarion drawled. Something shifted in his expression as he lifted his free hand to the nape of Gale’s neck, nimble fingers weaving through the fine hairs there.

“Tara would like you,” Gale insisted, leaning closer.

“Oh? And why is that?” Astarion asked, his cool breath fanning across Gale’s cheek.

“She hated how isolated I became after what happened with the orb. She didn’t want me to be alone.”

“Then it sounds as though she’ll like everyone in our merry band of weirdos.”

“I mean you, specifically,” Gale answered, their lips nearly brushing.

When had he gotten so close?

Astarion suddenly drew back, his fingers ghosting along Gale’s neck while that damned resigned look from downstairs returned to his face.

Gale leaned back too, brow furrowing. “...is something wrong?”

“I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

Astarion gestured between them. “Whatever…this is. I’m not… I’ve never…”

It took everything Gale had not to interject. Instead, he forced himself to stay silent as he waited for Astarion to continue.

“I don’t…” Astarion let out a hard breath. “I’m not the sort of person you want to get involved with, Dekarios. I can’t give you what you’ll ultimately want.”

What he’ll ultimately want?

“Which is..?”

“I’d have to be blind not to see what breaking things off with your goddess did to you. I know your type. I can’t offer you stability or longevity.”

Gale considered this, though he didn’t retreat back to his side of the room. Instead, he continued to kneel by Astarion’s bed, staring up at him as he tried to make sense of everything he wasn’t saying.

Astarion had looked resigned before, but now he looked…

Now he looked afraid.

“And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.”

Astarion hadn’t mentioned anything beyond physical and psychological abuse, but Gale was convinced nothing was off the table as far as Cazador was concerned. He had no doubt Cazador had taken everything from the pale elf, especially after what happened with Tav’s sister in the Underdark.

Gale had told Astarion all those months ago, back when they’d discussed Fringe Philosophy Volume V, that he was the type to love rarely but deeply. He’d wondered if Astarion was the same, had told him he knew he put on a show when it came to his lewd advances.

What else had Cazador forced on him?

“It’s all right,” Gale insisted. “I understand. It wasn’t my intention to pressure you or make you feel uncomfortable. Even so, I don’t believe you give yourself enough credit. You’re so much more than what he made you. What he did to you.

“Yes, it’s true I’m not liberal with my affections and I don’t desire often. But if you’d like to pursue something more, even if it’s only companionship, I understand completely. I also understand if you would like to keep things between us strictly platonic and friendly. However, if this is something you would like to try, I am open to see wherever it may lead.”

Astarion stared silently back at him with such an intensity Gale was half convinced he was examining his soul.

“You mean that?” he finally asked.

“Of course. Who knows, perhaps we’ll both come to realize we’re better friends than anything else? And I’m more than happy to allow you to set the pace, if you’d like to see where this apparent spark between us leads.”

Astarion leaned forward again, eyes dropping to Gale’s lips.

This time, Gale was the one to gingerly cup the back of his head, Astarion’s silky curls lapping at his skin. Astarion hesitated only a moment longer before closing the remaining distance between them and pressing their lips together.

His mouth was as cool to the touch as the rest of him. He tasted like the sweet wines Gale now knew he favored. Though Astarion didn’t deepen the kiss further, when he finally withdrew he kept his forehead resting against Gale’s.

Gale absently ran his fingers through his hair, blunt nails rubbing every so often against his scalp.

Astarion’s eyes slid closed as he leaned into his touch with a soft, pleased sigh.

He fleetingly wondered if the rumors he’d heard of elf ears being particularly sensitive were true, but this didn’t seem like the time or the place to conduct such research.

“If I ever do anything you aren’t comfortable with, please let me know,” he murmured.

“I’ll…try,” Astarion answered, eyes opening once more. “We…should get some rest.”

Gale smiled as he made to stand, wincing when his knees protested after his prolonged crouch.

Astarion smirked back at him. “Having trouble, old man?”

“Who are you calling old?” Gale retorted, returning to his own bed.

“Oh, I’m still rather young for an elf.”

Neither of them commented on how he always would be.

Thankfully, Gale’s knees were in a much better mood the next morning when they joined the others for breakfast.

At Astarion’s suggestion, he asked Lae’zel if she’d ever met Tenebrux Morrow in the Astral Plane.

Gale was left bewildered and wearing his eggs.

Astarion took pity on him and used a handkerchief to help clean him up, laughing the whole time.

Chapter Text

Of course as soon as Astarion had begun…whatever this was with Gale, all hells broke loose. The Tiefling brat playing Lanceboard with Raphael had been abducted and they were now tasked with saving her and helping kill off a supposed immortal. At this point, there wasn’t much that surprised him. There was, however, plenty that annoyed him.

They left the Last Light Inn not even twenty-four hours after his conversation with Gale. He’d hoped they could spend more time together, feeling out the strange new bond between them. Meanwhile, the coward in him rejoiced.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Gale he didn’t know what he was doing. All those years seducing hundreds if not thousands of targets had done nothing to prepare him for one wizard with mousy hair and no concept of what fiction was.

Gods, how he’d laughed when Lae’zel threw her breakfast at him.

His mirth was short lived when he recalled how badly his tongue had gotten away from him that evening.

He confided far more in Gale than intended. Than he ever had to anyone else, barring Tav. He’d started to wonder if the wine he’d imbibed in after his humiliation at Raphael’s hands was spiked with Jaheira’s truth serum.

Unfortunately not.

Gale had been vulnerable with him and he’d responded in kind, against his better judgment. He’d never spoken of what happened to his parents with anyone before. Not even Tav.

How they came to Baldur’s Gate to bury their son and never left…

Cazador insisted they be a true family. That meant tying up loose ends. As far as Astarion was aware, Victoria was the only exception, a constant reminder of what they all had lost and what Leon still stood to lose.

He hadn’t thought of his parents in decades. Why did he have to now?

Whatever happened between him and Gale, he would never meet the wizard’s mother or his cat. This wouldn’t last, even if some pathetically foolish part of him wanted to pretend it might. He wasn’t capable of a relationship like that.

Especially with someone as guileless as Gale.

At best, maybe Astarion could help him move on from the abominable goddess he’d been involved with before.

At worst? Astarion tried not to think about it. He’d left enough broken things in his wake.

Most importantly, he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone like Gale. For anyone, for that matter. He’d have some fun, try not to reopen Gale’s emotional wounds, and then move on.

He used to want to be something more. The kind of person someone like Gale could see a future with. He long ago accepted that would never be the case after he led countless dreamers just like Gale to their demise.

For once things didn’t have to end that way. This time he could walk away. This time he would walk away.

A first kiss. A last dance. A darling boy.

He felt the prick of his nails as they dug into his palms. He took a few slow, deep breaths as he forced an unexpected wave of emotion down.

He had centuries of practice, so why was this always so damned hard? Why couldn’t he just forget? It’s not as if he would have led them to their fate if he hadn’t been enslaved by Cazador.

As much as he tried to smother the part of him that…may have cared what happened to them all, their faces always came back to torment him.

“Are you all right?”

Astarion glanced up, meeting the wizard’s soft chestnut colored eyes. Worry lines sat above them.

Worry about him?

“Of course, darling. Never better,” he answered, flashing a superficial smile that only deepened the aforementioned worry lines.

Gods, why did Gale constantly see past his defenses? Was he losing his touch?

Was he letting too much of his real self show?

Whatever that was…

Darker thoughts and memories flourished here under the Shadow-Curse with no sunlight to help him keep them at bay. He needed to spend more time focusing on what was actually going on in front of him. He needed to stop letting it get to him.

Astarion turned from Gale, forcing himself to focus on their surroundings.

Oh, wonderful. They were in a graveyard.

That certainly wasn’t going to help as far as his bad memories were concerned.

“I wonder how many of the Shadows we’ve come across are buried here,” Gale mused. “I suppose it depends on how quickly the curse took them, as to whether or not they received proper burials…”

“Proper burials are overrated,” Astarion answered, scowling at one of the many tombstones.

He felt Gale’s eyes on him but refused to look in his direction.

Why couldn’t he just keep his fucking mouth shut?

“Is that a hospital?” Shadowheart wondered ahead of them.

Astarion’s brows swept up. “Well, they were brimming with confidence when they chose the location, weren’t they? Or do you think the graveyard came after?”

“You do have a point there,” Gale said, chuckling as they cautiously circled the building.

Its stone paved walkway led them to a solitary wooden door. Gale reached for its handle, but Astarion caught his wrist before he could open it.

“We’re not alone. Someone’s inside. I can hear them.”

Gale released the doorknob. “Is that a vampire thing? The heightened senses?”

Astarion snorted. “What was on the pages of that Vampyr book? Were they all blank?”

“I did say it read like an old wives tale. The author mentioned the possibility, but I feel the need to conduct my own research on the topic. I don’t believe it’s the most reliable of sources.”

“Please tell me you don’t intend to pen a manuscript of your own on the subject.”

Gale grinned. “No promises, but if I do, I swear to keep your secret safe. And to let you proofread, of course.”

“I don’t know if you can afford my services. Hang on, where’s Tav?”

As soon as he spoke the words, the door in front of them opened courtesy of the Drow themself.

“It’s safe enough,” Tav said, stepping back to let them inside. “The…nurses don’t seem inclined to attack at present.”

The familiar scents of the dead and undead came as Astarion stepped inside. Cloying and repulsive all at once. Judging from the concentration of the undead scent, there were quite a few “nurses” present.

“I suspect they must feel right at home,” Astarion said, gesturing back in the direction they’d come from.

The room was in a similar state of disrepair to the rest of the structures they’d found so far, excluding the Last Light Inn. Clearly there were no undead members of the cleaning staff...

The smell of old blood hung in the air like a haze, threatening to turn his stomach. What a waste, especially when there was so little to be had here.

Astarion tilted his head, sniffing delicately.

No, not all of it was old. There was fresh blood being spilled somewhere. Human blood. It called to him, to his very essence, promising to fill the unending void inside him. The void the vermin Cazador fed him had never responded to. The only thing that ever sated it was blood from a “thinking creature,” which was likely why Cazador forbade his spawn from feeding on them in the first place.

Gale’s blood had tided him over, vile as it was, but his thirst was already beginning to grow again and Astarion took a brief step toward the scent before catching himself.

“What is it?” Gale asked, turning in the direction Astarion stared.

A panicked scream rang out. Gale and the others charged in its direction, Astarion quick at their heels.

They ran down a ramp streaked with old blood and through another set of doors, coming to a sudden halt at the edge of a theater of some kind. Tiered seating crept up the walls of the room, all of the chairs empty. A screaming patient was strapped to a gurney at center stage.

Nurses surrounded the patient, watching intently as a blue skinned, bespectacled man with metal claws for hands monologued at them.

“See how the patient reacts when I but stroke the right nerve. Hear its comfort. Hear the melody of mercy. Pray, sister, show us…”

Astarion didn’t hear the rest of what he said. His vision grew dark around the edges as he watched one of the nurses step forward and plunge a scalpel into the patient.

The man’s voice droned calmly in the background, gradually becoming more audible and chillingly familiar.

Astarion was no longer in the medical theater. He was back home, standing in the crypt. He was younger then. Not fresh from the grave, but not entirely broken yet either.

Cazador sat in a throne-like chair, its rich red fabric a stark contrast to the gloom and bleakness surrounding them. There were only three spawn then. The third was new. A Tiefling.

Though Cazador had them hunt for the less missing in Baldur’s Gate, he insisted on having spawn from more illustrious backgrounds. He’d been a magistrate, the first a doctor. No doubt this one had some level of prestige or skill too.

Cazador could have anyone he wanted, but where was the fun in that? He much preferred stealing someone in the prime of their life, gleefully snuffing out the endless potential before them. Astarion never set foot in his own office again after he was turned. Now he only used those skills when it suited his master to review contracts and handle his legal matters.

Just as he used Dalyria’s knowledge of anatomy and physiology to refine his torture techniques and to gauge when they were on the brink of death. Or worse, to determine when he could subject them further agony without permanently breaking his toys. Even oblivion was denied them.

Cazador mentioned wanting a spell caster. Maybe the Tiefling was one?

“Daydreaming again?”

Cazador was suddenly beside him, his fingers brushing almost tenderly through Astarion’s hair. He tightened them, jerking his head in his direction. Astarion bit back a cry, immediately dropping his gaze in deference.

“No, master.”

“Do not lie to me, boy,” he snapped, fangs bared. “I have decided to personally see to your education and this is how you repay me?”

“My sincerest apologies, master.”

He released his grip, trailing his fingers along the side of Astarion’s face until he cupped his cheek.

Astarion tensed, but didn’t hesitate. He leaned into his touch, forcing down the bile threatening to rise in his bone dry throat.

“You are lucky I am in such a generous mood,” Cazador answered, thumb brushing across his lower lip. “If you behave, perhaps I will allow you to properly beg my forgiveness after we finish the lesson.”

“Th-Thank you, master,” he answered, suppressing a shudder.

“Now, where were we?” he said as he retook his seat.

Astarion’s gaze dropped to the dagger he held in his hand. He’d wasted so much time his first few years trying to break the compulsion preventing him from running a blade like this straight through Cazador’s putrid heart.

He hadn’t been a fighter before he fell beneath Cazador’s thrall, having only received rudimentary lessons in swordsmanship and archery as a child. His training had been utterly useless when the Gur cornered him. Cazador had honed him into a deadly weapon since then. If he’d run into the Gur now, he could have dispatched them on his own with little trouble. Under Cazador’s compulsion, the dagger was as deadly to the vampire lord as a darning needle.

He forced his attention back to the Tiefling. The telltale glow of Cazador’s control radiating across her garnet skin and in her eyes. She stood ramrod straight, a far cry from the fetal position she’d been in on the icy stone floor when Astarion first arrived. She had climbed to her feet when commanded, shoulders hunching forward as if she could shield herself from the horrors to come.

Astarion wanted to warn her not to slouch. If they’d been alone, he might have. With Cazador present, he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn’t his place to teach her. Why should he care whether or not she was disciplined? She would learn soon enough.

She’d yet to make a sound, but tears hadn’t stopped streaming from her eyes. Cazador must not have bled her again yet if she had so much moisture to spare. His own eyes were so dry he swore he felt his lids scrape across them every time he blinked.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Cazador said it made him look ugly and punished him for it unless he served his tears with screams.

He certainly wouldn’t cry when Cazador inevitably told him to turn the blade on himself. The Tiefling would watch in horror as he cut himself to ribbons at Cazador’s request. Then she would be forced to do the same. If she was smart, she’d do it without being compelled.

She didn’t look particularly smart.

“Cut her.”

The dull haze settling over his thoughts, meant to numb him from the worst of this, vanished in an instant.

“What?” The word left his lips before he could stop it. “Master,” he quickly added, nearly biting his own tongue off in his hurry to correct the error.

“Do not make me repeat myself, boy.”

Astarion’s stomach clenched and a heavy weight settled where his heart once beat.

It wasn’t as if he’d never harmed Dalyria, though only when they’d been forced to spar.

Never like this.

The dagger trembled in his hand. The Tiefling’s eyes grew impossibly wide and she began to shake.

Astarion didn’t move.

Cazador shifted his weight minutely. Astarion’s palms should have begun to sweat. Gods, how long had it been since he last fed?

He tried to swallow, nearly gagging himself in the process.

Muscle memory made the decision for him. He flipped the dagger around in his hand, drawing it down the length of his left arm. He hissed at the all too familiar pain.

Cazador watched, smiling as blood sluggishly welled up from within the cut.

It should have been pouring from his ruptured veins, shouldn’t it?

“Very pretty, my boy, but that is not what I asked for.”

He didn’t need to breathe. Why was he gasping like he needed air?

“Master, please…”

Cazador didn’t answer as he stared impassively back at him.

“L-Let me scream for you instead. Please.”

Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he just close the distance between them and bury the knife inside this stranger?

What was wrong with him?

Cazador’s presence always lurked within his mind, but now it rose up within him, brushing away his inexplicable wave of resistance as easily as an errant cobweb. Astarion watched helplessly as he strode toward the Tiefling, flipping the knife in his grasp so the blade once more faced her.

His fingers tightened on the hilt. He drew its point slowly across her bare abdomen. It was incredibly sharp, sliding effortlessly through her skin in a clean line.

The cut wasn’t superficial, but it also wasn’t nearly deep enough to disembowel her. She made a choked sound, part sob and part stifled scream. She wasn’t acquainted with this kind of pain. He hadn’t been either. He imagined most people weren’t.

He nearly dropped the dagger as he slid it out of the new wound.

“Again.”

He didn’t move, Cazador’s presence having lessened in his mind.

He distantly registered the sound of Cazador’s measured footsteps and the gut-churning tap-tap-tap of his staff as he approached.

He didn’t lift the blade.

Cazador’s fingers wrapped around his forearm, silently demanding he raise it.

Astarion’s eyes began to burn. The dagger fell from his hand, clattering to the ground. His sensitive ears ached from the sudden assault. The Tiefling flinched, unaccustomed to how loud things were for her now.

The dagger leapt back up from the floor and into Astarion’s hand. Cazador’s grip tightened on his forearm until he felt his bones begin to give way. Astarion didn’t scream, but a panicked whimper escaped.

Cazador leaned in, lips nearly brushing the back of his ear as he said, “Do not fret, there will be plenty of time for your sweet screams later. I want to know what she sounds like. I want you to play this new instrument for me.”

As he spoke, he lifted Astarion’s arm the rest of the way, his hand shifting to wrap around Astarion’s in what might have been a comforting gesture under different circumstances.

Cazador guided the knife back into the woman’s flesh, drawing a parallel line mere centimeters from the first.

Her chest heaved as she screamed, forcing the blade even deeper.

Astarion began to tremble, but Cazador’s grip kept the knife from following suit.

“You will not ruin the line art of this piece.”

A sound like a sob escaped him as Cazador lifted the knife for the next line.

Cazador released him once it was in position. Hot, bloody tears streaked weakly down Astarion’s cold cheeks as he slid the blade along its path.

His eyes weren’t dry anymore.

“Again.”

He shook harder as he repeated the gesture. He wrapped both hands around the dagger’s hilt now, desperately trying to keep the blade as steady as possible. For her sake or his own, he didn’t know.

What was wrong with him?

Blood. There was so much blood. He watched it weep from the Tiefling’s wounds, pooling wastefully on the cold stone below. His mouth watered at the sight, the scent, even as his stomach roiled.

Gods, if he could just have a taste. He would lap it from the floor if Cazador allowed him to.

He vacillated between horror and hunger, his mind struggling to wrap him in an apathetic cocoon for his sanity’s sake, while his growing thirst kept him firmly grounded in the present. He felt the ghost of every wasted drop of blood on his tongue.

They continued like this for what must have been hours. When he ran out of space on the Tiefling’s front, Cazador directed him to her back. She stopped crying then, falling utterly silent. Eventually her blood stopped flowing from the wounds, darkening as it clotted on the icy stone beneath their feet. The trails it left on her skin dried and flaked.

Astarion wasn’t able to muster as much dignity as she had when Cazador instructed her to repeat the lesson on him. His sweet screams echoed in the cavernous space, but his tears finally stopped and, despite the pain, he felt bafflingly relieved.

“Astarion!”

He flinched at the shout of his name, taking a reflexive step back.

“Astarion.”

This time the voice was softer. Cazador wouldn’t say his name like that.

“Astarion, can you hear me?”

He blinked as the crypt faded from view.

“Astarion, it’s Gale. I know it’s not much comfort, but we’re in the Shadow-Cursed lands. I’d say you’re safe here, but that’s not quite true. Though I suppose it’s a good deal safer than wherever you’ve gone.”

He blinked again, Gale slowly coming into focus.

“Can you hear me? If you can, please give me a sign.”

Astarion replied with a sharp nod of his head.

“Good. That’s good. Can you walk? I think it might be better if we went back outside. Can I touch you or would you rather I didn’t?”

Astarion tentatively held out his hand and Gale’s warm fingers wrapped around his.

Warm. Gale was warm. Cazador wasn’t warm. His siblings weren’t warm.

Gale offered a reassuring smile as he gently turned him around and led him back the way they’d come.

“Do you remember what happened at breakfast this morning? When I asked Lae’zel about Tenebrux Morrow?”

Vague, fragmented memories tried to surface. Lae’zel’s annoyance and disgust. Eggs hurtling through the air. Gale’s stunned expression. Eggs dripping from his face and onto the table.

They reached the door they’d come in through and were back outside. The scent of blood, old and new, faded. The air of the graveyard wasn’t much better, but at least it didn’t reek of pain and fear.

“Breathe with me, okay? In through the nose, one, two, three, four. Out through the mouth, one, two, three, four.”

Astarion didn’t need to breathe, but he recognized the directive. Dalyria had taught him the technique. To all of them. With so little of their own to their names, they’d often traded one another in skills. Dalyria, her medical knowledge. Astarion, his sewing. Leon, his magic…

Gale continued to babble at him but, for once, Astarion didn’t mind. His calm, warm voice made it easier to stay in the present. Gale’s hand was still wrapped around his, and Astarion was oddly loath to pull away.

He didn’t know how long they stood there. Eventually he began to feel more like himself. His current self. He wasn’t in Szarr Palace. He wasn’t under Cazador’s control.

Gods, he ached to feel the sun on his skin again. It had grounded him so quickly at the Goblin Camp. The sun was the surest sign he wasn’t back there.

“…thank you, Gale,” he finally managed, voice soft.

“Oh, don’t thank me. Jaheira was the one who walked me through what might help when you experience moments like this.”

“Jaheira?”

Gale gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t say why I was asking. She doesn’t know. I just assumed, with all of her experience, she may have some familiarity with battle fatigue. She told me it’s not just limited to battle, but can stem from other types of violence as well. She said it may be better to refer to it as trauma recurrence, though she doesn’t believe that’s a common phrase.”

Astarion struggled to catch up with Gale’s sudden change in topic. Trauma recurrence? Battle fatigue, he was somewhat familiar with, but not that. Moreover, he didn’t have battle fatigue. He enjoyed nothing more than spilling the blood of their enemies!

“I don’t have battle fatigue.”

“Yes, I know. She said the other phrase is more…encompassing. For example, it could be applied to how Shadowheart reacts to wolves, or to Karlach’s experiences in Avernus. It isn’t strictly due to combat. It refers to any violence that causes extreme distress, resulting in symptoms like reliving the experience or intense anxiety. She said it’s different for everyone.” He hesitated. “…she said it can resurface due to something like a sound, a sight, or a scent. It’s also particularly common in victims of—“

“I am not a victim!” he snapped, rage chasing away the last of the hollowness inside him.

Gale winced. “I’m sorry, that was the wrong turn of phrase. What I mean to say is that Cazador…”

Astarion flinched at his name.

“…hurt you. He hurt you in so many ways. And you are clearly a survivor. Honestly, I don’t think I could have withstood what you have and still be…here. Present. Living.”

He managed a weak smile. “No one should have to suffer what he put you through. The more I’ve come to know you, the more in awe I am of your resilience. Of your determination to be something more than what he made you. You are undoubtedly one of the bravest, most intelligent, and deadliest people I know.

“I didn’t mean to insult or upset you. Jaheira said some people prefer the term victim. That, for them, it’s a reminder what happened to them was cruel and wrong. Sometimes they also prefer it because they still feel they’re in the midst of the healing process.

“She also said some prefer the term survivor. That they feel it symbolizes they’ve taken control back of their life or because it reminds them, despite what happened, they persevered. She said it depends on the person and to respect their wishes, so naturally I put my foot in my mouth while trying to articulate what I learned.”

He took Astarion’s other hand, now holding both in his. His thumbs traced soothing circles against the backs of them.

“I know I’m not entitled to any aspect of your past. I understand how hard it’s been for you to share the things you already have with me. However, I want you to know I’m here in whatever capacity you require, whether it’s sitting together in companionable silence, talking about what happened, or otherwise. I’m not the only one either. We’re all here for you, just as we know you’re here for all of us.”

Astarion’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, brow furrowing.

He long ago came to terms with the fact he was Cazador’s slave and had been abused by him in every way possible. He’d lost so much of himself over the centuries that, by the time he woke up on the beach, he had no idea who he was without his master to puppet him.

He’d been convinced the miniscule part of him he hadn’t left beneath his headstone had finally been snuffed out after Cazador entombed him. He’d come out so changed, his siblings said they barely recognized him. He stopped truly fighting then, even if he never stopped wishing for his freedom.

As impossible as that was.

Of course his newfound autonomy came at the risk of turning into something more monstrous. But for the first time in over two centuries he finally felt alive.

He began to wonder if there may still be something left of the man he’d once been.

It was simultaneously terrifying and overwhelming and exhilarating.

He would never admit as much to anyone in their merry band of weirdos, but it helped to know they accepted him for who he was and who he wanted to be. That they didn’t care what Cazador had taken from him. That Gale didn’t care he was a shell of everything he’d once been.

He tentatively squeezed Gale’s hands back, lifting his eyes to meet the wizard’s.

“If you feel one of these spells coming on, you can tell me. Even if you don’t realize it, I’ll still be there for you and will do my best to bring you back to the present.”

As his potential lover, yes, but would Gale still feel the same way without whatever this bond was that had begun to grow between them?

Astarion was beginning to believe he might, and it horrified him.

“…thank you, Gale. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Gale beamed. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything, eh?”

Astarion shot him a look, but there was no venom to it. He took another deep breath, steadying himself, before leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Gale’s smile, if possible, widened even further.

Astarion huffed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and turned back toward the hospital. The others approached them, looking rattled but otherwise unharmed.

“What happened?” Gale asked.

“Malus Thorm isn’t a threat any longer,” Tav said, lips set in a grim line. “We decided we could all use some rest. We can come back and search the place tomorrow.”

Astarion’s brows swept up. That was certainly odd. He worried briefly they had decided as much on his account, but they all looked exhausted. Bone weary.

He studied each of their faces, but couldn’t glean any further insight into what had led Tav to make such an un-Tav-like decision. When he came to Wyll, he was surprised to find the other man frowning sternly back at him. Wyll’s eyes narrowed as they drifted down to his and Gale’s joined hands.

What the fuck?

When Wyll met his gaze again, Astarion scowled at him. However, before he could say anything cutting, Gale turned and steered him back in the direction of their camp.

By the time they reached it, he felt far more like himself and was all too happy to put Wyll’s blatant disapproval far from his mind.

Chapter Text

By the time they finished their battle with Kethric Thorm, everyone was thankfully alive and yet nearly dead on their feet. Regardless, the promise of leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands had driven them to force one foot in front of the other until they’d crossed the border. There hadn’t been time or inclination for celebration. They’d barely set up their tents before exhaustion pulled them under. The next few days were spent resting and recuperating.

Astarion chose his spot to take advantage of the sun during daylight hours. When he wasn’t tending to his equipment or reading a book, he just lay there, his head pillowed on his arms and his eyes closed. Often Scratch and the Owlbear joined him, curled up together at his side.

Gale frequently found his focus turning to the pale elf, smiling faintly when he was certain Astarion couldn’t see. Thoughts of Mystra became less and less frequent and the devastation and anger he’d felt upon their parting eased into a dull ache.

He rarely mentioned her to Astarion, but they discussed his Netherese condition at length. As much as he abhorred the goddess for asking him to make the ultimate sacrifice, he was grateful the orb was stable for now. He fell into an uneasy alliance with it, much as he had the tadpole.

Even if both would eventually have to be dealt with.

Astarion hadn’t admitted as much, but it was clear to Gale he’d been conducting research on the topic. He took to keeping Gale company during his watch. Fringe Philosophy Volume Five resurfaced, which meant Astarion had most certainly not returned it to the Enclave Library like he promised. Gale was half convinced Astarion had it memorized by now, with how often he saw his head buried in it. Otherwise, he occupied himself with histories, magical theory, and the occasional religious text.

Gale had been surprised to find himself stumped by some of the vampire’s questions. He also gave him plenty of food for thought with his insights and speculations. Astarion knew some magic, yes, but he hadn’t been trained in it the way Gale had. Gale did what he could to fill the gaps in his knowledge and he proved a quick study.

Long accustomed to lectures, forums, and textbooks, it was refreshing to discuss these things with someone who didn’t share his background. Even at the prestigious Blackstaff, his peers’ way of thinking was often constrained to what they’d been taught. They had all rightfully earned their place there with their talent, hard work, and drive but they struggled to extrapolate as far beyond their lessons as Gale did.

They were all too concerned with that which had already been proven. True, they were some of the best and brightest in those areas, but so few of them dared to challenge their preconceptions. His interactions with them had felt like playing Lanceboard with someone who knew all of the tactics inside and out but failed to ever take a risk or try something entirely new.

Astarion wasn’t afraid to challenge the status quo. While Gale’s peers would have undoubtedly turned their noses up at him (truth be told, he probably would have back then too), he was convinced if Astarion received the proper training, he would be as proficient with the Weave as he was with a dagger.

Perhaps once they finished the minor task of saving the world, Gale could put theory to practice and eventually unleash the vampire on his peers. He had no doubt Astarion would wipe the floor with them.

“Now what’s got you looking like the cat that’s got the cream?” Astarion drawled.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Gale said, returning his attention to the task at hand.

They planned to break camp in the morning. The more they took care of now, the sooner they could be back on the road.

“I doubt that,” Astarion said, ducking into his tent.

He came out again a moment later with a towel and a small bag.

“As there’s no telling what awaits us in the coming days, I plan to make the most of the nearby stream.”

“Oh?” Gale asked, staring down at his own overstuffed pack. He thought back to their camp chest and wondered, with all the things Tav hoarded, if he could throw together a makeshift Bag of Holding.

When Astarion didn’t immediately move toward the stream, Gale glanced up.

What was he waiting for..?

Oh!

“I suppose I could stand to do the same, if you’d like company.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Astarion said, looking away with an uncharacteristic shyness that did funny things to Gale’s middle.

Gale was confident enough in his own looks, but he’d have to be blind not to see how beautiful Astarion was. The topic had been brought up once amongst himself and the others while Astarion was elsewhere. They’d all agreed were it not for his pretty face, he would have been absolutely insufferable.

Gale came to realize that wasn’t true though. Sure, at the time it seemed like his beauty was the biggest of his few redeeming qualities. However, the more Gale got to actually know him, the more he realized Astarion was so very much more than his pretty face.

Setting his pack down, Gale retrieved his own toiletries and started toward the stream at his side.

It was a beautiful day, made all the more so after their prolonged stint in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. The sun filtering through the branches overhead combined with birdsong and the redolent scent of flowers made all their troubles seem so far away. Instead of a tadpoled magical bomb that could explode at any moment, he could just be Gale of Waterdeep. He wondered if Astarion felt the same, though his frame of reference was decidedly more limited.

“What do you think you’ll do once this is all over?”

Astarion blinked, turning to him from where he’d been admiring the scenery.

“I…don’t know,” he said after a long moment. “As much as I hoped to escape from Cazador, I didn't think I’d actually make it this far.”

“That makes two of us,” Gale said, amiably bumping his shoulder against Astarion’s.

Astarion’s eyes widened briefly. The faintest smile came to his face as he returned the gesture in kind.

“I’d just come to accept my life would be cut short when the Ilithids came along. And now…now I feel as though, in many ways, my life is just beginning.”

Astarion cocked his head. “Just beginning? What do you mean? I thought you were the great Gale of Waterdeep, prodigy wizard, Chosen of Mystra.”

“I was,” Gale agreed. “I suppose I still am some of those things, but our little adventure has allowed me what I expect is some much needed perspective.”

“Oh?”

“Tara could see it even if I couldn’t. I spent so much time focusing on magic, on my relationship with Mystra. I neglected a great many other things.”

He sighed softly, shoulders slumping. “It wasn’t until things ended with Mystra that I realized how much of my life revolved around her. I’m embarrassed to admit it’s something that’s come to me only recently.”

“Something you’re still coming to terms with too,” Astarion murmured, voice so soft it was almost lost under the crunch of gravel under their boots.

“Ouch. I suppose that’s fair.”

“We had a running pool in the beginning,” Astarion said, smirking. “We took bets each morning on how long it would be before you brought your goddess up.”

Gale winced. “Ah.”

“Don’t worry, it was a long time ago now. Knowing you were her Chosen in more ways than one, I can understand why you spoke of her so often.”

“Truthfully, Tara would have joined you all were she here. She always told me I needed more mortal friends.”

“Well, you clearly haven’t heeded her advice,” Astarion answered, grinning now to showcase his fangs.

Gale laughed, imagining the look on Tara’s face when she found out he’d finally taken her advice. Now had a vampire, a Githyanki warrior, a former cleric of Shar, a Lolth-sworn Drow, a warlock, a former soldier of Avernus, a centuries old Druid, and the High Harper from many a legend for company.

Especially since the vampire had grown to be more than just a friend.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll still approve. When I’m with you, I actually sometimes remember there’s more to life than magic.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

He shook his head. “What I mean to say is you remind me I’m human too. In a good way.”

Astarion arched a brow. “I fail to see how, not being anything close to the sort myself.”

“True. But you ground me, humble me. I spent so much time trying to be Mystra’s equal, trying to prove to her I was worthy of her attention, I forgot what things were like before she entered my life. When the only person I had to prove anything to was myself.”

The vampire’s mouth drew into a thin line. “…it can be easy to forget when you’re constantly reminded you are lesser than.”

Gale came to an abrupt stop. “You’re not. Lesser than, I mean.”

Astarion’s lips twisted ruefully. “I’m a vampire spawn. I’m lesser than in every way that matters.”

Gale vehemently shook his head. “You’re greater than that bastard in every way that matters, Astarion. I was hardly on a level playing field with Mystra. She has powers beyond anything I can comprehend, but there’s one thing she doesn’t have.”

Astarion halted a few paces ahead, pivoting on his heel to frown at him. “Oh?”

“If our roles were reversed, I would never have left her to figure things out on her own. I would have stayed by her side and helped in any way I could.”

His expression softened. “Yes, I suppose so. It was…cruel, what she did to you. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised, given my opinion of the gods as a whole, but it seems a bit gauche to become so intimately involved with someone you hold so much power over.”

Gale nodded, starting forward once more. Astarion continued to face him, now walking backward.

“You were so young,” Astarion murmured, more to himself than to Gale.

They both had been.

Reaching the water’s edge, they settled on a spot further downstream where the current was slower and the water deeper. Astarion toed off his shoes, dipping one foot into the water. He grimaced. “I’d hoped it would be warmer, given the weather.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Gale said as he set his things on a nearby rock.

Studying the water, he ran through a few adjustments in his mind before calling upon the Weave. He’d cast similar spells before, but not at this scale and not with running water.

Astarion looked on curiously. When Gale cast the spell, he sneezed.

“Try it now,” Gale said, motioning to the water.

Astarion sniffled delicately before he leaned forward to peer at the seemingly unchanged water below. “Why? What did you do to it?”

“Just try it,” Gale insisted.

“If you made it colder, so help me…”

Astarion once more prodded at the water’s surface with his foot giving a small shiver of surprise. “You waited until we were almost all the way to Baldur’s Gate before you decided to show me something like this?”

“In my defense, it’s not something I felt capable of trying until more recently. Now that I’ve regained some of my strength.”

“Is keeping the water heated a concentration spell?”

“It is.”

“I suppose I’ll have to let you live a little longer then,” he huffed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Gale turned from him to afford him some privacy as he undressed too. By the time he’d finished and turned back around, Astarion was already in the water and wasn’t affording him nearly the same level of consideration.

“Can I help you?” Gale demanded, crossing his arms.

Astarion smirked. “In more ways than one, by the look of you, darling.”

Gale rolled his eyes as he waded in to join him. “I’ve already told you, you don’t need to pretend with me.”

“Who’s pretending?” he practically purred.

Gale was alarmed to feel his cheeks warm and it had nothing to do with the water’s temperature. He’d seen Astarion flirt countless times before, but it’d never been like this. For once there was no underlying artifice. Astarion was looking at him now in much the same way he did a bare throat.

Astarion drifted closer, eyes roving across his body in a way that somehow left Gale feeling more exposed than when he’d been entirely out of the water.

Reaching him, Astarion wrapped his arms around his neck, his ruby red eyes locking with Gale’s.

Gale found himself staring back, his gaze dropping to Astarion’s lips.

“Are you sure about this?” Gale hazarded.

He’d have thought Astarion would want more time before they pursued anything physical.

In answer, Astarion leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of his throat, just over his pulse. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. For a brief moment, Gale thought he intended to bite him. Instead, Astarion simply nuzzled the skin there.

Gale tentatively wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, trying to watch for any signs of discomfort on Astarion’s part. In return, Astarion drew himself flush against Gale, simultaneously doing something that felt suspiciously like sucking at his pulse. Gale still didn’t think he’d bitten him, though he couldn’t be entirely sure with his thoughts threatening to stutter to a halt.

Gods, he hadn’t known something this simple could feel so good.

Cool fingertips ghosted across the nape of his neck before threading through his hair. Astarion lifted his head, but before Gale could catch his eye again, the vampire’s lips returned to his, devouring him.

He only drew back when Gale began to grow light headed, at which point he trailed biting kisses along his jawline. Gale’s fingers flexed against Astarion’s slender hips as he tilted his head to give him better access. This must have been the right (or perhaps wrong) thing to do, because the biting kisses grew more frenzied along the line of his throat.

One of Astarion’s hands trailed down his back, his feather light touches threatening to drive Gale mad with the promises behind them.

“A-As wonderful as this is,” Gale interjected, his voice decidedly huskier than it had been moments before, “A-Are you sure about this?”

“Mmm?” Astarion murmured, lips tickling his skin. “Do you want me to stop, darling?”

No, Gale most certainly didn’t. It had been far too long since he indulged in something like this. But why was Astarion suddenly so keen?

“You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself,” Astarion continued when Gale didn’t immediately answer.

As close as they were, he couldn’t exactly deny his very obvious interest.

Astarion waited a moment longer before his fingers dipped beneath the water, teasing the sensitive skin just below Gale’s navel and trailing lower.

“A-Astarion,” Gale breathed, fingers tightening again as if he was holding on to him for dear life.

“I do so love the way you say my name,” Astarion crooned as he began to sink lower into the water.

Gale loosened his hold on his hips, staring down at Astarion’s soft white curls.

“I want to taste you,” he continued. “You will let me, won’t you?”

“I believe you’ve already done that,” Gale rasped.

“Please, love? Won’t you let me ruin you?”

Gale blinked. Odd for him to miss an opportunity for some quip or other.

“Astarion?”

“Mmm, yes, darling?”

Gale felt him speak more than saw him, as Astarion murmured the words against his skin.

“…can you look at me? Please?”

There was a brief pause before Astarion lifted his head. Though he met Gale’s eyes, Gale was immediately struck by the yawning void staring back at him. Astarion wore a sultry smile, but Gale felt as if he were looking at a doll’s face rather than that of his companion.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Is something wrong, pet?” Astarion asked, straightening so he could cup Gale’s cheek.

Gale quickly weighed his options before offering, “I’m sorry, can you give me a moment?”

Astarion blinked.

“It’s been…a while since I’ve done something like this.”

“You…don’t want to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Gale insisted. “I just…need to go a little more slowly.”

Astarion blinked again. “What?”

“It’s a lot to take in all at once. I suppose you could say I’m feeling a bit…overstimulated from it all.”

The spark returned to his eyes and the sultry expression shifted into a softer one. “Of course, darling! I wouldn’t want you unable to enjoy the moment.”

Gale sighed softly in relief. “Thank you for understanding. If it’s all right, could I kiss you?”

The bewilderment on the elf’s face would have been endearing were it not for the fact Gale knew why being asked for his consent was such a foreign concept.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Astarion purred, wrapping his arms once more around his neck.

Gale leaned down, but didn’t entirely close the gap between them. There was a moment’s pause before Astarion pressed his lips against his in a far more chaste kiss than before.

Gale reached up to run his fingers through Astarion’s hair, accidentally brushing against the shell of his ear in the process. Astarion sucked in a sharp breath, arms tightening suddenly around his neck.

“Ah, sorry. Are you all right?” Gale asked, drawing back to try to read his expression.

Was Astarion…blushing?

The elf refused to meet his eyes, though this time it seemed to be for an entirely different reason.

Oh. The ears of an elf were rumored to be an erogenous zone, though Gale had never been close enough to one to test the claim.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

Astarion bit his bottom lip before reluctantly offering, “I…don’t know. No one has ever…”

“I see. Perhaps we could explore together? Only if you want to, of course.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I be lavishing my attentions on you?”

“I enjoy giving pleasure too,” Gale said with a small smile. “But if you’d rather I didn’t, I won’t.”

“I…think I would?”

“We can take it slow,” Gale offered. “If you decide you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

Not seeming to trust his voice, Astarion nodded, his hands coming to rest on Gale’s shoulders.

Gale gave him a moment before intentionally tracing his finger along the edge.

Astarion made a choked sound, nails digging into Gale’s skin. Gale drew his hand back, waiting for further direction.

Astarion audibly swallowed. “I…”

“You..?”

“…I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you were to do it again. If you…wanted to, of course.”

Gale grinned. “Nothing would make me happier,” he insisted, reaching up to take the tip of his ear between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing small circles into his skin.

“O-Oh, gods!” Astarion gasped.

Gale waited a beat before continuing the motion, this time down the full length of his ear. Astarion abruptly buried his face against Gale’s shoulder as an obscene sound escaped him.

He finally lifted his head, pupils blown. “I hate you,” he growled, though the words lacked any bite.

“Should I try both at once?”

“Fuck you.”

Gale gave a husky laugh as he drew his nails along the shell of both now in tandem.

Astarion abruptly pressed against him, squirming as a litany of swears poured from between his lips. Now that was far more like him.

Gale continued his ministrations and the elf’s tone grew increasingly more desperate. Astarion didn’t seem to know whether he wanted to praise him or curse him to the hells and back.

“F-Fuck, don’t stop!” he hissed when Gale made to pause again.

“As you wish,” he said, forcing back a chuckle.

He dipped his head, took one of the points between his lips and sucked. Astarion gave a full body shiver, his nails piercing Gale’s skin as the vampire abruptly went to pieces.

Gale gently stroked his side as Astarion shuddered and gasped for breath in the aftermath.

They stayed like that for a while, Astarion’s face once more buried against Gale’s shoulder. He practically sagged there and Gale was convinced, were he not holding him upright, he may not have been able to stand.

“…shit,” Astarion finally managed. “…how fucking embarrassing.”

Gale did chuckle now. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“I’m not a godsdamned virgin. I can’t believe I…ugh.”

“I don’t know, you said you’d never had someone do it before. I’d say that makes you a virgin in one sense, at least.”

Astarion lifted his head to glare at him. “You play the ingenue, but I can see now it’s just a front. You’re as depraved as the rest of us. I can’t believe you used your mouth!” He gave a frustrated growl and buried his face once again.

“I don’t think it’s so depraved,” Gale said, rubbing small circles into his side now.

“It is coming from you!”

“Well, maybe that will teach you not to judge a book by its cover.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”

Astarion jerked upright again, looking utterly mortified. “Next time?!”

“Unless you don’t want me to,” Gale answered sweetly, surprised by how much he enjoyed being the one to tease him for once.

“If I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open tonight,” Astarion shot back, cheeks undoubtedly flushed now.

Gale was tempted to needle him about the blushing too, but he supposed he’d tortured him enough already.

“Shall we finish up here then?” he asked instead.

Astarion frowned. “What about you?”

They’d made it this far, hadn’t they? Though part of him still wondered why Astarion suddenly initiated all of this in the first place. Not that he was opposed, but Gale felt like he was missing something.

What had brought all this on? He didn’t think the vampire was feigning his interest, but Astarion had been so fixated on pleasuring him. Gale had a sneaking suspicion Astarion knew what rushing into something like this would do to him. Why else had he looked anywhere but at Gale while he’d been lavishing his attention on him?

…had he thought he owed him some sort of intimacy?

But why? Why force himself to do something like that? Was it habit? Was it because of what he’d been forced to so many times before? The thought made Gale’s stomach churn. How could they explore something like this while ensuring Astarion retained his agency? That Gale didn’t just add to his trauma?

If Astarion felt ready to pursue something like this, Gale wanted to support him, to help him navigate it safely.

Astarion stared back at him with a vulnerability Gale had never seen in him before.

Decision made, he leaned in to press their lips together again. Astarion was all too happy to oblige, drawing closer to him as he returned the kiss.

Gale let him take the lead. This time Astarion didn’t immediately try to devour him. Rather, he gradually deepened the kiss. Gale’s lips parted and Astarion embarked on a slow but thorough exploration of his mouth, pulling back only when Gale needed to breathe.

There was something so earnest in the way the vampire kissed him now.

Something Gale realized he was entirely unfamiliar with.

Yes, he’d enjoyed many a sensual experience with Mystra, but this was…different. He’d fooled around a bit before entering into a relationship with her, but those had been boyhood exploits. She’d been his first real relationship. His only real relationship. They’d been together for over a decade.

So why did it feel like this moment with Astarion was far more real in comparison?

Why was he suddenly acutely aware she’d held something of herself back? That she’d never fully been present?

It was unsettling.

But he found it increasingly more difficult to think about her with Astarion staring at him like that. The vampire smirked as he dragged his sharp nails along Gale’s torso. Yes, Astarion was certainly present right now.

Gale was starting to wonder if he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“I realize human ears aren’t quite so sensitive, but I can think of plenty of other ways to make you suffer.”

“Suffering? Is that what it was?”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed into slits. He took Gale’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. The scar on his wrist from the bite before remained, a permanent reminder of the terrifying moment they’d shared, when he’d feared he may have lost him. Cool lips brushed against the steady beat of his pulse. It might have tickled more if Astarion’s eyes weren’t smoldering as he grazed the bite mark with his canines.

The bite in the Shadow-Cursed Lands hadn’t hurt like Gale expected. Something else he’d meant to ask Astarion about. The vampire’s fangs had slid into his skin and bliss flooded through him. It reminded him of the afterglow of sex. He’d felt warm. Satisfied. Months of tension drained from him in an instant and he’d been close to falling asleep altogether when Astarion suddenly regained consciousness.

Gale was well aware of what may have happened had Astarion not been able to stop himself. There had been a terrifying moment when the void beckoned, when Gale hadn’t wanted him to stop.

It would have been as easy as breathing to let him drain every last drop of life from him.

He would have missed this. Would have left Astarion believing he’d murdered him. As thick a skin as the vampire claimed to have, Gale knew what was beneath. It would have destroyed him.

The tip of Astarion’s tongue drew a line down the sensitive skin of his inner forearm and Gale shivered. Reaching the crook of his arm, he nipped sharply. Pain mixed with pleasure in a delightful cocktail Gale hadn’t expected he would enjoy so much.

Soft fingertips followed, all ticklishness forgotten as heat quickly began to pool in the wizard’s belly.

He was starting to understand why Astarion had been so cross with him moments before.

Astarion leaned up, lips brushing the shell of his ear, warm breath fanning across the side of Gale’s face.

“I am going to ruin you.”

This time it wasn’t a rehearsed line. This time it was a promise.

He dipped his head, nuzzling the earlier mark he left on his throat. It ached at the reminder and Gale’s toes reflexively curled in the sandy bottom of the stream.

Astarion draped himself over him, mouthing a line of searing kisses along the side of his throat. Reaching his collarbone, he nipped again at the soft spot just above his sternum.

His fingers trailed down Gale’s sides, drawing intricate tattoos against his flesh. A new form of agony. A low groan rumbled in Gale’s throat. Needing something to do with his own hands, he rested them on Astarion’s hips just below the water’s warm surface.

Astarion’s arms slid around his middle in turn, fingers tracing the length of his spine down to the small of his back.

“Let’s not break our concentration now, darling,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye as he ducked beneath the water’s surface.

Gale’s own eyes widened and his hands once more sought purchase, this time on the elf’s slender shoulders. The water wasn’t clear enough for him to see exactly what Astarion was doing, which simultaneously sent thrills of desire and worry through him.

As if reading his thoughts, Astarion gave his calf a brief squeeze before tenderly rubbing the spot just behind his knee.

It wasn’t lost on Gale that the places he seemed to lavish the majority of his attention on were also likely some of the best to feed from.

A decidedly warmer heat encircled his growing erection and he became acutely aware the only modesty presently afforded to them was the translucence provided by the water.

He watched helplessly as the top of Astarion’s head breached the surface of the water before he took him entirely into his sweet mouth.

Gale gasped, struggling not to dig his fingers into Astarion’s shoulders. Gentle splashing accompanied the rhythmic bob of the vampire’s head as he tasted every inch of him in an entirely different way.

Gale’s legs began to tremble as the heat in his middle suffused throughout his body. He tried to stutter a warning, but Astarion either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore him. His thoughts abruptly ground to a halt as he hit his flash point. As his hips jerked, Astarion held him easily in place with vampiric strength. He encouragingly stroked the inside of Gale’s thigh as the wizard cried his name again and again, spilling inside his warm, wet heat.

The water around them plummeted in temperature and this time it was Gale’s turn to be embarrassed.

Astarion coaxed him through the last of his orgasm before surfacing, looking far too smug.

Gale helped him the rest of the way up as he struggled to catch his breath. Astarion’s wet curls fell into his face and Gale reached a trembling hand up to brush them from his claret colored eyes.

“I did warn you didn’t I?” he drawled. “I could have been a bit more creative if we had a bed, but needs must and all that.”

He was still here. He was still with him. Thank the gods.

Astarion’s victory speech was cut short as he gave a delicate shiver.

“Ah, apologies,” Gale said sheepishly, recasting the spell to warm the water around them.

“I’ll consider forgiving you, but only if you keep me supplied with hot water,” Astarion answered, sinking down so only his head was above the surface.

“That’s something I can certainly do,” Gale answered with a smile.

Astarion’s eyes slid closed and he gave a soft, contented sigh as the spell banished his ever present chill once more. Gale caught himself staring, lips pursed.

“I can practically hear the wheels turning in your mind.”

Gale started, blushing. “I was wondering if I could ask you a vampire related question.”

Astarion opened one eye to regard him.

“Well, two, actually.”

Astarion gave an imperious wave, allowing him to continue.

“So, running water—“

“Tadpole.”

“And before?”

“Not a problem at all! If you enjoy dunking yourself in acid.”

Gale flinched. “Ah. Sounds wildly unpleasant.”

“What’s your other question, dear?”

Gale’s gaze dropped to his lips, face going a darker shade upon recalling where they’d been just moments prior. How in the realms was he supposed to not think about that every time he looked at him now?

He forced his attention back to their conversation. “Why didn’t it hurt when you fed from me before?”

“Ah.” Astarion opened both eyes, pulling his upper lip back to showcase his fangs. “It can, but it’s far easier to drink when your prey isn’t squirming or screaming.” His nose wrinkled, indicating he had some familiarity with both scenarios. “Venom.”

Gale’s eyebrows swept up toward his hairline. “Really?”

“Yes, so you’d better be damned glad I must have used it then, even while so out of sorts.”

“Does it stop the bleeding too?”

“You’ve long since exceeded two questions. What, exactly, do I get out of sharing all my secrets, darling?”

Gale considered him, absently rubbing at his beard. “Has anyone ever washed your hair for you?”

Astarion’s brows puckered. “For me? Do I look like an invalid? Or a child?”

“Not at all, but it does feel nice.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s no harm in trying it, is there?”

He didn’t look convinced. “Is this just another attempt to get at my ears? …if so, I have to admit I’m not…” He paused, carefully considering his words. “I don’t think…”

Gale gave a quick shake of his head. “Not at all! Believe you me, this was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

The tension starting to creep into the vampire’s lithe frame eased, though he still looked a touch wary.

“May I?” Gale asked, casting Mage Hand to collect their toiletries from the bank of the stream.

Astarion’s bag held several items with which Gale was vaguely familiar. He’d never been one to indulge in extravagant personal hygiene products, but it explained where Astarion’s portion of their spoils had gone.

“…fine,” Astarion relented.

Gale took the bag and rooted around in it before pulling out a jar containing an almost paste like material. He removed the lid and was met with a familiar tea-like scent.

“What is that aroma?”

“Chamomile.”

“I thought it was more of a medicinal herb? In addition to tea, of course.”

Astarion brought the jar closer to his face, breathing in the scent. His expression softened at the reassurance it seemed to bring him.

“It is. It can be used for many things. Minor burns, sore throats, abscesses, calming the mind… And for hair, of course. It soothes the scalp and adds shine and softness.”

“Where did you buy this?”

Astarion snorted. “I didn’t buy it. I made it.”

He offered Gale the container and he took a deeper whiff of its contents, smiling faintly. It was a far cry better than his more utilitarian cleansers.

“Out of?”

“Chamomile, obviously. Soap nuts, gooseberry… It depends on what I can get my hands on, though those are the three main ingredients I use. There is a bit of magic too, to maintain freshness, but that’s in the jar itself.”

“How much do you use?”

“A little goes a long way.”

He nodded, dipping his fingers into the mixture. Astarion watched him, nodding back in approval. Gale set the jar down and motioned for Astarion to turn around. He didn’t look thrilled by the concept, but he did so.

“I’ll try not to touch your ears,” Gale insisted as he began to work the substance into Astarion’s wet hair.

It lathered up surprisingly quickly, the scent growing stronger as he massaged it into the elf’s white hair. Astarion’s hair was far softer than his own, silk-like to the touch. Perhaps because of this?

True to his word, he did his best to avoid Astarion’s ears. As he worked, the elf sank back into him and Gale grinned. When he added his nails to the mix, Astarion gave a quiet moan of contentment.

“What do you think? Is this worth another secret?” he teased.

“I suppose,” he said with a huff. “Something in our saliva. If you don’t want your prey to bleed out, you have to seal the wound with your tongue. Unless you feed from a spot less likely to exsanguinate them. If you don’t seal it, the wound can take quite some time to heal. The venom also works to keep blood flowing, after all.”

“What about other types of wounds?”

Astarion glanced at him over his shoulder. “What? You want to know if I lapped at you like a dog, if I could cure what ails you?”

The image brought to mind wasn’t nearly as clinical as Astarion’s words. Gale cleared his throat, refocusing his attention on the task at hand.

“It helps to slow and stop bleeding and presumably shortens the time it takes to heal too. I’ve never tried it on larger injuries before. I certainly wasn’t going to ask one of my siblings to do it for me.”

“You mentioned them before. What are they like? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Seemingly satisfied with his work, Astarion slipped beneath the water’s surface to rinse his hair out.

Or, more likely, he was stalling. He did that a lot when uncomfortable subjects arose.

Resurfacing, he shook his damp curls from his eyes. He ran his fingers absently through his hair, attention drifting back toward the stream’s bank.

“Would you…like me to reciprocate?”

Gale blinked. “You don’t have to. Do you want to?”

“I…don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.”

“You don’t have to,” he insisted, turning back to his own bag and pulling out his sole bar of soap.

Astarion grimaced. “Please tell me you don’t intend to use that on your hair.”

Gale grinned. “All right, I won’t.”

Astarion snatched it from his hand. “Turn around, you lunatic.”

Gale gave a playful roll of his eyes as he did as commanded. “I’ll have you know I’ve always used that particular brand on my hair.”

A distant splash sounded. Gale tried to turn to it, but Astarion put his hands on his shoulders to keep him in place.

“It explains a lot. Are you going to get your hair wet or do I need to dunk you myself?”

Gale laughed, obligingly wetting his hair and resuming his position. Tentative fingers slid into his tresses, so different from the confident way Astarion used them before. His fingertips mapped every inch of his skull before he began to work the cleanser into a lather. His touch was featherlight, as if Gale were spun glass he was afraid of shattering.

“...there are seven of us. Dalyria was first. I was second, Aurelia third. Then Violet, Yousen, Petras, and Leon.”

Gale remained quiet, giving him the space to continue if he wanted.

“Cazador insisted we were a family. Brothers and sisters.”

That seemed odd, though Gale didn’t know enough about vampire lords and their spawn to gauge whether or not it was unusual behavior.

“Are you all…close?”

Astarion scoffed. “Hardly.”

“But you all lived there together?”

“Yes, in the dormitory. Only the favored spawn has their own room.”

“Favored spawn?”

“Whoever pleases Cazador the most.”

Gale’s stomach twisted at the implication.

“...I had it once, for a year.”

His fingers began to slow, his movements becoming clumsier.

“What are they like?”

“Hmm?”

“The others. I know you said you aren’t close, but I must admit it’s hard not to imagine six others like yourself.”

“Don’t insult me. I can assure you I am one of a kind.”

The press of his fingers became more intentional, more confident.

“Dalyria was a doctor, Aurelia a performer of some renown. Leon was a sorcerer, Yousen a fairly successful merchant. Violet and Petras… I think they were chosen for their personalities more than any skills he could exploit.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Sometimes it seems as if they enjoy it, the things he makes them do. They’re still slaves, but…” He trailed off.

Gale glanced back at him. Astarion was frowning, looking lost in thought.

“They weren’t as difficult for Cazador to…train.”

His fingers stilled completely.

“Violet…enjoys hurting people. Too much. Petras…”

“Astarion?” Gale asked, voice soft.

He didn’t answer. His hands began to tremble.

Gale slowly turned to face him. Astarion’s arm’s slowly lowered back down to his sides.

“Astarion?”

When he didn’t receive a response, he took the jar once more in hand, opening it and holding it up to the vampire’s face, hoping the scent would help bring him back to the present.

“Can you breathe with me again? In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.”

His body reacted to the directive before his mind caught up. His shoulders lifted mechanically as his chest expanded and lowered as it emptied. After a few repetitions, the motion became more relaxed and natural.

“...sorry, darling, I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

“It’s all right,” Gale insisted. “Do you use this for your body too, or only for your hair?”

“I use something different,” he said, pulling a different jar from his bag. He removed the lid and the soothing scent of lavender filled the air. “Though they have the same base ingredients.”

“You made this too?”

“Yes. It’s less expensive than purchasing it outright, especially if you happen to find the ingredients just lying around.”

Just lying around, indeed. Gale couldn’t really judge though. He doubted Cazador provided his spawn with pocket money.

Companionable silence settled once more between them as they finished their ablutions. Astarion had even been so kind as to share his body cleanser too. When he went to put his own toiletries away, he was unable to find his soap bar.

…the splash earlier.

Well, Astarion better keep sharing if he was going to resort to theft and the destruction of property.

As they redressed and headed back toward their camp, he couldn’t be too upset with the vampire when he caught himself repeatedly marveling at the softness of his skin and the lingering fragrances. Gale didn’t often purchase scented bar soaps, partly due to the cost but mostly because the heavy fragrances of the cheaper varieties gave him a headache.

Astarion’s soaps were far more subtle. He couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of sharing the scents with the vampire. It was as if he’d scent marked him, much as a cat would. Would any of their companions notice?

They went to their separate tents upon arriving back at camp and soon Gale became caught up in the last of his packing. He finally finished just in time for his dinner.

He didn’t have watch that evening. They rotated shifts and, with eight of them now, they each took watch every other day for two hours at a time. His and Astarion’s were usually back-to-back. On their off evenings Astarion kept to himself, seemingly determined to make sure Gale got enough sleep.

When his tent flap flipped back a few hours later, Gale turned in surprise, having not expected him.

But it wasn’t Astarion. It was Wyll.

Gale sat up, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Apologies for the interruption, but do you have a moment?” Wyll asked, the torchlight from outside flickering against his dark horns.

“Of course,” Gale said, motioning for him to join him.

Wyll glanced in the direction of Astarion’s tent before he slipped inside, sitting opposite him. He seemed to have left his usual cheery disposition back at his own tent, judging by the firm set of his mouth and the wrinkle of concern on his brow.

“Is everything all right?”

Wyll drummed his fingers against his knee, frowning harder. Gale regarded him in silence, giving him as much time as he needed to gather his thoughts.

Wyll finally met his eyes, his own looking like smoldering coals in the faint lamp light.

“I saw you two earlier. At the stream.”

Gale sat up straighter, face warming. “Oh? Ah, apologies. It wasn’t our intention to give anyone a show.”

“It’s all right. I’d gone there to do the same and I didn’t want to interrupt or make you uncomfortable.” He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. “You seem like a good man, Gale.”

Gale arched a brow, gaze drifting to the fabric barrier between his line of sight and Astarion’s tent.

“And you seem like someone who values commitment, like myself.”

“Yes..?”

Wyll hesitated. Gale felt a sudden sinking sensation in his middle.

“I don’t know the nature of your relationship with our fanged friend, but you seem close. I just thought you might want to know you aren’t the only one he gets up to that sort of thing with.”

He forced himself to keep his voice neutral as he replied, “Do tell.”

“I saw him with Tav. I don’t think either of them realized I was there. It was only the once, but they spend a good deal of time together most evenings, often in Tav’s tent or away from camp. And only when you’re asleep.”

Gale shifted where he sat, fingers tightening on the blanket in his lap, there to keep the chilly night air at bay.

“I don’t know if either of them have mentioned as much to you. I realize it’s not my place, but I can’t turn a blind eye to a situation like this. I’m not close to Astarion, so I chose to approach you instead.”

Gale wanted to ask for details of what he’d seen and when he’d seen it. As badly as he wanted to know, he also longed to remain ignorant.

Had he and Astarion ever said they were exclusive? He’d thought it was implied, but now he wondered. Were his growing feelings one-sided? Tav didn’t seem the sort to take advantage of Astarion, Lolth-Sworn Drow or no. They’d been adamant he maintain his bodily autonomy when they met the Drow merchant at Moonrise Towers.

“I can’t give you what you’ll ultimately want.”

“I see… Thank you for telling me.”

Wyll nodded, looking as miserable as Gale was starting to feel. “He’s with them now, actually.”

Now?

Gale reached up, rubbing a hand over his face. They weren’t exclusive. He had no right to get upset about this.

But it felt exclusive. Maybe just to him. It wouldn’t be the first time he misread the signs, he thought with a wince.

Gods damn it all.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such unhappy news,” Wyll said as he moved to his feet.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Astarion didn’t either.

Gods damn it all.

There was a chance it was just a misunderstanding. Wyll said it had only been the once. Gale wanted to hold out hope for that possibility.

He just wasn’t sure if he was prepared to deal with how much it would hurt if not

Chapter Text

Astarion hadn’t wanted to become embroiled in whatever drama was unfolding in front of the mansion at the edge of town, but Gale and most of the others insisted on getting involved. The ensuing fight hadn’t disappointed, and he supposed he was a bit curious as to what was making the toymaker so twitchy.

Of course by the time he finished disarming every trap in the godsdamned basement, his fingers were on the verge of cramping.

Really, how many traps did one need? There was cautious and then there was paranoiac. To top it all off, the only items of interest in the basement were a damned letter and a veritable arsenal of fireworks.

They were his fireworks now. He wasn’t an enthusiast and they were all too common in Baldur’s Gate, but he was determined to find something violent to do with them after how much trouble they put him through.

Sure, they managed to prevent the untimely deaths of who knew how many children. But whatever happened to financial compensation? Why was everyone who needed their help so godsdamned poor?

The others, excepting Tav, apparently thought protecting the meek was all the reward one needed. Gale, in particular, was practically glowing with the satisfaction of a good deed done, so Astarion tried not to complain too much.

Rivington itself hadn’t much changed since the last time he’d seen it a few months prior. The only real difference was the veritable ocean of refugees as far as the eye could see.

The part of him that had done Cazador’s bidding for two hundred years noted how easy it would be to find someone suitable for his old master. There were so many people and all so far from home with few, if any, ties. He could have lured them by granting them access into Baldur’s Gate proper. They would have clamored for the opportunity. Any family and friends left behind would be slow to register something was amiss, their own thoughts consumed with gaining entry themselves. There was the rampant disdain for the refugees to consider too. Even if someone was reported missing, it wasn’t as if anyone with any authority would bother looking for them.

It unsettled him how quickly he returned to his former mindset, like slipping back into a too tight doublet. But if he had thought as much, he had no doubt his brothers and sisters would be lurking nearby the moment the sun went down.

This was the closest he’d been to home and to Cazador since his abduction by the Mind Flayers. Szarr Palace was only a scant few miles away in the Lower City. When he thought too long about just how close home was, his chest started to constrict and he broke into a cold sweat.

He’d never truly felt beyond Cazador’s clutches, but at least when he’d been further from the city it was far less likely they would cross paths. Now he had him and his six siblings to worry about. He just had to remember he was safe from them during the daylight hours, so he only had to be zealously hypervigilant at night. When the sun was up, he could just be his normal amount of hypervigilant without all the added fripperies.

While he would never have admitted it, he was relieved when Tav insisted they spend some time investigating the murder of Father Lorgan. It had come as a surprise, since Tav tended to be persuaded more with gold than with morality (a Drow after his own heart!). Astarion could only assume they had become fond of the Tieflings as a whole over the past few months and wanted a chance to exonerate Brilgor on their behalf.

However, in the unlikely chance the party’s virtuousness was starting to rub off on the only other truly bloodthirsty person among them, Astarion was going to have to take drastic measures to restore balance.

As the sun slunk toward the horizon, it took the protection it offered with it. The crowds of refugees, a mere annoyance before, now felt as if they were closing in on him and the rest of their party. Astarion’s eyes ceaselessly darted from one unfamiliar face to the next. Even if he didn’t see one of his brothers and sisters among them, that didn’t mean one of Cazador’s voluntary fanatics wasn’t out and about.

As they continued through the crowds, he drew slow even breaths through his nose, trying to parse out any hint of vampire among the refugees. His head began to ache as stale sweat, unwashed bodies, sewage, and other equally unpleasant scents assaulted him in unending waves.

Gods, there were so many people. If they couldn’t get in the damned gate, why didn’t they just go somewhere else? Why did they have to amass here? Baldur’s Gate was one of the last places they should seek refuge with the Absolute’s Army marching toward it.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he spun, a dagger appearing in his hand as swiftly as if he’d summoned it.

Gale stared back at him, eyes wide, and quickly removed said hand.

Astarion grimaced. “…sorry.”

“Are you alright? You look a bit…pale.”

“Are you trying to make a joke right now?”

Gale smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, happy accident. Would you like to get away for a bit? This is all…a lot.”

The wizard’s face was drawn, lines seeming to have taken up permanent residence on his forehead. His fingers restlessly flexed against his staff and his shoulders looked as tense as Astarion’s felt.

Astarion nodded, sheathing his dagger and reaching for Gale’s hand. Gale gave another tight smile as his warm hand wrapped around Astarion’s cooler one.

It was just to keep them from getting separated in the crowd. That was all.

“I used to come here often,” he said as he led him toward the edge of the crowds.

“Oh? What for?”

He inwardly winced. Why couldn’t he have just kept his damned mouth shut? He didn’t answer, continuing to tow the wizard along behind him.

Spotting the familiar windmill standing sentinel on top of its hill, he veered toward it. The fields around it were blessedly empty, aside from a picnicking couple. Once he reached a more private area, he finally released Gale’s hand.

The silence grew between them like a weed, but Astarion refused to prune it. Instead he focused on breathing slowly in and out, trying to clear his head. After the constant din of noise below, the newfound quiet was almost too loud. His oncoming headache began to recede, as the only unpleasant scent now was the musk of farm animals in the distance.

He perched on the stone wall they’d stopped by. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was preferable to sitting in the dirt. Gale eased himself down beside him, wincing.

“Knees?”

“Always. All of this walking is going to be the death of me. Do you ever get tired? What with the immortality and all.”

He snorted. “Tired, yes. Sore, briefly. Injuries and strains don’t tend to linger.”

Gale’s gaze drifted toward his back. He didn’t ask, but Astarion knew what he was wondering.

“Yes, that’s a vampire thing. A vampire lord thing, I suppose. Or maybe it’s because of the impending infernal ritual? Cazador’s other verses never lingered…”

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“You didn’t ask. I inferred.”

Resting his hands on the cool stone, he leaned back, staring down at the rooftops below. Any of the ramshackle homes could offer him sanctuary, but only if it was an established residence and the owner agreed to refuse entry to his siblings.

With the tadpole, if he were to own a house, would he still be safe? Did that protection extend to vampire spawn? Could he theoretically own anything that didn’t ultimately belong to Cazador through their lingering bond?

He wasn’t naive enough to hope the tadpole had completely severed all his ties to him…

“What is Waterdeep like?”

Gale tilted his head, lips pursing. “In what sense?”

“It’s your home, isn’t it?”

A fond smile came to his face, his eyes crinkling. “Yes, I was born and raised in the City of Splendors! I take it you’ve never been?”

“Maybe once as a boy. I’m not sure. It wasn’t exactly a short trek from the Dalelands.”

“Mmm, I imagine not. Picture Baldur’s Gate, but on an even grander scale. It’s a city of thinkers and dreamers, much like myself! There are around one hundred thousand residents, though I’ve heard Baldur’s Gate can reach comparable numbers in the summer months.”

Astarion was well aware. Summer always brought plenty of fresh targets to choose from, even if the sheer number of visitors to the city set his teeth on edge.

“I suppose I should have guessed you hailed from the Dalelands,” Gale continued. “That’s what, a two month journey? Perhaps even longer, what with all the technological advances of the past two centuries.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Did you just complain about your knees and then have the gall to call me old? I expect that sort of thing from Wyll, but not from you.”

Ugh, Wyll. He’d still been shooting disapproving looks his way. Yet another reason Astarion had been eager to get some space. What was his problem? Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what suddenly had the warlock looking at him like he was a lingering bit of gore on his fabled rapier.

Gale chuffed a laugh. “I had to, at least once. Especially since it riles you up so much.”

“I’ll have you know I’m not the oldest member of our party. That honor belongs to Halsin, and yet I don’t hear you all cracking jokes at his expense.”

“He wears his age like a badge of honor. Hold on, how old does that make Tav then?”

“A little over a century. They left the Underdark just after they reached their majority. By elf standards, anyway. They came up to the surface and were almost immediately snatched up by the Mind Flayers.”

Gale turned toward him, lips pursing. “You two are quite close, aren’t you?”

Astarion blinked. There wasn’t an accusatory note to the words, and yet… He met his gaze. Though Gale smiled pleasantly enough, there was still a tightness to the corners of his eyes.

Was it a genuine question? Or was he jealous?

Or, even worse, did he doubt his faithfulness?

They hadn’t said things between them were exclusive. The notion was ridiculous, especially after Astarion admitted he didn’t know how to have a relationship like this in the first place.

What happened to just seeing where things went?

Gale was fresh from a breakup with a goddess though. Perhaps he should have mercy on him…

“We have more in common than either of us expected. Being deemed a male Drow isn’t all that dissimilar from being made into a vampire spawn.”

“I was surprised to learn Tav was nonbinary,” Gale admitted. “What with the Drow’s strict gender roles.”

Astarion turned once more toward the horizon. The purpling of the clouds reminded him of fresh bruises.

“They were forced to live as a male, with everything it entailed. Gender expression outside of the binary isn’t tolerated. I wasn’t sure if you noticed, but their sister still referred to them by their birth name.”

“Div’anam?” Gale hazarded.

He nodded. “But they’ve asked me not to use it. They chose Tav for themself.”

“Of course. It can’t have been easy for them to leave everything behind in order to be their authentic self. Especially with how…close they are with their sister.”

Astarion snorted softly. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

“No, I believe it!” Gale insisted. “Nevertheless, I must admit I don’t understand it. Maybe because I’m an only child. Or maybe because my own upbringing wasn’t quite so…fraught.”

He’d been an only child too. At least until Cazador came along and forced six “siblings” on him.

“Even a male Drow from a powerful house only has so much power and freedom in their society. We’ve bonded over similar…experiences. I hadn’t planned on confiding in them at all, but Tav recognized the signs I tried to bury of…what had been done to me.”

His thoughts drifted back to the night he shared with Tav before the fateful encounter in the Underdark. While he’d tried to seduce the Drow for protection, he hadn’t been entirely uninterested in a rendezvous. Not with how many times he’d read and reread the tales of Drizzt Do’Urden.

He’d fantasized more than once that Drizzt himself might come to his rescue. That he would understand the things he’d been forced to do to survive and what becoming Cazador’s slave had turned him into. As stupid and childish as that was.

Nevermind the fact Astarion was nearly seventy years Drizzt’s senior.

Gods, how utterly mortifying.

They’d formed something of a support group after they unintentionally bared their scars to each other. Halsin later joined their ranks, as did Karlach. They didn’t always talk about what had happened or what had been done to them. Sometimes it was enough to sit together in silence and know they weren’t alone.

Astarion felt the most comfortable opening up to Tav, though now Gale knew more than he’d ever planned to tell him too. Tav was so vulnerable with him and, most importantly, didn’t pity him. Their talks reminded him of his earlier days under Cazador’s thumb, when he, Aurelia, and Dalyria had been able to take some solace in one another.

That ended when Cazador began forcing them to torture one other. Astarion stopped seeking his sisters out after he overheard a sobbing Aurelia confide in Dalyria about a nightmare he’d been the star of.

Cazador made sure they had no one, least of all each other.

“I suspected based on the encounter with their sister, but I didn’t realize hailing from a powerful Drow house afforded little to no protection,” Gale murmured, leaning forward. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring down at his clasped hands.

“We can be rather maudlin when we start reminiscing,” Astarion replied, hoping he hid the truth of just how often beneath his flippant tone.

“Wyll mentioned he often saw the two of you together at night,” Gale said after a long moment.

Was that the reason behind all of his dirty looks?

Astarion crossed his arms, scowling. “What? Does he think I’m taking advantage of Tav? He’s always determined to assume the worst of me. As flattering as his opinion is, I would never do that.”

Gale didn’t look up as he said, “I believe he was more concerned on my behalf.”

“He thought I was taking advantage of you?”

Astarion was going to find the Blade of Frontiers and tell him just what he could do with his damned rapier. His fists tightened as anger hummed beneath his skin.

“He was concerned you were involved with both of us, without my knowing.”

And Gale hadn’t bothered to mention it to him until now.

Had he believed him?

Astarion’s stomach sank.

Of course he had.

Who in their right mind would trust someone like him over someone like Wyll? Wyll, who somehow still looked every bit the hero despite his new devilish exterior. Astarion, by comparison, was a carnivorous flower. Beautiful on the outside, but only to lure in his prey.

Cazador’s prey.

Why did it even matter? It’s not like whatever he had with Gale would last. As insufferable as he could be, at his heart Gale was just as nauseatingly good as Wyll.

Too good for someone like him.

“Astarion?”

“What?”

His voice lashed out like a whip, making Gale flinch. A few weeks ago he would have congratulated himself on a point scored against the wizard. Now, he only felt hollow.

Here it was. Gale was going to ask him outright because he didn’t trust him enough to believe him without reassurance. The ghosts of thousands of hands roved over his body and he had to suppress a shudder.

Why would Gale trust someone like him? Why would he believe someone like him?

He’d barely been able to open up to Tav about the darker parts of his past, and Tav understood better than most. How could he possibly tell Gale? If Gale knew how broken he was, he’d realize any sort of relationship with him was far more trouble than it was worth.

Bathing with him the other day was the first time Astarion could remember genuinely wanting intimacy. After two centuries of being forced to chase others’ pleasure, he’d finally wanted to do it of his own accord. It had felt like his first time.

He hadn’t been a virgin when he’d come under Cazador’s control, but from the little he could remember before then, he hadn’t been liberal with his affections. Sure, he’d enjoyed flirting. He’d been good at it, but there was a difference between flirting and fucking. Or there had been.

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself as he stood, alarmed to feel his eyes and throat beginning to burn. He hadn’t cried in decades, and now that he was finally “free,” he was so often on the verge of tears. Sometimes he almost wished he was numb again. It had been so much simpler to not feel anything.

Had he always had this many godsdamned emotions lurking beneath the surface? Was every repressed feeling from the past two centuries trying to claw its way out of the mass grave he’d buried them all in?

“I’m—“

Astarion spun around, just before an all too familiar face came into view. He’d already drawn his bow and notched an arrow, pointing it directly at the interloper’s heart.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he hissed.

The monster hunter was decidedly not dead. Or undead, for that matter. He was as hale and hearty as he’d been before their fight, with seemingly all his blood inside him now. To add insult to injury, the damned corners of his stupid mustache were still upturned.

Gandrel held his hands up to indicate he was unarmed. As if it mattered. He wasn’t alone. He and his compatriots approached from upwind. Astarion didn’t know how many of them there were. Now the night was darker, it was easier for him to pinpoint the rest, even if he couldn’t smell them yet. He had to earnestly listen to catch the susurrations of their boots against the grass. They were professionals after all, and they were clearly hunting him.

Raucous voices, the reek of cheap beer, the agony of shattered bones…

It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to keep his arrow steady.

He could run. Monster hunters or not, they were only human. They were as good as blind in the darkness and they could never hope to keep up with him when he was so well-fed. But Gale was only human too. And the pathetic weakling Astarion was the last time their kind cornered him had been snuffed out centuries ago.

Who had landed the final blow on the Gur?

Wyll.

Of course the monster hunter had a soft spot for other monster hunters.

His upper lip curled back, exposing his fangs.

“No need to remedy that,” Gandrel answered with a suspicious amount of magnanimity after having been left for dead.

Astarion forced the logical part of himself back to the forefront. These weren’t the runts from back then. These were the Gur’s top fighters. Cazador considered them dangerous enough en masse that he’d sent all seven spawn to their camp.

Gale appeared at his side, hands tight around his staff. The scent of fresh lightning welled up around him and the hair on the back of Astarion’s neck rose with the raw power permeating the air.

“We mean you no harm,” Gandrel continued. “The hunt has been called off.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “Cazador isn’t exactly the type to forgive and forget,” he bit out.

An older woman stepped from the shadows, carrying herself with the deceptive nonchalance of a seasoned warrior. A silver braided circlet rested above her brow, nearly the same color as her close-cropped hair. Her gaze was sharp, despite the dim light. She reminded him of Jaheira, though time hadn’t been as kind to her.

“We were searching for you of our own accord. If you recall, the last time we met you and your fellow spawn stole away with our children.”

Gale sucked in a sharp breath. Astarion was grateful he couldn’t see his face. He had a soft spot for children. Most of their companions did. Astarion didn’t share it. Even so, he felt no triumph upon bringing Cazador their children. Bastard that Cazador was, he’d never requested victims so young before. The thought he was likely engaging in new levels of depravity left bile in the back of Astarion’s throat.

The only child he somewhat knew was Leon’s daughter, and she kept mostly to herself. He’d only ever interacted with her when she frequented the same hideaways throughout Szarr palace, up in the rafters and tucked away in storage rooms stuffed with antiquated furniture and dust motes. She’d never seemed afraid of him, or at least not like she was of Violet, Petras, and Yousen.

They would exchange brief glances before he returned his attention to his books and she, her childish pursuits. The only time they spoke was when she’d hesitantly asked for his help deciphering a book on ancient languages. Against his better judgment, he looked it over with her until she hurried off to answer her father’s call. She’d offered him the smallest of smiles over her shoulder as she ducked out of the room.

Had Victoria fallen prey to Cazador too..?

“Gandrel’s orders were to bring you back here for interrogation. We need to know what has become of our children.”

“Two of your victims were my own,” Gandrel added, expression solemn. “I’d be lying if I said I had no interest in spilling your blood, but Ulma believes you’ve changed. That you’ve separated yourself from your master.”

What in the hells had he done to warrant such an accusation?

“He has,” Gale cut in. “Though I wish he’d mentioned this before. Perhaps we could have found them by now.”

“Found them?” Astarion echoed in disbelief. “They were dead the moment Cazador set his sights on them! All you’ll find is their remains, and that’s only if you’re lucky.”

“You don’t know that,” Gale protested. “Maybe he had something different in mind for them.”

Astarion’s fingers tightened on his bow as bile threatened to rise to the back of his throat once more. “I’m telling you that death is the best case scenario! You don’t know what he’s like!” His arrow wavered and he locked his muscles into place to steady it.

“It’s the least we can do, Astarion. You owe it to them.”

Anger shot through him, burning as hot as a match to smokepowder. “I don’t owe them anything!” he snarled. “The only reason I was in their camp in the first place is because a pack of them beat me to death’s door two centuries ago!”

Ulma’s eyes narrowed. “Our people aren’t prone to attacking without provocation, despite what others may believe.”

“If that boy wanted to keep both of his hands, then he shouldn’t have done something as abysmally stupid as stealing a patriar’s horse! I took his age into consideration when I handed down the sentence. Horse thievery was a capital offense then, just as it is now!”

The words and accompanying memory surfaced out of nowhere. He’d long forgotten what ruling he made to provoke the Gur. Or…he thought he had.

As a magistrate, he’d been known for his strict adherence to the law, regardless of the age or class of a defendant. He hadn’t let emotion or circumstance play a role in his rulings. If the person in question was foolish or sloppy enough to get caught, he rewarded them with the full consequences of their actions.

The Gur boy was the first and only time he’d been stupid enough to show a defendant a modicum of mercy. The patriar in question had demanded the boy’s head. Astarion gave her one of his hands instead. Neither she nor the Gur were pleased with the ruling. She’d threatened his career and they’d threatened his life.

The silence following his pronouncement was deafening. The Gur leader stared at him as if he were scum she found on the bottom of her boot. He refused to look in Gale’s direction, but he could feel his gaze. He knew there was revulsion and horror on his face.

Fuck Gale and fuck all of them. They should have been grateful.

Even if what he’d done was reprehensible, which it wasn’t, hadn’t he paid the price a thousand times over already? The loss of their children at his hands was only possible because their ancestors had beaten him until he had no options but to accept Cazador’s offer or die.

How could Gale care more about a boy long dead than about him? The damned wizard hadn’t even been alive then!

The Gur leader’s face hardened into an unreadable mask. “Did you see him feed on our children?” she finally demanded.

No. He’d retreated to one of his hideaways the moment he turned the two he’d grabbed over to Cazador.

He hadn’t wanted to hear, hadn’t wanted to see…

Inferring his answer, she continued, her voice as rough as stones tumbling over one another. “We tried saving them once already, attacking at first light.” A muscle jumped in her jaw. “We just completed the funeral rites for those who did not survive.”

Astarion was about to demand why he should care anyone died during their stupid suicide mission when Gandrel spoke up again.

“You know what Cazador Szarr is like, Astarion. Better than any of us. If there’s the slightest chance our children still live, we must save them. You don’t have to help us, but I would hope if anyone understood what they’ve gone through, what they may be going through right now, it would be you.”

A dozen scenarios flashed through Astarion’s mind, each more horrific than the last. His arrow wavered again.

“You could succeed where we’ve failed. You’re one of his spawn. If he’s like any other vampire lord, I’d wager he’s eager to get you back. You know you’ll never be truly free so long as he lives. Is it too much to ask you share the fate of our children after you’ve confronted him?”

He opened his mouth to snarl back at him, but Gale cut him off.

“Please give us some time. We intend to kill Cazador, but we haven’t worked out the logistics yet. It would be foolish of us to go in without a well-thought-out plan.”

“We would be in your debt,” Gandrel answered, bowing his head.

Astarion slowly lowered his bow, jaw tight. He didn’t say anything as he walked straight toward Gandrel and Ulma. They stepped aside to let him pass. Gale’s familiar footsteps fell behind him. He didn’t reshoulder his bow until he was certain they weren’t being followed.

“Astarion…”

He spun on his heel, anger roiling in his gut. “I don’t want to hear it! You’ve already made your opinion of me quite clear! I don’t owe them anything! You don’t know what it was like! You don’t know what he’s like!”

Gale drew to a halt, eyes searching Astarion’s face. “...you’re right, I don’t. You’ve told me bits and pieces, but that’s all I know.”

Astarion’s fists clenched, nail’s digging painfully into his palms. Gale tentatively stepped forward, wrapping his hands around his and holding them between them. Fool that he was, Astarion didn’t pull back. Gale’s thumbs brushed slowly back and forth across the backs of his hands until Astarion’s grip eased to the point he was no longer in danger of drawing blood.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Gale continued. “But it might help. It might help me understand and it might help you unburden yourself.”

Astarion glowered back at him. “I’ve already talked about it with Tav, Halsin, and Karlach.”

That wasn’t entirely true. He’d shared more with them than he had with Gale, but not by much. Mostly he just listened as the others shared their own horrible stories.

Tav, who Gale had just accused him of taking advantage of and of two-timing him with.

“Of course there’s hardly been time for talk where Tav is concerned with all of the fucking we’ve been doing,” he added. “That’s all I’m good for, isn’t it? Being a godsdamned whore?”

He wrenched his hands from Gale’s, eyes and throat burning alarmingly.

“I never said that,” Gale protested, voice soft. Sympathetic.

Astarion wanted to rip out his godsdamned throat.

“How do you think I lured so many back to him, Gale?” he demanded, fists tightening again as he fought for control over the emotions threatening to drown him. “I could have overpowered them. He could have compelled them. But Cazador never wanted to draw attention. He didn’t want people to start asking questions.”

His nails finally bit into his palms and he was grateful for the distraction the pain gave him. How it helped ground him in reality. Yes, he’d been forced to seduce Cazador’s prey. But they hadn’t been the only ones he’d been on his back for.

“Astarion–”

“I don’t want your godsdamned pity! Or do you think I deserved what happened because of a single ruling I made? Was I too harsh on the boy? I could have had him executed! The patriar wanted him dead! I would have sent him to his death if the damned horse hadn’t been returned to her!”

Gale stared back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I met Cazador only once before then. Lord Cazador.” He spat out his name like a curse. “He found me in the alley, drowning in my own blood. He promised to save me.”

His breath hitched. Drops of blood weeped from between his fingers and splattering on the cobblestones at his feet.

They’d never spoken aside from the briefest of greetings at some ball or other held by and for the elites of Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion had seen him a handful of times before then, usually in the High Hall on the days he was stuck working until after sunset. Once a colleague remarked on his having an admirer in the Elfsong Tavern. Astarion had looked up from his flagon of Rollrum to find himself almost entranced when he met Cazador’s brazen stare. He’d given Astarion a languid smile that he returned along with a brief wave of his fingers.

He felt the tadpole in his mind connect with Gale’s, though he couldn’t say which of them initiated it. Against his better judgment, he didn’t fight it.

Let the bastard see.

“Poor boy,” Cazador crooned as he knelt beside him in the empty alley, Astarion’s blood slowly soaking into the hem of his cloak.

Cold fingers brushed against his shattered cheek.

“What a waste…”

Astarion tried to speak but only managed to cough, the resulting disruption of his splintered ribs nearly making him black out.

“You are dying.” His fingers moved to his hair, brushing through his gore slick curls.

He was right. Astarion could feel the life draining from his body.

He was only thirty-nine. He still had his whole life ahead of him. He’d never see his parents again. Never marry or have children.

He’d spent his life with his parents’ expectations driving him to greater and greater heights. They wanted him to have everything they lacked and had tried to live through him. He left home so young because he thought by being away, he would have a chance to become his own person. To explore what he wanted without their hopes and dreams weighing him down.

They loved him, didn’t they? His father’s latest letter surfaced in his fracturing thoughts. It was so short.

Astarion - When are you going to put this rebellious streak behind you and come home? You are not yet fifty, have not experienced the Drawing of the Veil. Baldur’s Gate is no place for a boy like yourself. Stop being so headstrong and come back before something happens to you. For once in your selfish life, try to think of someone other than yourself.

Selfish. He’d always been selfish, hadn’t he?

His thoughts grew murkier, slower. He’d been younger than the Gur boy the first time his father raised a hand against him. He’d been caught lying in the sun warmed grass instead of studying.

His parents only wanted the best for him. If that wasn’t love, what was it?

“Focus, boy.” Cazador’s command dragged him back into the present. “I can save you, if you want to live.”

If he could save him, why hadn’t he already?

Cazador cupped his cheek and turned his head, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do you want to live?”

“Y-Yes,” he managed. “H-Help me…”

The languid smile from before returned, though this time Cazador’s lips parted revealing the fangs they kept hidden.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked. “You must ask nicely.”

“P-Please…”

Cazador’s eyes seemed to glow then and he tilted Astarion’s head to the other side. A belated thrill of fear shot through him, freezing what little remained of the blood in his veins. Astarion tried to pull back, but he was too weak. Too broken.

Cazador’s fangs pierced the tender flesh of his neck, silencing the panicked scream that tried to escape. He pressed something to Astarion’s lips and a viscous liquid as cold as ice dripped down his defenseless throat.

Another unbidden memory lurched to the surface before he could stop it.

“It would not hurt nearly as much if you stopped fighting. Shall I command you to enjoy it?” The words were spoken just behind his ear as Cazador dragged his razor sharp nails along Astarion’s bare side, rending his flesh as he went.

Astarion abruptly severed the connection between them. Gale stood sightlessly before him, face ashen.

Astarion didn’t give him a chance to recover.

He ran.

Chapter Text

Gale spent hours after Astarion’s sudden flight trying to find him. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air. Baldur’s Gate and its surroundings had been his home for over two centuries. If Astarion didn’t want to be found, Gale reluctantly accepted he was unlikely to track him down.

He reentered their camp, half expecting Astarion’s tent to have also vanished. Gale was relieved it remained, even if the vampire wasn’t in residence. Just because he’d massively fucked up didn’t mean he wanted Astarion to feel as if he had to flee from all of them. He fervently wished Astarion hadn’t felt the need to flee from him either.

Astarion was supposed to be on watch. Tav sat by the fire in his place. They looked up as Gale approached, eyes darting to the empty space on either side of him. The others had already turned in for the night. Reaching the fire, Gale eased himself down beside it, legs and feet aching.

“He ran off,” he blurted before Tav could ask.

The Drow’s brow furrowed in concern. “What happened? Is he all right?”

What hadn’t happened was a better question. As far as Astarion’s point of view was concerned, he’d gone from being accused of sleeping around to being surrounded by the descendants of the people who beat him to death’s door and forced him into Cazador’s arms. Gale wished he’d kept his mouth shut and had let Astarion answer the Gur himself. There was no guarantee things would have turned out differently, but at least he wouldn’t have been responsible for backing him further into a corner.

“Did you fight..?” Tav continued uncertainly. “The way he talked, things were going well between you.”

Guilt settled like a stone in his middle. Gale dropped his gaze to the flickering flames. “He talks about me?”

“Almost incessantly,” Tav answered, an unexpectedly fond note in their voice. “Though he’d kill me if he knew I told you.”

“Has he mentioned much about his time with Cazador?”

Tav’s face darkened, the effect all the more menacing due to the black veins branching out from their eyes after their failed attempt to reject the Astral-Touched Tadpole.

“A bit. I found out by accident. I’m going to enjoy the iblith’s suffering, darkness take him.”

Iblith.That had been the insult Tav’s sister had bestowed upon him. What had that meant again?

Ah, piece of shit.

Tav met his gaze, fury burning in their remaining blood red eye.

“There is nothing that phindar did not take from him.”

Gale nodded slowly. He hadn’t known what to expect when Astarion initiated the tadpole connection between them. The memories Astarion shared upon would forever haunt him. Especially the second, the one he believed Astarion hadn’t ever intended for him to see.

The terror that had gripped him was a flame to the candle of his own when the Netherese orb first entered him, when he’d thought he was going to die. His fear then had been tempered by the realization the end was upon him. Astarion, however, had known there was no end in sight.

Cazador had begun to speak again just as Astarion severed the connection. Gale had felt the compulsion start to take hold. It was like no charm spell he’d ever experienced. There was no resisting it. It was as if he was trapped in a cage within his own mind. Astarion had been utterly helpless as his body responded to the call of his master.

Gale might have managed to catch his arm before he ran, had he not found himself immediately doubling over to vomit. The memories shared through the connection were always so visceral. It was as if the recipient was experiencing them firsthand. In that brief moment, he’d been Astarion. He’d felt his pain and anguish and hopelessness as if it were his own. It was hard enough to hear what his lover had been through prior to their meeting one another, but it was another to know. The horror he’d felt in Astarion’s stead had only been compounded by his own on his behalf.

Though things ended horribly with Mystra, at least Gale had never been afraid of her. Her request for him to kill himself took him to a dark place but she had never forced his hand.

This was what Astarion’s life had been like for the past two hundred years. Until he’d been lucky enough to have a godsdamned Illithid parasite forced on him.

While he still felt it was right to help the Gur, at least now he understood why Astarion was so upset at the implication it was his personal responsibility. He was just as much of a victim in all this, which was easy to forget with how well he masked it most of the time.

Tav drew their knees to their chest, resting their chin on them as they stared into the fire. “He understands me in a way I didn’t think was possible. In seeking to save myself, I became a traitor to my people. What I did was unforgivable. Someone of my rank should never have raised a hand against one Matron, let alone two.”

Gale was guiltily grateful for the distraction from Astarion’s memories. Gods, how did he manage to be so…so…vibrant despite everything that had happened to him? He was in utter awe of Astarion’s fortitude in spite of everything.

“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

They looked up briefly before glancing away. “My mother sought to forge a political alliance. My sister and I were her only children, which is unusual for our kind. Word got around and two powerful Matrons expressed an interest.”

They wrapped their arms around their legs, holding them tightly. “I was considered to be a…male of some value due to my abilities as a warrior. I’d previously received instruction in fighting from one of the Matrons. She…” They hesitated. “…took liberties that were…somewhat within her rights, given my status as a male. But her actions should have been repaid in kind due to the strength of our House and my being a member of the central family. By…assaulting me, she acted against the entirety of our House. It was a grave insult.”

Gale nodded, reaching over to gently rest his hand on their shoulder. They looked up, unshed tears in their eyes. Tav surprised him by scooting closer to lean against him. Gale tentatively wrapped his arm around their shoulders.

“This is one of the things I like most about the Surface,” Tav offered. “You are all so quick to raise a hand in friendship rather than violence. I used to only find such comfort from my sister, and only when we were safely out of sight. We would have been punished severely for such displays of weakness.”

“I’m sorry,” Gale murmured, absently rubbing their upper arm.

Tav rested their cheek on his shoulder, the faintest of smiles curling their lips.

“Astarion and I have been trying to help one another grow more accustomed to this sort of touching. He struggles with it more than I do, not having had a sister as wonderful as mine to help.”

Wonderful was an interesting choice of word, but Gale chose not to voice as much.

“My sister wanted to make the Matron suffer for what she did to me.” They hesitated again. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened, but…it was the worst. She treated me as if I were a lowborn commoner.” Their fingers tightened in the fabric of their cloak. “My sister wanted to raze her House to the ground, but she was not a Matron then. She had to defer to our mother.”

They sighed softly. “She shouldn’t have, but she helped me prepare to take matters into my own hands. I didn’t tell her I was going to run after, should I miraculously survive. Even with her help, it should have been a suicide mission. But it wasn’t. And I repaid her by leaving without even saying goodbye.”

Tav reached up, discreetly wiping at the tears that began to spill over. “Somehow she still loves me, despite everything I did to her. It’s hard to trust someone, especially when you spend your entire life being taught the only person you can trust is yourself. Astarion understands. He’s been trying to trust you, to trust all of us, but it goes against everything he’s ever known too.”

Gale stared down at the top of their head, their white hair was a close match to Astarion’s. His eyes began to burn.

“He loves you, I think. Even if he’s not ready to admit it. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Loving someone is harder than trusting them.”

Their face warmed as they snuck a glance at Karlach’s tent.

Oh. Well, that was interesting

“I don’t deserve his forgiveness, but given how close the two of you are, do you have any suggestions on how I might work toward it?”

Tav considered the question, brow furrowing. “Forgiveness is a newer concept for me. If I had to guess, showing him you trust him. Unconditionally. Even if his morals don’t quite match yours. Let him work his problems out on his own, but also let him know you fully support his decisions.” They turned, meeting Gale’s eyes. “And, most importantly, save him from himself.”

Gale sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

“Has he told you he plans to complete Cazador’s ritual?”

“He what?!”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

How in the hells was Gale supposed to trust Astarion or let him make his own decisions when it came to sacrificing his surrogate siblings solely to attain an unholy power?

“Tell me, why do you think he wants to complete the ritual?” they continued.

Gale wracked his brain. A thirst for power? The end of Cazador?

Neither seemed right.

What would Astarion ultimately gain by becoming a Vampire Ascendant?

And then it hit him, an answer so obvious he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“He’s afraid.”

Tav smile twisted ruefully as they nodded. “I would let him do it without a second thought if it was what he really wanted, but I don’t think it is. I don’t think he believes there’s any other way he will finally feel safe. Truthfully, I’m still inclined to let him do it, even if it would ultimately destroy him. He never wanted to be a vampire. He’s only ever wanted the chance to live his own life on his own terms. Becoming a Vampire Ascendant would let him, but at great cost.”

Gale swallowed hard at the sudden swell of emotion tightening his chest. His reasons for seeking out the Netherese orb were incredibly selfish by comparison. He’d wanted to be Mystra’s equal, but more than anything (if he was being completely honest), he’d wanted the power he thought she would grant him.

Astarion didn’t want power for power’s sake. How had he not realized sooner?

What else had he missed?

“Thank you for telling me,” Gale murmured, voice rough. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Tav beamed back at him. “I am trying very hard to be a good friend to him. It isn’t easy. I don’t think I can talk him out of completing the ritual, but I hope you can.”

Gale blew out a slow breath. “I hope so too.”

…if Astarion ever wanted to speak to him again…

“Do you know who he has the greatest respect for in all the realms?” Tav asked.

Gale cocked his head to the side. “Who?”

They chuckled. “Now this will ensure he wants me dead, so you did not hear it from me. I don’t think he knows I know.”

“Color me intrigued.”

Tav leaned closer, conspiratorially. They cupped their hand around Gale’s ear before whispering, “Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“What?!”

Tav doubled over with laughter as they hurriedly tried to shush him. “The others will hear you and then he will kill us all!”

“…that was the name I was trying to remember before! I was going to suggest some of the books on him since Astarion has such an interest in the Drow and the Underdark.”

“Why do you think?” Tav said, reaching up to stifle the next laugh that escaped them. “I only realized because he quotes him so often!”

“He what?”

“Shh! I was interested in Drizzt from a young age, though my mother would have beaten it out of me if she’d known. I fantasized about traveling to the surface like he did. Not to become a hero or any nonsense like that, but to be free. To be my authentic self.

“The quotes aren’t obvious and, to be fair, Astarion puts his own twists on them. I only recognize them because I’m so familiar with the stories myself.”

Gale thought back to the time he’d brought up the Drow Ranger and how still Astarion had gone. Like he’d been waiting on bated breath. Had he hoped he’d come across a fellow admirer? Gods above, he probably had!

“I had no idea. I’ve only ever had a passing interest in his tales. My mother sometimes read them to me when I was little, but I was far more interested in stories about Elminster and other powerful magic users.”

“Ah, yes, your grandad,” Tav said, grinning,

“Does Karlach still think he’s my grandad?”

“There’s no harm in it, and it amuses the rest of us.”

Gale sighed heavily before his mood quickly sobered. “Do you think he’ll be all right out there on his own tonight?”

Tav sat up, crossing their legs and resting their elbows on their knees. “I hope so. Being so close to Baldur’s Gate has him on edge, especially with Cazador and the other spawn undoubtedly searching for him.”

Gale glanced toward what little he could see of Wyrm’s Crossing in the distance. “I should go back out and look for him.”

Tav shook their head. “Get some rest first. My watch is almost finished. I’ll fetch Lae’zel and then go look for him. I’ll wake you when I return, with or without him.”

Gale wanted to protest, but he was dead on his feet. The past few weeks had been exhausting. He’d thought himself decently fit before, but walking around Waterdeep and lifting heavy tomes had done little to prepare him for their constant traveling and fighting.

Tav shooed him to his tent before heading toward Lae’zel’s.

Gale slept harder than intended, having only planned a short nap before resuming his own search. By the time Tav poked their head into his tent to rouse him, Gale could already hear birdsong. He jerked upright, eyes wide.

Tav held up a hand. “He’s back. I found him, or I should say he found me. Otherwise I would’ve woken you sooner.”

“Is he all right?” Gale demanded, voice thick with sleep. His body was moving faster than his thoughts and he lurched out of his tent before Tav could reply.

His gaze immediately went to Astarion’s empty tent and he frowned.

“He’s all right. He’s with Wyll now,” Tav said.

“Wyll? Why?”

Tav absently rubbed the back of their neck. “I’m afraid we weren’t the only ones awake last night. Wyll overheard our conversation and insisted upon apologizing to Astarion the instant he returned to camp. Apparently he was under the impression Astarion and I were more than friends. He must have seen us together the night before we all went into the Underdark.”

They paused, eyeing Gale. Their expression became deadly serious. “Nothing happened then or since. I swear it on the love I bear my sister.”

Gale didn’t need the reassurance. Not after how Astarion reacted to what he’d foolishly thought was gentle probing on the subject last night.

“I know,” he insisted. “I didn’t intend to call his faithfulness into question. I’m just an idiot who never thought to confirm we were exclusive and did an abysmally poor job of it when I finally broached the subject.”

The building tension in Tav’s frame abruptly eased and they grinned. “I’m glad to hear it! I hope you’ll explain as much to him?”

“Of course! Once I’m finished making my many groveling apologies…” His expression softened as he shifted the conversation back to Wyll. “Wyll apologized? I’m glad to hear it.”

Tav nodded. “I’m equally glad to see them on friendlier terms. Astarion has always been particularly fond of Wyll. Likely because Wyll’s a bit of a Drizzt himself, though you never heard that from me!” They paused, gaze dropping to the ground by Gale’s feet. “Ah, I forgot to mention, something came for you earlier. I set it outside your tent.”

Gale perked up, kneeling down to retrieve the parcel. “Wonderful! Thank you!”

It wasn’t much, but he hoped Astarion would accept the package as a peace offering of sorts. He’d planned for it to be a gift, but the sentiment would have to wait. Perhaps he could track down the latest book on a certain Drow ranger for that... Gods knew there were plenty of them.

“I suggest giving them another moment,” Tav said, pointing to where the others were gathered around the fire. “Breakfast is ready. Go eat.”

It was only then Gale registered coffee and other tantalizing aromas on the air. They’d been splurging a bit since they left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’zel hunted while the others visited the nearby vendors for the remainder of their supplies. Astarion was particularly gifted when it came to finding a good deal, despite not needing to eat.

Gale sheepishly joined everyone else, apparently having been the last to rise. He was relieved to see there was ample coffee to be had.

He’d never been much of a morning person, unlike Astarion who rose with the sun. He was sure only needing to trance four hours a day helped, but he was surprised to see how downright chipper the vampire was in the morning. Well, chipper for him at any rate.

By the time Wyll and Astarion returned from the edge of camp, Gale was finishing up his third cup of coffee and feeling marginally more human. A pleasant warmth bloomed in his chest on seeing the two together, Wyll laughing at something Astarion said and Astarion smiling almost shyly back at him. One of his real smiles.

Wyll had always been more reserved when it came to their vampiric companion. He and Astarion were as near to polar opposites as they could be. Not to mention Wyll’s monster hunting background and penchant for altruism. His acceptance of Astarion was like the final piece finally sliding into place, making their ragtag group feel like a true family.

The two parted ways, Wyll heading to the fire while Astarion strode toward his tent. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked paler than usual. Gale hurried to his feet, brushing errant crumbs from his shirt. He’d brought the package with him to breakfast, so he was able to go directly to Astarion’s tent before the vampire could slip inside.

“Astarion!”

The vampire paused before slowly turning back to face him. His expression was closed off, a different version of his usual mask applied in full force. He watched Gale approach, eyes wary.

“I realize you probably want to rest now, but I just wanted to let you know how truly sorry I am for what happened last night.”

Astarion’s brows lifted, eyes widening a fraction.

“I’d like to make a more formal apology, but only if you’re feeling up to it. And only if you’re feeling receptive.” Before he lost his nerve, he shoved the cloth wrapped bundle toward him. “This is for you. You don’t have to open it now and, frankly I won’t fault you if you’d rather burn it than accept it, but–”

“What is it?” Astarion asked, curiosity waylaying his initial misgivings. He stared down at the parcel as he took it from him.

“Would you rather open it or have me tell you?”

Astarion seemed to be weighing his options. “...can we go somewhere more private?”

His tone gave no indication of whether or not the request was a good thing, but Gale nodded all the same. He trooped alongside him as they moved out of earshot of the others.

“Tav mentioned you found them last night,” Gale said as they went.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, idiot that they are. They told me they offered to go looking for me in your stead. I told them they needed to return to camp because it wasn’t safe out here after dark, so of course they refused to go unless I accompanied. I cannot stress how important it is for you all to remain in camp after nightfall.”

They came to a halt just beneath the outstretched branches of a towering tree.

Realization dawned. “You’re worried about Cazador.”

“Not just Cazador. You forget I also have six brothers and sisters who prowl these streets at night. While they’re likely only searching for me, I wouldn’t suggest pressing your luck.”

“Understood, though I hope you’ll do the same.”

He gave a small shrug. “I can handle them.”

“But you don’t have to. Not alone, at any rate.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, though he didn’t protest. Out loud, at least.

“I am truly sorry,” Gale insisted. “What I said last night. What I did. It was wrong of me. I should have trusted you. I’m afraid it wasn’t so much a result of your character as it was my own.”

Astarion didn’t answer, letting the silence drag out between them.

“...as you know, I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to matters of the heart.” He blew out a slow breath. “I must admit I was…” He struggled for the right word. “...feeling rather insecure.”

Astarion blinked.

“Insecure and a bit jealous,” he amended. “I didn’t see the writing on the wall in regard to my relationship with Mystra until it was too late. She cast me aside so easily despite all of our time together. I was afraid I was misreading the signs again, that I misunderstood the nature of our relationship. That things might be one-sided on my end. I’m not always the best at picking up on those sorts of cues. I realized we never said our relationship was exclusive and I felt like a fool for being upset about a boundary I never established in the first place.”

As badly as he wanted to look down at his boots, he forced himself to meet Astarion’s gaze. “I never meant to imply you were liberal with your affections or that I didn’t trust you. I’m also sorry for my insensitivity last night with the Gur. I know none of this has been easy for you and I failed to properly take your feelings into consideration. I won’t make excuses for my actions. I hurt you, whether or not it was my intention. You don’t have to accept my apology, and I fully understand if you want nothing more to do with me. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am and that you in no way deserved such appalling behavior on my part.”

The silence continued to stretch between them and Gale felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, realizing Astarion may not forgive him after all. He’d gone into this conversation knowing it was a possibility, but he’d still hoped...

“...thank you, darling,” Astarion finally answered, voice soft. “I must admit I’m not accustomed to apologies or…relationships. I hope you understand I am trying. In my own way.”

“Of course!” Gale insisted, reaching out to take his free hand in his own. “We’re both learning and growing. It’s part of being alive.”

Astarion snorted softly. “There you go, calling me alive again.”

Gale grinned. “You know what I mean.”

“I suppose so.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly across Gale’s.

The knot of worry in his middle eased as Gale kissed him back. He was suddenly struck by how different kissing Astarion was to kissing Mystra. She’d been almost statuesque in her affections. Astarion, meanwhile, was so receptive and present, seemingly determined to savor every moment of their time together.

“Will you open it now?” Gale asked, gesturing to the parcel. Now that his guilt had eased somewhat, the anxiety Astarion wouldn’t like his offering reared up to take its place.

Astarion studied it, fingers flexing against the fabric wrapping as if trying to puzzle out what was inside. His lips pursed with his concentration. He finally gave in, deftly untying the bow the shopkeeper had fashioned the wrapping’s corners in.

Gale’s heart was in his throat as Astarion stared silently down at the bundle’s contents. He lifted the pair of new leather boots from on top of the pile, turning them slowly one way and then the other.

They were flashier than what Gale would normally purchase. The soles were soft yet durable and the laces started at the front of the ankle before curving up to hug the inside of the wearer’s calf. Their black leather gleamed in the sunlight.

Beneath them lay a white shirt and pair of black trousers, as close a match to Astarion’s camp clothes as Gale could find. There were some differences, what with two hundred years having passed since Astarion purchased his own, but unless one knew where to look for the deviations they weren’t glaringly obvious.

Astarion set the boots down, holding up the shirt to examine the delicate filigree embroidered along its neck and cuffs in silver thread. This was the only alteration Gale requested. He folded the shirt neatly in half before tucking it over his arm and running his fingers along the trousers. The fabric was stiff, but would grow more pliable with time and wear.

“…why did you do this?” Astarion hazarded, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale had to strain to hear him over the rustling leaves overhead.

“The embroidery? Is it too much? Or do you mean something else..?”

He shook his head. “Why did you give me this?”

“You mentioned you didn’t want to buy new clothes because yours are all you have left of who you were before. I thought a gifted set, freely given, might be welcome. If nothing else, perhaps you could wear them in order to better preserve your own?”

Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling. It wasn’t like Astarion to take so long to reply.

“Apologies if I overstepped or—“

He was cut off as Astarion closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Gale's eyes widened as he returned the embrace, drawing him even closer.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, holding one another. Astarion was a little tense in the beginning, though he gradually relaxed against him. His face was buried in Gale’s shoulder but he didn’t make a sound. Gale swore said shoulder was growing damp. He let the silence linger between them while Astarion sought refuge in his arms. He held him close, absently rubbing his side.

Despite being out all night, Astarion still smelled of his chamomile shampoo. It was a scent Gale was coming to love almost as much as he loved the vampire himself.

Loved.

Well, shit.

Tav indicated Astarion might love him too, though Gale felt the sentiment was a bit premature. He was, however, startled how quickly his own feelings had snuck up on him. They weren’t even in a formal relationship yet and here he was already pining. He usually had a better grasp on the state of his head and heart.

Now he began to explore both, this love felt different from his love of Mystra. He’d loved her nearly from the moment he met her, despite being just a boy. He’d thought her so beautiful, so refined. She was the Weave itself, walking amongst mere mortals. She was smart and confident and…

Distant. Aloof. Unconcerned with any mortals except those she deemed worthy of her attention.

He’d been proud to become her Chosen. Had thought theirs was a great love that would burn eternal.

But… She’d never made him happy, had she?

Yes, she’d stroked his ego and the physical aspects of their relationship had been transcendent. He’d often put off sleep and other mortal necessities so they could spend more time together, deep in discussion on the nature of magic itself.

He was so in love with the idea of her and what they could be together, he never stopped to think about how he’d stopped truly living because of her.

How could he invite a literal goddess to grab drinks with his friends at the Flagon Dragon? To go out for dinner and stroll with him through The Market in the Castle Ward? She’d treated his mother well enough, but never mentioned visiting again or asked after her. Aside from Tara, his mother was the only other person in his life he’d introduced her to.

He’d once made the mistake of asking Mystra to attend the Grand Revel with him. She’d asked why she would possibly want to attend festivities organized by the clerics of Sune, Sharess, and Lliira, even if the holiday was a celebration of love. The blessed ring he’d bought for her was still buried somewhere in his tower.

The parts of her home in the Divine Realm she’d shared with him had been as austere as she was, everything focused on function above all else. When he stayed there with her, she’d been steadfast about him leaving nothing out of place. It had been such a stark contrast from his childhood home with all his and his mother’s love and happy moments proudly (albeit messily) on display. He’d visited museums more inviting than Mystra’s home.

Astarion, though… He would make a pretty sculpture to be sure, if the artist could get him to hold still long enough. He was loud and irreverent and hedonistic. He wanted everything life had to offer and devoured every last crumb he came across.

He was brilliant and witty. Impulsive and catty. Haughty and steadfast. When Gale captured the entirety of his attention, Astarion made him feel so real and present in a way Mystra never could. Astarion also didn’t pick and choose the parts of him that he wanted to engage with, he accepted him for who he was as a whole, even if he occasionally rolled his eyes in the process.

“Thank you,” Astarion finally managed, voice thick.

He lingered a moment longer before leaning back and clearing his throat. His eyes were still a bit shiny and his cheek had reddened from him pressing his face for so long against Gale’s shoulder. He looked so vulnerable in that moment. No longer a deadly rogue or a vampire spawn, just a young man whose life was stolen from him far too soon. Gale’s heart ached for him and his throat threatened to tighten too.

“…so they’re to your liking?” he hazarded. “I realize our tastes differ quite a bit, so I thought it would be safer to go with something I already knew you liked.”

Astarion managed a puckish grin. “And here I thought you’d finally developed a sense of fashion.” More seriously he added, “They’re wonderful. I promise not to burn them.”

Gale beamed back at him. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to hear that!”

Astarion glanced back toward the camp and then up at the tree. “Do you already have plans for the day?”

Gale had considered popping back into Wyrm’s Crossing to see if he could hunt down a bookseller. However, now the only place he wanted to be was here.

“No. I think I’ll volunteer to remain at camp while the others continue looking into Father Lorgan’s murder.”

Astarion nodded, sinking down against the trunk of the tree. Gale sat beside him.

“I need to trance. I’d prefer to do it here.”

Gale nodded. “Give me a moment to fetch a book and let the others know we’ll be staying behind…“

He trailed off as Tav walked up to them, a book and a pillow in their arms.

“Here you are,” they offered, smirking. “We’ll see you when we get back.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Busybody,” he muttered, though he took the pillow.

”We’ll do our best to be back before nightfall,” Tav said, unrepentant.

“Try not to bring the entirety of the temple back with you.”

Gale’s brows swept up. “...you wouldn’t loot a temple would you?”

Astarion snorted. “You didn’t notice how anything not nailed down in the Temple of Shar wound up in our camp?”

“Shadowheart didn’t mind,” Tav added. “I’ve heard there’s a place called the Stormshore Tabernacle in the Lower City. I’m willing to bet there’s plenty to be had there too!”

Gale grimaced. “Perhaps it would be wise for us not to anger any more gods than we already have?”

Gods. Plural. How in the hells had they gotten to this point? He was genuinely starting to lose track of them all. There was Mystra (probably), Shar, Vlaakith (sort of), Myrkul, the Absolute (or at least the Absolute thought so)… Now Ilmater, too?

Tav crossed their arms. “You are asking me to go against my religion.”

“Streea,” Astarion chided as he set the pillow down and began to make himself comfortable.

“I know,” Tav sighed as they turned to head back to the others.

“Thank you for the conversation earlier,” Gale called after them. “It was very informative.”

Tav offered a smile before they left them entirely to one another’s company.

Was Lolth on the list too? Gale thought it best not to ask. For all he knew, she would hear him. Best not to draw her attention if it wasn’t on them already.

Nearly half an hour passed before the others left for the temple. The Owlbear cub and Scratch wandered over soon after, settling down beside Astarion, who didn’t so much as stir. Gale smiled, returning his attention to his book, The True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow: Volume Two.

The first volume hadn’t contained much relevant to their current predicament, but it couldn’t hurt to try the second. It made for compelling reading. Tenebrux Morrow truly had a gift for the written word. Once Gale returned to Waterdeep, he’d have to ask the Tenebrux Morrow he knew there if they were related. Perhaps she’d been named after Captain Morrow? There was no telling how many years had passed in the Prime Material Plane while the Captain was in the Astral Plane after all.

He hoped it wouldn’t be much longer before he could pop into Sorcerous Sundries, as he’d nearly exhausted all of the party’s combined reading materials. There was bound to be something there that would help them in their quest. They were also likely to have the third volume of Captain Morrow’s travels and the latest on Drizzt Do’Urden too.

The day wore on, the only indications of time passing were the pages he read and the steady path of the sun. It was near midday when loud snoring pulled him back up for air. Gale blinked, turning to Scratch and the Owlbear. He watched as their flanks rose and fell with their even breaths, out of sync with the sound.

Brow furrowing, he glanced down to Astarion who was curled up on his side, his back pressed against Gale’s outstretched leg. He shifted, mumbling something indecipherable before another snore escaped him.

Gale stared. Was Astarion actually sleeping?

It wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility, according to one of the books he’d read by Elminster’s friend Mordenkainen. Though it was exceedingly rare for elves to do so, given they only needed to trance for four hours a day to achieve the same benefits as a full night’s sleep. It was one of the things Gale envied most about them. He could accomplish so much more with a few extra hours everyday…

He watched in awe as Astarion rolled over, burying his face into his thigh. He knew he didn’t need to breathe, but he hardly looked comfortable. Gale closed his book and gently cupped the vampire’s head, trying to angle it so his mouth and nose weren’t completely covered.

Astarion’s eyelids fluttered briefly, though his gaze remained unfocused. “...always smells like books,” he mumbled to himself before resting his head in Gale’s lap instead.

The book lay forgotten as Gale’s full attention remained on Astarion. All the little movements he made reminded him of Scratch (though he valued his life too much to ever say so to the vampire’s face). Periodically his hands would twitch and his forehead would wrinkle as he continued whatever lengthy conversation he seemed to be having. He slipped into Elvish every so often, the words songlike on his tongue. Gale thought he must have a beautiful singing voice and made a mental note to see if he could coax a song out of him at some point.

The hours ticked by. Gale had long since resumed his reading, only stopping again when Astarion went utterly still beside him. For a moment, he thought he’d woken up, but a glance down revealed his eyes were still closed. He’d stopped breathing altogether, his silence and stillness raising the hairs on the back of Gale’s neck. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been tempted to check for a pulse.

“...master. Master, please,” Astarion suddenly whimpered, curling in on himself. His breathing resumed and began to race, his hand tightening in the material of Gale’s pants. A soft cry escaped him. “Please! Please!” he begged, the words nearly a sob.

Gale tensed, quickly weighing his options. He didn’t want to leave Astarion in the midst of what must be a nightmare, but he didn’t want a repeat of what happened in the Goblin Camp either.

“Master, please! I’ve learned my lesson! Please! Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me! You can’t!” He began making frantic motions with his hands, his nails threatening to tear Gale’s pants to shreds.

Gale pressed his wrist beneath Astarion’s nose as his eyes darted around in search of something he could possibly use to cut himself. Surely the scent of his blood would rouse him?

Astarion’s movements gradually began to slow, his lips brushing against Gale’s pulse as more indecipherable words left them. His breathing slowly eased and he nuzzled the sensitive skin there.

“...Gale?” he hazarded. His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath, so close now Gale could feel the tickle of his eyelashes.

“Gale,” he repeated, this time with more confidence. Relief saturated the word. “You’re on fire. Again…”

Gale chuckled softly, gently brushing the fingers of his other hand through the elf’s soft curls, watching the tension seep from Astarion’s frame. He resumed his earlier occasional twitching as he sank back into a more peaceful sleep. Gale paid the price for his interference by Astarion wrapping one of his cool hands around his forearm, preventing him from withdrawing it.

The sun began to set by the time Astarion finally woke. He sat up slowly, rubbing at one eye. He’d yet to relinquish his hold on Gale’s arm. He turned, blinking owlishly at him.

“Welcome back,” Gale said, smiling faintly.

Astarion turned toward the horizon, eyes widening. “What in the hells? I can’t have tranced for that long!”

“You didn’t. You slept.”

“I what?” he demanded, mouth agape. “I don’t need to sleep!”

Gale shrugged. “Your body thought so. We’ve been through a lot these past few months. It’s possible you hit a point where trancing just wasn’t enough. How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” he grumbled, releasing him and scrubbing his face with both hands now. “My head feels like it’s full of cotton. Is this what it’s always like?”

“Like you’ve woken up with the equivalent of a sleep hangover? Sometimes.”

He groaned. “But why?”

“Who’s to say? Maybe it’s because you slept too long, or maybe not enough. I always feel particularly disoriented after a heavier sleep.”

“I am never doing that again,” he fervently vowed, looking back toward the empty camp. “Where are the others?”

“They should be back soon. I’m going to go fetch some water so I can start on dinner.”

Astarion frowned. “Can’t you just magic it?”

“I could, but it would take almost as long as it would to walk down to the river. I desperately need to stretch my legs.”

He lifted himself slowly upright, using the tree for leverage. There was a dull ache in his joints courtesy of holding the same position for so long. Some brisk stretching loosened them back up.

“I’ll go with you,” Astarion said as he stood too. “Hopefully it will help me feel more awake, if nothing else.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted back to the sunset.

That clearly wasn’t the only reason.

Scratch and the Owlbear cub climbed to their feet, Scratch extending his front paws and sinking back onto his hind legs into a deep stretch of his own. The Owlbear cub was quick to mimic it, though his proportions weren’t as well suited. The two trotted back to camp ahead of them.

Gale set his book down in his tent, realizing in the process that the pillow Tav brought was one of his own. Astarion, however, deposited it with his own things. He had to know didn’t he, what with his keen sense of smell?

Pillow thief.

Gale couldn’t bring himself to be upset though, not when his scent seemed to comfort the vampire.

Grabbing the cauldron over the camp’s unlit fire, he started toward the river with Astarion at his side. “I think I’ll make stew. Care to assist?”

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t know where to begin, darling! The only time I spend in the kitchen is devoted to soapmaking.”

“I could teach you!”

“When I could just watch you do all the work from a comfortable cushion instead? I’ll pass.”

Gale gave a fond shake of his head, curiosity piquing. “Have you ever tried to eat anything with blood in it?”

Astarion arched a brow. “In it? As in inside a person or an animal? That much should be obvious.”

“No, I mean cooked into it.”

“I don’t believe so. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Perhaps it’s something we can try at some point.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are desperate to get me into an apron, aren’t you?”

Gale grinned. “I bet you’ll be an expert with a chef’s knife in no time!”

Astarion shot him a decidedly unenthused look in return.

Reaching the riverbank, Gale toed off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs before wading into the shallows. The cauldron filled quickly with the moving water nearer the center of the river. It was chilly, but the water was doing wonders for his perennially sore muscles. He waded back to the bank, setting the cauldron down on its sandy shore.

“I should have brought a towel,” he mused, shaking one foot and then the other in an attempt to air dry them.

“I do hope you’re not about to ask me to carry you, dear.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, kneeling down to put his shoes back on.

He’d only just straightened again when there was a flash of light and a sudden swell of magic. His limbs locked in place before he could fully register what was happening. Astarion immediately moved in front of him, daggers drawn, as a group of six men and women with glowing red eyes appeared before them.

They were a varied bunch, primarily a mix of humans and elves, though Gale also spotted a Tiefling and a gnome. The stocky blond human must be their leader, judging by how the others seemed to defer to him.

“Your spell was supposed to hit our brother!” The blond man snapped at another human with darker hair.

“Leave him alone, Petras,” the small Tiefling woman protested. “We can still bring Astarion home, even without the spell.”

Petras’s sneer eased. “I suppose we can take the human too. Two birds with one stone.”

Astarion remained crouched in front of Gale, blades at the ready.

“Peace, brother,” the Tiefling said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “We’re here to take you home. You’ve nothing to fear. The master needs all of us for an upcoming ceremony, a reward for our years of service.”

Astarion scoffed. “Oh, I know all about Cazador’s little ceremony.”

“Then come home,” another woman, an elf with straight hair as light as Astarion’s insisted. “Come home and be reborn with us.”

Petras cut in, “You can come willingly or we will force you to.”

Astarion flipped one of his daggers almost nonchalantly, catching it again with the point directed at him.

“You can certainly try, dear brother. But surely you recall how that always ends for you, don’t you?”

Petras bared his fangs. “You’re not so tough when you’re on your bac—“

The dagger flew through the air, deeply embedding itself in the other vampire’s shoulder. Petras stumbled back with a cry of pain.

As he watched, Gale tried in vain to break from the Hold Person spell. The dark haired human, the one who cast it, must be the one who’d enchanted Astarion’s ring. He was more powerful than Gale anticipated, given he was able to keep someone like him paralyzed.

“The next one won’t be a warning, Petras,” Astarion snarled.

If only he’d thrown the dagger at the sorcerer instead. He might have broken the man’s concentration.

“Astarion, please,” the Tiefling insisted, stepping forward. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” he demanded.

“I know you don’t enjoy hurting us,” she said, voice oddly soothing. “I remember how hard you fought the master when I first became a spawn.”

“That was nearly two centuries ago, Aurelia. You’ll find I’ve grown since then.”

She shook her head. “I hope not. Not like that.”

Petras yanked the dagger from his shoulder with a grunt. He drew his arm back, but rather than throw it at Astarion, he flung it at Gale instead. Gale clenched his eyes shut in anticipation of the inevitable pain, but it never came.

“I’ll be taking that back, thank you,” Astarion said smugly.

Gale opened his eyes to find he’d plucked the weapon from the air just before it struck his middle.

Petras’s eyes moved slowly between the two of them. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time, brother? Was a year of entombment not enough?”

A year of entombment? Was that what his earlier nightmare had been about? Gale would have shuddered were it not for the spell locking his muscles in place.

“If you’re implying I have feelings for him, you’re stupider than I thought, Petras. And that’s saying something.”

Gale knew it was a lie, but he commended Astarion on his acting. He’d never had much of an appreciation of his penchant for deceit before, but now he was incredibly grateful for it. If anyone could talk their way out of this, it was Astarion.

A second female elf stepped forward, her silver hair hanging in curls just past her shoulders. One moment she stood with the others and the next she was at Gale’s side, a dagger of her own in her hand. She lunged toward him, but Astarion quickly disarmed her, her weapon hurtling harmlessly through the air and into the river.

“I’d say he has feelings, wouldn’t you, Petras?” she asked, voice dripping with false innocence.

“Yes, I would,” Petras said, smirking. “What will it be, brother? Do you want your toy to remain alive and in one piece?”

Astarion didn’t answer, his body as taut as a bow string.

Gale fought to part his lips, to force even a whisper out, but his efforts were in vain. He briefly considered using their tadpole connection, but he didn’t want to risk distracting Astarion. Not when they had him surrounded.

Surely Astarion would run for help from the others. They must be close. He couldn’t fend off six vampires on his own, especially while Gale remained a helpless target. It was the logical thing to do. Even if they killed him, Gale had his contingency plan in place. Not that he could say as much to Astarion at present.

Petras drew closer, smirk widening.

Astarion threw one of his daggers at the sorcerer in answer, but the woman who’d tried to stab Gale anticipated the move and caught it before it could hit his target.

“The master will reward me handsomely for bringing you back,” Petras said, chuckling darkly. “You know what that means, don’t you dear brother?”

Astarion was fast, but so were his siblings. Before he could fully shove the dagger between Petras’s ribs, the rest were upon him. When the dust cleared, the two female elves had Astarion’s arms wrenched up behind his back. A bleeding Petras held Astarion’s knife to his throat.

“You cannot kill him, Petras,” Aurelia protested. “The master needs all of us.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he snapped even as he drew the blade along the side of Astarion’s neck.

Just enough to make him bleed.

Astarion panted for breath in the aftermath of the brawl, trying and failing to jerk his arms free.

“I’ll take what’s left once Godey’s done with you,” Petras continued, reaching up to cup one of Astarion’s bruised cheeks.

Astarion spit in his face.

Petras snarled, lunging at him like a wild animal. The others surged forward, fighting to restrain him. They managed to subdue him far faster than they had Astarion, and there were only two of them left to do so. Even after they got him to calm down, the Tiefling stood defensively between Astarion and Petras, her back to Astarion. The sorcerer drew up beside Gale, his expression unreadable and his eyes fixed on his siblings.

“You all really think Cazador intends to free you?!” Astarion demanded. “I expected as much from Petras, but I thought at least one of you had some sense!”

“What are you talking about?” Aurelia demanded, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

“The ceremony!” Astarion bit out. “Cazador has no intention of freeing any of you! He’s planning to kill you!”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “Why would he lie to us? What purpose would it serve when he could command us to walk directly into the sun and we would have to obey?”

The sorcerer frowned, fists clenching tightly at his sides. “It’s another of his games, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, Leon!” Astarion snapped. “What the hells else would it be? When have you ever known him to have your best interest at heart?”

“Godsdamnit,” Leon bit out. “But why kill us? Have we not loyally served him all these years?”

“Why do you think he carved those Infernal markings into us?” Astarion demanded. “He intends to sacrifice us to become a Vampire Ascendant!”

“You don’t know that!” Petras retorted. “You don’t know anything! You’re just trying to avoid punishment like always!”

A red glow matching that of their eyes flashed across all of the spawn except for Astarion.

“The master,” Aurelia gasped, her body gone rigid. “We must return at once.”

Petras lurched forward, forcing the dagger up into Astarion’s heart. His mouth fell open into a silent scream before he sagged lifelessly forward in his sisters’ arms.

A cry tried to escape Gale’s lips, but he only managed a feeble choking sound.

“He isn’t dead,” Leon murmured beside him. “Only incapacitated. It’s not silver.”

The elf with straight hair hauled Astarion over her shoulder as easily as one might a backpack. Aurelia, meanwhile, stepped forward and did the same with Gale. She was a good deal shorter than him, but her vampiric strength made up for it.

Gale could do nothing but hang there helplessly as the spawn carried him and Astarion toward the city.

Toward Cazador.

Chapter Text

Astarion gasped as the dagger was yanked from his chest, slumping to the cold stone floor as blood poured from his wound.

That bastard Petras had fucking staked him. Using anything but pure silver wasn’t enough to kill even a vampire spawn, but it was one of the most successful ways to immobilize them. He clutched at the hole in his chest, feebly struggling to staunch the bleeding. His hands became painted with his blood and he bit back the whimper of pain that tried to escape. For a brief moment, he was grateful he hadn’t been wearing the new clothes Gale gave him, but then his terror rose anew when he remembered the wizard had been attacked alongside him.

He tried and failed to force himself into a seated position, the fingers of his free hand struggling for purchase on the gore slick floor.

“Well, well, well, it appears as though my stupid boy has finally returned home.” The all too familiar voice was accompanied by the steady tap-tap-tap of Cazador’s staff hitting the ground with each step he took.

Astarion and his siblings had long come to dread the sound. If Cazador had his staff, it meant he intended to use it.

Thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Astarion couldn’t answer even if he’d wanted to, coughing and retching from the blood filling his chest.

“Disgusting,” Cazador sneered above him. “Your brother is so very prone to making messes, is he not?”

If Astarion had a working heart (and it hadn’t just been skewered) it would have been racing. He kept his head bowed as he furtively glanced around the entrance hall for any sign of Gale. Relief flooded him when he spotted him standing as still as a statue near the far wall, Leon beside him. The other spawn didn’t appear to be present, but he couldn’t be sure. Not with how hard it was just to stay conscious.

“Perhaps it is for the best Petras bled you, he has saved me the trouble of doing it myself. Left to your own devices, you engorged yourself like the parasitic little tick that you are, have you not?”

Thou shalt obey me in all things.

When Astarion didn’t immediately answer, Cazador swung his staff at his head, hitting him so hard he saw stars. He fell back to the floor, head cracking against the stone. His vision swam and, for a moment, he hoped the darkness clouding the edges of his vision would pull him under.

He remained agonizingly conscious.

“I asked you a question,” Cazador said, the anger in his voice like the distant thunder before a storm.

Thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Every part of him rebelled at the thought of willfully bowing to Cazador. He didn’t think Cazador could compel him while he had the tadpole but he wasn’t certain. What if the compulsion had only been weakened by a combination of the tadpole and his distance from him? What if the introduction of the tadpole had only temporarily severed his ties to him?

And what the fuck was he supposed to do about Gale?

He couldn’t believe that, injured and all but alone in front of his master, he was more concerned about the damned wizard than himself.

What in the hells was wrong with him?

But Gale was only human. Cazador could snap his neck as easily as if he were a doll. Who knew what would become of Gale’s body after? Could he be revived if the others couldn't find it?

Or, even worse, what if Cazador claimed him? The anguish of Gale’s soft brown eyes lost forever under the red glow of Cazador’s compulsion briefly trumped his physical agony.

Right now Cazador only needed him alive, and only for the ritual.

“Y-Yes, master,” he managed weakly, voice choked with his own blood. Speaking sent him into another round of coughing, each hack another dagger in his chest.

The title passed from his lips so easily, his months away from Cazador’s control a fleeting dream amidst centuries of nightmares. And now, if he was incredibly lucky, the worst thing that would happen to him was that he would die to pave the way for Cazador’s ascension.

His gaze flickered back to Gale, the torchlight making the horror in his eyes and the silent tears on his cheeks all the more stark.

Why had they brought Gale too? Why did he have to see him like this? Bad enough Gale caught a glimpse through his memory of what life under Cazador had been like. Now he got to witness it first hand too?

“And who is this?” Cazador asked, tone now eerily calm as he gestured to Gale with his staff. “Is he the reason you ran, boy? You did not learn your lesson the first time with the Ravengard child? Do not think I have forgotten that little indiscretion.”

Astarion’s eyes slid closed, another secret laid bare. He’d recognized Wyll the instant he’d seen him. He’d borne such a strong resemblance to his many times great grandfather. By the time Astarion finally learned his darling boy’s last name, he’d been long dead. It was the only reason he hadn’t died at Cazador’s hand.

He should have hated Wyll on sight. His ancestor was the reason he’d spent a year entombed. But as hellish as that year was, Astarion had always reveled in the fact he’d gotten the upper hand on Cazador for once, and his master could never take that away from him.

He forced his eyes open again, refusing to look back at Gale. He didn’t want another glimpse of his fear or pity. Gale was stupidly altruistic enough to pity him even as his own life hung in the balance.

“U-Using him.”

“Oh? So it will not matter if I kill him then.”

Astarion’s breath caught. “N-No, master!” he stammered, thinking quickly. “He’s c-cursed.”

Cazador’s eyes narrowed as he studied him closely, searching for a lie in his words and face. He turned to Leon.

“I don’t know if it’s a curse, master, but there is something…wrong with him,” Leon answered.

“Wrong how?”

“N-Netherese magic,” Astarion answered. “If he dies, the Netherese orb inside him will go off like a bomb.”

“A bomb?” Cazador echoed. “Leon?”

Astarion lifted his head. The world around him spun.

“I’d have to conduct further research to know for sure, but judging by the power I sense from him, I’d say at minimum it would be enough to level the Lower City.”

Silence fell. Astarion forgot to breathe as they waited to see what Cazador would make of this development.

“And what of his blood?” he finally demanded of Astarion. “Have you fed from him? Do not lie, boy.”

Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

“Y-Yes, master. The curse has…corrupted it. He tastes like bile.”

He didn’t need the compulsion to pull the truth from him now, not with Gale’s life on the line. It wouldn’t make Cazador free him, but it would hopefully keep him alive and relatively unharmed long enough for the others to find him.

“Would you say your brother was just ‘using’ this human?” he directed to Leon.

“...it’s possible he may have only protected him during the fight because of the orb, master.”

“But?”

There was a long pause before Leon said, “…I believe there may be more to their relationship than that.”

Gods, he was going to kill Leon, Petras, and Violet if it was the last thing he did. Maybe then Cazador would grant him his own oblivion solely for ruining his black mass.

If Astarion had to choose, he supposed he’d rather be killed outright than turned into a sacrificial lamb.

What a perfect sacrifice you would make.

Clearly, given he found himself once more bound for the altar.

“Release him, Leon. Let us learn the truth for ourselves.”

Astarion clenched his eyes shut as the scent of Leon’s magic filled the hall. It was similar to Gale’s, Astarion realized. Gale’s was the aftermath of a lightning strike while Leon’s was more like the earthy scent accompanying freshly fallen rain.

The smell dissipated and Astarion hazarded a glance to the wizard. Gale stared intently back at him, his jaw tight. He didn’t stand as straight now the spell was gone, his posture more natural.

Godsdamnit. Astarion longed to call upon the parasite to convey just how dire of a situation they were in, but if Cazador wasn’t already aware of the tadpole it was possible he could use it later on to his advantage.

Maybe there was a chance he could still kill him.

“Name?” Cazador demanded imperiously.

Gale’s eyes flashed but as far as Astarion could tell, he hadn’t called upon his magic. Not yet, at least. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he couldn’t take Cazador on by himself. The two of them wouldn’t stand a chance, even if most of Astarion’s blood wasn’t all over the floor. His only hope on that front now was the element of surprise.

“Gale Dekarios,” Gale bit out.

A look of recognition flashed across Leon’s face. Cazador glanced to him.

“He’s an archmage. Former Chosen of Mystra.”

“Former?”

“Likely due to the orb.”

“Hmm. And what is your relationship to my spawn, Gale Dekarios?” His voice curled possessively around his name.

There was no right answer to this question. Gale should be safe enough already. The only thing his answer would factor into was whatever punishment Astarion would receive.

Cazador was an expert at reading people. Having the entirety of his attention on you felt like being a mouse trapped beneath the as yet unextended claws of a cat. A pause too long or too short… Word choice, tone, body language… He was intensely aware of it all, mentally calculating the best way to use what he learned to devastating ends.

“We happened to run into one another and became traveling companions of a sort,” Gale answered. It was a half truth, which was probably for the best. Gale was a terrible liar, far too honest and earnest for his own good. How he’d managed to keep the orb a secret for so long was beyond Astarion.

Cazador let the silence after his words linger. He’d perfected the art of giving a person just enough rope to hang themself. Something Astarion had never mastered, which had resulted in too many punishments to count.

Gods, why hadn’t he told Gale more about Cazador and the way his vicious mind worked?

He knew why, of course. He just wished he’d thrown his pride out the window and given him a proper warning.

Astarion flinched when Cazador’s presence suddenly reared up in his head. Dread shot through him like a lightning strike as the barriers he’d erected were blown apart with barely any effort on his master’s behalf. He felt the compulsion begin to take hold.

The tadpole had only been a temporary solution after all…

And then his mind abruptly his own again.

He panted softly in the aftermath, struggling to ease the panic tightening his chest.

Cazador probed his mind once more. Astarion sensed his consciousness prowling in search of a way around the stronger shield the tadpole had created. This time he was expelled even more quickly.

He snarled over him, bright light surging from his staff as he put all his power behind the command. Astarion fell prone, bloody hands pressed against his temples as if he could stop the pressure building in his head.

His head was going to explode!

He whimpered, nails digging so deep they hit bone.

The pressure vanished so quickly, for a moment he thought his head had actually blown apart.

He slumped in relief. Cazador hadn’t managed to enter his mind at all this time, even with brute force.

“What did you do?” he demanded, words as sharp as cut glass.

His rage erupted from him, blinding red light emanating from the epicenter of his staff.

Astarion was hurled across the hall, his back slamming into the far wall. He must have blacked out this time because when he opened his eyes again, he was suspended a few inches above the ground, now pinned to the wall.

He was eye level with Cazador and Cazador’s eyes burned.

“Astarion!” Gale shouted, running toward them.

Cazador didn’t even glance his way as he sent him tumbling in the opposite direction. It took everything Astarion had not to look to see if he was all right. It didn’t sound like he’d impacted with anything at least.

“I asked you a question, boy,” Cazador snarled.

Gale answered before he could. “He’s been infected with a Mind Flayer parasite!”

Cazador spun, his full attention on Gale now.

“What? When?” he demanded. His fingers tightened so hard around his staff, Astarion swore he heard its handle groan from the pressure.

His fury wasn’t out of concern for his well-being, of course. Cazador was just very territorial of what belonged to him.

“Th-The day I left, master,” Astarion cut in.

Why did Cazador’s wrath centering solely on Gale scare him more than anything else?

“What have I told you about telling lies?” Cazador demanded, fangs bared. “You would be an Ilithid by now if that were true.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he shot back.

He needed to keep Cazador’s attention on him and off of Gale, even if the thought of the inevitable consequences chilled him to the bone. The night he’d traded with Leon would be a fond memory in comparison…

Cazador couldn’t kill either of them yet. Not with Gale’s orb and the scars on Astarion’s back. But he’d learned long ago that there were so many fates worse than death.

An ominous silence fell over the hall, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

“You have become very bold with no one to bring you to heel,” Cazador finally replied.

Astarion began to tremble.

“Do you remember the night I brought you back from the tomb? You would not leave my side until I ordered you to. I could find almost no fault with you for months after.”

Astarion’s breathing quickened and he felt inexplicable flashes of hot and cold all over.

Cazador stepped forward, cupping his cheek and staring intently into his eyes. A slow smile came to his face. “Yes, you do remember. But perhaps you need a reminder of just how obedient you can be.”

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t need to breathe.

“Perhaps I will even let you out before the ceremony so you can show me how well you remember your place. That should keep you out of trouble until then, hmm?”

His lips parted, but no sound came out. Cazador’s smile widened, the tips of his fangs visible.

“…master,” Leon hazarded.

Cazador glared at him.

“Are you certain the ceremony will still work given everything else that’s been impacted by the Illithid parasite?”

He clenched his jaw.

“I could check if it can be removed with magic..?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

The spell holding Astarion in place broke. He abruptly crumpled to the ground with a pained gasp that got his lungs working again.

Before Cazador could answer, screams erupted in the direction of the ballroom. Its doors swung open with the force of a burst dam and people flooded the hall, trampling one another in their frenzied state. They brought the scent of fresh blood with them. Some of them had been in the line of fire of arterial spray, fine ruby droplets clinging to their faces and clothes.

Gale rushed to his side, too close to Cazador, hand wrapping around his bicep as he tried to haul him to his feet.

Oh, gods, he thought they could escape, didn’t he? That this was enough of a distraction that Cazador wouldn’t notice?

Gods, why hadn’t he properly warned him?!

Astarion frantically shook his head, yanking Gale down beside him. Even weakened by his injuries, his vampiric strength trumped Gale’s. His mouth moved as he shouted at him, but Astarion couldn’t parse his voice out from the panicked screams of the crowd, amplified by the cavernous hall.

So much screaming!

He kept one hand firmly wrapped around Gale’s sleeve while he pressed the other to one of his ears, trying in vain to drown out the cacophony. It was too much. It hurt.

Tears sprang to his eyes and he hunched in on himself and closer to Gale, as if his proximity would make it any better. Why was Gale here? Why did he have to see this? Why couldn’t his stupid siblings have just taken him?

Gale didn’t deserve this!

The wizard frantically tried to leverage them both upright, but Astarion was dead weight, firmly anchoring them both in place. Gale was yelling, his face inches from Astarion’s, his hot breath fanning across his face.

Astarion shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. His grip shifted to Gale’s arm, tightening to the point it must hurt. He would leave a bruise in the shape of his hand, if he didn’t break Gale’s arm first.

He didn’t want to hurt him but if he didn’t, Cazador would.

There was a blinding flash of red light, so bright Astarion could see it through his eyelids. The screaming and clamoring cut off so abruptly, he wondered if he’d finally gone deaf. Gale tensed beside him, but he stopped trying to pull away. He didn’t loosen his grip on his arm. He couldn’t risk him trying to run again.

Astarion slowly opened his eyes, flinching when he saw the two dozen or so people who’d run from the ballroom standing perfectly still in front of them. They were spread across the entryway, the man in the lead within arm’s reach of the palace’s heavy wooden doors. The poor fool probably thought he’d been on the cusp of freedom.

Astarion had thought that once too.

He knew better now.

An anguished wail rang out from the ballroom. A woman, her voice thickly clotted with tears.

“My baby! My baby!”

Astarion shuddered, shoving his face into Gale’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop shaking. His teeth chattered so hard they ached.

Cazador was in front of them and then he was gone. Astarion only knew because he felt the displacement of air when he moved.

The woman’s cries stopped as suddenly as the others’ had.

He lifted his head, swallowing hard when he saw the crowd still standing before them. They reminded him of the petrified Drow they’d found in the Underdark, but they weren’t stone. He could see the rise and fall of their breaths, could hear their hearts beat as one. The stench of their fear lingered, though they were incapable of feeling it now.

“…this is not good,” Leon murmured, beside them now.

“What… What..?” Gale stammered, looking frantically around.

A shriek shattered the eerie silence. Their heads reflexively jerked toward the ballroom. Astarion recognized the source this time.

Dalyria.

Cazador’s slow, measured footsteps drew nearer, accompanied by a dragging sound.

It took more strength than Astarion thought he had to lean away from Gale. Cazador had undoubtedly noticed how he’d stupidly sought comfort in the wizard.

Cazador saw everything.

He came back into their line of sight, pulling Dalyria along behind him by the hair. His claws tore into her scalp, but she barely bled.

Astarion knew before he could fully see her that she’d been disemboweled. He could smell it.

Dalyria didn’t fight. Instead she quietly cried to herself. Every sob had to be excruciating, but she seemed unable to stop.

She sounded like a broken child, all too aware of her helplessness but lacking the discipline and experience to get herself back under control.

He hadn’t heard her cry like that since he’d been a newborn…

“Leon,” Cazador began, voice calmer than it had been before the interruption. “See what you can find as far as the removal of the parasite is concerned.”

His cold, dead eyes met Astarion’s and he quickly dropped his own in deference.

“Once I am finished, I will come collect your wayward brother. His punishment will have to wait until I am through here.”

“Yes, master,” Leon said, bowing.

“Take the wizard with you. Do not let either of them out of your sight.”

“Of course, master.”

Satisfied, Cazador turned and calmly walked back the way he had come, still dragging Dalyria by the hair. Gorge rose in the back of Astarion’s throat when he realized her feeble attempts to keep her intestines in place had failed and they trailed behind them like a dress’s train.

Her mouth was smeared with blood.

Leon didn’t rise from his bow until the ballroom door closed again.

“Come with me,” Leon instructed, turning to them, his back now to the living statues.

Astarion remained slumped against the wall. He needed to move. He had to move. They could not be here when Cazador returned.

His limbs refused to cooperate.

Gale took a shaky breath.

“…we can’t help them, can we?” he asked, eyes shifting from face to frozen face of their captive audience.

“You could try,” Leon answered evenly.

Gale’s fists clenched in his lap. “…we can’t leave either…”

“You could try,” he repeated, just as dispassionately.

“He knows where our camp is. He knows we’re traveling with others.”

His tone flattened to match Leon’s and Astarion felt a painful tug just behind his sternum that had nothing to do with his injuries. He forced himself to gather his scattered wits. He had spent two hundred years under Cazador. He could do this. None of this was new.

Not true, Gale was new. Gale was here. Gale didn’t deserve this.

He cleared his throat, managing not to cough in the process. Gale looked to him.

“No, we can’t,” he replied, voice tight. “…but Cazador can’t kill you and he can’t turn you either. He…might still try to feed from you. He might still hurt you, but…he can’t kill or turn you.”

He wished he could offer him more reassurance, more hope. He considered telling Gale if things got too bad, he could detonate the orb. He wouldn’t though, not if it meant destroying everything and everyone in Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion wouldn’t have had the same compunctions were their roles reversed.

“Astarion, I…” Gale’s voice caught. He reached over, gently taking Adtarion’s bloody hand in his own and staring down at it. “…I failed you. Again.”

He blinked, convinced he’d heard him wrong. “What?”

“I couldn’t stop Tav’s sister. I didn’t stand up for you with the Gur. I couldn’t stop the other spawn. I…I couldn’t stop Cazador.”

Astarion reached up, cupping Gale’s cheek with his free hand and lifting his head to meet his eyes. Tears flowed freely down Gale’s pale cheeks.

Tears for…him?

“…no one can stop Cazador,” Astarion said, wishing he could have pretended otherwise for just a little longer.

What had he been thinking? How had he bragged so stupidly about how he would kill his maker? Perhaps the tadpole had damaged the part of his brain responsible for rational thought.

It was almost a relief to admit it, to say it aloud. He didn’t have to fight Cazador anymore. At some point in the very near future, he wouldn’t have to fight at all.

Would he be reincarnated even though he was more vampire than elf now?

He hoped not… He was tired.

He was so godsdamned tired.

Even so, he couldn’t completely accept his fate yet. Not while Gale was still in danger.

He could pretend a little longer for Gale.

Astarion took in a slow breath, shoving down the fear and despair he’d been helplessly drowning in moments before.

He would do this for Gale.

It would be the last thing he would ever do for him, but he would fucking do it.

“…let’s not talk about this here,” he continued, surprised by how much steadier his voice had become. “Can you help me up, darling?”

Some of the bleakness left Gale’s gaze at the request. He reached for him, but his hands only hovered as if he were afraid to touch him. He looked as if he’d only just recalled Astarion’s wounds. Given everything that had happened, Astarion couldn’t blame him. Their fight back at the river already felt like a lifetime ago.

“Shit, Astarion, I…” Gale breathed. “…my healing isn’t nearly as good as Shadowheart’s, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Not here,” Leon ordered. “Come with me. You don’t want to be here when the master returns.”

Gale glanced up at him, eyes wary.

Astarion couldn’t blame him. What in the hells did Leon think offering to extract the tadpole would earn him? Not his life. He was condemned to die on the altar with the rest of them.

But maybe Victoria’s…

Astarion doubted it, regardless of the fact he felt like, for the first time, he finally understood Leon.

He would do anything to keep Gale safe too.

Anything.

Gale carefully helped him to his feet. The wound in his chest finally stopped bleeding, though Astarion didn’t know if it was due to him having healed somewhat or if he’d simply run out of blood to bleed.

Leon turned, his dark hair brushing his shoulders as he led them toward the dormitory.

Dozens of unseeing eyes watched them go.

Despite the brave face he was trying to put on, Astarion couldn’t stop himself from tentatively asking, “Is…he here?”

It was a stupid question. He’d be seeing Godey soon enough regardless.

Leon glanced over to him. “No, but it won’t be long before he comes back.”

The walk to the dormitory was slow going. Each step caused excruciating pain to flare in Astarion’s chest. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going, if only to be out of Cazador’s sight when he returned to deal with the doomed souls in the hall.

Leon surprised him by leading them to the Favored Spawn room rather than the shared dormitory. He unlocked and opened the door, letting the three of them inside.

Victoria looked up from where she sat on her bed, a book resting in her lap. Her worried expression eased on seeing them.

“Papa!” she cried as she hurried over, wrapping her arms tightly around her father’s middle.

A look of utter horror crossed Gale’s face. Another bit of information Astarion would have shared if he’d thought they would both ever end up here.

Leon scooped her up, holding her close as he shot a wary glance at the two of them.

“You’re not hurt?” she asked, voice soft.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, absently rubbing her back.

“Mr. Astarion is back,” she noted, peering at him over Leon’s shoulder. “He’s hurt!”

“He’ll be fine.”

Gale eased Astarion into a seated position on the floor when Astarion prevented him from helping him into one of the room’s chairs. The last thing he needed was to be berated for making more of a mess than he already had.

Leon set Victoria down on her bed and handed her the book she’d set aside. Daughter tended to, he made his way back over to the two of them, joining them on the floor.

“Can we talk?”

Astarion arched a brow. It looked like his brother had more than one reason for helping delay his inevitable punishment.

“What do you want, Leon?”

Maybe he could coax him into a trade before Cazador returned.

The familiar, soothing scent of Gale’s magic filled the room as he called upon his healing magics.

“You said he intends to…” He paused, hazarding a glance to Victoria. “What else do you know?”

Astarion carefully considered his words. They didn’t have much time, but he couldn’t give everything away either. Otherwise he’d have nothing to bargain with.

“He needs all seven of us for the ceremony. Like I said before, the scars on our backs are in Infernal. He made a deal with Mephistopheles.”

Leon sucked in a sharp breath. “He said we would all ascend with him.”

“And you idiots believed him.”

His eyes flashed and he lowered his voice. “What else could we do, brother? It made more sense than that he would suddenly kill us after all these years. But then you’ve always understood him better than the rest of us. You’ve always been his—“

“Don’t you fucking say it!” he snapped.

Leon didn’t, but his unspoken words still hung between them. “So what is your plan?”

“My plan? Do I look like I have a plan at present?” he demanded, voice growing less breathy now Gale’s magic was starting to stitch up his injuries.

“You always have a plan.”

“I planned to kill the bastard! The chances of that happening now are practically nonexistent.”

“The others will come looking for us,” Gale offered.

“And if they’re not careful, they’ll get themselves killed or worse in the process,” Astarion retorted.

“Why didn’t he immediately attempt the ritual once you were here?” Leon asked. “If you were the only missing piece.”

“I don’t know. The ones in the hall are fresh victims, aren’t they?”

Leon nodded. “The master’s demand for fresh blood has increased exponentially while you’ve been away.”

“I’m willing to bet there’s something else he needs,” Gale said. “A ritual like this undoubtedly requires a great deal of power and won’t be easy to set up. If all he needed was the seven of you, he likely would have completed it before Astarion got away. How long have you all had the scars?”

Astarion tried to think back to yet another night he never wanted to remember.

“It’s been a few years now,” Leon offered before he sank too deep into his memories. “It happened shortly after I became a spawn. Regardless, it seems he’ll have whatever he needs soon enough if he’s willing to tell us about it now...”

He trailed off, head tilting to one side as he stared at them.

Astarion belatedly realized, in his apparently infinite stupidity, that he was leaning into Gale again. Gale wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer. Astarion didn’t have it in him to pull away, even though it was blatant confirmation of what Leon already suspected.

Not when this could be the last time he’d be in the wizard’s embrace…

“What?” he demanded when Leon continued to stare.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” he admitted.

Fair enough. Astarion hadn’t been keen on physical contact after becoming a spawn. Not when it always meant his pain or someone else’s pleasure.

He chose not to answer, instead huffing softly resting his forehead in the crook of Gale’s neck. He slid an arm around his waist, hoping the other man couldn’t sense how desperately he clung to him.

“I’m Gale, by the way,” he offered for Victoria’s benefit. “Though I see my reputation precedes me. You must be the one who enchanted Astarion’s ring. Clever bit of magic, that. Powerful, too.”

“Papa’s the best sorcerer ever,” Victoria chimed from the other side of the room.

Gale beamed at her. “I have no doubt! And you are?”

Leon’s fists clenched in his lap.

Astarion gave a heavy sigh. “He’s no threat to her, Leon. He’s nauseatingly kindhearted and noble.”

Gale chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Astarion’s head.

“And sappy,” he added for good measure.

The knuckles on the other vampire’s hands regained some of their color.

Victoria set her book back down on the bed before hurrying over to join them. She seated herself in Leon’s lap, glancing between the three of them.

“I’m Victoria.”

“I meant to ask earlier, what is…why..?” Gale fumbled.

“Because Cazador enjoys being cruel,” Astarion answered. “And she ensures Leon’s enthusiastic cooperation.”

Leon’s lips set into a thin line as he wrapped his arms around his daughter.

“…did Master Cazador do that to you?” Victoria asked Astarion, voice dropping to a near whisper.

He grimaced. “No, it was mostly that bastard Petras.”

“Astarion!” Gale chided.

“She lives in a nest of vampires, darling. I hardly think a little language will corrupt her.”

“Still!”

Victoria gave a small smile. “It’s okay. I won’t get in trouble for hearing words like that.” Her expression softened. “…I missed you.”

Astarion blinked, turning to her in stunned silence.

“It was lonely reading by myself. And I didn’t have to worry about the others when I was with you.”

Leon’s eyes widened. “…I hadn’t realized the two of you spent time together.”

“Only when you were busy,” Victoria replied. “I know you told me to stay in our room, but…”

“But what?” Leon asked, tilting her head up so he could better see her face.

She bit her bottom lip. “…Miss Violet and Miss Dalyria were…they…” She paused, tension seeping into her small frame. “…it felt like they were watching me…”

Leon’s teeth came together so hard they audibly clacked. “So you..?”

“Mr. Astarion always has the best hiding places. I’d stay with him until you came back.”

Leon shot him a suspicious look.

Astarion glared back. “I certainly didn’t ask her to.”

“We just read together,” Victoria insisted. “And once he helped me with the language book you said to study. Before he left.”

He could practically feel the warm approval now radiating from Gale.

“Her pronunciation was terrible! How was I supposed to focus on my own reading with that racket going on?!”

Gale patted him patronizingly on the shoulder and Astarion scowled.

“…I had no idea,” Leon said, glancing between him and Victoria. “You kept her sa—?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Astarion snapped. “I did no such thing!”

“I don’t know,” Gale mused. “It sounds as though she wasn’t an unwelcome guest.”

He gritted his teeth. “What was I supposed to do? She’s a godsdamned child. The two of them always look at her as if she’s something to eat! I…I didn’t help her!”

He hadn’t turned her away, but he certainly hadn’t helped the ungrateful brat!

“It seems as though I’ve misjudged you,” Leon said, the tightness of his jaw easing.

“No, you haven’t. I’m just not stupid enough to bite someone in the palace, let alone someone who ultimately belongs to Cazador!”

Leon ignored him, turning his attention to Gale. “How long have you been traveling together?”

“We ran into one another shortly after Astarion was abducted by the Illithids.”

Now that was an interesting half truth. Then again, if Cazador knew Gale also had a tadpole, Astarion would likely be entombed right now while Gale played Leon’s research subject.

Could Leon remove the tadpole though? Astarion doubted it, given everything they’d learned from the Emperor and all the dead ends they’d run into thus far.

Regardless, the possibility filled Astarion with dread. His fingers reflexively tightened in the fabric of Gale’s stupid purple shirt. With the tadpole gone, Cazador would be in his head again. He could command him to do anything to Gale with a smile on his face and he would be helpless to resist.

His thoughts drifted to the night he met Aurelia. He felt the weight of the knife in his hand, heard her sobs as he…

Gale absently rubbed his shoulder, the small gesture somehow keeping Astarion from starting to hyperventilate.

He’d missed the last few words exchanged between spellcasters and forced himself to focus on their voices as he leaned harder into Gale’s touch.

“—spot on about the orb,” Gale was saying. “It’s likely enough to demolish all of Baldur’s Gate, if not more. I’m also able to trigger it at will.”

Astarion’s head snapped up. “Despite how friendly you may want to be, I’d caution against telling him anything you don’t want relayed directly to Cazador. He’s still very much under his control.”

Gale smiled. “Oh, I shared that little tidbit on purpose! Though, as you said before, if I were to be killed, the orb would also detonate.”

“Why didn’t you threaten to use it?” Leon asked.

Gale pursed his lips. “I didn’t think he would believe me. I wasn’t as circumspect about my feelings towards Astarion as I should have been. Using the orb certainly wouldn’t be my first choice, but if I must…”

Astarion grabbed a fistful of Galen’s shirt on purpose this time. “Are you out of your godsdamned mind?!”

Gale stared calmly back at him. “I’d wager I could probably take out the Elder Brain, Cazador, Gortash, and Orin all at once.”

Astarion scanned his face, desperately searching for any hint of a lie and finding none. “What about your damned morals?!”

Some of the spark left Gale’s eyes. “As loathe as I am to admit it, sometimes the needs of the many outweigh those of the few. I can only hope, if it comes down to that, Mystra will take pity on those left behind and help them rebuild.”

“Fuck, Mystra! And fuck you for even considering it in the first place! I thought we were past this!”

Gale gently cupped his cheek, urging Astarion to meet his eyes. “I appreciate you have so much faith in me.” He hesitated. “…I was in a dark place after losing Mystra’s favor. You’re the only reason I’ve managed to come so far since then.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!”

Gale’s thumb brushed gently back and forth across his cheek. “It isn’t. You are the one who made me realize it was possible to be happy again after everything that’s happened. I wish I were even half as strong as you believe me to be, but I’m not. Losing Mystra hurt, but losing you might very well kill me.”

Oh, he wouldn’t have to worry about that because Astarion was going to kill him himself!

“Promise me you won’t use the fucking orb!” Astarion demanded.

Gale stared silently back at him.

Astarion grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Promise me!”

He couldn’t! If Gale detonated the orb, it meant he would die in the ritual for nothing. Saving Gale was the one truly good thing he could and would do in his otherwise worthless existence. If he couldn’t kill Cazador, he had to do this. His death had to mean something, godsdammit!

He could keep Cazador distracted until the ceremony. He would do whatever it took to keep his attention from Gale. He would give him every opportunity he possibly could to escape and damn the consequences! He wouldn’t be alive long enough for them to matter much anyway.

How in the hells was he supposed to get the stubborn idiot to understand? To agree?

Gale’s eyes softened and he wrapped Astarion in a proper hug. The gesture caught him entirely off guard, what with the present all-consuming desire to throttle him. Astarion’s fists briefly tightened in Gale’s shirt before something fractured inside him and he sank against him with a sob.

“You have to promise me!” he pleaded through his tears. “Gale, you have to promise me!”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” he protested, voice rumbling against Astarion’s forehead.

“Then don’t lie!” he shot back. “What about your mother?! What about Tara?! What about your stupid fucking vampire research book?!”

Gale held him tighter, as if he knew his arms were the only thing keeping Astarion from completely falling to pieces.

The sobs he couldn’t staunch came quicker until he began to grow lightheaded from his pathetic wet gasps. He felt as if he was crumbling from the inside out, that the pieces falling into the growing void in his chest were slipping forever out of reach. He thought he’d lost his mind when he’d been trapped in the tomb, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

Now he knew what it really felt like.

Gale was speaking to him. Astarion felt the continued rumbling of his voice. He maybe heard his name. He wasn’t sure.

But two words did finally manage to reach him.

Two blessed fucking words.

“I promise.”

Astarion sagged against him, the last of his strength drying up along with his tears. He wrapped his arms tightly around the wizard, probably enough to leave a permanent indent in his ribs, but he didn’t care.

Gale had promised. He would survive this.

Decades from now, this moment in Szarr Palace would be nothing more than a hazy memory. Hopefully Gale would have so many happy memories by then, he’d have forgotten about him altogether.

Astarion could see Gale’s future so clearly. He’d find someone to settle down with, someone to share his home in Waterdeep, someone to introduce to his mother. His mother would love them, would love how happy they made her son. Maybe they’d all cook together and share a meal in a way Astarion never would.

Gale would watch sunrises and sunsets with them. Would be proud to introduce them to his friends. Would be able to rely on them rather than be constantly stuck trying and failing to put them back together. He would watch them sleep, smiling to himself when he heard his name on their lips.

They’d have real discussions around magic and books and be able to hold their own in the face of Gale’s brilliance. They’d leave him pondering their words for hours after, desperate to keep picking their brain.

Most importantly, they would love him and keep him safe in the way Astarion never could. Gale would never have to question their faithfulness. They would be whole and he would never see the ghosts of thousands of other hands on their body when he looked at them.

They wouldn’t be damaged goods. They wouldn’t have such ugly scars inside and out. They would be as beautiful on the inside as they were outside, just like Gale.

It would be as if Astarion had never existed. As if he’d never gotten him into this mess in the first place. He would forget him. Gods it hurt to know that, but he was never meant to be more than a brief footnote in the weighty tome of Gale’s life. Even if Astarion’s own story hadn’t really begun until the wizard entered his life those few short months ago

He’d existed for over two hundred years, but he hadn’t started living until Gale approached him that fateful night to ask what he was reading.

All he had to do was keep Gale safe. All he had to do was keep Cazador distracted. He could do it. He knew he could. He just had to buy enough time until the others realized what happened and came to rescue him, or until Gale rescued himself.

Sentimental fool that he was, Gale would probably insist on going back for him. The others would talk him and Tav out of it. They were the only two who’d need any real convincing. Astarion didn’t belong with the future heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Everyone but Gale and Tav knew that, but they’d understand soon enough.

Astarion would be gone. Consumed by the ritual. Maybe he’d finally find peace in oblivion. Maybe the others would burn the new clothes Gale had bought him to send his spirit off. It would be a nice gesture, and the sooner he rid himself of any lingering reminders of him, the sooner he would move on.

Astarion’s breathing gradually evened back out as he found the solace he was so desperate for in his thoughts.

For a brief moment, a traitorous part of him wished he could be the future partner he imagined for Gale. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Almost.

He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, enveloped in Gale’s warmth and almost giddy from being so thoroughly surrounded by his scent. He was vaguely aware the other three were still talking. He knew he should be paying attention, should be helping them plan, should be distancing himself from Gale, but he was too selfish for that.

He’d always been so godsdamned selfish.

But he had his own plan now and all he wanted to do was commit this final moment with Gale to memory. To be able to call on it as he was consumed by Cazador’s ritual. To be able to pretend he was dying in Gale’s arms instead while Gale comforted him and told him everything would be okay and that it wouldn’t hurt.

That he would miss him.

That he loved him.

Astarion wished he could tell Gale he loved him. At best, the wizard wouldn’t believe him. At worst, he’d let it go to his head and do something abysmally stupid out of some misguided sense of obligation.

It was for the best he didn’t tell him. He couldn’t bear to watch the gears turn in Gale’s head as he struggled to let him down easily. Or, worse, lie to him in an attempt to spare his feelings, because he probably would and he was a terrible liar.

He didn’t doubt Gale cared about him. Of course he did. But whatever his feelings towards him actually were, they weren’t love. No one would waste their love on someone like him. It wasn’t until he shared the memory of the night he was turned with Gale that Astarion had realized his parents had never loved him either. He’d felt Gale’s visceral reaction to the letter from his father, his horror and his overwhelming pity.

He couldn’t expect someone as tenderhearted as Gale to understand how much of a disappointment he’d been to them. The only thing he’d ever done for them was fail them so badly he’d gotten them both killed.

Besides, if his own parents couldn’t love him, how could he possibly hope someone like Gale would? He may not have Gale’s brains, but Astarion wasn’t a complete idiot.

He forced his more negative thoughts from his mind. No sense in dwelling on them with the little time he had left. Gale tried to pull him back into the conversation a few times, but Astarion didn’t answer aside from brief noncommittal noises to indicate he was still present. The steady, reassuring beat of Gale’s heart and his warmth lulled him into a sort of trance. His remaining thoughts drifted lazily at the back of his mind, none lingering long enough for him to actually have to acknowledge them.

Astarion could have stayed like that forever, his world beginning and ending with the man he loved. Truly loved.

He distantly became aware of the gentle tap-tap-tap of Cazador’s staff. For once in his life, it didn’t terrify him. Rather, it bolstered his resolve.

By the time Gale heard it, Cazador had nearly reached the dormitories. Astarion felt his arms tighten around him as if he could shield him from his master’s wrath. He had no doubt he would if he could. Hells, he’d likely try anyway and he couldn’t let him do that.

Astarion tilted his head up, nuzzling the side of Gale’s throat. He took a deep breath in through his nose, searing his scent, the aftermath of a lightning strike now mingled with the faintest hint of lavender, into his memory. He placed a lingering kiss to the thrum of Gale’s pulse before sinking his fangs into his yielding flesh, pumping a generous dose of venom into him and beginning to drink just as the door to the room swung open.

Chapter Text

By the time Gale realized what Astarion was doing, it was too late. He reached up to try and shove him away, but the venom got to him first, flooding his veins. Some distant part of him realized the dose Astarion had given him back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands had been nothing compared to this.

His desperation to save the vampire from himself was smothered by the tidal wave of pure euphoria. The fear and anger and betrayal were still there, submerged deep underneath it, but all he could do was watch as Cazador blew into the room, knocking the door off its hinges.

The fury he’d shown before was a candle to the flame consuming him now, his red eyes burning with rage. Astarion slid his fangs from Gale’s throat with just enough time to seal the bite before Cazador was on him.

His eyes struggled to focus as the vampire lord seized Astarion by his hair and hurled him backward. There was a sickening snap as Astarion’s arm caught on the splintered doorframe, but rather than scream he howled with laughter. Even deep in his haze, Gale recognized the note of hysteria in his voice.

“You think this is funny, boy?!” Cazador roared as he stalked after him.

The tightly controlled calm he’d displayed while parading Dalyria in front of them was long gone. The gathering storm had broken and Astarion was alone in its path.

He shouldn’t have been alone.

Victoria sobbed in her father’s lap, hands pressed tightly over her ears. Leon covered her eyes with one hand, his other arm around her, shielding against his chest.

Astarion’s laughter echoed down the cavernous hallway, so shrill now it sounded more like he was screaming.

Gale couldn’t see him, couldn’t see what was happening. He tried to gather his disjointed limbs together to follow them, but Leon caught him by the sleeve, easily yanking him down. Gale tumbled backward into a sprawling heap, head spinning.

Leon gave a sharp shake of his head. He was seated at an angle where he could see what was happening. His face had been impassive in the wake of Dalyria’s evisceration. Now it was ashen, his eyes wide and horrified.

Astarion wasn’t laughing anymore.

Gale tried to get up again, but Leon kept him in place, hand fisted in the back of his shirt. He struggled to get his thoughts in order, to make his body listen to him, but the harder he tried, the harder the venom fought back.

It’s far easier to drink when your prey isn’t squirming or screaming.

Astarion had known exactly what this would do to him. Had known how Cazador would react.

But why? He was terrified of Cazador. Why intentionally set him off?

The sounds of violence beyond the doorway grew softer as Cazador hauled Astarion away.

Gale took a slow, shuddering breath. Astarion had done this on purpose. Likely to distract Cazador so Gale could try to escape or get a message to the others. The two of them didn’t stand a chance against the vampire lord on their own. They would need all the help they could get.

Still, he wished Astarion had talked to him first, had let him share the burden of Cazador’s wrath.

Why was Astarion always the one saving him?

“He’ll heal,” Leon murmured, finally releasing Gale. He wrapped both arms around his daughter, gently rocking her. Her crying grew softer and she buried her face into his chest.

“I…I have to…” Gale slurred.

“I’d wager I know Astarion a good deal better than you. He won’t thank you for trying to redirect the master’s ire.” He paused. “He must truly care about you. The only other time he’s…” He trailed off.

Gale turned to look at him. Leon refused to meet his eyes.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” It sounded important.

Leon sighed softly. “You mentioned the ring I enchanted for him. Did he tell you why?”

He slowly shook his head.

“Victoria was sick. Very sick. I needed to get her to a healer, but…it was my night with the master. I needed him…distracted.”

Gale silently waited for him to continue, gaze drifting back toward the doorway. He tried and failed not to imagine what horrors awaited Astarion, each possibility worse than the last. He wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to help him if his thoughts were consumed by all these what-ifs. He swallowed hard, forcing his focus back to Leon.

“Astarion has always been the master’s favorite.”

His brows shot up. Astarion had never mentioned as much before. “His…favorite?”

Leon nodded. “He denies it, but it’s true.”

“What do you mean by favorite?” It couldn’t mean anything good as far as Cazador was concerned.

“The master…forgets himself with him. Astarion brings out a side of him he never shows otherwise. A…passion, for lack of a better word. Dalyria said he pursued him with a single-minded focus he’s never shown since. He…made him ask to be turned. The rest of us weren’t given the choice.”

Anger flared in him on Astarion’s behalf. “It wasn’t a choice,” he protested, the memory Astarion shared rising as the fog of his mind began to dissipate.

“It wasn’t,” Leon agreed. “But the master pretended it was. The rest of us were abducted. We didn’t know who or what we were dealing with until it was too late.”

He didn’t realize he’d begun to fidget with the cuff of his sleeve until his fingers brushed against the stitches Astarion added to mend the tear he’d made. He cleared his throat when a lump threatened to form there. Instead of tugging at the sleeve’s hem as he usually did, he gently ran his thumb back and forth across the stitches. He might not have even noticed they were there if he hadn’t watched Astarion repair it.

“You said he…pursued him?”

“Yes. He stalked all of us beforehand, but he never made contact. Dalyria said he did with Astarion though. Went to an event he normally never would have, found reasons to visit the office he worked in as a magistrate. He even went so far as to locate him at the Elfsong Tavern.” He hesitated, gaze distant.

Gale nearly had to bite his own tongue to stop himself from interrupting again.

“He charmed a Gur boy. Forced him to steal a patriar’s horse. Dalyria said he made sure the case was assigned to Astarion.”

He stilled, breath hitching.

“I don’t think Astarion knows. I don’t know if he even suspects. He had a reputation for handing down stiff punishments. Dalyria said the master was nearly beside himself when Astarion didn’t sentence the boy to death after all the work he’d done to orchestrate everything. But the Gur didn’t disappoint him. He was almost too late. He would have been too late if he hadn’t had Dalyria tailing him.”

Gale felt as though he were going to be sick.

Leon considered him a long moment before offering, “When Astarion mentioned the master’s pact with Mephistopheles, I wondered what price he paid for such a deal.”

He’d wondered the same ever since he learned about Astarion’s scars.

“I can’t speak to the nature of the ritual itself, but I think the reason he needs us for it is because he had to offer Astarion in return. Otherwise why not create a new spawn to carve the Infernal markings into? Why send us after him with such doggedness? Why punish us when we were unable to find him?” He shrugged. “Perhaps it was just because he wanted to send a message about what it means to belong to him, but I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

Only a few hazy wisps of fog remained. His mind had cleared faster than he’d hoped, but he supposed more than enough time would have passed for a vampire to have drained him dry by now. Or to administer more venom.

He turned Leon’s words over and over in his head and found he was inclined to agree. He glanced to the doorway again.

He had to know.

“What will he..?”

Leon grimaced. “…I’ve never seen the master so angry before.”

“There must be something I can do,” Gale insisted.

The vampire opened his mouth to answer only to pause, tilting his head to one side as if he were listening for something. He stood with inhuman grace, lifting his daughter up along with him. She must have cried herself to sleep, Gale realized with a pang as he laid her gently in her bed and tucked her in.

The poor girl… She must have spent most of her life here with how young she was.

Because Cazador enjoys being cruel…

“Come with me,” Leon murmured, starting toward the door.

Gale tried to climb to his feet, overbalancing in the process. Leon was at his side in an instant, catching him by the arm and lifting him as if he weighed nothing. He watched Gale take a few faltering steps before pulling his arm over his shoulders to assist him.

“Your mind will clear before your body catches up,” he said as he led him out of the room.

Hopefully sooner rather than later.

They didn’t make it far.

Gale froze upon seeing the aftermath of Cazador’s assault. One of the bookshelves further down the hallway had been reduced to splinters, its contents splattered with blood. A portrait just to their left had been knocked to the ground and shredded. There was damage to the walls, too. Craters in the stone where Astarion had been slammed into it.

He didn’t know how long he would have been stuck there, his chest feeling as if it were caving in, if Leon hadn’t urged him forward.

They made it a few more feet before Gale stepped on something hard. He stopped, lifting his foot. A bloody fang.

Astarion’s bloody fang.

Gorge rose in the back of his throat.

Leon followed his gaze, flinching when he saw it.

“…it will grow back.”

He didn’t sound convinced.

Gale forced back the wave of nausea. How badly had he been hurt? Cazador couldn’t kill him yet. He needed him for the ritual. But how much of Astarion would remain by then..?

His head jerked upright as footsteps sounded near the end of the hall. Gale stared, torn between the hope of Astarion and the fear of Cazador.

But if Cazador was here, at least he wasn’t with Astarion.

An armored skeleton came into view, pausing in front of the ruined bookshelf. Leon hesitated only a moment before forcing the damaged door to his room closed, drawing the skeleton’s attention in the process.

It advanced on them, hollow eyes fixed on Gale.

“So it’s true then?” the skeleton asked. “The whelp has come crawling back with his tail between his legs?”

Leon bowed in clear deference. “He has. He’s with the master now.”

The skeleton sighed, shaking its head. “What a shame. Perhaps he’ll give what’s left to me when he’s finished.” It eyed the tattered painting. “Or perhaps not. And who is this then? A new little doggie for Godey to train?”

“No!” Leon swallowed hard. “I mean, no, sir. The master has other plans for him.”

“Oh? What sort of plans?”

“The master has not confided in me.”

The skeleton, Godey, stared him down. It was difficult to be sure in his present state, but Gale thought Leon may have begun to tremble beneath the weight of his gaze.

“Off you get then,” Godey finally said, waving them on. “I have it on good authority that your sister is waiting for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Leon said, starting once more down the hall. Gale was thankfully already feeling a little more sure-footed at his side.

The skeleton stood there, watching them until they rounded the corner and were no longer in his sight.

“…who was that?” Gale asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Godey. He…doles out punishments on behalf of the master.”

Gale set his jaw. He’d never considered himself a particularly vengeful person, but he’d been reevaluating his stance ever since Astarion started opening up about his life in Szarr Palace.

It wouldn’t be enough to kill Cazador and Godey. He wanted them to suffer first, which meant he needed to carefully plan his next moves.

“I don’t suppose we could retrieve my staff?”

Or the rest of his or Astarion’s belongings. Everything had been confiscated before Astarion regained consciousness.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Do you know where it is at least?”

“No.”

Gale couldn't decide whether or not he believed him.

They reached the entry hall they’d started in. None of the statuesque people from before remained. Astarion and Dalyria’s blood had also been thoroughly scrubbed away.

“Where are we going?” Gale asked as they made their way into the ballroom.

Hanging braziers burned from the pillars interspersed throughout the otherwise barren room. There was no sign of whatever carnage had taken place earlier.

Gale’s legs felt steady enough that he slid his arm from Leon’s shoulder. He wobbled through his next few steps, gradually regaining his equilibrium as he went.

“Feeling better?” Leon asked.

“A bit. You didn’t answer my question.”

Leon turned back to him to reply only to freeze, eyes widening in alarm. “Astarion!” he cried.

Gale’s head swung in that direction, his eyes darting desperately across the empty space. In the split second it took him to realize he’d been duped, Leon was right behind him.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t disobey him,” he whispered just before everything went black.

- - -

Gale woke, disoriented and in complete darkness. He blinked owlishly, as if it would help him pierce the gloom.

Was he still under the effects of Astarion’s venom..?

Where in the hells was he?

His tongue felt heavy in his abysmally dry mouth. He swallowed only to find his tongue wasn’t in fact the problem.

He’d been gagged.

Panic swept through him so fast his head spun. His heart thundered in his ears and his breathing ratcheted up so quickly he couldn’t get a proper lungful of air.

Gale clenched his eyes tightly shut, forcing his breathing to slow. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Just as he’d coached Astarion in the past.

He could breathe. He could breathe. Yes, he was gagged, but he wasn’t in imminent danger of suffocation.

So long as he remained relatively calm…

Crisis averted. Now, he could focus on removing the gag. Then he would have access to his spoken spells again.

One step at a time! He just needed to concentrate on that which was within his control.

He turned his attention to the rest of his body, scanning for any injuries or further impediments.

The panic tried to resurface when he realized his wrists were firmly bound together. A cloth bag had been placed over his hands, keeping his fingers intertwined in a mockery of prayer.

Breathe in, two, three four. Out, two, three, four.

His ankles weren’t bound, he realized with a jolt of relief. Probably because wizards didn’t cast spells with their feet.

This was a good thing. All he needed to do was get himself upright and then he could look for help or something to free himself with. He was nothing if not resourceful after all!

Trying to glass-half-full his way out of a full blown panic attack was sort of working at least…

Gale shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. He tucked his legs, rocking himself upright. His torso had barely left the ground when pain exploded in his head. He fell back down with a cry muffled by the gag. Agonized tears streamed from his eyes as he reflexively curled in on himself.

What the fuck was that?!

Blood trickled from the impact zone and he clenched his eyes shut to keep it out of them. The miniscule movement made his head throb even more.

He tried to breathe through the pain, counting to himself again.

What the fuck was that? Why was the ceiling so damned low?

His eyes snapped open, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Surely not.

He tentatively extended his leg, his boot almost immediately meeting another immovable wall.

No.

No, no, no.

He pressed his leg backward.

Another solid wall.

No!

He awkwardly reached his arms up over his head in the cramped quarters and they brushed against two perpendicular walls.

He couldn’t fully raise them.

His heart redoubled its efforts, thundering in his ears as all rational thought flew from his mind.

Was he in a coffin?! Was he in a fucking coffin?!

How much air did he have?! Was he underground?!

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe!

Gale brought his bound hands to his face, scraping the skin there raw with the cloth covering them as he frantically tried to remove the gag.

He couldn’t fucking breathe!

He quickly grew lightheaded, which only made him pant harder for air. His jaw clenched so tightly around the gag, it burned.

The sound of his heartbeat in his ears became muffled, as if cotton had been stuffed in them.

He didn’t want to die! He couldn’t die!

He tried to fight back against the blackness pulling him under, but it was too late. He was too far gone.

A final thought crossed his mind before he succumbed.

If he died, who would save Astarion?

- - -

When Gale next woke, the darkness still surrounded him. He couldn’t even pretend he was no longer in the coffin (or was it a tomb?), not when his head felt as if it were going to split open. He struggled to open his left eye, the blood from his new head wound having dried it shut.

He wasn’t dead. Not yet anyway.

How long had it been? Long enough for his blood to dry. How long did he have? They wouldn’t leave him here, would they?

Surely they wouldn’t risk the orb detonating.

Unless he’d been taken somewhere else. Somewhere where the only fatality would be his own.

No, that seemed unlikely. Leon had been leading him further into the castle, not out of it.

He just needed to remain calm. Or as calm as he could, given the circumstances. Easier said than done. But he was alive. He hadn’t run out of air.

Not yet, anyway…

Astarion had said he’d been entombed, hadn’t he? For a year.

He’d suffered like this for a year.

Cazador said he’d been so well-behaved after. That he hadn’t given him any trouble for months. Hadn’t left his side until ordered to.

Gale understood why. Concerned as he was for his own well-being, he couldn’t have been in the coffin for more than a few hours. Astarion had withstood this torture for a year. All for the sake of his “darling boy.” An ancestor of Wyll’s.

Gods. And he’d said nothing. Had Astarion known? Gale thought back to his expression when Cazador had uttered the name. Recalled the resignation all but written across his face.

Astarion had definitely known.

The entombment may have broken him, by Astarion’s own admission, but he’d survived.

Gale would survive too. He’d promised Astarion he would, godsdamnit.

He just needed to focus.

It was risky, but he waded through his panicked thoughts, seeking out the tadpole connection. Maybe he could contact the Emperor and have him send a message to the others. He could ask him to check on Astarion too.

Gale didn’t fully understand the limits of the tadpole’s reach. Regardless of the distance, the Emperor was almost always able to contact them. Initially he’d spoken to all of them, but lately he only spoke with Tav. Perhaps he’d become more partial to the Drow because they were now a partial-Illithid.

Gale had initially been surprised when Astarion turned down the power offered by the Astral Touched Tadpole. Until Astarion said why.

“I don’t want to turn into anything else.”

Tav didn’t ask anyone else after that. Gale had thought it was for the best at the time, as he probably would’ve said yes. If only he’d approached Tav, himself... Maybe then he could’ve protected Astarion, or even prevented them from getting into this mess in the first place.

After all, they were both here because Astarion had protected him after he’d let his guard down. It didn’t matter that the sun had just set. He should have been more careful. He should have listened to Astarion.

He couldn’t turn back time, but he could and would do better now.

Gale reached out through the tadpole connection with everything he had. At first it seemed as though an endless void stretched around him with no one to connect to. But then he sensed something. Someone.

Gale tentatively probed their consciousness. They were simultaneously there and…not there. Were they unconscious? He dove deeper into their mind. There was no resistance whatsoever, as if they were utterly devoid of thought.

“Hello?”

There was a flicker of something. Recognition? It was just a blip, but Gale felt it.

He tried again.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Was something wrong with them?

“This is Gale of Waterdeep. Are you there?”

A flash this time. Gale caught a glimpse of his own face, there and gone again.

It had to be one of the others. Was it..?

“Astarion? Is that you?”

His face appeared again in their mind. Blurry. Like a water damaged painting.

“Astarion? It’s you, isn’t it? Are you all right?”

A stupid question. Of course he wasn’t. If it was even Astarion he was speaking to.

Perhaps he was on the verge of passing out, or only just waking up. Maybe he’d been trancing. Or maybe he was too injured to be fully cognizant… The possibility left a lump in his throat.

Gale pressed forward. “I’m still here. I’m okay.” A lie, but he hoped he couldn’t tell. “I wish you hadn’t bitten me earlier, but I think I understand why you did.”

His memory self shifted, changing and becoming more clear. He looked older, a prominent streak of gray in his hair, his laugh lines deeper. He was smiling at someone, though he couldn’t make out their features. They were seated together in a beautiful field of wildflowers. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, its rays kissing their skin.

Gale tried to get a better look at the mystery person, but their face kept changing. A man, a woman, an elf, a tiefling, blue eyes, green eyes, red hair, brown hair. They smiled back at him, love shining clearly in their many colored eyes.

Never silver hair. Never red eyes. Never fangs.

What was this..? What was going on?

“Astarion?” He tried again.

Silver hair, red eyes, glowing red eyes.

Across from him, Astarion’s brows shot up in alarm. The sun hit his skin and he began to burn.

Pain rocked through their connection. At first Gale thought it was imagined too, but it felt so real. It made the excruciating ache of his own head seem trivial in comparison. He panted for breath through his nose.

His arm was broken, his face was broken. There was blood in his mouth. His own blood.

Astarion’s consciousness surged forward, disjointed memories flooding their connection.

Cazador. He was dragging him to the crypt. His brief spell of insanity induced bravado was gone in an instant as terror swept through him. His screaming nerve endings fell silent in its wake.

He was crying. He was begging. He’d expected to be taken to Cazador’s rooms, to be forced to submit.

They were in the ballroom. There was blood everywhere. The body of a child lay on the floor, her dead eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Her throat had been torn out.

Then they were in the crypt. Cazador threw him to the floor. Even though every movement intensified his anguish, took his breath away, Astarion prostrated himself at his master’s feet, forehead pressed to the cold stone as he sobbed his apologies, as he pleaded for anything but this.

He couldn’t go back in there. He couldn’t!

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen! How could he possibly distract Cazador if he was entombed? How could he keep Gale safe?

“Get in, boy,” Cazador spat, shoving the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus to one side as if it weighed nothing.

Astarion knew exactly how heavy it was. He’d spent months trying to move it. It had never so much as budged an inch.

And then he’d stopped trying altogether.

“Do not make me repeat myself. Or do you need further motivation? That wizard of yours would make a decent enough addition to my bed. How long do you think he would try to resist? He is such a soft looking thing… Perhaps I will give your brothers and sisters a turn too. Petras would enjoy him in particular, would he not? A reward for bringing you home, especially since his favorite reward is…indisposed.”

Astarion’s thoughts screeched to a halt.

He used the side of the sarcophagus to drag himself upright with his unbroken arm. He overbalanced, falling inside in an agonizing heap. The last thing he saw before Cazador slid the lid closed was his master’s smiling face.

And then nothing.

Nothing until now.

It was muffled, but Gale heard him begin to scream. Genuinely heard him. He must be close. Maybe even in the same room.

It was a room, from what he saw in Astarion’s memories. Below ground, but not buried under the ground. They were beneath the palace, which meant they wouldn’t risk the orb detonating. There must be a way for fresh air to reach him, or at the very least they didn’t intend to keep him there until he suffocated.

Guilt roiled in his gut. He hadn’t meant to upset Astarion. He’d been looking for a way to save them both, had wanted to reassure himself Astarion was still alive. Instead he’d wound up torturing him.

He focused once more on the tadpole connection.

Past and present warped together in his mind. How long had he been there? Hours? Days? Years? The master wasn’t going to let him out. He would spend the rest of eternity here, unable to escape even through death.

If the master let him out, he would never disobey again. He wouldn’t need the bond to control him anymore. He would willingly throw himself into his duties. He would do anything he asked. He would bring him every darling boy he found, would destroy his own body to pleasure him, would scream and scream and scream so sweetly for him.

He would be so good. An obedient little doggy.

It was impossible to make himself heard over Astarion’s frenzied thoughts, so Gale stopped trying. Instead he focused on his own memories, digging so deeply into them that he almost forgot where they were.

The first time he saw Astarion truly smile. The first time he watched him really laugh. The longing glances he caught when Astarion thought he wasn’t looking. The silver of his hair glowing, not burning, in the sun. His loud snores so recent and yet so long ago. His sleep talking. The weight of his body pressed against his own in their extended embrace before Cazador had ripped him away.

He could sense the moment he caught Astarion’s attention. His initial confusion, his surprise. Ever so slowly, their memories began to intertwine. Gale saw himself through Astarion’s eyes as he filled in the other half of those shared moments. Gale became viscerally aware of how quickly he’d fallen for the elf. The tender looks he’d directed at him, the way his eyes lit up when he saw him, how alive he became during their late night discussions.

Gale hoped his love and happiness emanated through their connection. Words didn’t seem to be helping at present, so he continued to focus on his memories and emotions. He thought he felt something similar from the Astarion, but couldn’t be sure. Not with how hard he was focusing on amplifying his own.

The image from before, the one in the meadow. resurfaced and grew clearer. Gale was older again. The person beside him’s features flickered, but not so drastically this time. They finally settled on silver hair and red eyes. Astarion’s face. He looked confused, torn. But he was there and he wasn’t burning. The sunrise had changed to a night sky, millions of stars glowing overhead and the light of the full moon making it possible for even Gale to see with his limited darkvision.

He didn’t know if it would work, but he tried anyway, urging this imaginary self to reach forward, to take Astarion’s hand in his own. The vision of Astarion jolted, eyes going wide as he stared down at their clasped hands. Gale drew him into a firm hug, arms tightening around him but not caging him. The elf sank into him, much as he had before, the top of his head tucked just under Gale’s chin as he hugged him back just as fiercely.

They didn’t speak and the vision didn’t fade. Rather, it solidified. Gale swore he could smell the flowers around them, mingling with Astarion’s chamomile shampoo. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and clothes. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, his silky hair tickling his nose.

Eventually the vision began to fade. Gale could feel Astarion’s exhaustion and pain pulling him under. Probably for the best. The more he rested, the faster he would heal.

And the less time he’d have to spend aware of where he was…

Gale didn’t withdraw from his consciousness until he was certain Astarion was trancing or maybe sleeping again. He didn’t panic as he settled back into his own mind. Astarion was close, entombed alongside him. Gale felt a wave of guilty relief because that meant he wasn’t with Cazador. He could reach him, could communicate with him without fear.

He shifted where he lay, trying and failing to find a more comfortable position in the cramped quarters. Hunger gnawed at his middle and his throat was bone dry. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, if it was even still the same day.

Gale’s eyelids began to grow heavy. He wasn’t injured like Astarion, but his fear and panic had taken a good deal out of him too. He debated on whether or not to try to stay awake before deciding against it. Astarion was as safe as he could be for now. He should rest while he could too, so he could continue to be there for him and devise a means of escape. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was much else he could do at present.

He closed his eyes, conjuring up the image of the two of them in the meadow, in each others’ arms.

As he drifted off, he vowed to himself and to Astarion that he would get them out of there. No matter what.

- - -

Gale woke with a start, eyes snapping open. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why, but the unending darkness around him now had dim pinholes of light. Airholes..?

There came a sound of stone grinding against stone and he looked hopefully to what he assumed was the tomb’s lid above him. It hadn’t budged.

Had Astarion escaped? Had someone else come to their aid?

His spark of hope was abruptly snuffed out when he heard Cazador’s muffled voice.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

And then the stone over him shifted too, and he flinched as his prison was suddenly awash with pale torchlight. He may as well have been staring directly at the sun for how bright it seemed after so much darkness.

Cazador’s face appeared over him, a cold, almost gleeful smile on his face.

“Why not take a look boy?” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “A reward for how quickly you have come to heel.”

Gale’s stomach churned.

“Come now, do not be shy. I am certain your paramour would like to see you too.”

It felt like an eternity passed before Astarion’s too pale face appeared overhead. One of his eyes was swollen shut and there was dried blood caked on his skin. He stared down at Gale, tears filling his good eye. But there was a spark of…something behind them.

…hope?

He blinked, his tears raining down onto Gale’s cheek.

Cazador’s hand came up, running through Astarion’s gore matted hair. Petting him. More tears fell as Astarion leaned into his touch, turning his head to press a kiss to the vampire lord’s palm. The action came so smoothly, Gale had no doubt he’d been forced to do the same countless times before.

Cazador fingers wrapped around Astarion’s throat as possessively as if they were a collar.

“Th-Thank you, master,” Astarion managed, voice barely above a whisper.

His speech was off, a lisp to his words. Gale recalled the fang on the floor. He wished he’d picked it up, if only because no part of Astarion should be thrown away like that.

Cazador pressed his lips to Astarion’s forehead, his tongue darting out to lap at some of the fresher blood there.

Astarion didn’t look at Gale. Didn’t speak to him. But he did reach out through their tadpole connection.

“Don’t forget what you promised me. Regardless of what happens next, remember you promised to live. And I want you to do just that. Live. These past few months have been the happiest of my life. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I hope you find someone who can make you just as happy, if not more. You deserve it. Don’t you dare settle for anything less.”

Before Gale could reply, Astarion severed the link between them and disappeared from his view along with Cazador. The torch went out and Gale was bathed in darkness again.

He tried to renew the connection, but Astarion rebuffed his attempts and soon he was too far away for Gale to reach him. He choked back a sob, shoving down the waves of grief and despair threatening to drown him. Cazador hadn’t righted the lid. The space wasn’t large enough for Gale to push his bound hands, let alone anything else through. He bent his knees, pressing the soles of his boots against the lid and pushing with everything he had.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Again and again and again.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He screamed in frustration behind the gag, tears pouring from the corners of his eyes as he kept trying.

He didn’t stop until his legs gave out, at which point he cried himself back into unconsciousness.

- - -

The next time he woke, he swore it was to the sound of his name. He blinked, eyes crusty with blood and his tears.

“Gale! C’mon Magic Man, I know you’re down here somewhere!”

He felt Karlach reach out with the tadpole that time and he hurried to meet her through the connection.

“Karlach!”

“Oh, thank the gods! I was starting to worry! Fangs said you were alive and kicking when he last saw you, but then I couldn’t find you even with Astarion’s directions and—“

“Astarion? Is he all right? Is he with you?”

“‘fraid not. On being with me, I mean! He’s back with the others, fighting that little fucking bitch Cazador.”

Gale’s hopes rose and then immediately began to wane.

“First thing he did when we got him outta the glowy ritual thing was tell Tav where you were. And then Tav asked me to come find you. So here I am! Finding you!”

Gale felt the connection grow stronger as she neared him, faint light filtering in through the gap in the tomb’s lid.

“You’re close! I can see your light! I’m in here!”

Moments later he was blinking back fresh tears from the stinging light of her torch. Karlach's worried face appeared over him, her eyes going wide.

“Shit! What the fuck did they do to you?! Hang on, I’ll have you out quick fast!”

Even with her immense strength, she struggled with the lid of the sarcophagus. But once it began to give, it skittered across the opening. It fell to the ground beside it, cracking and causing what felt like a minor earthquake in the process.

Karlach didn’t lean down to untie him, rather she lifted him out of the stone box as if he were a doll. She set him down beside it and made quick work of the gag and ropes, resorting to a knife when the knots proved too finicky.

Gale felt almost lightheaded now he was sitting up. Karlach offered him a water flask and he took it with a trembling hand. He initially tried to gulp its contents down only to send himself into a coughing fit. She pounded on his back, helping him get himself back to rights. He sipped more slowly after, washing away the veritable desert his throat and mouth had become.

“Y-You said they’re fighting him?” he rasped, already trying to stand.

Karlach caught his arm, carefully helping him up.

“Yeah.” She winced. “Tav said to hurry. That they needed you there as fast as possible. Can you run? If not, I might be able to carry you now my engine’s a little calmer.”

Gale was beyond caring how Karlach carrying him into battle might look. Tav wouldn’t have said as much without reason. Were they so outmatched?

Thinking back to Cazador’s casual displays of near omnipotence, he winced.

“If you don’t mind, I would be extremely grateful.”

“Say no more, Magic Man!”

She knelt down, motioning for him to get on her back. Gale’s muscles screamed in protest and a wave of dizziness crashed over him, but he powered through and climbed on. Karlach looped her arms under his legs and he proceeded to hang on for dear life as she sprinted through the near gloom. She left the torch behind, relying on the path she’d already taken and her superior darkvision.

He closed his eyes when the dizziness didn’t abate, uncertain as to the cause. His head wound, hunger, thirst, being prone for so long..? Truly there was no limit to the possibilities. It was for the best Tav had sent Karlach. How much had Astarion told them?

“We’ll be there soon,” she insisted as they hurried onward.

“How did you know where we were?”

“Oh, you know how Tav’s always got Speak with Animals at the ready! Scratch was beside himself when we got back to camp! Said a bunch of fang heads took you, so that narrowed things down. Sorry we didn’t get here sooner. Tav was ready to go the instant we found out. The others had to talk them down to make sure we went in with an actual plan.”

Gale made a mental note to shower Scratch with as many treats as he could find when they got back to camp.

When. Not if.

“How long has it been?”

“Mmm, two days? Maybe closer to two and a half?”

Only two days? It felt like a lifetime.

“How is Astarion?”

She paused and his heart sank.

“…I’ve never seen him so bloodthirsty before,” she finally said. “Downright murder in his eyes. Gave me the willies, and lemme tell ya, I’ve seen some things.”

He bet she had. But right now he would take almost anything over how terrified Astarion had been in the crypt with him. He just hoped Astarion didn’t leave himself open to attack in his eagerness to mete out revenge.

Even as fast as Karlach moved, it still felt like it took forever for them to reach their destination. Gale hazarded opening his eyes when she began to slow down and wound up staring directly into the glowing red eyes of a vampire spawn. He gave a startled jerk. What had to be thousands of gleaming eyes stared back at him from behind the bars of a cell.

He recognized a man near the very front, as part of the crowd who’d run into the entry hall before. He was the one who’d almost reached the palace’s exterior door.

It was eerily quiet despite what had to be a godsdamned army of vampires watching them from either side.

What the fuck?

Before he could ask, they jogged past the prison doors and Karlach was setting him down. An ornate golden door stood open just ahead. Karlach poked her head inside while Gale took a few careful steps on his shaky legs.

“Shit!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. “Shit!”

Panic flooded him as an agonized scream rang out from the room beyond. He stumbled after Karlach only to freeze at the top of a flight of stairs, struggling to process the grisly tableau below.

Cazador was on his hands and knees in the center of the main platform. Astarion knelt over him, dragging a dagger repeatedly through the skin of his back. Not stabbing him though, no. As if he was writing. Tav stood behind him, staring fixedly at Astarion’s back while he worked. The other six spawn hung in the air around them, bodies glowing crimson from the beams of light connecting them to intricate runes carved into the floor.

The conversation he’d had with Tav just a few short days before raced back to the forefront of his mind.

“Truthfully, I’m still inclined to let him do it. Even if it would ultimately destroy him… I don’t think I can talk him out of completing the ritual, but I hope you can.”

The Drow hadn’t been exaggerating. Here they were, doing just that. Even though they knew what it would ultimately do to Astarion.

It was something Astarion and Tav had in common, Gale realized as he sprinted down the stairs. It was why Tav still so deeply loved their sister despite the way she treated them. They understood Astarion so well because they shared the same all-consuming fear, the same desperation for safety at any cost.

They couldn’t stop Astarion because they knew better than anyone why he thought he needed to do this.

Tav’s sister must represent the same for them. She had been their protector through the worst moments of their life. They would no more raise a hand against their sister than stop Astarion now.

“I am trying very hard to be a good friend to him.”

Tav hadn’t sent Karlach to find him for backup. They’d sent perhaps the only other person they implicitly trusted to try to save Astarion from himself and to prevent themself from enabling him.

“Astarion!” Gale shouted, when his ringing footfalls didn’t distract the vampire from his work.

Astarion looked up from where he crouched, relief flooding his face. Tav briefly met Gale’s eyes, shame burning in theirs. They refocused their attention on Cazador. Blood ran in dark rivulets from the fresh carvings on his back, pooling on the ground beneath him.

Astarion stepped away from Cazador, hand still tightly gripping his dripping dagger.

It may not have been the wisest decision, but Gale couldn’t stop himself from throwing his arms around him the instant he was close enough. Astarion froze briefly before wrapping his free arm tightly around him in return, taking a shuddering breath.

“I…I would have gone to free you myself, but…”

“I know,” Gale insisted. He glanced at Cazador’s back, noting with dread that the ‘poem’ was nearly complete.

If Tav had sent anyone other than Karlach, he would have been too late.

“I’m here now. Thank you for telling Karlach where I was.”

“Of course! …are you all right?” Astarion asked, leaning back and looking worriedly up at the wound on his head.

“Ah. That. I’m afraid I was a little overzealous in my initial attempt to figure out where I was. I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late.”

Some of the tension eased from Astarion, though he still scanned him for any further injuries.

“…you aren’t hurt otherwise?”

Gale shook his head. “No. Only my head.”

He felt more Astarion tremble and drew him closer again.

“Are you all right?”

He seemed to have healed a great deal since he last saw him, eye no longer swollen and his arm back to rights. Regardless, Gale needed to hear him say it himself.

Astarion hesitated before offering, “I will be. All that’s left is to complete the ritual.”

Gale had no qualms whatsoever about his killing Cazador. The other spawn, however…

Karlach walked over, stopping just beside Tav. They held each other’s gaze, Tav’s expression pleading.

Karlach turned to Gale, frowning hard. “Maybe we should get Gale up to speed first?” she offered.

“There’s no need. We can fill him in on the details when I’m done.”

“What about the other spawn?” she asked.

“What about them?!” Astarion snapped, knuckles paling with how tightly he gripped the knife.

“Aren’t they your brothers and sisters? And what about the ones out there, the other seven thousand?”

Gale reeled at the number. Seven thousand?

He’d assumed a working like this would take power, but…seven thousand souls?

“What about them?!” he demanded.

Now he wasn’t looking at Karlach. He was looking at Tav.

Tav seemed determined to look anywhere but back at him.

“You said you understood!” Astarion continued. “You, of all people, should understand!”

“…I do,” Tav reluctantly answered. “…it’s why I can’t stop you. It’s why I want this for you. I would give you anything you wanted if you thought it would help you feel safe.”

“Feel safe?”

Tav flinched, eyes dropping to the ground.

Seeming to think they were all distracted, Cazador attempted to rise. Karlach shoved him back down with her boot.

“The adults are talking,” she growled.

“Don’t make puppy eyes at her when we’re arguing!” Astarion shouted upon seeing the utterly besotted look her actions brought to Tav’s face.

“I think what our Drow friend here is trying to say is that they’re worried about you,” Gale offered gently.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, having such raw power certainly wouldn’t keep me or any of the rest of us safe! It’s certainly not like we still have an army of parasite loving fanatics to deal with after this!”

He was right. Of course he was right. Hadn’t Gale said it himself earlier? Sometimes one needed to sacrifice the few to save the many.

But they didn’t have to. They could do this without killing seven thousand innocents. Just as they could do this without him detonating the orb.

Gale thought back to everything he knew about Astarion, everything he’d shared with him. Tav was right, Astarion had to have a choice. He had to be the one to choose and it fucking terrified him. Because regardless of how safe this might make him feel in the short term, Gale had no doubt the weight of seven thousand souls would be impossible for him to bear for all eternity.

How could he help him feel safe? How could he help him realize this wasn’t the answer?

“…what about Victoria?” he hazarded.

Astarion glared, but didn’t immediately answer.

“Leon is one of the spawn you’ll have to sacrifice. Would you take him away from her? Where would she go?”

He clenched his jaw, but didn’t drop the knife.

“He apologized to me, you know. Before he knocked me out. He didn’t have to. The only thing he had to do was obey Cazador’s orders.”

“Cazador’s orders are what led to thousands of people being turned into spawn against their will and left to rot for…for gods know how long! And what would you have me do with them? Set them loose on Baldur’s Gate? Some of them have been trapped here for centuries! How many people will they kill, Gale? One Victoria compared to an endless stream of orphans, assuming they aren’t consumed alongside their parents!”

That gave Gale pause. It was a valid point, even if the alternative wasn’t much better.

“And then there’s the matter of the Gur children,” Astarion continued. “Forever stuck as little monsters.”

His stomach churned. Is that what had become of them? Gods…

“…what about the Underdark?” Tav offered.

Astarion turned to them. “You would send seven thousand spawn down there?” He frowned. “Of course you would. What am I even saying?”

They shrugged. “People already know it’s dangerous. It wouldn’t hurt to disrupt the status quo down there either.”

Gale wondered how many matrons they would like to set the vampires loose on. He imagined it wasn’t a small list.

“And what about your sister?”

They tilted their head, arching a brow. “She would be fine.”

Another valid point, from what little Gale knew of her.

Astarion still didn’t appear convinced.

“There’s another option,” Lae’zel cut in. “Leaving them where they are. The staff is the only thing able to free them, is it not?”

“Leave them?!” Astarion demanded. “Trap them in those cells for all eternity?!”

He’d never had this sort of responsibility thrust upon him before, had he? Not with so many lives hanging in the balance. Gale couldn’t help but wonder if there were multiple fears at play here. One contentious ruling had led him down the path of two centuries of torture, hadn’t it? Had cost him everything he had and everything he was.

But Astarion hadn’t lost everything. Gale had watched him slowly bloom into his own person, learn his likes and dislikes, experience the world for what must have felt like the first time.

Gale gently took Astarion’s free hand in both of his, brushing his thumbs back and forth across the back of it. “You could have been one of them. You were one of them, in a way.”

“But I’m not,” Astarion protested. He didn’t pull away.

“And every day I’m grateful for that fact. I can’t stand the thought of you being locked away like they have. And, more selfishly, because I never would have met you.”

Astarion’s eyes widened. It was such a miniscule change, Gale might have missed it had he not spent so much of the past few months basking in every microexpression he made. He’d memorized them all from the twitch of his lips to the different degrees he raised a brow.

Early on, he’d found him so difficult to read. He’d known something about him was off. Inauthentic. He’d gone so far as to call him out on it the fateful night they started down this path together. Gale had wanted so badly to see his authentic self, to peek beneath his mask. And the more he saw, the more he wanted to know the real Astarion. The voracious reader. The man determined to help others unapologetically and enthusiastically be themselves. The vampire who laughed and smiled with fang.

Gale hated every terrible thing that had ever befallen him. He wished he could cast a spell and have saved him from such an unfair and horrible life, but he’d never take for granted the fact it was what had ultimately brought them together.

Astarion’s eyes darted to Leon.

“You can’t change what’s been done to them. What’s been done to you. But you don’t have to keep paying the pain forward. Yes, I agree unleashing seven thousand vampire spawn probably isn’t the sanest of choices, but there’s also no guarantee they won’t find their way just like you have. It’s entirely possible they, too, will help someone else feel like life is worth living again.”

“Assuming they don’t drain them dry first,” Astarion muttered, but his grip loosened on the knife. He no longer clutched it like a lifeline.

“You didn’t,” Gale said.

He glanced away. “I could have.”

“You could have,” he agreed. “You had the choice. You chose for yourself.”

Astarion’s jaw tightened.

“The…vision you shared before. The one in the meadow?”

“What about it?” Astarion asked, shoulders tensing.

“It made me happy. The one at the end, with both of us looking up at the night sky together.” He blew out a slow breath. “I understand why you want to proceed with the ritual. I may not agree with you, but I understand. You’ve been forced to face terrible things alone for so long, to feel powerless for so long. But I hope you realize now that you aren’t alone. You’re not like him. You have all of us. You have me especially. I can’t say we’ll be able to protect you from every bad thing that may come along, we do have to still deal with an entire cult after all. But I hope you understand we will always be here for you. We will always support you. You aren’t alone like him.”

Astarion turned his head, staring back at Cazador’s crouched form.

“Whatever choice you make, I’ll still be here for you. I’ll still support you.”

I’ll still love you.

As badly as he wanted to say the last part aloud, Gale worried it would only sound coercive were he to voice it for the first time now. Astarion had to be the one to choose.

Astarion faced him once more, searching his face for the truth behind his words.

Gale wasn’t afraid he wouldn’t see it. He meant every word he said. Even if Astarion chose ascension, he would stay by his side. Even if the possibility terrified him.

“…I don’t want to lose you,” Astarion finally admitted, his voice so soft Gale had to strain to hear him. “If I complete the ritual, I could change you. We would have eternity together.”

“A tempting offer,” Gale agreed. “But there are other ways to extend one’s lifespan. Why, just look at Elminster!”

They weren’t easy ways, particularly now he was no longer Mystra’s Chosen, but Gale was a magical prodigy. If anyone could find a way to extend their lifespan, he was confident he would. No doubt Astarion’s out of the box thinking would come in handy too.

Astarion didn’t answer, instead tugging his hand free and walking to Cazador. The vampire lord was still on his hands and knees and he tensed as he approached. Astarion knelt over him, the tip of the dagger pointing at his bare and bleeding back.

Gale felt a wave of disappointment as he watched, but he didn’t protest. No one did. He said he would accept his choice without judgment and he meant it.

Astarion’s grabbed Cazador’s hair, jerking his head back and holding him in place. He trailed the flat of the blade along the curve of his throat before turning it and calmly beginning to saw off his head.

Cazador immediately began thrashing, but Tav was all too happy to help hold him down, a manic grin on their face. Cazador’s screams turned into gurgling cries before he fell silent altogether. Astarion finished his gruesome work and lifted his former master’s head up by the hair, his eyes fixed on the lifeless ones staring back at him.

There was blood everywhere. Tav and Astarion were soaked in it. A pool of it spread from Cazador’s corpse while more dripped from the head, splattering on the stone below.

Gale took a small step forward only to stop when Astarion hurled the head over the side of the platform. Gale was quick to hurry to the edge to cast firebolt as a precaution. He watched as the head burst into flames that consumed it long before it reached the bottom of the pit below.

When he turned back, he found Astarion on his knees beside the body. He drove the knife into its heart over and over until Gale swore he heard its tip ricocheting off of the floor beneath. He didn’t stop until there was only bloody pulp left where Cazador’s heart had once been.

A heavy silence fell over all gathered as he rocked back into a seated position. His body was as taut as a bowstring but remained that way only for a moment before the dagger clattered to the ground as a ragged sob tore from his throat.

Gale was at his side in an instant, uncaring that he was covered in blood and who knew what else. He wrapped his arms around him, drawing him to his chest. Astarion held onto him for dear life, shaking and crying as he came undone.

Tav studied them briefly before turning their attention to Cazador’s staff and remains. Shadowheart took the staff, ending the spell holding the spawn aloft. Meanwhile, Tav dragged the body further from the pair of them and Wyll cast another fire spell, burning the rest of Cazador to ash.

Gale stroked Astarion’s hair as he watched them, murmuring soft words of comfort. He didn’t feel himself start to relax until nothing was left of the former vampire lord.

Astarion had done it. He’d killed Cazador. He’d eschewed Ascension. Gale was so proud of him, he felt as though his heart might burst.

The others clustered together with the remaining six spawn, aside from Karlach and Tav. Karlach wrapped her arms around the Drow, lifting them as if they were as light as a feather and spinning the two of them around. Gale couldn’t help but smile at the way they grinned at one another.

“Maybe next time warn a girl before you send her on such an important mission, yeah?” she drawled, not yet having set them down.

Tav rested their hands on her shoulders. “What do you mean? I told you to bring him here as fast as your feet could carry you.”

“I assumed for backup or to make sure he was okay! Not something as important as that! I would’ve gone even faster if I’d known!”

“It all worked out in the end,” they protested as she set them down.

They glanced over, meeting Gale’s eyes. Despite their joy, they still looked concerned for Astarion. Gale offered a reassuring smile. Tav nodded back, taking Karlach’s hand and drawing her to the others to give them some privacy.

Gale returned his full attention to Astarion, who was slowly coming back to himself in the aftermath of it all. He had no doubt this wouldn’t be the last of such moments, not with Astarion’s two hundred years of torture and imprisonment to contend with. But at least the monster that had kept him in chains was no longer a threat.

Astarion didn’t pull away from him, but his grip eased to something a bit less frantic.

“You must be exhausted,” Gale murmured.

“As if you aren’t,” Astarion answered, voice thick. “…thank you.”

“I believe I should be the one thanking you.”

“And we should probably both be thanking Tav,” Astarion said with a quiet sigh.

“And Scratch. And the others.”

“Maybe later, if it can wait,” he said, sinking into him.

“I’m sure it can. They’ll understand.”

Astarion nodded, his hair tickling Gale’s chin. “So…seven thousand feral vampire spawn in the Underdark…”

Gale winced. “It seems like the best course of action, given our limited resources.”

“Maybe the others can keep an eye on them. Dalyria and Aurelia, at any rate. I don’t know what Leon will want to do. Yousen could probably be persuaded.”

“What about the other two?”

He didn’t answer at first, instead pressing a kiss just over Gale’s heart. Gale smiled, pressing one to the crown of his head in return.

Based on the little Gale knew of Violet and Petras, he wondered if they posed a greater risk than any of the others. But now they were free. He couldn’t say whether or not they deserved a second chance. He didn’t know the full extent of their transgressions and what was and wasn’t fueled by Cazador’s influence. He’d have to defer to Astarion’s judgment.

“I don’t know,” Astarion finally answered. “I don’t think I’d trust them on their own, but maybe with the others keeping an eye on them, they could…try.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Gale agreed. “Are you able to stand?”

“I am. Are you? I’m not carrying you.”

That pulled a deep belly laugh out of him. “Fear not, I’ve had enough of being carried for one day!”

Astarion slowly disentangled himself, the faintest of smiles on his face. He looked bone weary, but also the most relaxed Gale had ever seen him. The new look suited him.

“He’s…really gone.”

“He is. We’ve destroyed the vampire lord in his crypt which, if The Curse of the Vampyr can be believed, means he is truly dead.”

Astarion held up a hand, lifting a finger for each method he rattled off. “Decapitated, staked, and burned to ash in his own crypt. Yes, if that doesn’t do it, I don’t know what would.” The corners of his lips twitched downward. “My only regret is this means I’ll always be a spawn.”

“A spawn who killed one of the most dangerous and powerful vampire lords out there.”

“Mmm, I do like the sound of that,” Astarion said, smiling again as he moved stiffly to his feet.

He held his hands out for Gale, pulling him upright too. He swayed a moment, catching himself against the vampire.

“Are you all right, love?”

“Right as rain! Probably could stand to eat something, sleep, and wash up. I’d imagine you feel the same.”

“In addition to tending to your head wound.”

“That, too!”

“Do you think you can wait until we’re back at camp..? Not for the food, but for the rest? I…would rather not stay here any longer than necessary.”

“Of course!” Legs steady once more, he squeezed Astarion’s hand, drawing him to the others.

The six vampire spawn watched them approach, their eyes no longer glowing red. Aurelia was the first to greet them, wrapping her arms tightly around a startled Astarion, His expression softened and he hesitantly returned the gesture.

“I can’t believe you did it!” she said, voice catching. “But if anyone could, I knew it would be you!”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurted in return. “Sorry for starring in your nightmares.”

She leaned back, hands resting on his shoulders. “I’m sure I did the same in some of yours.”

He didn’t answer and she smiled almost shyly up at him. “There was never anything to forgive. I know what hurting me did to you. I know you never would have if you’d had a choice.”

“Th-The same to you, but I’m still sorry all the same.”

“I’m sorry too. And I do forgive you. I hope you’ll do the same for me..?”

“Of course!”

Dalyria came next, a little more hesitantly. “Thank you, bro…Astarion.”

There was a beat before he tentatively asked, “…am I no longer your brother?”

Her face lit up. “Only if I am still your sister. But now by my own choosing.”

Aurelia nodded in agreement. “We cannot change the way we were brought together, but perhaps we can choose how we move forward from here.”

“I…I would like that.”

“I hope there’s room for one more brother,” Leon added as he joined them. His gaze shifted to Gale. “I am truly sorry for what happened. I couldn’t disobey him, no matter how badly I wanted to. I know where your belongings are. I can fetch them, but would it be all right if I check on my daughter first?”

Gale clapped him on the back. “Of course! I understand completely! Please go see to her first. Take all the time you need.”

Leon met Astarion’s eyes. “Thank you, brother. I will never forget what you’ve done for us. What you’ve done for Victoria.”

“Will you please go find your child?” Astarion retorted, looking flustered.

Leon grinned before darting up the stairs.

The other three, Yousen, Violet, and Petras kept their distance from Astarion, though they shot him looks of gratitude. Yousen kept to himself while Petras and Violet stayed together.

Shadowheart stepped forward, offering Astarion Cazador’s staff. She gave him an encouraging nod. “You should be the one to free the others.”

Astarion tentatively took the staff, looking overwhelmed as the full weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He took a steadying breath before driving the staff down against the platform. Power burst from it, crimson light flowing from its epicenter. Gale could hear the sound of the heavy prison doors opening even at this distance.

“Don’t worry,” Dalyria said, squeezing Astarion’s shoulder. “They won’t be alone. We’ll take them to the Underdark. We’ll do what we can to help them acclimate.”

Astarion nodded, watching as she and the remaining spawn began up the stairs. He waited until they reached the top before snapping the staff in half over his knee and tossing it into the abyss below.

“…Astarion?”

He and Gale turned to face Tav.

“…are you all right?” they hazarded.

Unshed tears shone in Astarion’s eyes. “I am. Thanks in no small part to you, khal’abbil.”

“Zuch! Though I, too, would be honored to call you dalninuk. Of course only if—“

Astarion grinned, all fang. “Are you certain you want a brother like me?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life! If you will have me, of course.”

“Of course I’ll have you, you sentimental fool! Though what should I call you in return?”

They pursed their lips, considering. “A fair question. I do not know of an existing term. Dalninuk is brother, dalninil is sister. Perhaps simply dalnin?”

Astarion nodded. “Dalnin, it is! I’m sorry for what I said before. Thank you for saving me from myself.” He glanced to Gale. “Thank both of you. Now, can we go? This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.”

Chapter Text

Astarion should have known they couldn’t just waltz out of Szarr Palace. When had any part of his life ever gone to plan, after all?

Of course the Gur arrived immediately after the battle ended, demanding answers. It would have been far too helpful for them to arrive sooner!

Then again, maybe it was for the best. Whatever fate awaited the seven thousand spawn, at least it wouldn’t include Gur target practice…

“And our children? What of their fate?” Ulma asked once she’d finished waxing poetic about the foolishness of releasing them all.

Did she really think he didn’t know that? It certainly wasn’t his first choice! Even so, he was surprised how grateful he was to have made that decision rather than the alternative. Ever since he’d learned about Cazador’s ritual, he’d pursued its completion with a single-minded focus. Not once had he thought to question his newfound path. Not until he was about to fully set both feet on it.

Astarion had somewhat expected the resistance from Gale, but he’d been furious with Tav. Tav who should have understood him better than anyone else when it came his need to see the ritual through.

But Tav had understood. The Drow knew him better than Astarion knew himself. They sent Karlach to fetch Gale to stop him from making what very well could have been the biggest mistake in his life. They had risked destroying their friendship to save him.

Still reeling from the events of the past few days, Astarion was desperate for some time to himself. Or, even better, in companionable silence with Gale where he could just…think. Where he could reflect on what felt like the lifetime they’d lived through and attempt to get his head above the waves of disjointed emotions trying to drown him.

He couldn’t do that here. Not with memories of Cazador and the worst two hundred years of his life surrounding him. He wanted to go back to camp, feed, wash up, and make sure Gale was truly okay. Yes, he looked okay. Well, mostly okay, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until Shadowheart properly examined him.

Astarion could barely wrap his head around the fact Gale was still here with him. Living, breathing, smiling. Like everything he’d been through because of him was worth it. Like he didn’t regret every single choice he’d made leading him up to this point.

Like he somehow didn’t hate or even resent him after being tortured by Cazador. Whether or not Gale was physically uninjured, it was torture. He’d been sealed in the crypt for days. Astarion knew all too well what that was like. What it did to a person.

Yet Gale had been the one comforting him. It should have been the other way around. Astarion should have been there for him. But Gale was all right. And maybe it was a good thing they’d been there for each other. They’d shared the load of Cazador’s abuse and had come out on the other side together.

Not just Gale either. Everyone had been there for him, shouldering what should have solely been his burden. Astarion had hoped he wouldn’t face Cazador alone in the end, but he’d never expected to have so much ardent support. The others had fought Cazador alongside him as if his pain was theirs too.

Especially Tav. His dalnin, solely by choice. The Mind Flayers may have brought them together, but no one had forced him to accept Tav as his sibling.

Gods, he was so fucking tired. He’d never been more exhausted in his life and now he had to deal with the Gur picking at a scab that had barely begun to form.

“I would imagine they’re in the Underdark with the rest of the vampire spawn,” he finally answered.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most tactful way to broach the subject, but he was both figuratively and literally dead on his feet.

Gale was quick to step in. “What Astarion means is they were, unfortunately, turned by Cazador as part of the ritual. If we’d known you’d arrive so soon, we would have asked them to stay behind.”

The Gur leader’s eyes widened. Gandrel pushed through the others to the front of the group.

“They’re…vampires?” he asked, the spark of hope in his eyes dimming.

“Vampire spawn,” Astarion corrected reflexively.

Once upon a time, he would have delighted in seeing the Gur brought so low. Not anymore. Not when their children would never grow up. Now all he felt was shame at having played a part in their tragedy, regardless of the fact he’d had no choice in the matter.

“They can’t have gotten far,” Gale offered. “You must have just missed them. They’ll likely head for the nearest entrance to the Underdark. Even if they take a different route, someone will have seen them. The sudden surge of seven thousand people would be impossible to miss, even somewhere as densely populated as Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav stepped forward. “I can show you to the nearest entrance, though…I can’t go down with you.”

No, not without risking running into their sister.

“Please,” Gandrel said, stepping back to clear a path for the Drow.

“I’ll go too,” Karlach said, smiling as she took Tav’s hand in hers and lead the way out of the crypt.

Tav gave her the same besotted look as before, picking up their pace as the Gur turned to follow.

Ulma, however, lingered. She shifted her weight, standing tall like the warrior she was.

“I judged you too harshly, Astarion, and for that I am sorry. I did not think it was possible for you to turn down such power, but I was wrong. Thank you for what you have done for us and for our children.”

His stomach churned at her words. “Don’t thank me for that. Never thank me for that.”

While he hadn’t become a Vampire Ascendant, maybe it would have been more merciful to have slain the spawn, or at least the children among them. He’d been turned when he was only thirty-nine and felt as if his life had been cut short before it had begun.

Most of the Gur children hadn’t even reached adolescence... His thoughts drifted back to Victoria and how she had her whole life ahead of her. She could have easily been one of them…

There seemed to be no right answer to the moral conundrum they’d been unlucky enough to find themselves in.

Astarion couldn’t help but wonder if there were other options he should have considered. If he’d acted too hastily. It wasn’t as if the spawn could have escaped on their own after all. Yet the thought of thousands of people remaining trapped behind bars, some having been there for centuries already, made his chest feel as if it were caving in.

He would have killed them all without a second thought if he’d been unable to free them. Whether or not he’d chosen to ascend.

He would never have left them to rot.

Why had Cazador kept them all under lock and key? With thousands of spawn at his beck and call, it made no sense for him to limit his hunt for more victims to Astarion and his siblings. Especially when the ritual demanded so many.

It was possible he was concerned that setting thousands of vampires loose on the streets of Baldur’s Gate would draw too much attention to himself. As much as Cazador craved power over people, he’d always preferred to wield it from the shadows.

While he could have brought the entire city to its knees with his press-ganged army, all of Faerun would have demanded his head on a pike. One vampire was more than enough to have the townsfolk reaching for their torches and pitchforks. Even with the power becoming a Vampire Ascendant granted him, he would have been as infamous as the Chosen Three. Without a fanatical cult to hide behind.

Or maybe it was just a matter of practicality. He could have been limited to the number of spawn he could control or change at once. Plus the logistics alone of so many vampires in one city. There weren’t enough rats in all of Baldur’s Gate to feed so many, which meant they must have been starved.

Had he ever seen any of them again after changing them? Ever fed them?

Astarion had never considered himself lucky enough to be Cazador’s so-called “favorite,” but if this had been the alternative… He forced back a shudder.

Gods, he had so many questions and the answers had all died along with Cazador.

He was certain of one thing, however. Killing Cazador had unequivocally been the right thing to do. One didn’t make it to his position of power without becoming a hardened survivor. Anything short of death would have given him the opportunity to slip away, leaving Astarion looking over his shoulder for the rest of his unlife.

Not to mention how many more thousands of victims he would have left in his wake…

He belatedly realized Ulma was still staring at him. He met her steely eyes, unsettled by the flicker of understanding he saw in them. Like she’d somehow followed along his trail of thought and come to the same conclusions.

She held his gaze a moment longer before nodding once in farewell and turning smartly on her heel to rejoin her people.

Astarion and the others followed more sedately behind them all, he and Gale bringing up the rear. It would have been easier to stay there to wash up and rest, but no one said as much. Either they were equally eager to leave Szarr Palace behind, or they knew how important it was to him.

Having come to know this bunch of sentimental fools, he was willing to bet it was the latter. The knowledge brought the smallest of smiles to his face.

Godsdamnit, they’d corrupted him too, hadn’t they? If he wasn’t careful, he and Tav would find themselves standing side-by-side in the streets, collecting alms and actually giving them to the poor.

This time, he wasn’t quite able to suppress his resulting shudder, earning a curious look from Gale.

By the time they made it up to the entry hall, Leon, Victoria, and Gale’s staff were there waiting for them. Victoria was grinning from ear to ear and eagerly waved upon seeing him. Leon smiled fondly after her as she sprinted over.

“I want to hug you, but you’re really messy,” she offered by way of greeting.

Oh, no, his smile had widened a fraction. He quickly schooled his expression with a curt huff and a dismissive wave of one bloody hand. “Yes, well, needs must and all that.”

Her eyes darted back in the direction they’d come from. “...he’s really gone?” She asked as if she didn’t believe it.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d been the one to kill the bastard and was still struggling to do the same.

But at least she wouldn’t have to be actively afraid of the monster anymore.

…godsdamnit!

Forget the alms, he was doomed to build an orphanage with his own two hands at the horrifying rate he was descending into altruism…

Damn Gale and his damn morals!

“He is. Permanently. Will you and your father be accompanying the others into the Underdark?”

Her face fell and she gave an aggrieved sigh which sounded alarmingly like one of his own. “No, even though I really want to! Did you know the Underdark’s where Catti-Brie’s husband used to live?”

That startled a laugh from Astarion, despite himself. Maybe the brat wasn’t so bad after all. “I did, actually!”

Gale shot him a sidelong look. “You would know that, wouldn’t you?”

Astarion froze. “...hmm?”

Gale’s brows rose in mock surprise. “Oh? You have no idea who Catti-Brie’s husband is?”

Surely Gale wasn’t implying what he thought he was…

“Ah… Well…”

“His name is Drizzt!” Victoria piped up. “I can never remember his last name though…”

Wyll cocked his head to one side. “Drizzt Do'Urden? The Drow ranger?”

“Yes! That’s him!” Victoria said, grinning.

Oh, hells. Astarion didn’t even have Tav’s cannibalism or Karlach’s short attention span to save him now. Sweat prickled at the nape of his neck. Gale watched him knowingly, an evil smile (Astarion would have been proud of under literally any other circumstances) coming to his face.

“Well, you see–” he sputtered.

“We happened upon a book about him the other day!” Gale interrupted.

Astarion nearly swooned with relief. Thank the gods.

Leon joined them, offering Gale his staff. “Oh? Still reading everything you can find on the man, Astarion?”

Fuck the gods.

Wyll spun around to fully face him now. “...what?”

“Well, I tried,” Gale said with a helpless shrug.

Astarion buried his face in his hands, refusing to look at any of them. Perhaps he could dye his hair, change his name, start a new life on the opposite end of Faerun…

“What?” Leon asked, sounding bewildered. “Was I not supposed to say anything? Why? The whole reason Victoria became interested in Catti-Brie in the first place is because she asked me what you were always reading.”

No. He would need to travel to another plane altogether. Maybe he could hide out in the Astral Plane? Stay there for a few centuries and then venture back once he was certain everyone here was either dead or had forgotten all about him and this conversation.

“I wasn’t always reading about…about him!”

“No,” Leon agreed. “But those are the only books you read until the covers were in danger of falling off.”

Maybe he hadn’t survived the encounter with Cazador after all? Maybe he’d died and what remained of his soul was now in Minauros, being tortured for a new Soul Coin?

“What? Really?” Wyll demanded. “…oh. Oh! Is that why you were in such a good mood when we were in the Underdark before? When you were being so cagey? By the gods, is that why you know so much of the Drow language?!”

“…I am going to kill myself…” he mumbled against his palms.

Wyll gave a delighted laugh. “It is, isn’t it?! Astarion! I knew you had a hero’s heart somewhere beneath all that hair and fangs!”

He pressed his face harder into his hands, as if the resulting pain might somehow wake him from this nightmare.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Wyll continued. “I’d be lying if I said Drizzt’s adventures hadn’t influenced me too!”

Astarion cautiously peeked at him from between his fingers.

“Well, now we have to come up with a proper moniker for you! How about ‘The Fearless Fang!’ Or how about ‘The Valiant Vampire’?”

“We all have our idols,” Shadowheart blessedly cut in. “Just look at Lae’zel and Orpheus.”

Lae’zel made a sound of derision. She didn’t elaborate on whether it was due to Shadowheart’s word choice or to the comparison being drawn between them.

“I suppose your…interest has proved useful in a way. Your knowledge of the Drow language and culture, in particular.”

Oh gods. Now Lae’zel was trying to comfort him?!

Gale gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Perhaps we should all give Astarion a break? For now, at least. There will be plenty of time to torment him later!”

The others murmured their assent while Astarion glowered halfheartedly back at him. He supposed if his options were between horrific deaths and mild humiliation, he’d choose the second option.

“Would it be all right if we joined you back at your camp?” Leon asked. “For now?”

“Of course,” Gale said, tucking his staff under one arm and taking the pack Leon handed him next. He rooted through it, passing Astarion the daggers he’d been carrying when they’d been abducted.

He took one in each hand, some of the lingering tension easing from his shoulders. He’d made do with a borrowed set during the fight, but he felt better having his own back. Whole.

He and Gale drifted to the back of the group again as they made their way back out into the cool night air. Dawn would be upon them soon, which meant the streets were mostly empty. The handful of people who were milling around at least had the good sense to pretend they weren’t staring at the bloodier members of their party.

“Astarion?” Gale offered once the others were out of immediate earshot.

He turned to face him, his expression softening as Gale took his hand, twining their fingers together.

“Yes, darling? Is everything all right?”

“As all right as it can be, given what we just went through. How are you? I’m…I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help you.”

He blinked back at him, nearly tripping over his own two feet. “What?”

Gale took a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t protect you from him. I wasn’t even there for the fight. And…when he took you away, I…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“That was sort of the point, darling,” he said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You never asked to wind up on Cazador’s doorstep. You didn’t deserve anything he would have done to you.” He hesitated, a lump threatening to form in his throat. “...I didn’t…I couldn’t let him break you. It was already too late for me, but it wasn’t for you.”

Gale pulled him to a halt, taking both his hands in his now. “You didn’t ask for it either. You didn’t deserve anything he did to you, Astarion.”

The conviction in his voice and the fierceness of his expression made his eyes begin to prickle and Astarion sniffled, trying desperately to maintain his rapidly failing composure.

“There’s something you should know. Something Leon mentioned after Cazador took you.”

Astarion nodded for him to continue when Gale hesitated.

“You became Cazador’s spawn because he wanted you to, not because of anything you did. He orchestrated everything from the beginning, from charming the Gur boy to making sure the case wound up in your lap.”

His breath caught, eyes going wide. “I… What?”

“Dalyria told him. He expected you to execute the boy and flew into a rage when you didn’t. But he had her follow you. That’s how he knew where to find you that night in the alley. He set you up.”

Astarion struggled to make sense of the words. “...no. No, that’s not possible.”

Gale brushed his thumbs against the backs of his hands. “Why isn’t it?”

“He made me ask. I chose to become like this!”

“And he made sure you said yes.”

His head was spinning, his stomach roiling. “But…But the boy! And my parents!”

He’d disfigured the boy, whose only crime was being manipulated by Cazador Szarr. Gods, had the child even know what had happened? He’d almost had him executed!

Astarion’s breath hitched. His parents. He’d spent the last two centuries racked with guilt over leading them to their deaths due to his own selfishness. But if Gale was right, their fate had been sealed the moment Cazador decided to claim him.

Even through the worst of the torture, he’d found a fucked up sort of comfort in the fact he felt he’d earned what happened to him. Especially because of what had happened to his parents. It had been his fault. If he’d just stayed in the Dalelands, if he had handed down a different ruling, if he hadn’t been such a coward and had just accepted he was meant to die in that alleyway…

Did that mean his answer hadn’t mattered in the end? That Cazador would have turned him either way?

His hands tightened around Gale’s as a choked sob escaped him.

Had it all really not been his fault..? Had he always just been another victim?

Gale closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around him, his hand cupping the back of Astarion’s head.

For the second time that night, he was helpless to stop the storm of emotion swelling up within him. He clung to Gale, weeping as he grieved the person he could have been. That he should have been. Knowing all this from the beginning wouldn’t have stopped Cazador from breaking him, but maybe he wouldn’t have made the job so much easier for him if part of him hadn’t felt as if he’d deserved it.

He didn’t know how long the two of them stood there, holding each other. At some point, Gale’s tears joined his own. But by the time Astarion finally got ahold of himself, he felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He offered Gale a watery smile before pulling one of the exhausted wizard’s arms over his shoulders and helping him the rest of the way back to camp.

Tav and Karlach had already returned by the time they arrived, shooting them curious looks but thankfully giving them their space. Astarion made a beeline for Gale’s tent, helping him down onto the cushions there. Shadowheart joined them, immediately setting to healing Gale’s head wound.

Astarion took a seat just outside the tent, giving her space to work. The occasional sniffle still bubbled up, but he found himself smiling faintly through them. His eyes roved across the camp, taking everything and everyone in. Leon had retreated to one of the abandoned buildings as the sun’s rays finally began to peek over the horizon. Victoria, meanwhile, had apparently become fast friends with Yenna. She and the other girl looked thick as thieves from where they were huddled together with Scratch, Grub, and the Owlbear cub.

He’d accepted he’d never make it back here, yet here he was, free from Cazador and surrounded by his newfound family.

Once Shadowheart gave Gale the all clear and bullied Astarion into letting her look him over too, he’d gratefully accepted Tav’s offer of a vein before doing his best to clean as much of the blood off of himself and the now dozing wizard as he could. Thankfully Gale roused himself enough to eat some stew and change into clean clothes.

Astarion donned his new outfit from the wizard, blinking back a fresh wave of tears in the process. Truly, he hoped all of these overwhelming emotions would ease up sometime soon. He wadded up their ruined camp clothes, preparing to toss them into the fire only to stop when Gale caught his arm.

“Don’t. Please.”

He stared down at the blood and grime soaked garments. “Are you sure?”

Gale nodded fervently, tugging him closer. Astarion reluctantly set them outside the tent before settling down beside him.

“They’ll never be the same, you realize?”

“They don’t have to be,” he insisted, resting his head on Astarion’s shoulder.

How the wizard thought they could salvage what was left was beyond him, but Astarion would respect his wishes. He was a dab hand with a needle and thread, after all. Perhaps he could even add some of his own embroidery to hide the worst of the damage, he thought as his eyelids grew heavier.

Gale’s breathing evened out and Astarion closed his eyes, resting his hand over his heart. Its soft, steady beat gradually lulling him into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The next few days passed uneventfully. The others insisted Astarion and Gale get plenty of rest, going so far as to relieve them of watch duty altogether. Astarion hardly left the wizard’s side during that time. They spent their days and nights together, mostly sequestered in or just outside of Gale’s tent, seeing as it was the more comfortable of the two. Gale mostly slept while he tranced, the exhaustion of their recent ordeal having caught up with them.

So, of course the first thing that happened when they ventured back out into the world was a fight at Sorcerous Sundries, after which Gale found the Annals of Karsus. Even worse, godsdamned Elminster had the nerve to revisit their camp to tell Gale that Mystra expected a visit from him.

Tav had not been at all subtle in their attempts to distract Astarion from ringing the construct’s neck. It wasn’t as if it was the real Elminster! Why couldn’t he murder him as a well deserved treat?

Needless to say, Astarion was in a sour mood by the time the geriatric construct toddled off and Gale rejoined them by the fire. He immediately shot him a look.

“Please tell me you aren’t actually considering going to see her?” He was quite proud of how he managed to refer to Mystra in a relatively diplomatic fashion while also laying on the implied insult as thick as clotted blood.

Gale gave a heavy sigh.

Astarion groaned. “Why? The last time she sent you a message, she asked you to kill yourself! I doubt this time will be any different!” He paused, leaning closer. “Can I come at least?”

“No!” came the chorus from what sounded suspiciously like the entire camp.

“Why not?!”

“Because regardless of what she has to say to me, I have some things I’d like to say to her too,” he answered, voice level.

“So?” he demanded.

“I would like it to be a civil conversation,” Gale said, eyeing him.

“I can be civil!”

“Can you?” Tav asked, arching a brow. “The last thing we need is for a goddess to smite you.”

He threw his hands up. “She isn’t going to smite me! She’s too lazy to even send Gale a message without a proxy!”

“She is oddly close with Gale’s granddad,” Karlach offered, drumming her fingers against her knee. “Though I agree that you shouldn’t go, Fangs. It’ll just upset you and you don’t wanna go insulting your future in-laws!”

Heat flooded Astarion’s face. “My what?!”

She arched a brow, her expression the spitting image of Tav’s right down to their signature dash of Lolth-sworn Drow haughtiness.

Astarion huffed, crossing his arms.

“You’re probably already on thin ice! Every time his grandad shows up, you look like you’re gonna bite him, and not in the vampire way!” Karlach continued with a slow shake of her head.

“Oh, I’ll bite him all right…” he grumbled.

Gale gave his knee a soft squeeze. “It will be fine. Frankly, I could use the closure. It’s long overdue.”

Astarion scowled as he snagged Gale’s hand in his own. He was not going to allow himself to be placated right now. “It’s not like she’s going to apologize! I don’t see what good it will do you.”

He had the nerve to smile back. “I just want to speak my peace.”

Tav eyed him. “We don’t need her to smite you either.”

“No one is going to be smote!” He paused, frowning. “…smitten?”

Karlach looked between Astarion and Gale. “Too late for that I’m afraid.”

“You’re one to talk!” Astarion protested, pointing at her and Tav.

“And what about the crown?” Tav asked, not even pretending they weren’t blatantly changing the subject.

Astarion hazarded a glance at Gale out of the corner of his eye, his stomach threatening to twist into knots. He’d been wondering the same ever since Gale found the godsdamned book.

The whole reason he and Mystra had parted ways in the first place was because he’d wanted to be her equal, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been able to obtain that sort of power on his own and she’d refused to grant it to him.

If he reforged the crown, Gale would be her equal, the coward in him needled. And what use would he have for someone like Astarion after becoming a god..?

There weren’t seven thousand souls on the line this time either.

“The gods will never grant us such a blessing, no matter how much we worship and adore them.”

He’d used the present tense, and who else could he be talking about but himself and Mystra? He’d spent his entire life up until his mishap with the Netherese orb serving and loving her. Though a rift had clearly formed between the two of them, Astarion wasn’t stupid. Even after everything that had happened to Tav and Shadowheart, they both still struggled to fully separate themselves from their former goddesses. Why would it be any different for Gale?

Just because Astarion didn’t worship any of them didn’t mean he was oblivious to the sway deities had over their followers.

He stared into the fire, silently watching as the log Lae’zel added was gradually consumed by its flames.

“Some gods may delude themselves into believing they care about their worshippers, but when it comes down to it - we’re all expendable. Children to be appeased, not respected.”

Gale would make a good god, wouldn’t he? He’d already brought so much good into the world as a mere mortal. With the crown in his possession, he could do even more.

However, a small niggling part of Astarion reminded him few, if any, seemed capable of acquiring such power without letting it negatively influence them.

Many of the gods had once been mortal or mortal adjacent, hadn’t they? They must have had similar hopes and dreams once. Loved ones they cared about and wanted to make the world a better place for.

Gale was ambitious. One of the things Astarion loved most about him was his potential and his desire to maximize it.

But was Gale…too ambitious?

His ambition was what caused the Netherese orb to be lodged in his chest in the first place. And hadn’t Astarion thought the same when he’d planned on completing Cazador’s ritual? That he would only use the power it brought him to protect himself and his companions?

Now he’d some time to sit with the possibility without his fear of Cazador driving him, he was even more grateful he hadn’t ascended. Seven thousand lives had been spared. Victoria still had her father. The Gur still had their children. And, most importantly, he hadn’t become the monster he’d vowed to destroy.

It turned out he hadn’t needed the power ascension could have granted him to keep himself and the others safe. At least as far as fighting Cazador was concerned.

Would reforging the Crown of Karsus just wind up turning him into Mystra? Someone with the power to change peoples’ lives for the better, but who was too removed from their humanity and too absorbed with godly affairs to actually help the people they claimed to care about?

He wasn’t the only one worried about Gale’s pursuit of godhood either. Tav and Karlach had shared their own concerns to him in private.

Astarion had watched Gale pore over the book since then, reading it cover to cover more than once. He’d taken a look at it himself, but the contents were beyond his rudimentary understanding. It would take him more time than they had to parse it all out.

“That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it?” Gale finally replied. “Mystra’s timing couldn’t be more conspicuous. I’ve no doubt she fears the power the crown could bestow. What it would do to disrupt the way things have always been.”

Astarion forced his attention from the log, which seemed to be burning so much faster than the others. It must have been a different kind of wood. Halsin, bless him, had tried to educate him on the finer points of firewood one evening. He’d been so excited about the topic, Astarion hadn’t had the heart to interrupt, even as his eyes glazed over.

He vaguely remembered him mentioning something about hardwood versus softwood, but that was all he’d gleaned from the lesson. It was a miracle he remembered that much.

“…you said Mystra herself stopped Karsus from ascending, didn’t you? What if she did it again? There aren’t flying cities to fall anymore, but there could be other consequences.”

Gale considered his words, gently tugging on his hand. “I would argue this is different from fully unseating Mystra, but you have a point.”

Astarion reluctantly let him go. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and propping his chin on top. He frowned down at the fire.

“I think you should make the decision before speaking with her,” Tav said. “It sounds like something that should be considered with a cool head.”

“Another valid point.”

At least there seemed to be some reason left within the wizard.

“Not to mention we’ll need to get ahold of the stones before we could even try something like that,” Karlach added.

Gale waved a dismissive hand. “I have complete faith in our abilities in that regard.”

Astarion tentatively turned to face him. “…could I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”

Gale tilted his head, expression unreadable. “I don’t see why not,” he decided. He stood, helping Astarion to his feet.

Now that their camp was within the Lower City proper, Astarion was surprised to realize he actually missed being surrounded by nature. He’d spent two hundred years as an unrepentant city boy and now he longed to rough it beneath the stars…

Well, comfortably rough it beneath the stars.

Halsin would be so proud…

Astarion led Gale down to the docks and away from the others’ tents. Reaching them, he took a seat at the edge, pensively regarding the water. Gale settled beside him, thankfully giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

He took a deep breath before finally hazarding, “Does it have to be you?”

Gale’s reflection turned to face him. “Pardon?”

“To ascend to godhood. Does it have to be you?”

He pursed his lips. “I’d argue I’m the best suited for it, given my knowledge on this particular topic and my overall expertise with magic.”

Astarion hesitantly met his eyes. Gale stared intently back at him.

“Shadowheart is an exceptional magic user, is she not? And Halsin. And Wyll.”

Gale frowned now. “What are you getting at?”

Astarion drew his knees back to his chest. “I’m just curious if it has to be you. Since the crown could grant that sort of power to any of us, I mean.”

“Well, I…” His frown deepened. “Do you think it shouldn’t be?”

He dropped his gaze to the water again. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

He hunched his shoulders, making himself smaller. “…you know how I feel about the gods overall.”

“I do.”

“Mystra was mortal once, wasn’t she? As were Bhaal and Myrkul.”

“Yes?” Gale asked.

Was that a note of annoyance in his voice, or was he just imagining it..?

Astarion worried his bottom lip. “Are there any mortals who’ve become gods and still have mortals’ best interests at heart?”

Gale sat up straighter. “What are you saying?”

“...you were worried becoming a Vampire Ascendant would change me. Is this really so different?”

Silence fell between them. It took everything Astarion had to remain there beside him, waiting for his reply.

“I don’t think…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, already regretting opening his stupid mouth. Unfortunately it was too late to take it all back now. “Is there something inherently bad about me? Is that why?”

“No! No, of course not,” Gale protested. His voice gentled. “Astarion? Please look at me?”

He cautiously did so. Gale scanned his face, but he didn’t look angry at least.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, gently cupping his chin.

Astarion blinked, darting his tongue out to catch the blood from his split lip and sealing it in the process.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed.

He drew in a slow breath, knowing all he was doing was delaying the inevitable. “…I don’t think you should reforge the crown.”

Gale’s brow furrowed as he stared back at him. “What? Why?”

“You can’t give me a reason why it should be anyone but you.”

“Why is that important?” he pressed.

Astarion half considered throwing himself into the harbor to end the conversation right then and there. But Gale still looked relatively calm, so he refrained.

For now.

“Do you remember what you said to me…gods, was it only a few days ago? When we bathed together in the river?”

Gale nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“You told me your friend Tara would approve of me. Because, somehow, I remind you that you’re human. That you felt as if your life was only just beginning, since it had solely revolved around Mystra up to that point. You also mentioned you’d neglected all of the other aspects of your life over the years and regretted it. Or…something along those lines.”

Gale’s eyes widened a fraction.

Astarion hurried on before he lost his nerve. “You’re one of the most ambitious people I know. It’s something I truly lo…like about you. But your desire to be Mystra’s equal already led you astray once and convinced you your life was over.

“If you want to pursue…godhood for purely altruistic reasons, I won’t stop you. However, I…I’m afraid you’re in danger of losing everything you’ve worked so hard to rebuild. You’re already Gale of Waterdeep, wizard prodigy. Hells, even Leon had heard of you and he spent the last few years trapped in Baldur’s Gate with Cazador!”

He couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. He tried, gods he tried, but he couldn’t. His gaze dropped to somewhere around Gale’s chin. “What I’m trying to say is you don’t have to be a god or Mystra’s equal or stupid Elminster to be great and to live up to your destiny or potential or…what-have-you. You already are great. I just…wish you could see it.”

His resolve finally failed and he tried to surge to his feet. Gale caught his arm, holding him in place.

“Astarion, I…”

“It wasn’t a god who helped me, Gale, it was you!” he blurted.

“Astarion…”

Gale’s voice caught and he risked a glance up at him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Astarion’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Or you can just forget everything I said! We can pretend this conversation never happened!”

Gale shook his head, giving him a watery smile. “I don’t want to forget.”

“…I didn’t mean to upset you,” he insisted, reaching forward to brush his tears away.

“I’m not upset. Not like that. I…” For once Gale seemed to be speechless. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he regained his voice. “What you said. It means a lot. More than you may know. I…” He swallowed. “You don’t have to respond in kind or even right now, but…I love you, Astarion. I have for a while now. I wanted to tell you before, beneath Szarr Palace, but it didn’t seem right to bring it up then. It felt too much like manipulation and I would never want to do something like that to you.”

Astarion stared at him, the words echoing in his head over and over.

Gale…loved him?

Gale hurried to add, “Truthfully, I realized it before then. Back when you embraced me after I gave you those clothes, which I’d originally meant as a gift.” He gave a husky chuckle. “Though seeing myself reflected in your memories the other day…it became obvious I loved you before then too. I just hadn’t realized it yet.”

He loved him after the incident with the Gur? And still loved him after everything that had happened with Cazador? And even now, when he’d just told him he should eschew ultimate power because it might corrupt him…

Gale still loved him?

A tender smile came to his face as he cupped Astarion’s cheek in one hand. “I meant what I said. You don’t have to—“

“Of course I love you, you idiot!” Astarion blurted before immediately going red. “…that is not how I meant for those words to come out…”

Gale’s eyes went wide, his lips parting in surprise.

“I love you,” Astarion repeated, minus the insult this time. “I have for a while now too. I just…” He glanced away again. “…I just didn’t know if I was someone worthy of your love. If it was even fair of me to ask you for it.”

“It would appear we’re both idiots then,” Gale said, grinning now ear to ear. “You never had to ask for it, Astarion. I’ll always give it to you freely. It’s yours to have, to keep.”

Astarion’s eyes began to burn and he swallowed hard. “…the meadow I showed you… I never meant to, but I’m glad I did anyway. That moment where we looked at the stars together…”

Tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks despite his best efforts. But he found, for the first time, he didn’t want to hold them back. They were tears of joy, of relief. He wanted to feel everything now to the fullest. He wanted to be vulnerable.

Especially with Gale.

Gale leaned forward, resting his forehead against Astarion’s.

“It was beautiful,” he insisted. “And we’ll have plenty of opportunities to do it together now. With the real night sky.”

Astarion gave him a watery smile in return.

“You’re really not upset then..? About the crown?”

“No. You’re absolutely right. My unchecked ambition has led me astray before. Many times now.” His smile turned rueful. “I’ve spent so much of my life trying to live up to the idealized version of myself I’ve had in my head… But I never stopped to wonder if that’s what I actually wanted. If that’s what would ultimately make me happy.

“Of course I want to maximize my potential, but not at the cost of my humanity. I’ve seen firsthand what becoming a god does to a person. I never want to live my life in such a way that I no longer see the beauty and joy in everyday life because then I wouldn’t be living at all.”

Astarion pressed a lingering kiss to his warm lips as he wrapped his arms around him. Gale was all too happy to respond in kind, drawing him close.

He could get used to this, he realized. Sitting there, holding Gale and being held by him too. Listening to him wax poetic about magic and his beloved Waterdeep and his bad knees.

Maybe he could follow him to Waterdeep? Gale was so fond of it and Astarion had nowhere else to call home. He certainly wouldn’t mind getting out of Baldur’s Gate. Maybe forever. There was so much more of the world he longed to see and experience.

Knowing Gale would be by his side for all of it felt almost too good to be true.

They couldn’t see the stars where they sat. Not with all the ambient light of the Lower City surrounding them. But they looked up at the sky together regardless.

Until Gale nearly tipped into the water when he nodded off, that is…

Astarion chuckled as he helped the drowsy wizard to his feet, leading him back to camp. The others were still huddled around the fire when they approached.

Tav met his eye and immediately shot to their feet with a delighted whoop. “Fucking finally!”

Astarion felt his face warm again. “I beg your pardon?”

The others were all grinning and he watched, brows drifting up to his hairline, as gold exchanged hands. The bulk of it seemed to wind up in Lae’zel’s.

What in the hells?

Gale blinked owlishly at them all. “Were you lot betting on me again?”

“On how long it would be until you both finally admitted your feelings for one another!” Tav answered shamelessly.

“And what makes you think we have? Were you spying?” Astarion demanded.

“Tchk. One need only see the ridiculous expressions on your faces to know. I must admit I am impressed, Astarion. You look even more smitten than the wizard. I did not think such an embarrassing level of sentiment was possible.” As she spoke, she turned her attention to counting her winnings.

Astarion rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress his own smile at the realization of how genuinely happy the others were for them. He made to steer Gale toward his tent, but the wizard redirected him back to the others.

“May as well let them get all the gloating out of their systems,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, very well,” Astarion replied with an exaggerated sigh.

By the time the two of them retook their seats, a bottle of wine was being passed around in celebration.

Wyll leaned forward, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, my friend! Gale is a very lucky man.” He clinked his newfound cup to Astarion’s. “And should you have need of an officiant, I just so happen to be ordained!”

“I would expect nothing less from a hopeless romantic such as yourself,” he replied with a fond shake of his head.

“Ah, but I grow more hopeful with each passing day!” Wyll insisted. “Your love for one another makes me all the more determined to find my own!”

“Well, for your sake and theirs, I hope you find someone as equally soppy as yourself,” he said. “Though I have absolutely no doubt you will.”

“If we can survive bearing witness to the two of you circling one another for weeks on end, we shall survive Wyll’s inevitable romance too,” Lae’zel said, taking a long, fortifying drink from her cup.

Was he imagining things or did her eyes linger on the Blade of the Frontiers as she spoke..?

Come to think of it, Halsin seemed equally interested in Wyll’s words…

Hmm.

The celebration continued into the small hours of the morning, but Gale lost his battle with sleep long before then. He’d settled behind Astarion, arms wrapped around his middle as he leaned into him. Astarion swore the magical prodigy of Waterdeep was drooling on his shoulder, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Gale was the one who’d purchased his shirt after all. It was only fair he enjoyed it too.

The others eventually retreated to their tents, but he and Gale remained by the fire. Tav was gracious enough to help him wrestle Gale into a more horizontal position on one of the bedrolls. This accomplished, Astarion rested his head on the wizard’s chest, his arm settling around his waist.

As the sun slowly rose above them, he slipped into trance with the reassuring beat of Gale’s heart in his ear.

Chapter Text

After all the months they’d traveled and fought together, it was surreal to find themselves on the precipice of their final battle. Gale was tempted more than once to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

They’d killed Gortash and taken his Netherstone only hours earlier, leaving them with all three in their possession. And now, tomorrow, they would face the Elder Brain.

Gale marveled at how much they had all changed in such a short time. They’d all been convinced they knew what the future held for them when they started out, that they were on the right path. Or even just a path they couldn’t stray from, too deeply entrenched to believe there was another way or to hope things could be better.

Shadowheart had forsaken Shar, regained her lost memories, and been reunited with her parents. Halsin had ended the century-long Shadow Curse and rescued his childhood friend, Thaniel.

Wyll was able to reclaim his purpose in life, despite the fact sparing Karlach had turned him into a fiend. He’d even repaired his relationship with his father and soon he would be free of his pact with Mizora too.

Lae’zel went from living her life in the service of Vlaakith to leading the charge to unseat her. Karlach had struck the final blow against the man who’d sold her to an Archdevil, finding closure for herself and preventing others from being exploited by him. She still had her engine to contend with, but she was determined to find a solution. Gale had no doubt it was only a matter of time before she succeeded.

Tav was…marginally less bloodthirsty and terrifying..? But the Drow had come into their own too, renouncing Lolth and reconnecting with their sister through the vampire spawn in the Underdark. They were happier than Gale had ever seen them, telling anyone who would listen how they and their sister would work together (perhaps, concerningly, with an army of vampires…) to change Drow society once and for all.

And then there was him and Astarion.

Astarion who’d saved his life countless times now. Who’d slain Cazador. Who’d talked him out of claiming the Crown of Karsus. Who didn’t pick and choose the parts of Gale that he loved. Who smiled with full fang and, who was now only one fight away from some much deserved peace and happiness.

Gale was right there with him. When he’d been abducted by the Mind Flayers, his primary concern had been that he would never have Mystra’s forgiveness. Now he found he no longer wanted or needed it. If anything, he was the wronged party. Yes, he regretted the foolish decision that led him to absorb the orb in the first place, but without it he never would have met Astarion.

Even without the orb, his relationship with Mystra would have ended and he may very well have never gotten over her. Not with how much of his life he’d built around her.

Ironically, he felt better than ever despite the parasite in his head and the veritable bomb in his chest. He’d spent so much time in the sun, he’d begun to tan. He ate well and drank less. He was fitter than he’d been in perhaps a decade. And he was happy. Gods, he was so incandescently happy.

He hadn’t just found friends among his fellow Mind Flayers to-be. He’d found family. His world had expanded far more than he ever thought possible, and his life had become equally full. He was confident the others felt the same. They were a far cry from the surly, suspicious strangers they’d been when the fate of Faerun was first thrust into their hands.

Not to mention all the others they’d met along the way. Jaheira, Minsc, Aylin, Isobel, Leon, Barcus, Rolan… He could fill a book with the number of friends and allies they called upon now as they prepared for their courageous last stand.

It would be a lie to say Gale wasn’t afraid of the unknown waiting for them on the morrow. He was utterly terrified of losing his newfound friends and family. Of failing their mission. Of what other horrors may await them.

Everyone retreated to their tents as night fell. Grand Duke Ravenguard, Shadowheart’s father, and even Scratch had taken over that evening’s watch so they could all get as much rest as possible.

Gale and Astarion had settled in his tent, as was their habit now. Some of Astarion’s belongings had even migrated over, including his pillows and some of his books. The latest tome on his beloved Drow ranger sat on top of the stack, a bookmark near the halfway point. Gale planned to borrow it once he was finished, if only to try and understand what all the fuss was about. He’d picked it up for him at Sorcerous Sundries before the battle with Lorroakan had broken out.

He’d also sought out the latest on Tenebrux Morrow, only to be utterly mortified when the clerk directed him to the fiction section.

Gale thought Astarion might hurt himself with how hard he laughed as realization dawned on him. He may have deserved it, what with having accidentally outed his lover as Drizzt’s number one fan.

At least he finally understood why Lae’zel hated the books so much…

While it turned out the True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow were more impossible than true, the books made for some great reading. He’d have to pay the real Tenebrux Morrow a visit upon his return to Waterdeep.

Speaking of…

“Astarion?”

Astarion glanced up at him from where his head rested on Gale’s chest, just over his heart. “Yes, darling?”

He hesitated only a moment, then made himself force the words out before he lost his courage. “You don’t have to answer me now, and you certainly don’t have to agree, but I was wondering if you might want to come back to Waterdeep with me once this is all over?”

His voice went up at the end, making it more of a plea than a question.

Astarion propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. “To live with you?”

“Yes! I mean…if you want to, of course! I have more than one bedroom in my tower, if you want your space. Or I’d be happy to help you find somewhere else in the city, if you prefer. Though I understand if you’d rather stay in Baldur’s Gate.”

The last part was only partially true, but he would respect Astarion’s wishes regardless of what he personally wanted.

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had enough of Baldur’s Gate for a lifetime. But…if you’re certain you could tolerate living with me, I’d be more than happy to live in your tower with you. And to share your bed.”

A wicked gleam entered his eyes as he spoke the last few words in a low purr.

Gale swallowed audibly and Astarion grinned, all fang.

“I’m certain,” he insisted.

They’d been as good as living together for a while now, albeit only more recently within the same tent. If they could stand to rough it in such close quarters, Gale was convinced his tower, and the large bed inside it, would be more than big enough for the both of them.

Astarion trailed his fingers down the front of his shirt. Gale watched his path with interest, biting back a groan of frustration when he stopped just above his waistband.

“Something the matter?” Astarion asked.

Gale didn’t have a chance to answer before he was palming him through his pants. Instead he made a strangled sound he tried to muffle as his hips arched up off of the bedroll.

“Perhaps I could help you with it?” he added sweetly.

“Help me with a problem you caused?” Gale asked, a tad embarrassed by how breathy his voice was.

“Details, darling,” he said with a dismissive wave of his free hand. He rubbed the heel of other hand more insistently against him and Gale sucked in a sharp breath.

The bastard had the nerve to laugh at him too. Not that he could be too upset with him. They’d done some further exploration into the carnal arts together since they left Szarr Palace. It was easier for Astarion to stay in the moment now, but Gale always kept an eye and an ear out. If Astarion was enjoying teasing him like this, it was usually a good sign.

“Unless you’d rather get some rest,” Astarion said, moving to pull his hand back.

Gale forced back the impulse to grab his wrist, instead lifting his hips again with a soft, pleading sound.

“You’re sure?” Astarion asked, expression more serious now.

Enthusiastic consent was of utmost importance to the both of them.

“I am,” Gale reassured him. “Your methods have proved quite effective.”

Astarion’s grin was back in an instant and he leaned down to press a kiss to Gale’s lips, nipping at the bottom one, though not hard enough to draw blood.

Was it strange Gale was looking forward to being rid of the Netherese orb not only for his own well-being, but also because he wanted Astarion to feed from him?

Best not to dwell on it. There would be plenty of time to review all the life choices he’d made that led him up to this point later.

He gently tugged Astarion down into another, firmer kiss. His grin widened as he straddled him, rocking back down against him as he returned it.

“How would you like me?” Gale prompted, hoping he sounded more sultry than breathless.

Judging from how intensely Astarion was staring down at him, it didn’t matter either way.

“Hmm…” he murmured, settling the length of his body along his like an Astarion shaped blanket.

Gale groaned at the exquisite torture, eager to have the barrier of their clothing out of the way. For now he settled his hands on Astarion’s hips as he eagerly awaited his reply.

“I think I’d like to ride you.”

Gods, he was going to be the death of him.

“You’re sure?” he asked, fingers briefly flexing.

“Yes, I think so.”

He nodded, pressing another brief kiss to his lips. “You know it’s alright if you change your mind, even if we’re in the middle of things?”

“Yes, I know,” he murmured against his lips. “I also know the position will allow me to be in control of things.”

Gale nodded. Understandable. They’d yet to have penetrative sex, though Astarion had shown him a myriad of other ways to find pleasure with his hands, mouth, and otherwise.

“Have you done this before with a man?” Astarion asked, absently toying with the collar of Gale’s shirt.

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t experiment much prior to…well.”

Astarion nodded. “I trust you know the particulars?”

“Oh, I’ve done plenty of research on the topic. The Quarta Sune in particular has been a wonderful resource!”

Astarion gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Of course you have. I forgot who I was speaking to for a moment,” he teased.

“There’s one position it mentions in particular… Threading the Weave, I believe they call it…”

“That would draw your attention, wouldn’t it?” Astarion replied with a fond shake of his head. “Though I’d certainly be interested in conducting thorough research with you in the future...”

“Oh, gods. I’ve never even considered reading and sex all at once!”

He snorted softly. “If you’re able to read while I’m pleasuring you, I’d have to be doing something wrong.”

Gale chuckled. “I suppose so. Though perhaps a more languid coupling…”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m staying in Baldur’s Gate.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “I’ll stop! For now...”

“Seeing as that’s likely the only concession I’ll get from you, I’d better get to work, hmm?”

Gale beamed as they helped one another out of their camp clothes. It wasn’t easy to do without separating, but they were nothing if not highly motivated. Soon enough Astarion’s cooler skin pressed tantalizingly against his own.

“Would you prefer to prep yourself, or may I have the honor?” he asked.

Astarion blinked, seemingly caught off guard. “I’ve usually done it myself in the past.”

“May I?”

He considered the offer, expression thoughtful. “I suppose?”

“While I haven’t done as much for a partner before, I have for myself. I figure it can’t be much different.”

Astarion lifted himself up to stare properly down at him, gaze growing heated. “…gods, the thought of you on your back, spreading yourself open…”

Gale felt color rise to his face despite himself and he gave a husky laugh. “Perhaps I can give you a demonstration some time?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he answered, his voice equally husky.

Astarion shifted, rummaging through his pack and pulling out a bottle of oil. Gale knew from experience how slick it was and how quickly it warmed to the touch. He offered him the bottle and he took it with murmured thanks. When Astarion made to climb off of him, his free hand tightened briefly around his hip.

“…do you think we could do it like this?”

Astarion blinked again, the faintest of blushes painting his cheeks. It was a sight Gale couldn’t get enough of, especially since it meant the vampire was well-fed.

“I don’t see why not..?”

Gale gently cupped his cheek, relishing the warmth he found there, as he handed the bottle back so Astarion could squeeze some of the oil into his other hand.

“Tell me if this makes you uncomfortable? If you want me to stop?”

“I’ll try,” he answered, meeting his gaze almost shyly.

It took a little wiggling around to find a comfortable position for the both of them, but in the end they mostly managed to keep their present arrangement of Astarion on top and Gale underneath him.

Gale reached around, brushing his slick fingertips against Astarion’s entrance and earning a soft gasp for his troubles. He took a moment to rub the spot, waiting until Astarion began to rock insistently against him before he slowly, oh so slowly, pressed the first digit inside.

Astarion shuddered as he spread his legs wider to accommodate him. He was nearly on his hands and knees over him now, caging Gale beneath his beautiful body.

Gale stared up at him, watching closely as perspiration began to build on Astarion’s brow and he worried at his bottom lip.

“How does that feel?”

“Hng.. Good. But I need more. You do realize you don’t have to be so slow or gentle with me, don’t you?”

“I want to,” he insisted. “I want both of us to enjoy this. Just this. There’s plenty of time for everything else later.”

Astarion gave an exaggerated huff, though it did nothing to diminish the fondness clearly shining in his eyes. “All right. We’ll do things your way then.”

“Only if you want to,” he insisted. “If you’d rather I go faster, you need only say the word.”

“No, I want to try it your way,” Astarion said. “I’m just…not accustomed to my partners wanting to enjoy this part of the process.”

Gale could only imagine, but he forced his thoughts to remain grounded in the present. Instead he smiled encouragingly as he added a second digit, delighting in the moan Astarion gave as he took it.

“Now that’s more like it,” he said, rocking his hips to meet the press of Gale’s fingers.

He couldn’t help but enjoy the show above him, heat pooling in his belly at the quiet, pleased sounds pouring from between Astarion’s beautiful lips. Though their tent was decently sequestered away from the others, Gale had to keep reminding himself they weren’t exactly within the confines of a silencing spell. He’d briefly considered casting one, but he wanted to hear Astarion. And, besides, he doubted they were the only ones engaging in such acts at present.

He’d seen the look Tav had on their face as Karlach, covered in the blood of their enemies, delivered the killing blow earlier… It was a wonder the two of them had made it all the way back to camp…

Thankfully, violent slaughter didn’t seem to be Astarion’s preferred method of foreplay. Gale would have tried to accommodate him if it had been, in his own way, but he was eternally grateful that wasn’t necessary.

He also couldn’t help but wonder who Wyll was spending the evening with, what with Halsin and Lae’zel giving the Blade of Frontiers looks of their own.

Gale added a third digit, continuing to stretch him until he felt Astarion’s cock jutting against him with each rock of his hips. The angle was a bit awkward, but… He curled his fingers inside him and Astarion shuddered, gasping as he pushed back hard against his fingers.

He gave another experimental thrust and Astarion whimpered, his eyes sliding closed and color high on his cheeks now. His fangs dug so hard into his lower lip that a droplet of blood escaped, splattering against Gale’s nose.

“Gods,” he breathed, arching to give him better access. “Fuck, Gale! I… I may need you to stop..?”

He immediately stilled his fingers, scanning his face for any signs of distress. The vampire trembled above him, struggling to catch his breath.

“Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes, pupils blown. “Better than all right! I…I was getting embarrassingly close,” he said, the red of his face darkening further.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Gale insisted. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself so much!”

“Yes, but. Well… I… This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

“There’s a first time for everything. And if you’re trying to deflate my burgeoning ego, I’m afraid you're failing miserably.”

Astarion chuckled despite himself. “Yes. Well, bravo, I suppose.”

“I could keep going, if you’d like to come like this?”

“But what about you?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh, I’m rather flexible, if I do say so myself!”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to study him. “…you really want to?”

“More than anything. So long as it’s what you want.”

He hesitated, absently nibbling at his bottom lip. “I could still ride you after.”

“Would that be comfortable for you?”

“It should be. I’ll let you know if it isn’t.”

Gale leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion returned it with another chuckle.

“Consider that permission granted then, darling! You may proceed,” he said with an imperious wave.

Gale laughed along with him. “Your generosity knows no bounds, my liege.”

“I am nothing if not a benevolent ruler,” he replied, grinning with full fang.

Gale began to move inside him again, driving against that sensitive spot with each deliberate thrust of his fingers. Astarion trembled as he immediately moved to match his rhythm. Beads of sweat fell from his face and onto Gale’s and he relished every drop, knowing he was the one who had his lover so worked up.

“I…I’m…” Astarion whimpered, moving his hips faster. “C-Close…”

Gale increased his pace to accommodate him, watching in awe as Astarion began to come to pieces over him. He felt him tense and Astarion buried his face in his shoulder as a deep throated groan escaped him while he spilled across the planes of Gale’s stomach.

He worked him through his orgasm, only stilling his fingers when it appeared he was fully spent. Astarion kept his face pressed there, hot breath fanning across Gale’s bare skin. His ass was canted upward and Gale slowly removed his fingers, rubbing his flank in the aftermath, while Astarion slowly came back down to earth.

“Good?” Gale murmured into his hair.

“Embarrassingly so,” he mumbled in answer. “Now, shall we perform an encore?”

As he spoke, he lifted himself up on shaky arms, giving him a positively sinful smile.

“O-Only if you’re sure,” Gale answered, even as his cock twitched at the sight.

Astarion’s smile turned predatory as he poured more of the oil over his fingers and wrapped them around Gale’s already aching cock.

“N-Not the only one with things to be embarrassed about,” he added.

Some of the tension in Astarion’s lithe frame eased at his reassurance. He really was quite sensitive about this, wasn’t he? He made a mental note to keep his teasing to a minimum.

It didn’t take him long to start tensing himself, what with Astarion working his hand over him with devastating precision. Gale found himself helplessly thrusting into his expert touch and would have come just like that if Astarion hadn’t released him.

“There, now we’re even,” he said, stealing another kiss while Gale struggled to get his breathing back under control.

Once the cresting wave of pleasure diminished, Astarion took his cock back in hand, lining it up and sinking slowly down onto him. The resulting exquisite agony left Gale wondering if he was about to embarrass himself a second time, though he managed to hold off until Astarion was fully seated in his lap.

“Gods, you are a vision,” he breathed, his fingers trailing along Astarion’s sides.

“Well, I do try, darling,” he simpered.

“Even when you aren’t trying,” Gale protested. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and see you trancing and, gods, you’re so beautiful…”

Astarion actually looked flustered at that. “While I’m trancing?”

“And the time you fell asleep. Even though you drooled a bit on my leg...”

Now he looked mortified. “I what?”

Gale was quick to reassure him. “It means so much that you trust me so implicitly. Especially since I know your trust isn’t easily won. It’s a precious gift I’ll forever cherish.”

Astarion looked as if he was torn between being besotted or mildly appalled. “Good gods, you’re even more of a hopeless romantic than I thought! You’d give even Wyll a run for his money.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Ah, he was definitely besotted. “Only if you insist on continuing to wax poetic about my purported drool.”

Gale laughed and Astarion squirmed a bit when it jostled his cock in the process. “Noted!”

Astarion gave him an undoubtedly soppy smile in return as he rested his hands to Gale’s chest, bracing himself as he slowly lifted off of him and sank back down again.

Well, that was one way to shut him up. His fingers flexed against Astarion’s hips and he was suddenly unable to do more than moan the vampire’s name.

Astarion repeated the motion a handful more times, acclimating them both, before he began to pick up his pace. Gale could do little more than hang on for dear life, his hips trying and failing to buck up further into him while Astarion held all the leverage.

He alternated between grinding against him and doing something with his hips that left Gale seeing stars. Some distant part of him made a note to ask Astarion for some tips for future exploration, but he was too fixated on the feel of his tight body around him and the fiery passion in Astarion’s eyes as he stared hungrily down at him.

Thank the gods he was a benevolent ruler because Gale didn’t know how much more he could take. He began to tense again beneath him, half expecting Astarion to lift off entirely, but he didn’t. Rather, he began to do the tantalizing motion with his hips again in earnest (maybe moving them in circles?) and Gale managed only the briefest of warnings, hoping Astarion would understand the garbled words amongst his moans.

“Come for me, my love,” Astarion commanded, his eyes practically burning now.

Gale was helpless to resist, his back arching marginally from the bedroll as he spilled inside that deliriously tight heat.

Astarion didn’t immediately dismount after he came, rather bracing himself once more against Gale’s chest. He leaned down to lap at the dried blood on the tip of Gale’s nose and…gods, Gale hoped that didn’t awaken something in him. Although blood play seemed a bit par for the course with a vampire… He distantly wondered what it would feel like if Astarion drank from him during sex and, if he’d been physically capable of it, he was convinced his cock would have risen to the occasion once more at the mere thought.

As he slowly drifted back into awareness, he felt something digging into his stomach. Ah! Well at least one of them was up for another round.

“Would you like some help with that?” he asked, voice hoarse.

He hoped either he hadn’t been as loud as he feared or that the others were too busy themselves to pay too much attention to their activities.

“…another thing that’s never happened before,” Astarion admitted almost shyly. His crimson eyes smoldered as he added, “Can I stay like this? With your cock inside me? While you…”

“While I…?”

He tilted his head, presenting one of his ears. Gale’s face lit up.

“Absolutely! Is that the only place you’d like for me to touch you?”

“For now, yes. Anything else might be…too much. But…you’ll let me know if this position isn’t comfortable for you?”

“Oh, it is far more than comfortable, darling,” Gale answered as he lifted a hand to brush his fingers along the shell of his ear.

Astarion’s nails dug into his chest, but not enough to draw blood. His breathing immediately picked up and Gale felt him briefly tighten around his cock. He bowed his head to give him better access and he rubbed the sensitive skin with his own blunt nails before tweaking the tip.

Astarion’s breath stuttered as he shifted helplessly in his lap. He didn’t move enough to jostle Gale’s slowly softening cock too much, but judging by the desperate little noises he began to make, it was enough to drive the head of him somewhere Astarion clearly enjoyed.

His voice went up in pitch as Gale took both ears in hand now, rubbing firm circles into them with the rough pads of his thumbs. Astarion’s fingers scrabbled against his skin, though he was still careful in the midst of his passion to not scratch him more than superficially.

“Gale,” he whimpered. “Gale!”

“I’ve got you,” he insisted as he felt Astarion begin to tense over him.

He increased the pressure on his ears, dragging his nails more firmly against them and Astarion gave another sharp cry of his name as his climax swept through him. His muscles clenched and unclenched around Gale’s cock in the process and it was almost too much. They were both panting by the time Astarion slid off of him and collapsed bonelessly onto his chest.

When he had breath enough to speak, he rasped, “I’m afraid I don’t know if I can get up at present. You may have to evict me if I’m crushing you.”

Gale chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No evictions necessary, love. Though my ego is in distinct danger of overinflating at the praise couched in your words.”

He felt more than saw Astarion smile. “Oh? It seems I’m not the only benevolent one then.”

“No.”

He didn’t want to ruin this moment, and yet…

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“About tomorrow…”

Now he felt him frowning.

“What about it?” He began to tense now for an entirely different reason.

“Can you promise me something?”

“If you’re about to ask me to stay away from the battle—“

“No! No, of course not,” he said, gently rubbing his side. “I just… Promise me you’ll be careful?”

Astarion lifted his head to meet his eyes, his brows furrowing. “Is that all?”

Gale cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing slowly back and forth across it. “Yes. After all, tomorrow is the only thing standing in the way of our retirement to Waterdeep.”

Astarion turned his face to kiss his palm. “As if you could ever retire. I, however, would excel at retirement!”

“And risk boredom?”

He nuzzled the spot he’d kissed. “I’m never bored when I’m with you.”

Gale's heart squeezed at the words and suddenly his eyes began to burn. “You would be the first,” he said, trying for levity and failing miserably.

“Because I am wildly intelligent,” Astarion answered, dragging himself up the length of his body despite his prior claims of immobility.

Tears escaped despite Gale’s best efforts and Astarion kissed them away.

“You must promise me the same, you realize? No Netherese bombs or diving in front of arrows or any of that.”

Gale gave a watery laugh. “I promise.”

Astarion cupped his face in both his hands, his eyes boring into Gale’s. “I love you.”

His expression softened. “I love you, too.”

He pressed their lips together in a slow, lingering kiss.

“What are the odds you’ll let me stay right where I am tonight?” he asked when he finally let Gale back up for air.

“You don’t want to clean up first?”

“Hmm, no. You may not want to either, seeing as I may drool all over you again.”

That startled a bark of laughter from him. “Oh? Well, if that’s the case…” Gale stole another kiss.

“I hope you realize I’m serious about staying right here,” he replied, gingerly resting his chin on Gale’s sternum.

“I know. I’m quite enjoying my Astarion shaped blanket,” he said, running his hand lazily up and down his side.

“We’ll make it through this,” Astarion insisted, gaze fierce. “We’ve come too far to fail against a group of fanatical cultists and their giant brain god now.”

“Agreed! I can’t wait to show you around Waterdeep. And to introduce you to my mother and Tara.” The thought of having all of his loved ones together in one place was almost enough to bring on a fresh wave of happy tears.

Astarion smiled, looking a bit misty-eyed himself. “I can’t wait either, darling.”

Chapter Text

With how much Gale had talked up his beloved City of Splendors throughout their travels, Astarion made sure to rein in his expectations prior to their arrival. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Gale, but more so he assumed his fervor was that of a lifelong Waterdhavian.

He’d met similar types in Baldur’s Gate. The proud minority of people who had been born and raised there and were l convinced even the city’s sewers were far superior to those anywhere else.

Having spent more time than he’d like to admit in those sewers, they didn’t seem all that special to him.

Surprisingly, the fabled Waterdeep was every bit as wonderful as Gale had built it up to be. The two of them had settled there shortly after defeating the Elder Brain and, despite his desire to see more of the world, Astarion found himself reluctant to leave.

He’d expected it to be similar to Baldur’s Gate, though he supposed no two cities were completely alike. Waterdeep was bigger than the Halfway to Everywhere, for one. For another, Gale also hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it was a city of thinkers and dreamers.

Waterdeep felt as if it were brimming with potential every time Astarion slipped from Gale’s tower and into the city’s streets. It was crowded, yes, but didn’t feel nearly as suffocating as the Lower City had. Or maybe it felt that way because this city, unlike Baldur’s Gate, wasn’t a prison for him.

It also helped that Waterdeep had Gale. The wizard’s excitement about his hometown bordered on the fanatical and he was forever ushering Astarion from one place to another within its bounds. There were his regular haunts, of course, but any time Gale got wind of a new merchant or restaurant to try, they were first in line.

The City of Splendors was equally as fond of Gale. Between the acclaim he’d cultivated prior to their adventure with the Mind Flayers and the hero’s welcome he received upon his return, they never made it to a destination without someone stopping to talk to him.

Astoundingly, people stopped to talk to him too. Having spent so much of his life in the shadows, it was surreal to have so many strangers approach him, addressing him by name no less. Astarion was certain his vampirism was one of the worst kept secrets in the city, but no one brought it up or treated him any differently because of it. Rather, they made a point to explicitly invite him places.

He rarely went, and if he did it was with Gale, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. While he preened under the attention showered on him for once because of something he’d done rather than just his looks, there was nothing he enjoyed more than stepping back and watching Gale soak up the adoration of others. He positively shined in a crowd, his knack for names and faces only adding to his growing social circle.

Thankfully the attention died down to a more manageable level before Astarion was tempted to lock himself away in Gale’s tower for good. These days people asked less about their prior exploits, focusing instead on much more welcome topics like upcoming festivals and promising new vendors in The Market.

Speaking of festivals… The Grand Revel was finally upon them. It was a festival organized by the churches of Lliira, Sharess, and Sune, the goddesses of joy, hedonism, and love. By now Astarion was all too aware of how much Gale enjoyed Waterdeep’s many holidays. This one was no different.

Gale woke before sunset to participate in the dancing rings, watch the dance performances, and partake in the other daytime activities. Astarion later joined him for the musical performances that took place after sunset. He’d enjoyed it all more than he thought he would. He found it was much easier to be part of a crowd, rather than the center of attention. It also helped the musicians and singers they watched were wildly talented. He made a mental note of his favorites, already planning to ask Gale if he’d like to accompany him to future performances.

Astarion couldn’t help but be impressed by Gale’s stamina, knowing how long he’d been out already. He had no doubt the wizard’s knees would be filing a complaint on the morrow.

By the time they headed back home, Gale practically vibrated with excitement. He couldn’t stop smiling and spoke a mile a minute about everything he’d seen. His enthusiasm was contagious enough Astarion almost felt as if he’d been there with him the whole day, rather than hiding from the sun.

Almost.

While it was a relief he was no longer in danger of turning into an Illithid, he would forever miss the sun. Sometimes he caught glimpses of it as it rose or set, but it wasn’t the same as basking in its warm glow. Lucky for him, basking in his lover’s presence was a close second. Gale, bless him, insisted he’d look into the possibility that magic could help him experience the sun again. Astarion was far more interested in his progress on the eternal life front and encouraged those pursuits instead.

Funny how seeking immortality for the wizard felt more attainable than passing his hand through a sunbeam, and yet here they were.

Gale led him back into the tower, his hand wrapped around Astarion’s own in a way he’d come to expect and look forward to. Yes, he felt a bit silly as a two hundred plus year old man running around holding hands with his boyfriend. Not that it stopped him. Nor did their age prevent them from kissing each other silly whenever possible, to the point people had learned to knock before coming into Gale’s office at Blackstaff.

Most embarrassing, Gale’s students had called them out more than once on their sappy public displays of affection. It was apparently a game to them to see how long they could get Professor Dekarios to go off on a tangent about his pale elf. Their other favorite game was trying to wheedle Gale into bringing Astarion in as a guest speaker, which was successful more often than not. Even if it meant those particular classes had to take place after sunset.

The first time Gale approached him about speaking to his class, Astarion had balked at the idea. What on earth could he have to say that a bunch of miniature Gales would find interesting let alone helpful?

It turned out there was a lot. He’d given guest lectures on a variety of topics now, ranging from the Drow and the Underdark, Elven histories, actual vampirism, their experiences throughout their travels, fighting methods, and even occasionally on magic. He brought a more practical and real world approach to it all that Gale insisted was imperative for his students, what with how much of the purely theoretical was thrown at them on a daily basis.

Every time he gave one of his little lectures, the number of attendees swelled. Astarion had been alarmed to see some of Gale’s colleagues had joined the audience too. The current headmaster of the school (apparently referred to as just Blackstaff), Laraelra Harsard, had even approached him to discuss the possibility of a regular speaking series. Gale hadn’t even been surprised by the request, the bastard. Astarion, meanwhile, had been utterly floored.

And of course now his mind was latching onto every possible thing it could to avoid the anxiety starting to build behind his sternum, ridiculous as it was. But Astarion wanted this night to be perfect.

He’d been working himself into a tizzy over it for more than a month now because he had something important he needed to ask Gale.

As if sensing his sudden shift in mood, Gale turned back to him where they stood in the living area. Astarion took a discreet sniff, but couldn’t smell Tara. She must be spending the evening with Gale’s mother. It was something of a relief. Better he only embarrass himself in front of Gale rather than the both of them…

“Is something wrong?” Gale asked, taking both of his hands in his own now.

Astarion was in danger of tying his own tongue into knots with how many different words tried to escape him at the question. He’d practiced this, godsdamnit! He’d practiced it so many times, in fact, he’d feared he would accidentally speak the words while he tranced.

Gale and the others always praised him for his ability to command a room, and right now he couldn’t string two words together with only an audience of one.

“I…”

“You..?”

He swallowed, squaring his shoulders. “I have something I…I need to ask you. Something important.”

Gale blinked, tilting his head as he considered him. “Oh? That sounds rather serious.”

“That’s because it is!” He took a fortifying breath, releasing one of Gale’s hands so he could root in his pocket for the small ring box he’d stowed there.

Gale waited patiently, though curiosity shone bright in his eyes.

“This…festival. The Grand Revel.”

“Yes?”

Astarion gave up then, shoving the box into Gale’s hand before he lost his nerve entirely.

Gale’s eyes widened and his face lit up. “You didn’t!”

Astarion blinked. “…open it.”

Gale did just that, though he froze on seeing what lay inside. Nestled safely within was a gold ring inlaid with sapphires and rubies matching the color of the tents they’d used whenever they’d camped. Astarion had gone to the trouble to get it blessed, as was common for rings exchanged during the festival. He’d also asked Leon to enchant it.

The rings typically exchanged were simpler. One couldn’t walk down the street in the lead up to the festival without a merchant hawking brass or bronze rings featuring cheap yet beautiful jewels. They weren’t nearly as elaborate as this. This was so very clearly not one of those.

“Astarion…I… Is this..?”

He flushed, forcing himself to meet Gale’s eyes. “…I had an entire speech in mind that I practiced, but damned if I can remember a word of it now… If you give me a few moments, it might come back to me…”

Gods he hoped it did. It had brought a shine to even Lae’zel’s eyes when he’d practiced it in front of the others.

Gale gave a slow shake of his head, laughing as he reached into his own pocket.

“I hadn’t planned on giving this to you today, but… Well…”

Astarion stared at the little box nestled in his palm. Gale had to press it into his hand for him to actually take it. He slowly eased it open, a bark of laughter escaping him the moment he did.

Gale apparently had the same thought he did. Inside was a gold ring with matching sapphires and rubies, though the style and set of the gems differed. It was also enchanted. He could smell Gale’s magic in it, no longer sullied by the rot of the Netherese orb.

“Great minds,” Gale said, tears skirting down his cheeks.

“I hate you,” Astarion groused even as he pulled him close and into a searing kiss.

Gale laughed into his mouth. “Well, that’s unfortunate because I love you.”

“I love you too,” Astarion insisted, giving him a hard squeeze to punctuate the statement. Gale’s breath came out in a soft puff against his face from the strength of it, smelling of chocolate and wine.

“I take it that’s a yes then?” Gale asked, having the nerve to add a hopeful note to his voice.

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’m the one who proposed first. And I still don’t have an answer!”

He laughed. Gods, what a beautiful sound. “Ah, silly me! Of course! Nothing would make me happier!”

The tears continued to stream from his eyes and Astarion felt his own welling in return.

“Well, darling, I must say I thought you’d never ask,” he teased, giving him another lingering kiss. “Nothing would make me happier either.”

His voice caught on the words and he gave a soft, happy sob. The amount of crying they did around one another was truly absurd…

They stood there like that for a while, just holding one another. Finally they parted long enough to properly slide the rings onto each other’s fingers.

“The same color scheme? Really?” Astarion teased as he took Gale’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“I wanted to memorialize the first moment we truly connected,” Gale said, grinning. “I assume you felt the same?”

Astarion huffed. “Clearly.”

A wicked gleam came to his eye as he leaned in to catch Gale’s mouth in a deeper kiss.

“I agree, this calls for a celebration,” Gale murmured against his lips, letting Astarion walk him back toward their bedroom. “Though, remind me I have something I want to show you later?”

Astarion tilted his head. “Later? Not now?”

“Later,” Gale insisted, nipping at his bottom lip.

Astarion watched, amused, as Gale awkwardly fumbled with the doorknob behind him, not wanting to separate long enough to turn and properly open it. He took pity on him, turning them around and opening it effortlessly while he kissed him breathless.

He tasted of the chocolate and wine Astarion had smelled on his breath. The combination was exquisite paired with Gale’s pliant mouth.

Astarion’s fingers slid into Gale’s hair, so much softer now that he let him select the proper products for it. Their kisses grew hungrier and Astarion gave a delighted laugh when the backs of Gale’s knees hit the side of the bed and they both tumbled onto it.

He could have kissed Gale for all eternity, but there would be plenty of time for that later. Instead, he redirected his lips to his throat as he began to deftly unfasten the wizard’s robes.

Gale groaned when he sucked at his pulse point, throwing his head back to give Astarion better access. His tantalizing blood thrummed beneath the skin, but Astarion ignored it for now in favor of making his way along every inch of skin he uncovered.

He very nearly made it to Gale’s navel when he felt Gale’s fingertips brush featherlight along his ear. Astarion made a sound he wasn’t entirely proud of as need shot through him.

“Y-You’re diabolical, dear,” he managed, voice husky.

“Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?” Gale asked as he did it again.

Astarion shivered against him, breath catching.

“Would you like to come like this? Like our first time together?”

Oh, it was a tempting offer. Made all the more so when he so vividly remembered the delightfully sinful sensation of Gale’s mouth on said ear.

Astarion bit back a whimper, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, no. I want to feel all of you, darling.”

“Then feel me you shall,” Gale said, his fingers more clumsily starting on Astarion’s many buttons.

He’d been told on more than one occasion his outfits were a special kind of torture for the wizard. Gale shouldn’t have been surprised. Astarion did so enjoy watching him struggle.

“A little help?” he pleaded.

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so. You stole my proposal, so now you must pay the price.”

Gale groaned, redoubling his efforts. Soon enough the two of them were bare, skin to skin on the silk sheets Astarion had insisted on. They had the funds after all, what with Cazador’s estate having been dissolved and dispersed amongst his spawn.

He’d been stunned to learn he was a beneficiary of the estate, let alone the sole beneficiary. He supposed Cazador had to put someone’s name down. The bastard had surely never expected he’d actually collect on it.

Cazador, as a powerful vampire lord, had amassed enough riches that Astarion’s head had spun on seeing the totals. Tav and the others had been so kind as to sort through everything on his behalf when he said he never wanted to return to Szarr Palace. Though he could have sold the wretched building for an even greater sum, he and his siblings had instead watched as it “mysteriously” burned to the ground once it had been picked clean. Astarion had collected the sizable insurance payout after.

He didn’t have to share any of the funds with his siblings, but Astarion found he’d actually wanted to. He tried to share them with his former party members too, but they’d adamantly refused.

In the end, the bulk of the funds went to his siblings in the Underdark and the thousands of spawn there with them. Astarion was still left with a truly absurd amount. Even after he gave Leon another cut. Leon and his two daughters now, Victoria and Yenna.

Victoria was proving to be quite the promising little wizard, having recently enrolled at Blackstaff. She’d also quickly become one of Gale’s favorite students.

Every so often the five of them got together, updating one another on their lives. Leon had started a thriving business dealing in enchanted artifacts. Astarion, meanwhile, was in the process of starting his own venture, having finally selected the location for his soon-to-be tailor’s shop.

He’d briefly considered returning to practicing law, but much preferred making his own schedule and limiting his rulings to when to put his foot down on truly horrid fashion requests. He already had a burgeoning client list despite the shop not having officially opened yet.

All it had taken was dressing the Blade of Frontiers and his father for a gala they’d attended together and commissions had begun piling in. Gale had also agreed to let him practice on him, and the wizarding crowd was proving equally interested in Astarion’s designs.

He didn’t have to work. Neither of them did. Gale owned his tower outright and they had enough gold in the bank to live indefinitely off the interest alone. But it was nice to have a purpose. To make a name for himself.

Even better, he could afford to turn away anyone he pleased. His customers stayed on their best behavior as a result.

Despite their hurry to get rid of the clothes between them, they lay there for a bit in each other’s arms, slowly mapping out the familiar terrain with their lips and hands. Astarion once again began to drift lower and Gale watched him intently, face flushed.

Gale always let him take the initiative on their coupling, which he greatly appreciated. Though he’d been receiving treatment for…whatever it was Jaheira called it, a wrong or sudden touch could still bring bad memories to the surface. It was getting easier though, between the treatment and their familiarity with one another.

Most days they didn’t even have sex, satisfied to just lay there together with or without clothing. Despite his insistence he would never sleep again, Astarion found himself wanting to every so often, if only to wake up drowsy and warm, surrounded by Gale’s scent. It wasn’t the same when he tranced, as there was always a part of him aware of what was happening around him then.

Though he’d never officially experienced the Drawing of the Veil, having been turned into a vampire when he was only thirty-nine, the transformation had caused the same end result. He’d long lost the ability to access the primal memories of his past lives, having been firmly grounded in his present life ever since. It was the main reason he wondered if he would be reincarnated again if he were to die now.

Yes, it was easier to keep his darker memories at bay when trancing, but he rarely had nightmares now when he opted for sleep instead. More often than not, he dreamed of himself and Gale sitting in that meadow in the sun and growing old together.

“See something you like?” Astarion prompted, breath fanning across Gale’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Always,” he breathed.

As soppy as ever, even in the throes of passion. Astarion would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t always waiting on bated breath for that very answer.

“Hmm… What should I do with you now that I have you?” he teased, running his fingertips just along the inside of Gale’s upper thigh.

“I can think of a few things,” he replied with a sultry smile. “Although…”

Astarion glanced up.

“There is something I’d like to try. If it interests you.”

“Color me intrigued,” he drawled, continuing to stroke his skin anywhere but where he knew his wizard was so desperate for it.

He smirked as Gale’s voice grew breathier and his delightful flush extended down his throat, ending just above his collar bone.

“I’d like to see if I can drive you even half as mad with my mouth as you make me.”

Astarion felt his own face heat at that. He’d long since learned Gale was not nearly as shy in the bedroom as he’d first thought, but he’d had very few male partners prior to his relationship with Mystra. Aside from the occasional boyhood fumbling, he still had quite a few firsts for the two of them to explore together.

It wasn’t as though Astarion had never been on the receiving end of such an act before, but those times had been far and few between. The vast majority of the people he’d been forced to sleep with had been far more concerned with their own pleasure than with his.

It would never cease to amaze him how, after two centuries and hundreds, if not thousands of partners, Gale could still make him blush. Make him feel so earnestly desired and adored. He wanted nothing more out of their encounters than to please him, to make it good for him. And gods, Gale was quite adept at doing just that.

“I’d wager you’ll manage just fine,” Astarion said, sitting up.

Gale sat up too. “How would you be most comfortable? Lying down? Sitting up? Standing?”

The delightful images his words brought to mind made it difficult for him to choose. Finally he settled on, “Seated, if it won’t destroy your poor knees.”

He wanted to be able to watch him, to guide him.

He also wanted to run his fingers through Gale’s hair while he pleasured him.

“Thankfully a cushion will go a long way in that department,” he answered with a roguish grin

Gale pressed a brief kiss to his lips before grabbing one of the pillows and slipping off of the bed and onto his knees. Astarion scooted to the edge of the mattress, feeling as if his face were on fire from sheer want.

“You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like?” Gale asked, looking up at him from where he knelt.

Astarion nodded, mouth suddenly too dry for words.

“Splendid!”

He settled between Astarion’s legs, face mere inches from his cock. Astarion shivered in anticipation, fingers twitching against the blankets.

Gale leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the head of him and nuzzling him after.

Good gods, this man was going to be the death of him.

He proceeded to press wet kisses along his quickly hardening shaft before taking the tip of him into his hot mouth. Astarion was once again reminded of the feel of his lips on his ear and an encouraging groan escaped him as he slid his fingers into the wizard’s hair.

Gale slowly took him deeper, mapping every centimeter of him in the process. He knew exactly where and how to touch him with his hands and he was clearly determined to see if his mouth could elicit the same reactions.

Astarion’s fingers flexed in his hair, his breathing picking up with each teasing lick. Gale finally took him completely inside that agonizing wet heat and Astarion gasped, thighs trembling. The brush of Gale’s facial hair against his sensitive skin only magnified the sensation and Astarion was only slightly mortified by how quickly he was coming undone under Gale’s careful ministrations.

It was simultaneously too much and yet not enough.

Gale rubbed soothing circles against his thigh before lifting his hand, motioning for Astarion to lean down. The fact he couldn’t verbally request as much sent another spike of heat through him.

He leaned down as requested and very nearly came right then and there when Gale pinched the tip of his ear between his thumb and forefinger.

Astarion all but mewled, writhing helplessly as Gale switched to firmly rubbing his ear. And then Gale gave it a soft tug and fireworks exploded behind his eyelids. He gave an blissfully agonized shout as white hot pleasure swept through him and his hips jerked with the intensity of his release.

Gale drank down every last drop, not so much as gagging when Astarion failed to restrain himself. He didn’t release his cock until Astarion was practically trembling with overstimulation. When he did pull away, he pressed a warm kiss to the inside of his thigh before leaning back to look up at him.

His lips were slightly swollen from the attention he’d lavished on him and Astarion nearly fell off the bed in his hurry to press his own to them, tasting himself on Gale’s tongue, mingled with the last of the wine and chocolate.

“A successful attempt then?” Gale asked when he finally let him back up for air.

“You and the ears,” Astarion groused in answer.

“Apologies. It seems I can’t help myself. Not when such ministrations leave you so delightfully undone!”

Astarion’s face warmed at his words. “Will you please get back up here so I can properly ravish you now?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Astarion blinked. “What? Why?”

“You have a death grip on my scalp, my love.”

Astarion went an even darker shade at that, abruptly releasing the strands between his fingers. Gale laughed as he rejoined him on the bed.

“…shut up,” he grumbled.

“Never! Not when I can somehow make the great Astarion Ancunin blush!”

He snorted softly. “Not Astarion of Waterdeep?”

Gale tilted his head before a blush rose to his own cheeks. “Ah. I do say that a lot, don’t I?”

“I’m convinced you could single-handedly quadruple Waterdeep’s tourism spend if you became a tour guide. You know, in the event you ever tire of being an archmage and wizard prodigy and all that,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“…do I bore you to tears with it all?”

Astarion blinked. “Don’t you dare stop! I have to get all I can before I can no longer afford your going rate.”

Gale’s face lit up as if he’d given him the moon and the stars. “You really don’t mind?”

“Of course not! Though I fear I may be press-ganged into becoming your understudy for the days you can’t keep yourself from wizarding. I adore all of your Waterdeep trivia and history. Actually, there’s a thought! We should pretend to be tourists at some point so I can watch you drive some poor, unsuspecting guide insane.”

“And you wondered why I thought you were the type to try to upstage your own teachers,” Gale retorted, but he was still grinning.

Astarion pulled him forward and didn’t stop kissing him until he needed to come back up for air. Meanwhile, his hand drifted lower, wrapping around Gale’s straining length.

How he managed to have such a silly conversation when he must be aching for release was beyond him.

“Though I am the reigning expert on a certain Waterdeep landmark. I could give thoroughly comprehensive tours of it with my eyes closed. Unfortunately, I’m not interested in an audience...”

Gale groaned as he gave him a squeeze. “W-What about private tours?”

Astarion rubbed his thumb over the head of him as he pretended to consider his words. “Well, I suppose I could. But only for a very special client.”

Gale’s hip twitched and Astarion chuckled as he leaned down to take him into his mouth. Judging by how quickly he was tensing beneath him, he wouldn’t last much longer. Apparently he’d derived quite a bit of pleasure from his earlier act, even though neither of them had touched him.

As he sucked, he brushed his thumb across Gale’s entrance, earning another twitch of his hips for his trouble. He didn’t need to pull his mouth off of him to reach into the bedside table and grab the bottle of oil they kept in there. He poured a generous amount onto his fingers as he dragged his tongue along the underside of his cock.

He began to slowly work a finger inside of him, leading Gale to spread himself wider in response. Soon enough he added a second and found the spot he knew would prove to be the wizard’s undoing.

Two could play at that game.

Astarion stroked the spongy gland in time with the movement of his tongue and soon Gale could do little more than make soft, desperate sounds, unable to string so much as a sentence together.

Oh how the mighty had fallen!

Astarion hummed around him as he drove his fingers against his prostate. Gale’s hips arched from the bed as he came in his mouth with a wordless shout, unable to even muster up his name.

He coaxed him through the last of his orgasm before drawing back, pride rolling off him in self-satisfied waves. Gale stared sightlessly back at him as he struggled to catch his breath and regain the ability to think.

“You win…” he finally conceded, slumping back against the mattress.

“Oh? But you’re such a quick learner, darling! You simply need more practice!”

Gale huffed out a husky laugh. “Oh, I intend to.”

Astarion felt heat flare inside him at the words. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Gale wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down so they could properly cuddle. It had quickly become one of Astarion’s favorite things to do. He could spend hours just like that.

More than once, they’d tucked themselves against each other in bed, one of them holding a book while they read together. He was a faster reader than Gale, much to the wizard’s dismay and his own delight. But he was all too happy to fill the intervening seconds it took Gale to catch up with the occasional kiss to his shoulder or a brief stint planning what he wanted to say about the text during the conversation that would inevitably follow.

“You never told me what the enchantment on the ring is,” Astarion realized as he admired it. “The one I had put on yours is just a simple blessing, but this seems different.”

“You really can smell magic, can’t you?”

“How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?”

Gale pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I believe you, though I can’t help but marvel at your ability.”

“The enchantment?”

“So impatient!” He chuckled. “I owed you, remember? From that time in the Underdark when you gave me your ring to help sate the Netherese orb.”

“I admit I’d forgotten all about that,” Astarion answered, studying the ring more closely. “Is it the same enchantment then?”

“Not quite.”

“Do tell.”

“First, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to.”

“Naturally,” he said, absently dragging a fingertip along Gale’s sternum before he turned his attention to drawing more intricate patterns as he listened.

“It’s sort of like a sending stone, but with the mind.”

He paused, glancing up. “Like the tadpole connection.”

“Not quite as robust, I’m afraid, but as close as I was able! So long as I have the matching stone, we should be able to converse with one another. Regardless of how far apart we are. Though it can only be used once per day and only for short messages. I’ll show you how to activate it when we aren’t otherwise occupied.”

Astarion nodded. He’d missed being able to communicate with Gale through the tadpole nearly as much as he missed the feel of the sun on his skin. It was nice to know he still could in some capacity. Especially in the event of an emergency.

He’d have to save his messages until the end of the day just in case, but he certainly intended to use the spell as much as he could.

“And where’s its twin?”

Gale turned his head so he could see the ruby in his ear, having replaced the earring he’d worn of Mystra’s holy symbol. It was a match to the rubies in his ring. Astarion felt no small amount of satisfaction upon seeing the final reminder of that bitch was gone. The feeling was only magnified by the fact his own symbol now hung in her place.

He lifted his head to nuzzle at the side of Gale’s throat, just beneath his ear.

“Are you thirsty?”

“No, but I appreciate the offer.”

He made certain he fed every three days or so, though he tried not to take from Gale more than once a week. Even with magic to help him replenish his blood supply more quickly, Astarion didn’t want him to feel like his personal blood bank. Regardless of the fact that Gale’s was his absolute favorite. The taste of his blood always crackled over his tongue like the lightning his magic reminded him of.

He pressed a light kiss to the thrum of the pulse at his jugular before settling back down again. He resumed his absent drawing, the only sound in the otherwise quiet tower was the steady beat of Gale’s heart.

Astarion had begun to wonder if Gale had drifted off when the wizard suddenly sat up, pulling him along with him from where he’d been lounging against his chest. He tilted his head up to look at him, quirking a brow.

“Do you trust me?” Gale prompted.

He blinked. “Of course. Though your sudden need for reassurance is making me wonder if I should rethink that,” he teased.

Gale met his eyes, his own intense and…imploring? He was serious. Astarion sat up straighter to properly stare back at him.

“…why?”

“You know I would never do anything to hurt you, don’t you?”

“…yes? What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

Gale climbed from the bed, grabbing a robe for each of them, the material as luxurious as the sheets they slept on. He offered Astarion his hand and he tentatively took it, letting Gale pull him to his feet.

“You remember how I mentioned I wanted to show you something earlier?”

“I do.”

“Please trust me?”

He was starting to feel a tad anxious despite the fact he trusted him implicitly.

Gale gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he led him from the bedroom. They padded into the main room and toward the balcony. Astarion hazarded a glance at the clock. The sun should be rising about now.

Gale released him in order to draw back the thick curtains over the glass door, the faintest rays of sunlight already peeking through. He instinctively took a step back, deeper into the shadows.

“…Gale?”

Gale opened the door, turning back to him and offering his hand again.

“Trust me?”

“I…” Astarion stared at his hand. It was still within that small patch of sun. “Gale…”

“Please?”

He swallowed hard. Gale wouldn’t hurt him. He knew he wouldn’t. His vampiric side took some more convincing, what with the two hundred years he’d spent terrified of that gentle light.

A sea soaked breeze blew in through the door, bringing another smell along with it. Gale’s magic. Before he completely lost his nerve, Astarion reached out to take his fiancé’s hand. He instinctively flinched, waiting for the pain and the stomach churning scent of baking flesh and burnt hair.

But it never came.

Astarion’s eyes went wide. He felt Gale’s hand in his and he felt the warmth of that little sunbeam too. Gale smiled encouragingly, slowly leading him out onto the balcony proper.

Astarion glanced down at himself, the skin not covered by his wine red robe still as pale and unblemished as ever. He lifted his head, staring dumbfoundedly at his wizard.

“I… I don’t understand..?”

And then Gale’s arms were around him and he spun him around with a triumphant laugh. Astarion wrapped his own arms around his neck, feeling as if his entire world had suddenly tilted on its axis. He was in the sun! He could feel it on his skin!

“I’ve spent…gods…months on this now,” Gale said, nearly tripping over the words in his hurry to get them out. “I started on it when we first moved back in. Tara and Leon helped too! It was even more difficult than I anticipated, hells Elminster said it was impossible! But it works! It only covers the balcony for now, but I’m planning to apply it to the windows too! And Leon has been researching if it’s possible to create an enchanted artifact with the spell that would enable you all to move freely during the daylight! Oh I can’t wait to tell Elminister it worked!”

He set Astarion back down and the moment his bare feet touched the ground, he lurched forward, cupping his face in his hands and trying to convey his overwhelming gratitude and love and everything that came along with both in a searing kiss.

Gale was all too happy to oblige and by the time they separated, both their cheeks were wet with tears. Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but all he could manage was a breathless laugh that quickly morphed into a heartfelt sob.

“I-If anyone could do it, it would be you, you sweet fool,” he finally managed.

Gale led him over to the bench and they sat, crying happy tears as the sun slowly rose over the water. Astarion held one of his hands in both of his, pressing grateful kisses periodically to the back of it.

“You’ll be able to come out here whenever you like. The spell is permanent,” Gale added. “Having mastered the balcony, the windows shouldn’t be too difficult. Actually, maybe I should have started with those… No, no, this was a far grander reveal!”

Astarion gave a slow shake of his head. “I can’t believe you’re foolish enough to marry me.”

Gale laughed. “I don’t know, I think you’re the bigger catch of the two of us!”

Astarion leaned into him. He’d been smiling so much over the past few hours that his face was beginning to hurt.

“Although…”

“Hmm?”

“Promise me one thing?”

Gale tilted his head to look down at him. “What’s that?”

“First, don’t tell Elminster.”

He gaped. “What? Why?”

“Because, darling. You need to make him come here, not as a simulacrum, and invite him to see the view from the balcony. Or maybe even have a little tea out here. And then,” he grinned, all fang, “I’ll just pop out and join the two of you.”

It took a moment, but when it finally clicked Gale doubled over with laughter.

“Oh, gods! You’re absolutely right! You truly hate him, don’t you?”

“Oh, it’s not just that. I contain multitudes, my love. I also want the great Elminster to see firsthand the light he and his goddess tried to snuff out. And he’d better be prepared to do some groveling if he hopes I’ll even consider agreeing he can come to our wedding.”

Gale slid an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “Come now, he’s not so bad!”

“He has yet to persuade me on that front. The only reason I haven’t tracked him down to strangle him with his own beard is because it would upset you. Don’t even start on him being one of the greatest wizards who ever wizarded either! I don’t care how powerful or ancient or whatever he is. He’s nothing compared to you and the whole of Faerun will know it soon enough.”

Gale’s face warmed as he practically preened at the praise.

“He continues to walk this earth only for your sake,” Astarion finished with a huff.

“How very generous of you,” Gale said with a chuckle. “Would you like to watch the sunset together later?”

Well, Astarion supposed that was an effective enough way of redirecting his thoughts from murder.

“Darling, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter Text

Once news of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate got around, Gale found his role at Blackstaff had shifted from that of a well-liked professor to not being able to walk five steps without interruption. As flattered as he normally was by his students’ admiration, today he had somewhere to be. Specifically his mother’s. And he was late.

Astarion had peppered him with questions in the lead up to their planned introduction, asking him everything from his mother’s drink of choice to what she might think about her son being engaged to a vampire. It was almost funny how Astarion, with all his confidence and his ability to charm an entire room without even trying, was so nervous about making a good first impression. He hadn’t said as much and Gale was too sympathetic to tease him about it, but it was so painfully obvious.

His mother would love him. Gale was sure of it. Astarion had single-handedly reawakened his zest for life and brought him a happiness he’d long thought was out of reach. She’d already commented more than once on Astarion’s positive influence, saying he practically glowed nowadays.

She still hadn’t quite forgiven him for not mentioning the Illithid parasite, Netherese orb, or the fight to save the world (maybe worlds, plural) until after all was said and done. He hadn’t wanted to worry her! She was a worrier! She would have worried!

She also would have shown up with her trusty skillet, ready to face down the Absolute’s army and the Elder Brain all by herself if she’d known. It didn’t matter her archmage of a son was in a class of his own or that he had equally powerful allies, it was her duty as his mother to protect him.

While Gale fervently hoped for a relatively quiet and peaceful life after everything they had been through, he still tried to keep himself in fighting shape. Just in case. It certainly didn’t hurt that Astarion often forgot to perform his own exercises the moment Gale pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. He had to remind himself not to until they neared the end of their workouts because Astarion would inevitably derail them in favor of other forms of physical activity.

As a result, his brisk jog from Blackstaff to his mother’s barely winded him and he was able to complete it in a quarter of the time it would normally take. He would never achieve Astarion’s level of supernatural physical prowess, but he was proud of his progress nonetheless.

Reaching the cheery blue fence surrounding her small garden, Gale scanned the immediate area for any sign of his fiancé. Perhaps he was running late too? Even as an up-and-coming tailor, he had no shortage of clients. He drew them in effortlessly with his real charms and sent them on their way with promises of exquisite garments and significantly lighter purses.

Gale decided to poke his head in to apologize that they were both running late. As he opened the gate, he felt the wards he’d set on his mother’s behalf brush against his skin, determining he was a welcome guest and allowing him to pass freely through. He absently wondered if Astarion felt something similar when entering homes he’d been invited into, even without the addition of magical wards. He made a mental note to ask.

His book on vampires had long since spiraled out of control. Surely his editor wouldn’t notice if he snuck in another chapter or two. Though she had looked as if she were on the verge of tears when he’d dropped off the initial manuscript… But what was he supposed to do? Leave information out? What was the point in writing a comprehensive guide to vampires if it was not, in fact, comprehensive?

Reaching the front door, he took the lovingly tarnished knob in hand and let himself inside. He was immediately hit with the scent of fresh baked bread and was still savoring it when not one but two silver heads whipped in his direction. His mother and Astarion, hunched together conspiratorially on the worn sofa in front of him.

“Well, don’t you look as thick as thieves?” Gale said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Astarion met him in the entryway, not bothering to hide his vampiric speed. He cupped Gale’s face in his cool hands, leaning in for a lingering kiss. “Darling! I happened to run into dear Morena on my way here!”

Gale shot his mother a suspicious look and she beamed back at him.

“It really was a coincidence,” she insisted. “He’s the one who approached me, though I would’ve recognized him regardless, from everything you’ve told me. He walked right up to me and said ‘You must be Mama Dekarios’,” she tittered, eyes sparkling.

“But of course!” Astarion said, resuming his seat beside her. “The two of you look so alike, I had no doubt!”

Gale’s heart swelled at his words. People had always said he looked more like his father, but he’d never seen it. Maybe physically, but any time he looked in a mirror he only saw his mother’s eyes and her soft smile looking back at him.

He drew up behind the sofa to see what had them so enthralled. His Majesty rested nearby on a decadent cushion he recognized from Astarion’s shop. He had no idea how or when his fiancé absconded with the cat, forced to reluctantly accept his claim that he’d “liberated” him.

“Every good shop should have a mascot, darling. And what could be better than a hairless breed for a tailor?”

Hairless though he may be, Astarion put just as much time and attention into the clothes he made His Majesty for cooler weather as he did for his paying clients. He’d also gone to the trouble of adding signs in various languages around the cat’s usual window seat, politely requesting people keep their hands to themselves, lest he have to permanently remove them.

Most patrons thought the threat was hysterical coming from the gorgeous man. Until they witnessed him expel would-be thieves, of course. Then they quickly realized he played a much more violent role in the defeat of the Absolute than they’d expected.

Only regulars that had earned the feline’s trust were permitted to pet him. Gale had been a firsthand witness when Tav was finally granted the honor after months of hoping. He swore he’d seen tears in their eyes. His Majesty even dozed in the Drow’s lap now when they visited with their sister, Karlach, and occasionally one of the many vampires the three now commanded in the Underdark. Gale almost saw the familial affection between the two siblings now.

Almost.

Karlach was quick to put a stop to any behaviors she deemed “too Drowish” and Tav’s sister surprisingly let her. Perhaps it helped to have a somewhat neutral intermediary while they worked to unlearn decades of Drow conditioning. As neutral as Karlach could be as Tav’s wife, of course. Astarion had designed their wedding vestments and Gale had held the honor of officiant.

Speaking of, they needed to find time to meet with Wyll again soon, seeing as he was to be their officiant. Assuming they could pry him away from Halsin and Lae’zel long enough…

How that combination worked, Gale had no idea. But they were all deliriously happy, especially their young Githyanki son, Xan. Gale thoroughly enjoyed their visits, especially now Xan was now old enough to emulate his parents’ expressions one after another. He also enjoyed the frequent updates he received from Grand Duke Ravenguard on his grandson. It was a well known fact one didn’t mention little Xan or Wyll to him unless they had nowhere to be for at least half an hour.

However, Gale was quite rudely tripped on his walk down memory lane when he saw his mother try to covertly shove her sketchbook under one of the sofa’s cushions. Utter horror swept through him. She met his eyes and froze.

“Mother, please tell me you didn’t!”

Astarion glanced between the two of them as an almost feral smile came to his face. “Oh, but she did! You were too late, love, and now you have to face the consequences!”

Most people only had to worry about an awkward family portrait. Gale didn’t have such a luxury. Not when his mother was such a prolific sketcher. She’d never tried to capitalize on her skills, preferring to keep them as a hobby much like her baking, but she was skilled.

Too skilled.

“He saw the little drawing I did of the two of us and Tara,” his mother quickly cut in, gesturing to the framed sketch on the wall. “He asked if I had any more like it. He was very convincing!”

Oh, Gale knew exactly how convincing Astarion could be. And how unrepentant he was about it too.

“Clearly I can’t leave you two alone together,” he said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

Both looked so affronted, he couldn’t help but laugh despite his mortification.

“But I’ve already invited him to tea with Withers and Tara!” his mother protested.

“You what? Wait, Withers?”

“And I’ll be there with bells on, my dear,” Astarion said, eyes crinkling as he smiled fondly at her.

Oh, he was in trouble, wasn’t he?

His mother climbed to her feet and Gale snatched up the sketchbook before she or Astarion could abscond with it. She shot him a disapproving look but didn’t protest. He’d give it back. He just couldn’t bear to watch Astarion flip through it in front of him. Not with how many embarrassing moments from his childhood filled its pages.

“Why don’t you boys make yourselves comfortable while I finish getting dinner ready?”

“You’re sure you don’t want any help?” Astarion asked.

“Oh, Gale mentioned he was teaching you how to cook! I appreciate the offer, but you’re my guest. Maybe next time?”

Next time. Gale couldn’t help but grin at the words.

While his mother bustled into the kitchen, Astarion began to peruse the various knickknacks on display, starting with the enchanted windchimes from Gale’s childhood. He leaned forward, brow furrowing as he studied them.

“You did this, didn’t you?” he asked as they gently tinkled.

Gale saw his mother halt from the corner of his eye. She turned back to them, watching closely.

“What gave it away?” he asked.

“I can smell your magic on them. And who else would enchant windchimes to ring sans wind? It’s just the sort of thing you’d do!”

Was it?

“Although…” Astarion crossed his arms, turning to face him.

“Hmm?”

“I have to admit I am a bit disappointed.”

Gale schooled his features, trying to ignore the memory of Mystra’s blatant disapproval that immediately rose in his mind. “Disappointed…?”

“It’s yet another bit of magic you’ve been holding out on me! If I’d known this sort of thing was possible, I would have commissioned you for the shop!”

He blinked. “Commissioned me?”

Astarion gave a dramatic sigh. “Yes, darling. You can’t just keep giving everything away for free. Are you able to replicate it? Perhaps to chime at regular intervals? Or to play a specific melody?”

Gale huffed a laugh, his shoulders slumping as they abruptly released the tension that had been building despite his best efforts. “You want me to enchant windchimes for you?”

“Of course! The shop could use a little ambiance!”

His mother made her way over to the two of them, coming to a halt in front of Astarion. Her eyes were misty as she stared up at him.

“Are you all right, dear?” Astarion asked, shooting a worried look at Gale.

“He’s your fiancé, you silly boy,” she protested. “He shouldn’t be charging you! Do you charge him for all the fancy new clothes I see him in?”

“Well, no… But…”

She planted her hands on her hips, expression stern. “Then he won’t charge you for something like this! Right, Gale?”

Gale grinned so hard his cheeks began to cramp. “Of course not! And I’d be happy to tinker with the spell, so we can see what kind of alterations are possible. Though it may involve a bit of research…”

“More books,” Astarion said, throwing his hands up. “The Tower’s resemblance to a library grows stronger every day!”

“I believe quite a few of those belong to you,” Gale drawled.

“Hmph!” he retorted, turning to the bookcase by the chimes.

The tips of his ears reddened when he realized what he’d done and Gale and his mother shared a laugh.

“…well, I suppose you may have a point,” he reluctantly admitted as he scanned the titles there.

Gale met his mother’s gaze and she nodded approvingly before returning to the kitchen.

A comfortable silence fell over the three of them as she finished up her dinner preparations. Astarion continued to study the hodgepodge collection of books while Gale basked in a joy so strong, it threatened to make him dizzy.

He knelt down to peruse the lower shelves, eyes lighting up as he pulled a tome from one of them. It was older, but well cared for. Gale vaguely recalled it from his youth, but couldn’t remember anything about it beyond his mother reading it to him at bedtime.

Astarion cracked the book open and went preternaturally still.

“…Astarion?”

He blinked and Astarion was suddenly standing again, his free hand clamped tightly on Gale’s shoulder and his eyes the widest he’d ever seen them. His gaze was focused so he wasn’t having one of his dissociative spells, though Gale couldn’t even begin to read the expression on his face.

Shock? Awe? Excitement..?

Gale’s mother absently wiped her hands on a towel as she approached them, dipping her head to read the title. “Ah! You found my signed copy!”

Signed copy?

“It’s real?” Astarion breathed.

She chuckled. “Of course! I ran into him once at the local bookshop. There was quite a crowd, but he was kind enough to humor us all. Someone asked him to sign a book and soon he was drowning in requests.”

“You met him?!”

Ah. It could only be one person then.

Gale’s mother preened at his enthusiasm. “I did!”

“Gale!” Astarion very nearly shrieked. “How has this never come up, not even once, in all the time we’ve been together?!”

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t know!” he protested.

“Gale’s never been much of a fan,” his mother offered, patting Astarion’s arm sympathetically. “Believe me, I tried, but he only ever wanted to hear stories of Elminster.”

“…I may have to rethink this entire relationship,” Astarion said with a sad shake of his head.

“I should hope not,” she interjected. “After all, now that there are two of us, perhaps we can finally knock some sense into him.”

He hummed in agreement, running his eyes several more times over the message inside the cover before moving to place it back on the shelf.

Morena caught his arm. “I’d like you to have it.”

“You…what?!”

“Please.”

He vehemently shook his head. “I can’t take something like this!”

“Of course you can! I’ve had it for decades now. It’s probably tired of sitting on this old shelf. Besides, it will still be in the family!”

Oh gods, were those tears in his eyes?

“But…”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I trade you for it?”

Astarion’s brow furrowed. “But…”

“You can keep the book, but only if you promise to keep calling me Mama Dekarios.”

“That’s hardly fair!” he protested, though his lips quirked upward. “…you have to let me help you in the kitchen too.”

She looked at Gale. “What do you think? Is he ready for that kind of responsibility?”

“He didn’t catch anything on fire the last time we cooked together.”

“With supervision,” she declared. “Can’t have you setting my curtains ablaze!”

The book was abruptly pressed into Gale’s hands as Astarion lifted his mother effortlessly off the ground, spinning her around and setting her down again. She gave a startled squeak, but was beaming up at him by the time he offered her his arm to escort her back to the kitchen.

Gale shook his head as he set the book on the dining room table and followed.

“I’m almost finished,” Morena insisted as she surveyed her work thus far.

She’d outdone herself, as always. Her signature roast, swimming in a sea of gravy, carrots, and potatoes sat next to a fresh loaf of crusty bread. Meanwhile, an empty frying pan still rested over the cooking fire. Gale sent it a curious look. His mother had said she would find something Astarion could enjoy alongside them, but she’d refused to elaborate when pressed for details.

“Gale, would you set the table please?” she asked before turning to her new charge. “Astarion, dear, have you ever heard of blodplättar?”

“I can’t say I have.”

She nodded, picking up a ladle and opening a container of what Gale, after nearly a year with his vampire, immediately knew was blood. It wasn’t in one of the bloodbank bottles, so unless she’d harvested it herself it must have come from one of the local butchers. Astarion immediately perked up, sniffing delicately.

“Pig?” he prompted.

She nodded. “A bit easier to come by, though if you like it I’d be happy to experiment with others. I thought it might also give Gale and I a chance to try it with you.”

“You’d want to?” Astarion asked, tilting his head.

“Of course! I imagine it’s been a while since you’ve shared a meal like this. I thought it might be nice! Though since Gale and I have never tried it before, I made us an alternative just in case,” she said, gesturing to the roast. “Besides, if you like them, I want to leave more for you!”

Gale made no move to set the table, instead watching appreciatively as Astarion’s expression softened.

“That would be lovely, Mama Dekarios,” he insisted.

Neither of them mentioned the sudden emotion in his voice.

Morena strained the dark red liquid and added other ingredients to the mix, allowing Astarion to help her measure them out. She glanced back at Gale, clearly noting the table had yet to be set, but she didn’t admonish him.

Water and flour joined the blood in the bowl, along with small amounts of salt, sugar, and dried ginger. She supervised, nodding approvingly as Astarion whisked the mixture.

“Now we finish readying the pan,” she instructed.

Gale stepped forward, adding butter to the already hot pan. As it melted, its warm and homey scent hung in the air. His mother ladeled the slightly runny batter into the pan and he turned it this way and that, spreading it evenly across the pan’s surface.

“Just like normal pancakes, right?” he asked, watching the edges slowly begin to firm up as it cooked.

“Yes, though they’re a bit more prone to burning.”

Gale and his audience waited patiently until bubbles began to form on the surface, at which point he deftly turned it over to cook the other side.

“I’ve been told they pair well with bacon or lingonberry jam,” his mother offered. “Do you prefer one over the other?”

“Oh, I’d wager the jam,” Gale said, recalling the sweet wines his fiancé favored.

“Guilty as charged!” Astarion exclaimed with a flourish.

He flashed him an amused smile as he removed the pancake from the pan, setting it aside on the plate he remembered so clearly from his childhood. The one with the ever so faint discoloration down its center.

Gale made another few of the pancakes before offering the pan and spatula to Astarion, who tentatively accepted them. This time Gale poured the batter in, forcing himself not to chuckle at Astarion’s instantly rigid posture or how closely he watched the pancake for any changes. He’d seen him more relaxed on a battlefield with impossible odds than he was right now.

“...is it ready to flip?” he asked, holding the spatula defensively.

“Almost. Just wait until you see the bubbles.”

“How many bubbles? Oh! There’s one right now!”

“A little longer.”

Astarion worried his bottom lip. “...is it easy to flip? If it’s not cooked enough, won’t it just fall to pieces?”

“It’ll be fine,” Gale insisted, wrapping his arms around his middle from behind.

He absently rubbed soothing circles against the vampire’s side and some of the tension gradually eased from his lithe frame.

“Gale! There are more bubbles!”

“Almost there. You see how the sides are starting to firm up and the bubbles are popping? Now you can flip.”

Astarion took a steadying breath as he eased the spatula under the edge of the pancake with the same precision he dedicated to disarming a trap. He carefully turned it over, sighing in relief when it settled once more in the pan.

His eyes went wide. “Gale!”

“Hmm?” he murmured, resting his chin on Astarion’s shoulder.

“How do we know when it’s done? There are no more bubbles!”

Gale hummed as he considered the question. He didn’t think Astarion would appreciate a “practice” or “you’ll know” answer. “A bit of trial and error? You can lift the edge of the pancake up to check if the underside looks done. It will cook much faster.”

Some of the tightness returned to Astarion’s shoulders.

“I won’t let you burn it. Or catch my mother’s house on fire,” he insisted, pressing a light kiss to the side of Astarion’s throat. “Why don’t you check it now?”

He slid the spatula under the edge to study the opposite side. “What do you think?”

“I’d say it looks done! Now we just put it on the plate with the others.”

Astarion lifted the frying pan from the fire, lest he drop the pancake en route otherwise. He carefully extracted the pancake and set it down on top of the others.

“Gods that was stressful…”

Gale chuckled, stepping back. “Not many people can say they got it right the first time!”

Astarion shot him a sultry look in return. “Well I do have an excellent teacher.”

“And I, an excellent student! Thank goodness for that, because I would hate to have to cull you!”

They met one another’s eyes, expressions growing serious, before simultaneously intoning, “What a perfect sacrifice you would make!”

They barely made it through the words before they were both howling with laughter.

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Morena said with a fond shake of her head.

She shooed them away from the cooking fire so she could finish the last of the pancakes.

It took them a moment to get themselves back under control, but once they had they turned their attention to setting the table with only the occasional chuckle. As they finished, Morena brought the plate of pancakes over and motioned for them all to sit. Astarion tended to His Majesty’s dinner before joining them at the table.

“Shall we try the pancakes first?” Gale prompted.

She beamed as she took one from the plate, cutting it and setting one half on Gale’s plate and the other on her own. The remaining plate of pancakes, she placed in front of Astarion.

Once they were topped with the lingonberry jam, Gale marveled at how similar they looked to the chocolate variety. He studied the combination, noting the blodplättar was of a slightly different consistency than the bloodless kind. More dense, too.

“If you don’t care for this, there are other recipes we can try,” his mother said. “There are a few different types of sausages and stews that use blood as a primary ingredient. Though assuming this goes well, perhaps we can try the blodplättar again with the non-animal variety!”

Astarion smiled almost shyly. “You needn’t go to so much trouble on my behalf!”

“Oh, I know! But I love a new adventure in the kitchen! Besides, it must get boring just drinking it all the time!”

His smile widened. “I don’t know what I expected when Gale mentioned you wanted to have dinner together, but it certainly wasn’t that you’d go to such lengths to accommodate my…dietary needs.”

“Of course! You’re my guest, and soon to be my son-in-law! What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t treat you like one of my own? Speaking of, I made cookies for dessert but I have something for you too. I’ll need Gale’s help to prepare it though.”

Gale quirked a brow. “I’m all ears.”

“Later,” she insisted as she popped a bite of pancake into her mouth.

He and Astarion followed suit, silence falling over the table as they took in the unique texture and flavor. Gale thought it tasted a bit like liver, though the blodplättar wasn’t nearly as savory as he’d anticipated. It also paired well with the acidity and sweetness of the jam.

“Well, what do you think?” his mother asked Astarion.

He was already on the next bite, though he paused before bringing it to his lips. “Oh, it’s absolutely scrumptious, darling! I must admit I’m curious if the origin of the blood changes the flavor. I would think so, but we’ll have to experiment to be certain. What about the two of you? Do you like it?”

Gale took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t be opposed to making some for the both of us in the future. I’m enjoying it far more than I thought I would, though I’ve always been partial to Black Pudding.”

Unlike his mother. True, the flavor was different but it was similar. She hated Black Pudding.

Morena offered a tight smile. “The jam makes it somewhat palatable for me, but I can’t say I’m eager for more.”

She slid the remainder of her pancake onto Gale’s plate before serving herself some of the roast. Gale finished the last of the pancake and did the same, sighing contentedly as he tucked in.

A comfortable silence fell over the table as they enjoyed their meal. Astarion made quick work of the rest of the pancakes, resting his hand over his stomach in the aftermath.

“All right, dear?” she asked.

He grinned. “After living solely on blood for the past two centuries, it feels strange to actually eat something. My insides feel a bit…” He pursed his lips, considering his words. “Crowded? It’s making me rather…tired? Is that strange?”

She shook her head. “Not at all! It’s the sign of a good meal! Besides, I’m sure your body is working hard to accommodate the change!”

He nodded absently. “I’m able to eat most things, but it all usually tastes the same and doesn’t help with the thirst.”

“Did this?” she asked as she speared a potato.

“It did! I suppose so long as there’s some blood involved, it satisfies.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, dear,” she said, beaming back at him.

Gale took note of a bottle of wine on the table. His mother’s favorite. Ah, that must have been how they ran into one another. He poured each of them a glass, before returning his attention to the meal.

“You really didn’t have to bring me a gift,” his mother said, gesturing to the bottle.

“Of course I did! What sort of son-in-law would I be if I didn’t? Although…”

She set her fork down, giving him the entirety of her attention.

“I did bring one other thing, if you’ll excuse me a moment.” He stood, making his way back over to His Majesty. He returned with a bundle wrapped in fabric that he’d pulled from his bag, handing it to Morena upon rejoining them at the table.

“Oh, my! What’s this?” she asked, studying it.

“Your son gave me the idea. Open it? Please?”

She looked a tad overwhelmed as she did as he asked, revealing the gorgeous purple dress inside. She paused, her eyes widening. “What..? How did you..?”

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s where I came in,” Gale said, smiling. “I may have briefly pilfered the original.”

His mother slowly lowered the dress back into her lap, her eyes misty. “It’s…It’s just like my mother’s…”

She’d always taken her late mother’s dress out of its careful storage during times of particular stress or emotional upset. Gale only had to catch a glimpse of it while growing up to know his mother was having a rough day. When Astarion had approached him about making something for her, his thoughts had immediately turned to it. His mother had never worn the dress, to his knowledge. It was a little worse for wear after passing from his great grandmother, to his grandmother, and then to her. But he’d watched her hold it up in front of herself in the mirror countless times with a wistful smile.

Morena gently set the dress on the seat next to her before circling the table to wrap her arms tightly around a startled Astarion. Once he got over his surprise, he returned the gesture, stroking her hair and murmuring reassuring words as silent tears rolled down her plump cheeks.

“Why don’t you try it on, dear?” Astarion asked when her tears finally began to slow.

She gave him a watery smile as she collected the dress and went upstairs to change. Astarion looked a bit misty eyed himself in the aftermath.

“I see you’re trying to usurp me as the favorite son,” Gale teased once she was out of earshot.

He snorted, visibly gathering himself. “Impossible.” He paused, biting his lip as he glanced over to him. “…do you think she likes me? Or is the blatant bribery too much...?”

“I don’t think it counts as bribery when it’s so heartfelt, my love.”

Astarion frowned. “…oh gods, you didn’t answer the question...”

Gale blinked. “What? You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious! Your mother seems like the type of person who goes out of her way to be nice and polite, just like you do! It makes her impossible to read!”

He threw back his head and gave a deep belly laugh at the words combined with the helpless, borderline panic on his face.

“Gale! It’s not funny!”

He only laughed harder at the absurdity of it all, but managed to get himself back under control for the sake of his genuinely concerned fiancé.

“I’m sorry, Astarion. Please forgive me! She’s as besotted with you as I am, I assure you!”

Some of the worry eased from his expression. “…you’re certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life!”

“Even though I’m a vampire? And not nearly good enough for you?”

Gale pushed his chair back and strode over to him, pulling him into a reassuring embrace. “I would argue I’m the one that’s not good enough for you, but why don’t we meet halfway and say we’re both good enough for each other?”

Astarion slumped against him in relief. “…but you’ll tell me if she says anything later? About anything she didn’t like? Or if she doesn’t approve?”

“She won’t, but I’ll promise if it will put your fears to rest.”

He sighed softly, reassured for now.

Moments later, his mother came back downstairs to stand before them. She was a bit pink, having always been shy, but she was smiling ear to ear as she gave a slow turn so they could see the dress in full.

Astarion was at her side in an instant, checking his work for what had to be the thousandth time. Satisfied, he leaned back.

“If there are any alterations you’d like, you need only say the word!”

“It’s perfect,” Morena insisted, pulling him into another hug.

Ah, the perfect time to strike!

“Mother, Astarion is terrified you might hate him.”

He didn’t know whose shocked gasp was louder as both whipped their heads toward him.

“Gale!” Astarion all but shouted.

“How could you think I might hate you, dear?” his mother asked, taking Astarion’s bewildered face in her hands.

“I… Well… You see… I’ve never…”

She leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead. “I couldn’t think of a more perfect partner for my little boy.”

“Well, I’m certainly no goddess…”

She scowled at that. “Fuck Mystra!”

“Mother!” Gale admonished, eyes widening. He sincerely hoped the goddess in question hadn’t heard that.

Astarion wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up again with a laugh. “I hope that bitch regrets losing him every day of her immortal life!”

“Astarion!”

The two grinned unrepentantly back at him.

Gods, he was in so much trouble. He never should have introduced them…

“Are you finished with dinner, Gale?” his mother asked as Astarion sat her back down on her feet.

“Yes,” he said with an overdramatic, beleaguered sigh as he moved to begin clearing the table.

“No, I need your help with something first,” she said, taking his arm and leading him toward the kitchen. She shot a look over her shoulder at Astarion. “Now, you stay put a moment, dear.”

“Yes, Mama Dekarios!” he answered with an elaborate bow, earning a fond smile from the both of them.

“Now then,” his mother said once they were as alone as it was possible to be when there was a vampire with heightened senses mere feet away. She pulled a knife from one of the kitchen drawers. “Gale, could you cast one of your freezing spells? But with a very small radius? Maybe the size and width of a cheesecloth?”

He tilted his head. “I suppose? But why?”

She set a bowl on the counter, gesturing to it. It took him a moment to adjust the spell per her request, but soon it was shimmering on top of the bowl. He gaped as she cut the pad of her finger with the knife, holding it just above the spell. Each drop of blood fell through it, freezing solid before landing in the bowl below. When the bleeding began to slow, she squeezed her finger, willing a final few drops out before offering him another knife.

Gale took it, gobsmacked, but was quick to do the same. Soon they had a small serving of frozen blood droplets between the two of them. They washed their hands in the kitchen sink and wrapped their fingertips in cloth bandages. Morena grabbed the plate of cookies and the bowl as they returned to the table.

Astarion stared. “…is that...?”

She held it out to him with a smile. “Go on, dear.”

He took it, marveling at its chilly base. She nodded in encouragement and he delicately took one of the drops between the tips of two fingers, popping it between his lips. It was tiny, but frozen solid, it would take time for him to warm it up with his mouth.

“I should have gotten some more pig blood,” his mother murmured to herself as she watched.

“Ah, let me try something,” Gale offered, casting Enlarge on the frozen drops. They expanded, now roughly the size of marbles. Astarion should be able to finish them before they reverted back.

Astarion picked another up, sighing contentedly as he rolled it around inside his mouth. “Absolutely divine,” he enthused. “You two taste very similar, though your mother is sweeter.”

She beamed, apparently thrilled by the compliment on her flavor profile.

They all retook their seats, making their way through their respective desserts in companionable silence. After dessert, they retired to the living room and Gale reluctantly gave his mother’s sketchbook back, though he died a little inside every time Astarion turned a page.

His mother, meanwhile, took a fresh one in hand, absently sketching from where she sat in her chair across from them. The hours flew by as they chatted and enjoyed one another’s company. He and Astarion only climbed to their feet as dawn drew near.

Morena carefully tore a page from her sketchbook as she stood along with them, her face warming as she offered it to Astarion. He took it from her, staring intently down at the drawing. His eyes went wide and he turned excitedly to Gale.

“Gale! Gale!”

His Majesty lifted his head from where he lay on his cushion, now resting in Gale’s arms. He shot Astarion a baleful look.

“Apologies, dearest,” he insisted at a more indoor appropriate volume before holding up the page so Gale could see it.

It was a sketch of the two of them, seated together on the sofa. The love on their faces as they gazed at one another was unmistakable, bordering on soppy (which only spoke to his mother’s prowess and her attention to detail).

“It’s an exact likeness of you!” Astarion continued. “Is it the same for me…?”

Ah, right. He hadn’t seen himself in centuries.

“A perfect copy,” Gale said, flashing his mother a wide smile.

She preened at the praise. “I can draw something a bit more finished if the two of you wouldn’t mind modeling for me while I work on it.”

“Only if you allow me to make you another dress in return!” Astarion said, eyes shining as they settled once more on the drawing. “Gods, I’m a handsome devil, aren’t I?”

“Remember you awakened this monster, mother,” Gale playfully admonished as he shifted his hold on His Majesty to give her a hug.

“And you think I’ll be any better with your fiancé to feed my ego with his beautiful designs?” she asked with a laugh.

Astarion tucked the drawing carefully into his bag, sniffling softly as he embraced her.

“Now, don’t forget our upcoming tea, dear,” she said, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“I shall be there with bells on, Mama Dekarios!”

They gave each other another quick squeeze before he and Gale headed out the door.

The city was only just starting to wake as they walked hand and hand down the nearly empty streets, the quiet interrupted only by His Majesty’s loud snores.

They made their way out onto the balcony upon reaching the tower. As the sun rose over the water, Astarion’s silver hair glowed under its soft light. Gale drew him into his arms and he sank into him, the top of his head tucked just under his chin as he returned his embrace. A gentle breeze ruffled their hair and clothes, carrying the scent of the ocean along with it. Gale pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, his silky hair tickling his nose.

Astarion pressed a kiss to his shoulder before lifting his head to meet his eyes. "I love you," he breathed.

Gale's heart swelled at the words and he cradled his face in his hands as he leaned in for a proper kiss this time.

“I love you, too, darling,” he murmured against his lips.