Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I already apologized, what more do you want? Unless of course…you’re looking for another nibble.”

Erro, the clearly irked elf that had somehow been unanimously designated the leader of their ragtag group, narrowed his emerald eyes at the newly revealed vampire. Said nocturnal creature offered a sly smile in response, bolstering the haughtiness of his suggestion. He arched a brow in question—icing on the cake. The dark-haired elf clenched his jaw and turned his head to the side to regard the others as they approached from behind him.

“A vampire among us? So be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him.” Lae’zel hissed, her short nose wrinkling further in disdain.

Shadowheart gave the githyanki a quick, distasteful glance but then turned her narrowed eyes to Astarion. “I’d just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat”, she stated a bit more amicably.

“Enough, we need him…like it or not.” Erro grumbled, fingers grazing delicately over the fresh puncture wounds in his neck.

The others heeded the elf’s advice, yet their expressions remained chagrined as they spun around and headed back to their respective tents. All except…Gale. Those inquisitive brown eyes of his bored into Astarion as the others retreated, catching the pale elf’s attention. He met the stare challengingly, spine rigid but lips curled charismatically. The wizard quirked a corner of his mouth but otherwise gave little of his thoughts away. Instead, the human crossed his arms and made a show of looking his companion up and down.

“Vampire, eh?”

Astarion fought the urge to scowl. Nevertheless, he was, if anything, a man of theatrical disposition. He lifted a hand and pretended to study his nails, feigning disinterest.

“Does that bother you?”

Gale scratched at his beard thoughtfully, eyes finally settling on the other’s face.

“No. I just find the revelation…curious.”

The vampire scoffed. “You really are no fun at all.”

Gale quirked a small, knowing smile but said nothing more as he gave a slight dip of his head and turned to make his way back to his selected spot in the camp. Red eyes followed his movements until the wizard disappeared behind the flap of his tent. Astarion glowered for a moment before turning his notice to the others as they gathered their things together in preparation for their next outing. Erro slipped into his heavy, chain-link armor and then shouldered the strap of his sword’s scabbard across his back. The large elf fidgeted a bit until his wears seemed to fall into place. Then he glanced up and paused upon catching the inquisitive eyes of his fair-haired companion. He worked his jaw briefly before opening his mouth to call over to him.

“Astarion, you mind watching the camp this time while we’re out? We won’t need any fancy fingers where we’re heading.”

The vampire hid a scowl.

“Oh? Good to know that’s all I’m good for.” He muttered just loud enough for the other to hear.

The fighter offered an awkward smile.

“It’s a show of trust. If all is well when we return to camp this afternoon then there’s no need for any of us to try and run a stake through your chest, no?”

Incredulity sparked and slipped through Astarion’s well-crafted mask. However, he was quick to recover and refrained from gritting his teeth together as he replied in a sing-song tone.

“I shall endeavor to prove your faith in me is well-placed, darling. I suppose I’ll stay here and lounge about by the fire while you do all the hard work.” He tilted his head to the side with a slight pout.

A true smile split the other elf’s face at the familiarity of his companion’s melodrama. He let out a snort as he turned to walk towards where the others were waiting for him on the edge of the clearing behind Wyll’s tent.

“Sounds awful.” He joked and then waved for Lae’zel to start trekking.

Red eyes scanned their backs as they retreated further into the treeline. Erro, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Wyll…which left just himself and the wizard to hold the fort. Astarion glanced drearily at the purple tent across from him on the other side of the campfire. Wonderful, so he’d been demoted to the same level as the walking bomb who was too dangerous to take anywhere. A sigh escaped him, a habit ingrained from the life he’d lived before his untimely demise. His useless lungs deflated with the action. What a situation he’d found himself in. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t really expected he’d get this far. From the moment his connection with Cazador had been severed, he’d braced for death at every turn. Yet somehow…there he still stood. He placed a hand on his still chest, feeling for a nonexistent wound from a stake that he’d only envisioned Erro would’ve driven through his chest the moment he’d revealed his true nature. How odd. Why had he, a monster, been spared?

The entrance flap to Gale’s tent slipped back as the man stepped out and stretched his arms up over his head, yawning as he did so. He blinked a few times, readjusted his ghastly purple top, glanced across the camp, and then froze. He was clearly unprepared for the scrutiny he was receiving. Red eyes narrowed dangerously. Predator and prey.

“Astarion? They left you behind? They must’ve really been put off by the whole vampire thing.” He pondered and lifted a hand to his scruff covered chin.

The predatory tension dissipated in an instant, and the pale elf found an unamused smile creeping across his face.

“Right, and I’m sure they’re very taken by the notion that you could blow us all up with that explosive dark magic writhing in your chest.”

Gale frowned and met his eyes.

“I didn’t say they weren’t. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and plopped down into the wooden chair set up right in front of his tent. He let out a dramatic sigh and crossed an ankle over his knee. His arms overlapped over his chest—the very picture of defiance—and he glared at the small branches that lay charred in the remains of last night’s campfire.

“Don’t worry, I don’t take you seriously enough to be offended by anything that spews from your mouth.”

Gale’s eyes widened for a moment before he let out a small, astonished huff of a laugh and began to walk around the campfire to where Astarion sat, brooding. He waved a hand in a vague gesture when the toes of his camp shoes met the end of the blanket spread out before the vampire’s tent. It didn’t escape the elf’s notice that the human didn’t move any closer. Their eyes locked as Astarion lifted his head to give the other his reluctant attention. The wizard’s dark eyes were brewing with…emotions. The elf’s stomach churned at the notion, pulling down at the corners of his cupid’s bow lips.

“Have I done something wrong? Is there a reason why you’re always turning your nose up at me in particular?” Gale’s voice had lowered in that way that made him sound like an actual person and not just a walking encyclopedia of magic.

“Bold of you to assume I pay you any special attention. I treat everyone with equal amounts of…distaste.” The elf said the word through his bared fangs, hissing it into the uneasy air between them.
Gale set his jaw stubbornly and crossed his arms.

“Why?”

“…Why?"

“Yes, why? Why do you hold such distaste, as you so eloquently put it, for everyone around you?”

Astarion turned his head sharply so that he was frowning at the ground. He was already sick of looking at those soft, brown eyes brimming with hope, rainbows, and butterflies.

“Perhaps I simply have a refined palate.” He grumbled.

“So, you’re saying no one else holds up to whatever unfathomable standards you’ve fabricated in this wild make-believe world of yours?” The accusation came out slightly amused, but when those ruby orbs jumped back up to glare in annoyance, they instead widened a sliver in surprise.

Gale’s brow was furrowed, urging his eyebrows to point inwards in a rare show of disapproval from the man. If he hadn’t been so caught off guard, he probably would’ve made a joke about the uncommon display. Instead, he cocked his head keenly. An honest answer escaped him—a reward for the wizard’s willingness to act in any way but the delicate, bumbling fool he inspired others to perceive him as.

“Perhaps this little make-believe world is all I have.” He allowed his edges to soften a bit, shoulders relaxing. “Perhaps, it’s nice to be able to be say no…to even have standards of my own and to not accept everything that’s presented to me because I have to.” His words trailed off into a low, contemplative murmur, and he noticed that the man had leaned forward a little to better hear him.

Something shifted in Gale’s expression, but Astarion didn’t recognize the alteration. That furrowed brow smoothed out and his brown eyes blinked slowly as he considered the other.

“…You’re being an asshole because you can be, not because you are one.”

“That’s the inelegant way of putting it, I suppose.”

“Do you feel that you’re getting anything out of that behavior?”

“If you must know, it is quite amusing watching all of you squirm.”

Then Gale’s eyes did that soft, brimming-with-feelings thing they did when the well of pity overflowed within him. Something dark gathered deep inside the vampire’s lifeless heart. He growled, a low, warning sound that reverberated deep between his ribs. The noise was enough to keep the human from spouting out anything further.

“What’s with all of the questioning? Has the revelation of my monstrous secret put you on edge?” He didn’t wait for the other man to respond, “Well, if that’s the case, then you can put your nerves to rest. I won’t bite. I’m just a simple elf with simple needs, and I need protection. I’m not idiotic enough to do something that would get me left behind or killed. So, stop trying to psychoanalyze me. It’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth.”

Gale seemed to weigh the words for a moment before giving a small nod and leaning back to glance up at the sky. He let out a long, slow breath.

“Well, I’m glad we could have this talk.”

“I’m not. Please, for the love of whatever gods you believe in, don’t ever speak to me again.”

Gale laughed. The sound surprised them both. Then the human moseyed back over to his tent and disappeared inside once more. And, once again, Astarion found himself staring at the offensive, purple construct. What a strategically disadvantageous color.

Astarion was more than stunned when Erro and the others returned from their outing with a fiery, large tiefling in tow. She was intimidating—tall and muscular and brandishing a single, curled horn atop her head. Flames flared and licked across her skin periodically, giving the immediate impression that she was likely too dangerous to touch. Her chest pulsed with an eerie glow that painted the shadow of her ribcage through the straps of her revealing, leather garments. The vampire bared his fangs instinctively and made to back into his tent, however, Shadowheart caught his eye and jerked her head back sharply to motion for him to approach. With tense shoulders and aching fangs, he trapsed forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gale do the same—though, his demeanor was much more welcoming.

“Astarion. Gale. This is Karlach. We crossed paths with her after killing some gnolls. She also has a parasite in her head and has agreed to join us in our search for a cure if we help her take out some evil paladins up on the hill beyond where we found her.” The elf waved his arm dramatically, as if slicing the air with his sword.

The tiefling in question sported a brilliant grin and brought her hands together in a loud clap.

“I am jazzed to meet you! Big man here has told me about both of you, and I—”

“Hang on,” Astarion interrupted as something clicked in his head, “Aren’t you the devil Wyll’s been hunting?”

Karlach’s spirits were only doused briefly as another wave of energy coursed back through her.

“It was all a misunderstanding! We hugged it out and all that.” Her grin widened even further and she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

Astarion shot a quick glance at said monster hunter and was surprised to see him smiling bashfully at the burly fireball. The elf almost laughed. Almost.

“Well, I suppose a friend of a monster hunter is a friend of a vampire then. Why the bloody hell not?”

Karlach didn’t know him well enough yet to recognize the vampire’s cynicism and proceeded to give him a hearty clap on the shoulder and wander off to start setting up her tent. The thin fabric of Astarion’s evening shirt retained an alarming amount of warmth from the brief contact that had him hissing and patting at his upper arm irritably. All the while, entertained, brown eyes regarded him from several feet away.

“She seems lovely.”

“Lovely,” the elf growled, “is a glass of red, a soft pillow, and no one else around to be so disgustingly…cheery.”

Gale inclined his head, amusement still gently manipulating his features.

“I take it you’re not one for a relaxing cup of tea, Astarion.” It wasn’t a question. “And I imagine wine even dulls in comparison to the preferred red in your glass.”
Astarion did smirk at that.

“Careful, wizard. It sounds like you’re trying to get to know me.”

“…Would that be so strange?”

Ruby eyes held brown opal for a long, thoughtful moment before rolling in insincere exasperation. The vampire turned on his heel and made his way back to his sleep roll. He could feel the human’s eyes boring into his back, and, for the first time since he’d been abducted by the mind flayers, he felt like prey.

“Let’s see…I’ll take Lae’zel…Gale…and Astarion. As for the rest of you, I’m leaving the camp in your capable hands.” Erro saluted and started tossing things into a leather pack.
Astarion grabbed his drow armor that he had left laying atop a table just outside his tent for what felt like weeks. He was almost shocked that it didn’t leave an imprint in nonexistent dust when he unfurled it. After slipping into the light garbs, he fastened the green laces of his dirt-colored boots—a magical pair of footwear that electrified water when stepping into it—and sheathed his many daggers into hidden places across his person. He dropped a couple of healing potions and a bottle of basic poison into his pack as well. Just in case. His companions were quite impractical, after all.

After getting himself sorted, he slunk over to the edge of camp where the others were gathering. Once they noticed his presence, Erro did a quick headcount and then motioned them onward. From what he had gathered from his halfhearted listening to their leader’s explanation, he knew only to expect angry gith. And, if his short experience with Lae’zel was anything to go by, they were in for a rough encounter.

They journeyed past the town that had been attacked by drow, and then started to slow their pace when a bridge came into view. Erro held up a hand, motioning for them to stop, when they were almost under the large, wooden structure. He opened his mouth to say something, but right when he did so a huge shadow flitted over them. Instinctively, they all lurched sideways into the shadows and pressed themselves flush against the rocky face of the cliff supporting one end of the bridge. They all looked up at the same time when a large, red dragon descended from the sky and landed on all four legs with an earth-shaking rumble that had the party gritting their teeth. Eyes blown wide in shock, Erro shook his head urgently in a clear sign for them to wait. So, they stayed hidden where they were, crouched and watching from a safe distance away as a group of armor-clad gith gathered in the clearing on the other side of the bridge.

“I will speak with—” Lae’zel started in a harsh whisper but was almost immediately cut off by Erro’s gloved hand slapping over her mouth.

His eyes shone with apology, but his words were firm when he told her to stand down and wait. She glared but offered a curt nod. It was almost laughable how quickly they had all decidedly followed this unknown elf—a stranger. They may be a team, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make their own decisions. Besides, if there was one thing that Astarion was absolutely brilliant at doing, it was surviving. He took a swift step back and pivoted to face the other side of the bridge, his back to the others.
Fingers gripped at his upper arm from behind before he could slink off. He shot a look over his shoulder to see familiar, brown eyes staring at him incredulously. The vampire bared his fangs and motioned up with his free arm to the bridge. If he could just sneak up there before shit went sideways, he’d at least have a better vantage point for ranged attacks. He tried to somehow convey that to the confused wizard with just his eyes, and, to his surprise, the man gingerly withdrew his hand, tossed an uncertain glance at the other two, and then gave him an affirming nod. The sudden resolution in those brown eyes stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The unexpected show of understanding and loyalty was…

Odd.

Astarion dipped low and nearly crawled around rocks, moving steadily away from his still-hiding companions. He kept to the shadows as he reached the opposite cliff face and deftly clambered up, using jutting rocks and stray vegetation as hand and foot holds. Once he reached the top, he hoisted himself over the side and crept forward until his feet met the wooden planks of the bridge. If his organs still worked, his heart would surely be pounding as he peeked over the edge and looked down at the still gathered gith below. His eyes bounced around as he calculated and strategized how best to attack when the altercation inevitably began.

His shoulders stiffened when one of them, a male with pointed, sandy hair, turned his head sharply to look over in the direction he knew his companions were crouching. Then he watched, dumbfounded, as Erro, flanked by Lae’zel and Gale, slowly approached the githyanki warriors. Even with his elven ears he couldn’t pick up what they were discussing, but, judging by the warriors’ expressions, they weren’t happy. The vampire tskd softly and retrieved his longbow from where it was slung across his back. He reached back and pulled an arrow from the quiver and notched it against the wood right above the pointer finger of his left hand. His other fingers danced across the sturdy string, waiting for the right moment to—

He swiftly pulled back the string and fired the arrow. The point embedded itself into the neck of the female gith that had abruptly drawn her greatsword. She let out a gargled screech and then collapsed into a heap on the ground. Everyone below stood still for a moment, stunned, and then all eyes flickered up to ogle at him. He didn’t bother hiding, the arrow had already given him away. Then all hell broke loose. Swords clanged, curses were shouted, and magic boomed and sizzled. Astarion ran along the length of the bridge, ducking to dodge stray arrows sent his way and then firing them back in turn. His expert eyes scored over the battlefield, watching for brief openings for him to intercept with his ranged attacks.

Fortunately for them, that dragon had taken off minutes before everything blew up, but that didn’t mean the gith were any less formidable. They were definitely holding their own, proving that Astarion’s first strike was simply a lucky shot. He growled every time an arrow’s head clanged uselessly against a metal breastplate. And he was noticing his companions were hardly fairing any better in their advances. Erro was locked in a head-to-head battle with the lead male gith while Lae’zel tried to manage two of the warriors on her own. That left Gale with…shit. The wizard was being pushed back by a female fighter, her long sword swept out every now and again, just barely avoiding the human as he tried and failed to produce a spell. He must have already drained himself. Frustrated, Astarion reached back to grab another arrow…and grabbed at nothing. He had wasted all his arrows missing the exposed flesh of his targets.

Damn it all. He took off sprinting across the bridge, dropping his bow and quiver, and catapulted over the edge. As he fell, he conjured a ball of flames in one hand and thrust it down. Heat exploded below him, accompanied by a scream of pain. As the bottom of his boots connected with the female gith’s very solid armor, shock jolted through his legs. But, before either of them hit the ground, he slipped a dagger from his belt and plunged it into the searing face below him. Blood splashed across his skin in a way that would have sent him into a frenzy had he not been so preoccupied with simply killing. He took a moment to assess the slightly charred body beneath him and then bent down to grip the hilt of the blade he’d buried in the creature’s eye. He jerked it free, and the blade slipped away from flesh, blood, and bone with a sickening sound. He wiped his weapon across the fabric of his armor, removing the gore, and then slid it back into its sheath at his hip.

“Thank you.”

The vampire looked over his shoulder at the wizard, noting the uncertainty contorting the man’s face as he took in Astarion’s blood-stained figure and blown pupils. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air. But he was practiced. The elf inhaled deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth. He flexed his fingers and then reached back to draw the shortswords clinging to his back behind where his bow had been.

“Repay me by not getting yourself killed, you fool.”

And then he was gone, off to jump back into the fray.

Chapter Text

They returned to camp a little worse for wear. Lae’zel was in the sourest mood of them all, spewing curses and stomping her way back to her spot in camp as soon as they reached the edge of the clearing where the tents came into view. But they had triumphed. Erro clapped Gale and Astarion on their backs, earning a disgruntled grunt from the wizard and a hiss from the vampire, before making his way to his own tent. Red eyes watched him saunter off, narrowed in pain and agitation.

“Astarion, thank you again for—”

Astarion rounded on the human standing a few steps to his right.

“Save your breath wizard.” He snarled. “Your gratitude means nothing to me. I didn’t want you blowing up and annihilating all of us because of your inability to do anything properly.”

Gale blink, startled. Then a nervous smile crossed his face.

“You’re…hungry, aren’t you? I noticed earlier but didn’t think anything of it until now. Perhaps consuming something will make you feel less…hostile?”

The vampire’s temper flared. But it was only because he knew the human was right. He didn’t want him to be right. He didn’t want the wizard to know a damn thing about him. He was an impenetrable wall, unyielding to anyone’s curiosities about him. So, why was some stranger able to read his tells so easily? It was a foreign, invasive feeling. He hadn’t allowed it. But…he was starving. It had been nearly a week since he’d had any blood aside from the stray lick of enemy gore from his lips and cheek. The lack of it was driving him mad. He breathed in deeply through his nose and then let the air out in a long, weary sigh. The act was not a necessity for his survival, but it did ground him in a way that somewhat brought him closer to the memories of the life he had before…Cazador.

“Do be careful, darling, it sounds as if you’re offering.” He resorted to his usual card: deflection with more than a hint of charisma.

Gale tilted his head thoughtfully and then shrugged, seemingly immune to the elf’s charms.

“If you need it, I’m willing.”

That caught Astarion off guard. He eyed the other suspiciously.

“Why?”

“Why would I lend a helping hand to someone in need?”

“Why would you offer yourself to a monster?”

The human frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not a monster, Astarion.” His voice was low.

The vampire let out a scornful noise, not quite a laugh, and curled his fingers as he moved his hands to emphasize his next words.

“You can’t possibly believe that because you don’t know a single thing about me. You don’t know a single, damn thing.” He growled and turned to walk away, hoping to put an end to the grating conversation.

However, Gale’s voice cut through the heavy, night air and stabbed somewhere between his ribs.

“I know that you’re hungry right now because it’s the only time you let your mask slip a little. You get temperamental. You lose the charm in favor of pushing everyone away. I know that you often forget you don’t need to breathe. I’ve seen the rise and fall of your chest sometimes during a fight. I know that you’re enamored with the sun. Whenever it’s at its peak, you turn your face towards its light. I know that you enjoy reading. I’ve noticed the tomes missing from my tent. And I know that you’re still hiding things. But that’s to be expected—it’s hard to trust people you’ve only just met. But you can trust me when I say that you’re not as foul a creature as you think you are.”

Astarion studied the man silently over his shoulder, his entire body tense. Gale wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. Instead, he was wearing an earnest expression that once again stirred that dark storm in the vampire’s gut. Why did this man even care? As if reading his mind, the human took a tentative step forward and reached out a hand, fingers curled around something small. Red eyes tracked the movement, and Astarion turned just enough so that one of his shoulders was facing the wizard while the other was pointed in the direction he planned to escape. He lifted a brow in question. Gale smiled in an almost abashed manner and allowed his hand to open. There, resting in the center of his palm was a silver ring melded with smooth emeralds. Before the vampire could enquire, the wizard grabbed his wrist and brought his hand up. They both paused in brief surprise when Astarion didn’t flinch away. Instead, he kept those ruby orbs fixed on the ring.

“This,” Gale said softly and pressed the ring into Astarion’s open palm, “is a ring of mind-shielding.”

Astarion’s lips parted in disbelief, the gears in his brain whirring to formulate why Gale could possibly be giving him such a thing. Suspicion prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

“It’s a show of trust. You can trust me. I promise I won’t ever try and read your mind or manipulate you, and, with this, you can be certain.”

Oh. It was just a peace offering. The elf relaxed at the timid admittance and even went so far as to quirk a small half-smile. He hesitantly curled his pale fingers around the small, metal band, accepting the gift.

“…Thank you.”

Gale practically beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the wake of his delight.

“Of course. I hope it serves you well.”

Astarion rolled the ring between his fingers, pondering, before slipping it onto the index finger of his right hand. Then, his eyes met the wizard’s, and something unfamiliar blossomed in his gut yet again. It was a feeling akin to nausea, except this time it lacked the bite it usually did. This time it was simply a dull ache. He vacillated to act on the sensation but felt inclined, for some strange reason, to do so now. He gritted his teeth together and looked away when he spoke.

“I…haven’t prepared to give you anything…”

Gale’s smile wavered. He scratched awkwardly at the beard scruff just below his ear.

“I didn’t expect anything, really.”

Again, the elf raised a pale brow.

“But surely you desire something in return.” He tried not to mull on what that something may be.

Brown eyes regarded the vampire curiously, studying him. Gauging his reaction.

“I don’t want you to feel indebted to me, but if you are so inclined to return the favor then perhaps receiving your trust and camaraderie may be repayment enough?”

Astarion couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. Trust? Camaraderie? That couldn’t be all he wanted. He was assuredly being played. In his experience, people always wanted something more nefarious in terms of reimbursement. He’d offered his body time and time again to appease others. To keep himself alive. He’d offered everything he possessed. Yet…looking at the wizard, he didn’t truly believe what was happening to be that sort of transaction. Suddenly feeling disconcerted, the elf furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw. Then he relaxed. Then he tensed again. Finally, he let out a long breath through his nose.

“Very well. My trust and my many blades are yours.”

He wasn’t expecting the wry smile that crossed the other man’s face.

“Camaraderie can also mean friendship, Astarion. I’m not asking you to be my protector. Or my shield. I can take care of myself.”

“I hope that’s a joke. Today’s adventure might just have been the greatest example yet of that being a false claim. I’m surprised the others even bother keeping you around.”

That grin on the wizard’s face only broadened at the accusation.

“Perhaps I just wanted to see if you’d come to my aid in that situation.”

Ruby eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Well, then next time I’ll just leave you to your experimentation.”

“Oh, but you won’t. We’re friends now.”

“That’s not what I agreed to.”

“It most certainly is. Trust and camaraderie are the makings of a friend. And that is the something I want in return for the ring.”

Astarion stared at him. Perplexed. What a strange interaction. What a strange human. Gale reached out a hand to him once again, this time with fingers splayed. The vampire grimaced and reached out to grab the man’s hand in a show of mutual understanding. However, a startled grunt escaped him when the fingers around his hand tightened abruptly and jerked him forward so that his face was about a foot’s length from Gale’s. The man held his gaze intensely, freezing him in place.

“In regard to you needing to feed, you will find better luck elsewhere. I offered it earlier to see how you would react, but I’m certain the netherese magic plaguing my body has rendered my blood most toxic. Just a warning. As your friend.”

Then his hand was released, and Gale vanished into the night as if he, himself, had been a vampire the entire time. Astarion growled, a low and deep sound that rumbled in his chest. As if he’d ever try to drink that devious man’s blood.

Much to Astarion’s dread, Erro decided on backtracking to take the Underdark route to reach Moonrise Towers. They traveled back through the now-empty goblin camp they had cleared out days before and clambered down the ladder found hidden in the back of Priestess Gut’s chambers. The vampire was the last to hop down from the ladder and scuff the bottoms of his boots on the stone floor of the Shar temple room they had briefly explored earlier in their adventure. He peered about disagreeably, and a heavy, hot hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Oh, lighten up, fangs, we’ll be flipside before you know it.”

Red eyes glared halfheartedly at the fiery tiefling smiling by his side.

“It’s odd, though, isn’t it? A vampire preferring the sun.” Shadowheart chimed in from Karlach’s other side, a small, sardonic smile adorning her soft features.

Said vampire rolled his eyes and made to follow their bold leader as the elf headed straight for the tall iron gates just ahead. Karlach’s hand slipped from his shoulder, and he heard the two snickering women fall into step behind him. Erro looked back at them as they approached and then pointed over his head at the top of the Shar stature in the middle of the chamber. A glowing, purple orb was shooting rays of light into parts of the room, holding the door in place and serving as a shield from the outside.

“I think we need to get rid of that thing to open the gate.”

Before anyone could respond, Karlach ripped her crossbow from its place at her back and fired a bolt into the gem, effectively shattering it. Shadowheart let out a distraught sound just as the rays of light flickered and disappeared.

“Karlach—”

That’s when they all froze, the complaint abruptly dying on the cleric’s lips. For there, looming in the darkness just beyond the gate, was the hulking figure of a beast. It was about twice as tall and twice as wide as the average male elf. It had coarse fur, curved horns, and heavy hooves. The identity was unmistakable.

“Shit.” All of them breathed at the same time.

“Minotaur.” Erro muttered and then cursed again.

The beast bellowed and charged. Astarion darted to the side, not even bothering to look and see if the others had been smart enough to move out of the way. A loud clang resonated throughout the chamber, signaling that the beast had contacted headfirst with heavy metal. In his peripheral the vampire spotted a ladder and he turned towards it. Just as his outreached fingertips brushed a rung, however, something collided with the side of his body. A silent gasp of pain contorted his face and the other side of his body collided with a stone wall. His head cracked against the hard surface, and he crumpled to the ground. A distant shout echoed out. Someone calling his name maybe. But he couldn’t hear over the sudden ringing in his ears. He shook his head and happened to look up just in time to see the minotaur swinging down in his direction with the same heavy club that must’ve been used to obliterate his side. Then fire filled his vision, and he flinched back as Karlach stepped in front of him and swung her greataxe down onto the beast’s arm, severing it. A loud roar of agony pierced through the air, and the creature stumbled back.

“Astarion!”

The vampire glanced sideways to see Shadowheart running towards him, but before she could reach him Karlach crashed to the ground several feet away. The minotaur had swung out wildly with the club it had still been gripping onto and managed to land a blow to the tiefling’s head. The cleric skidded to a halt and ducked when the beast stepped over Karlach’s unconscious body and took a swing at her. The club struck the wall with enough force to create a hole through the stone, but Shadowheart had managed to evade the attack and run back towards where Erro was standing with his sword held at the ready. The creature snorted in frustrated and started to amble in their direction.

Recognizing the opportunity, Astarion quietly pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for support and biting back the cry of pain that threatened to escape him. He slunk low, disregarding the uncomfortable pull in his ribs, and took quick steps towards the lumbering form approaching his companions. When he deemed himself near enough, he braced himself and then leapt. His daggers met their mark in the back of the beast’s neck. The monster hollered and jerked to try and shake him off. However, the vampire was determined to hang on. He twisted his blades cruelly deeper and then craned his neck forward until he could find the right spot to…there. He lurched and his fangs sank into thick fur and flesh. Gamey copper coated his tongue and he swallowed instinctively. A strong shudder coursed through the minotaur, and he felt the jolt of it crashing to its knees. Before it could fully fall to the ground, he ripped his teeth away and rolled sideways, yanking his blades free with the movement. His body hit the stone floor in the same instant as the beast’s. And there they both lay.

“Astarion!” It was Shadowheart’s voice again.

He heard her feet by his head and saw the green glow of her healing hands through slitted eyes. Before she could kneel beside him, though, he motioned weakly in Karlach’s general direction.
“Better save that…for her. Sounded like…crushed a melon…”

The glowing disappeared, and so did the sound of footsteps by his ears.

And then everything disappeared.

His consciousness stirred at the sound of a loud voice. Then his bodily awareness started to return. The taste of blood brought his senses back, and he could feel himself floating. No, not floating…he was being carried. His eyelids parted cautiously and blinked a few times to clear his surroundings. Strong, red arms were holding him. Karlach. So, she had been healed.

“Astarion? You awake?”

He gingerly tilted his head back and found himself staring up into very concerned, golden eyes. She stopped walking, focusing all her attention on him. The elf tried to hold her gaze, but the intensity of her expression forced his attention back down to his limp body. He quickly scanned for surface injuries and frowned when nothing obvious jumped out at him. Aside from splatters and smears of dirt and blood that he knew wasn’t his own he appeared relatively put together. So why did his body ache so badly? His face pulled into a grimace.

“I—” He swallowed at the hoarseness of his voice and tried again. “…I wasn’t asleep.”

He could feel her shoulders sag with relief as his body dipped slightly with the action. A smile that could contest with the radiance of the sun split the tiefling’s face, and her fingers gripped him a little tighter. He winced. She noticed, and that pleased grin slipped into a frown.

“You ok?” Before he could answer, she was talking again. “Fringe said that you told her to heal me instead. We’re out of potions and she used up the last of her spells on me, so we’re taking you back to camp to patch you up the old-fashioned way. You really saved me back there, Fangs. I owe you my life.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

Astarion averted his gaze once again, feeling oddly disconcerted all of a sudden. He wasn’t used to this sort of attention being directed at him. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t even a good person, really. Unsure of what to make of the situation or how to react, he simply closed his eyes again and let out a long sigh.

They had established their camp in the goblin’s old hideout, so the echo of their footsteps against stone walls alerted the others of their approach before they appeared at the top of the steps leading down to the main gathering room. Karlach had graciously provided Astarion with the dignity of bracing himself against her side instead of being hauled into camp like a sack of potatoes. She was more or less carrying most of his weight, her hand encircling his upper body to avoid his injured side while his arm was slung across her shoulders. Dignity. More important than practicality, apparently.
Once they began the arduous task of working their way down the steps, the vampire could feel eyes flicker in their direction. According to Karlach, Erro and Shadowheart had gone ahead of them to relay to the others what had happened while they left her to deal with his incapacitated self. His scowl deepened with every step they took, pain lancing through his ribs at every jostle. When they finally made it to the bottom he was shaking faintly. Karlach glanced down at him in remorse and opened her mouth to say something—probably apologize—but someone else cut in first.

“Karlach, Erro just informed us that you are all going back out again to search for healing potions around the area. Why don’t I take your luggage off your hands?”

Red eyes swiveled up to glare daggers at Gale. The wizard sent him an astute look and then turned his attention back to the large tiefling. She hummed thoughtfully and then slipped Astarion’s arm from her shoulders. He swallowed back a yelp as the movement sent an invisible blade slicing through his entire body. Then, as if she hadn’t just figuratively disemboweled him, she carefully angled him towards Gale. The man stepped forward and snaked an arm around his back and brought a hand to rest firmly against his chest while Karlach situated his arm across the human’s narrower shoulders. Astarion let out a broken breath that he had been holding for some reason, and Gale glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“Is this alright?”

The vampire bared his teeth, flashing his fangs threateningly.

“What do you think?”

“Steady there, Fangs. We’d better find Gale in one piece when we get back.” Karlach laughed and then trotted off to find the others.

Brown eyes remained glued to his face, and Astarion couldn’t put a name to the emotion he saw swimming in those wise orbs. His skin crawled, and he glowered at the wizard.

“You’re staring.”

Gale blinked.

“Am I? Apologies. Just checking for obvious injuries, I suppose. They mentioned you may have hit your head.”

Astarion growled irritably and looked away. The wizard took that as a sign to move on, and so he did. He was more tentative with his support of the elf than the tiefling was, and within about a minute they were standing in front of the vampire’s tent. Gale carefully guided Astarion to the ground where his bedroll had already been laid out, presumably by one of the others. He tried hard not to move but couldn’t help the hiss that escaped his lips when the wizard’s hand slid a little too quickly away from his shoulders and dropped the upper half of his body a tad harsher than the rest. Gale’s face instantly warped in regret, and he hovered uncertain hands over the other man. After a few seconds, however, the pain ebbed back into that dull ache and the vampire relaxed into the soft material beneath him. He sighed once again, eyeing the unmoving figure kneeling beside him.

“I did.” He grumbled.

Gale leaned forward slightly, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Hit my head.” The elf clarified.

Astarion didn’t like saying “thank you”. But he figured that catering to the wizard’s innate curiosities would serve as his debt paid in this particular situation. Gale gave a short nod and one of his hands moved to linger near Astarion’s temple.

“May I?”

The vampire hesitated, the tip of his tongue running along the backs of his teeth as he considered. Why was the human so attentive to him? Was he plotting something? Trying to take advantage of him in his vulnerable state? Or…was he actually trying to help? And, if so, why? His crimson eyes flitted about Gale’s person, trying to decode the mystery that was the wizard hovering over him. His eyes locked with the man’s. There was no malice there.

“Very well,” Astarion eventually relented. “If it would satiate your strange inquisitiveness, then by all means.”

Gale smiled in mild amusement, and the elf’s body tensed when warm fingers gingerly pressed against the base of his skull. Careful hands turned his head from side to side while practiced eyes studied his face for any signs of discomfort. When none showed, he moved his fingers down to the vampire’s neck. The wizard felt along the nape, up to the side…and then paused. His index finger had grazed across the small scars that marred the elf’s flesh. Astarion immediately glanced up at the human’s face. He was faintly surprised by how passive the other’s expression was, but his sharp eyes were able to make out the slight furrow between brows and the soft bob of a throat in the wake of an uncomfortable swallow. After a long moment, he returned his stare to the backs of his eyelids.

“Repulsed?” He murmured, asking without really caring to know the answer.

Those warm fingertips traced the scars briefly before continuing their journey down to the elf’s collar bone, occasionally poking and prodding to gauge for pain.

“Not at all.” Gale stated.

The wizard shifted his ministrations to the armor strapped across the vampire’s chest and then pulled it to the side, revealing a white shirt caked in blood. Astarion opened his eyes again and glanced down just as the man began to gently peel back the gore-splattered top. It was the unexpected noise of distress escaping Gale’s throat that had the vampire gritting his teeth against the pain to push up onto his elbows and get a better look. Well, he had seen worse, but it wasn’t at all a pretty sight. His side was decorated in a bouquet of many colors: blacks, blues, purples, and reds. There were a few shallow lacerations, probably from sharp stones. But none of it compared to the very obvious rib bones piercing his flesh from the side of his body.

“By the Gods, Astarion…”

The elf watched in morbid fascination as Gale turned his head away sharply and convulsed. He was almost certain the man would puke, but after a few shaky moments Gale tilted his head back towards him with horror painted plainly across his face. For some reason, the wizard’s reaction tickled him.

“What? Don’t tell me you go faint at the sight of blood.”

Brown eyes snapped to his face incredulously.

“Blood? This is beyond just blood. Gods, this is…how are you even conscious right now?”

Astarion watched, oddly entranced, as Gale’s quivering hands hovered over his mauled flank with a faint pulse of light. The light flared abruptly and then fizzled out. A soft curse escaped the man’s lips. He tried whatever he was attempting again. And, again failed. Was he trying to conjure some sort of healing spell?

“…What are you doing?”

The wizard gritted his teeth, clapped his hands together, turned them so that his palms faced Astarion’s injured side, and tried again. And then failed again. The vampire’s fascination shifted to uncertainty. He shifted his weight to one elbow and lifted an arm to reach out to the man.

“I think—”

“It’s not working.”

Pale fingers retreated. His eyebrows tilted inwards.

“What’s not working?” He kept his voice low and cautious.

The light in Gale’s palms sputtered a final time and the man slumped back, shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just fallen upon him.

“I’ve been trying my hand at healing spells, but…I just don’t seem to take to them as well as I do other forms of magic.” He turned his defeated brown orbs to Astarion’s face. “I’m sorry. I just…I wanted to help.”

The vampire tilted his head to the side as he considered the man. Once again, he found himself dumbfounded by the other’s selflessness towards him.

“Why?”

Now, it was Gale’s turn to give him a confused look.

“Why would I want to help you?”

“Yes.”

“Haven’t we already had this discussion?

“I suppose I just…don’t understand. I hear the words you’re saying but the meaning isn’t clear. I’m…not the kind of person who is liked by most. I don’t have friends or family. Furthermore, we’ve only just met, and you hardly know anything about me. So, why are you trying so hard?” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if the truth didn’t sting.

There it was again. That odd emotion swirling about in the other’s eyes as they took him in. He couldn’t take it anymore and he bared his fangs in frustration.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” He snarled.

Gale blinked in surprise and straightened his spine.

“Like what?”

“Like that. Your eyes keep going all…soft and shrewd at the same time. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Brown eyes blinked again, digesting the words.

“…Soft and shrewd?”

“Yes.” Astarion hissed impatiently. “Like when we were talking a while ago in camp before the goblin massacre, and when you were spewing about that friend nonsense the other night, and when you saw Karlach dragging me back into camp. That look—the one you’re giving me right now.”

Something did flash in Gale’s eyes. Calculating. Understanding. And something else. That foreign something that kept alluding the vampire’s comprehension. A strange smile played at the human’s lips.

“Ah. That look. I know of which one you’re referring to now.”

Astarion’s posture relaxed marginally.

“Yes, and? Care to explain?”

“No.”

Before the elf could argue, the wizard reached over to pull the other man’s shirt back down and cover the gruesome wound from view. Instead of pulling his hands away, however, he shifted them back up to Astarion’s temples and began rubbing small circles against either side of the vampire’s head. Astarion opened his mouth to rebuke but then clamped it back shut when his aching muscles began to loosen in response to the soothing motions. His eyelids grew heavy.

“What is this…spell you’re administering? Trying to shut me up?”

A low chuckle sounded just above him.

“Not a spell,” Gale whispered. “Just a form of physical care that helps to take some of the pain away.”

Astarion’s eyes fluttered but didn’t fully close. He gazed up at the wizard in puzzlement and lowered his voice to match the other man’s when he spoke.

“Why are you so kind to me, Gale?”

The movement at his temples faltered but didn’t stop. That foreign look that the human refused to explain took control of his face, this time accompanied by a soft smile.
“Is it truly so unbelievable for me to think you deserve kindness?”

Astarion reached up and circled his fingers around the wizard’s wrist, halting him. Something ignited at the contact. Something that alarmed the vampire. He found Gale’s startled eyes with his own and simply stared up at him. The warm pulse he could feel in the vein beneath his fingers quickened. Was he afraid? No. Of all the odd things that swam about in the other’s gaze, fear was not one of them. This feeling…was similar to what he remembered his victims experiencing in brothels and dark alleyways moments before he seduced them towards their untimely demise. This was…a desire. A want. A need to be near someone. Had he…somehow unintentionally seduced this man? Something undesirable twisted in his gut, and it wasn’t due to his injuries. He didn’t know what to say. Luckily for him, Gale beat him to it.

“Perhaps I should leave you to rest.” His voice was barely above a murmur.

Astarion immediately released the man’s arm and averted his gaze.

“Yes, I think some rest may help.”

The wizard gave a small nod and stiffly rose to his feet. Before he could get more than a few steps away, though, the vampire rolled his head to the side and cut through the tense air with the usual jest the others were accustomed to hearing in his voice.

“Thank you. That’s twice now you’ve made me say it. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

Gale tossed a cunning glance over his shoulder.

“Gods forbid.”

Chapter Text

“Astarion, we’re about to head out, and we’re leaving you here this time…for obvious reasons.”

The vampire peeked open a ruby eye and glared up at his elven companion. The large fighter was clad in his usual armor, swords strapped to his back and a small crossbow hanging at his hip. A few paces behind him Lae’zel shifted on her feet restlessly. They were clearly about to head out for a long excursion, likely to search for health potions they didn’t find during their previous sweep through the goblin camp. Thankfully, Shadowheart had rested long enough to provide him some manner of relief. His ribs were now tucked back where they belonged, but they were still fractured, and his flesh still sported a variety of unsightly colors. Astarion continued glaring at Erro for a prolonged moment and then closed his eye once more. His face settled into a neutral expression.

“By all means, do what you must. I’ll just lay here and try not to cause too much trouble while you’re away.”

His eyes didn’t have to be open for him to know that an amused smile had crossed the man’s face. After a beat of silence, the sound of feet scuffing against stone sounded, followed by the receding of echoing footsteps. Once they disappeared, Astarion opened his eye and turned his head to glance about the camp. Empty. Erro had taken Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Karlach with him while Gale and Wyll had left earlier that morning to search for some sort of alchemical ingredients for a potion Wyll was trying to make. The vampire sat up slowly, hissing in pain as he did so, and then clambered to his feet with less grace than he normally would’ve liked. Once he felt stable enough, he limped towards the large traveler’s chest on the other side of camp, tucked right beside their leader’s tent. Once he’d reached it, he braced himself with one hand against the top of the chest and pulled at the latch with the other. It didn’t budge.

“Gods, damnit.” He cursed under his breath and then stiffly lowered himself to the ground, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the lockpick tools he always carried on his person.

He fiddled with the lock for just a few seconds before it popped open. Then he flipped back the latch and opened the lid. He already knew what was in the chest, so he wasn’t overly surprised to be greeted with a mountain of magical artefacts, scrolls, and books. There was one thing in particular he was after—something they’d found a few days ago that Erro had just tossed into the chest and seemingly forgotten about. So, he dug through the mound of treasures with purpose, peering at dusty book covers and tossing aside cloaks and jewelry. It took him a few minutes, but when he finally turned over a pair of gauntlets and spotted a weathered face protruding from an eerie tome, he let out a small noise of victory. He pulled the thing free and flipped the leathery book about in his hands, studying it. The Necromancy of Thay. He’d only heard stories about it, but if those stories were true, then this very item could grant him some of the power he’d need to face… Well, anything.

There was more to it, though. With a small smirk, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a large, smooth amethyst. No one else had noticed the gem when they’d been trapsing about in the spider cave a few nights ago. But it had caught his eye almost immediately, recognizing its shape as one that matched the yawning mouth of the tome he currently held in his other hand. Without another thought, he slipped the dark stone into the opening and watched, mesmerized, as the leathery face’s teeth clamped down on the gem. Purple light flickered in the book’s empty sockets and the latch holding the covers shut popped open. He opened the cover and was immediately swept away.

The first thing he heard were the screams. His mind echoed with the anguished cries of whatever souls were bound to the pages. Then came the whispers, harsh sounds that weaved darkness behind his eyes. Astarion’s lips parted in something akin to awe as the dark magic slowly began to consume him.

“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” An incredulous voice broke through the writhing shadows encompassing his senses.

Then his awareness shifted as the book was suddenly snapped shut and ripped free from his trembling hands. After a few bewildered blinks, he glanced up to see the disoriented figure of a familiar wizard towering over him, barely a foot away from where he was still sitting on the ground by the traveler’s chest. Said wizard bound the leathery covers of the book back together and tossed it back into the chest. Ruby eyes followed the object’s fall in dismay. Before he could verbally object, though, Gale locked the chest and let out a shaky sigh.

“Astarion…” Those brown eyes flitted in his direction worriedly, “What were you thinking? The Necromancy of Thay isn’t just some everyday magical item. It’s…”

“I know what it is.” He snarled.

He used his anger to motivate him to his feet, wincing through the stab of pain that rattled his ribs on the way up. The hard edges of Gale’s expression softened in response, and the man abruptly changed tactics in regard to receiving the vampire’s onslaught of antagonism. He simply stood firm as Astarion jabbed a finger against his chest. The elf looked every bit the monster he claimed to be when his crimson eyes narrowed to slits and a scowling lip peeled back to reveal a sharp fang.

“I know what it can give me. I need it.”

Gale held the other’s fiery gaze stoically. He was beginning to learn that if he wanted answers from the vampire, he was going to have to be more tenacious about his approach.

“Why do you need it?”

Astarion growled, a sound that resonated deep in his chest. It was a predatory noise that naturally made the hair on his flesh prickle. Still, he didn’t budge. The elf picked up on his intentions rather quickly and let out an uncharacteristically loud exhale of exasperation. If the wizard wasn’t trying so hard to paint the picture of tolerance, he would’ve smile.

“If I tell you, will you give me the book?”

“It depends on what you say. If I don’t deem the reason worthy, I won’t give it to you.”

“You sound so confident, wizard. Have you considered I could just kill you here and take whatever the bloody hells I want?”

Brown eyes scanned the vampire peculiarly.

“You can’t. I’d detonate and take out this entire camp and just about everything that exists within a few miles’ radius.” The man stated matter-of-factly.

Another frustrated sound arose from the elf. And, this time, Gale did smile. It was a half-smile that was just as conceding as it was humored.

“The Necromancy of Thay is a dangerous tome that is nearly impossible to read. You must dominate the souls bound to it, and then translate the text. Very few have accomplished this task, and those who did fell into madness afterwards. I don’t doubt you, of all people, would manage to unlock the book’s secrets. However, I do doubt you’d return to us with complete dominion of your own sanity. Whatever power you could attain from its pages wouldn’t be worth—”

“How could you possibly know?”

The wizard faltered and his response died in his throat when he read the misery written across the other’s face. He had never seen such a clear display of honest emotion from the vampire before.

“Two centuries…” Astarion’s jaw remained lowered, as if he was going to say more, but then he clamped it shut and jerked his face away to avert his gaze.

Gale’s brow furrowed and he reached forward. Before his hand could make contact with his companion’s shoulder, though, a loud voice sounded from the other side of the camp.

“Gale, I found—Oh, Astarion…What are you both doing by Erro’s tent?”

Both men snapped their attention to Wyll as the warlock approached at an easy pace. The monster hunter’s expression shifted from cheerful to something more guarded as he came to halt a few feet away.

“Everything alright here?”

Astarion’s eyes flitted to Gale, something akin to disapproval flashing in those blood-drop depths.

The wizard sighed.

“We were just going through the chest to separate some things we’d like to trade the next time we come across a friendly collective.” He flashed a charismatic smile that immediately eased Wyll’s concerns.

The man waved one hand and then brandished the jar he was holding in the other.

“That’s a good idea! I’ll have to do the same later. But, for now, I have some experimenting to do. Thank you for your help this morning, Gale. Your skills were quite accommodating.”

And with that, he walked away. Astarion glowered, having already subdued during the time Wyll was speaking. His jaw still ticked with irritation, but the vehemence had dissipated. Gale seized the opportunity with delicacy.

“Two centuries. That’s how long you’ve been a vampire?”

The undead creature turned his lifeless stare to his companion. They seemed void of any emotion.

“…A vampire spawn.”

The wizard lowered his voice to a mere murmur.

“My knowledge of vampires and their spawn are astonishingly dismal. I didn’t take many courses on the subject, nor did I come across any noteworthy readings in my studies about the undead. I only know of Thay because of the historical significance in the rationalization of certain magic.”

“Then allow me to be the first to enlighten you. A vampire spawn is nothing more than a puppet. We’re a toy for our master’s to use to do whatever the bloody hells they want. The main difference is power. A true vampire is capable of many things: turning into mist, summoning wolves, creating spawn…well, I could go on. Spawn only have a small fraction of abilities. We can do things that most living beings can’t, but we’re also just as cursed as our masters in that blood is the one thing we eternally hunger for. Still, a vampire is able to command his spawn. And, once commanded to do something, a spawn can’t refuse.”

Gale processed the information warily. He tried not to linger too much on the hidden implications Astarion was providing.

“What happens…if a spawn refuses his master.”

The vampire scoffed humorlessly and looked away.

“No spawn in his right mind would ever refuse his master.”

“What if he wasn’t in his right mind? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

The elf gave the wizard an odd look, somewhere stuck between apprehension and anticipation.

“Hypothetically?”

Gale nodded.

A muscle jumped along Astarion’s jawline as he thought. There was such hesitation in his behavior that it made the human bite his tongue so as not to ruin the possibility of a rare and vulnerable answer.

“Hypothetically…a master might serve the ingrate a putrid rat carcass for dinner. He might chain him to the wall in a kennel and have him flayed until he begged for forgiveness. He might seal him in a tomb. Alone. Starving. Trapped in the darkness for an entire year. He would make sure to punish him enough that he knew better than to ever disobey again…”

Gale’s eyes were wide, despite his best intentions to keep his reaction neutral to the gut-wrenching revelation. No wonder Astarion wanted power. If these were things he’d experienced at the hands of his so-called master, then that did more than explain his attitude towards…well, many things.

“I’m…so sorry, Astarion.” He truly was.

Something dark flashed in those red eyes. The vampire tilted his head to the side, a look of false innocence plastered across his face.

“Whatever for? We were speaking of hypotheticals.” The elf’s nonchalant mask wavered but didn’t quite fall.

Gale wanted nothing more than to extinguish the fear the other must be feeling. Astarion was so power-obsessed because that was something he’d always had tormenting him. His master had abused his power and corrupted his spawn. He had warped their identities and tortured out of them any ounce of hope they’d had left. His companion was just trying to get a foothold up on the ladder that led him to his master. And he thought that The Necromancy of Thay would give him some extra steps. If anyone could relate to the vampire’s gruesome tale, it was Gale. He opened his mouth to say as much, to offer a means of connection, but the elf spoke first.

“Did you know…when you gave me this ring?” He inquired in a low voice while he fiddled with the silver band on his finger.

The wizard blinked, caught off guard but understanding what the other was insinuating.

“I—no, I meant what I said when I offered it to you. It was truly meant as an offering of friendship.”

“An offering of friendship…” Astarion muttered.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I will accept its return.”

“No.” The vampire gave a slight shake of his head and lowered his hand. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being…pitied.” He spat out the last word distastefully.

Gale caught his eye and mirrored his intense scrutiny.

“I don’t pity you, Astarion. I’m in awe of you.”

Astarion huffed a disparaging laugh.

“Don’t patronize—”

“I’m inspired by you.” He took a step forward.

“Stop—” The vampire took a step back and raised his arms.

“I won’t.” The wizard reached forward and grabbed the elf’s forearm.

Astarion was too startled to break free from the grip. He blinked owlishly at Gale as the man pulled him forward and placed his other hand flush against his flank, right at his ribcage where his side was still protesting. A single shudder shot up his spine in the same instant warmth exploded from the wizard’s palm, passed through his clothes, and seeped into his flesh. Pain intensified in his chest and then…sputtered into nothing. A shuddering gasp escaped him despite his lack of need to breathe, and he flinched back while pulling at the hem of his white, camp shirt. The fabric slipped up his abdomen to the middle of his chest to reveal pristine, pale skin. He shot a look of disbelief at Gale, who of which was smiling and holding up a strange piece of what appeared to be some sort of plant.

“Musk Creeper. That’s why I went out with Wyll this morning. I needed to find and extract salts from the plants to be able to make a healing potion. That plus a small sprinkle of weave seemed to do the trick.”

Astarion glanced between the wizard and his completely healed side, words escaping his grasp. He let his shirt fall back into place.

“You’re really going above and beyond to try and get me on your good side, aren’t you?” It was rhetorical, but he knew Gale would feed the fire he had stoked.

“Is it working?”

“Why do you want it to? What benefits do you get from me being your friend?”

The human took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. He tilted his head back as if he were about to start begging to the gods. Then he lowered his chin and smiled wistfully at the vampire.

“Different things have different value to different people. Friendship is valuable to me, as power is valuable to you. You don’t have to understand why I want what I want, and I won’t venture to understand similarly of you. We may not always get the things we most desire in the end, but gods…don’t you think they’re at least worth fighting for?”

They moved camp to a spot just outside of a tunnel to the underdark once a path had been cleared and it had been determined that there weren’t any raging Minotaur stomping about. Gale had started a fire and took it upon himself to cook for everyone using whatever provisions they had remaining from topside. Karlach, Wyll, and Shadowheart were sitting on logs by the flickering flames, smiling and laughing periodically as they recounted stories from their respective youths. Erro and Lae’zel were standing near the gith’s tent, sharpening their collection of blades in preparation for tomorrow’s adventure into the unknown. Astarion observed all of them from the corner of his eye as he pretended to read. He was leaning back in a rickety, wooden chair, his ankles crossed and heels propped up precariously close to a glass of wine atop an ornate side table.

“And then the furious orc ran off with my pack! It was truly one of my most humiliating moments.” Wyll concluded the tale he was spinning.

Karlach let out a guffaw that had the cleric seated beside her snorting softly. Astarion rolled his eyes and in the process caught Gale looking his way. The wizard offered an amused look and waved a hand at the empty log on the other side of the campfire. An invitation to join them. The vampire wrinkled his nose distastefully and returned his feigned attention back to the book in his hands. Like hells he was going to get involved in…whatever it was they were doing. Some time passed peacefully in this manner, and then Gale announced that food was ready to be served.

“Finally.” Karlach groaned and stood to grab the dish the human was holding out in her direction.

Wyll and Shadowheart followed suit and Lae’zel and Erro briefly glanced up from their task to offer a “be there in a minute” before finishing up work on their last weapon. Astarion stayed put. He lowered his book to reach forward and snag his full glass of wine. The rim of the glass kissed his lips, and he tilted his head back slightly to indulge in its contents. The wine was awful, but at least it somewhat placated his ever-consuming hunger. After a second swallow he leaned forward again to replace the glass in its previous spot and shifted in his chair to situate himself more comfortably.

“Astarion, come join us!” Erro called from where the elf was now seated on one of the logs by the fire.

The vampire glanced up, delivering a fake smile.

“I’m fine right here, darling, but thank you for the invitation.”

Erro’s grin fell for a moment before he shrugged a shoulder and turned back to face his companions. The man’s voice barely reached his keen ears when he whispered to the others that “he’d tried”. He could feel Gale’s inquisitive stare, but he simply ignored it. They didn’t need his company to have a good time, so why did they even bother? He was perfectly adequate right where he was. His nostrils flared for a moment while he tried to block out their loud chatter, and this time he actually attempted to acknowledge the words on the page he’d turned. It wasn’t an invigorating read, that was for certain, but he somewhat managed to maintain his focus when he found himself rereading a phrase highlighting the significance of remembering the less-seen races of the Forgotten Realms.

“Bumpo? That’s an interesting choice of read on your part.”

Astarion scowled and glanced over his shoulder. The wizard was hovering behind him. The vampire had heard the human approach but had hoped that if he didn’t acknowledge the other’s presence he may go away. No such luck.

“Do you mind? I was just getting to the good part.”

Gale laughed softly.

“Oh? And which part is that? I’ve read that one a few times and never gleaned anything so captivating from its arbitrary drawl.”

The elf snapped the book shut and set it on his lap. With an annoyed growl he tilted his head back to rest against the top of his chair and glared up at the night sky.

“Did you actually need something, or are you just looking for a distraction?”

He could see the wizard shift in his peripheral as the man moved to sit on the ground. Perfect. He clearly didn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

“Can’t I just enjoy the company of a friend?”

Astarion bit his tongue. He wanted so badly to negate the other’s claim of companionship, but he had more or less vowed acceptance of the very notion. An unnecessary sigh escaped him.

“I’m hardly stimulating company. Surely the others will regale you with exaggerated tales of…something or another.”

Gale hummed thoughtfully, and when the vampire turned his head sideways to look down at him, he paused. The wizard had lowered all the way onto his back, hands clasped behind his head and one leg bent while the other lay out straight. His dark eyes were fixated on the inky expanse of sky above them, and when he felt Astarion’s gaze he turned his opal brown orbs to meet blood red.

“Perhaps I’m not interested in listening to them ramble on. Your cantankerous quips are far more entertaining.”

Astarion tskd quietly and considered the man on the ground. What was it the human saw in him? What about him was he drawn to? He would understand if he’d been trying to seduce the man, but he actively wasn’t. He’d given up on that tactic once he’d outed himself as a monster and the others instantly overlooked the otherwise shocking revelation. He could ask…but the wizard never seemed to answer him directly. He always answered a question with a question—a man truly seeking knowledge while giving very little of himself away. Those curious eyes blinked up at him.

“What are you thinking about, Astarion?”

The vampire glowered.

“What are you thinking about, Gale?”

Gale dwelled for a moment before surprising him with an honest response.

“That I may be a horrible person for enjoying this entire situation. People are hurting. People are dying. The future is uncertain. But, for the first time in a long time…I feel alive again. I’ve been stuck in that bloody tower back in Waterdeep for ages, and now I’m finally out doing things. Just living.”

Astarion stared. He was taken aback by the answer. The elf digested the other’s words for a bit and then curled his lips into a shrewd half smile, returning his crimson orbs to the stars.

“It would seem, you and I are more alike than I would’ve ever thought.”

Gale loosed another subdued laugh, trying not to warrant their companions’ attention.

“How so?”

An honest answer for an honest answer.

“After two hundred years of servitude in less-than-optimal conditions, I’m fully embracing this new freedom. If I was to be honest, I’d say I hope we never find the cure for these parasites. I’d rather enjoy this now and then die writhing with tentacles than see myself back under Cazador’s command. This is the first time in centuries that I’ve felt this way. I don’t remember what it is to feel alive…but I imagine it’s something like this…” He trailed off and narrowed his eyes, studying a path of stars forming a constellation he somehow recognized from deep within a dusty crevice in his mind.

Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable.

“Astarion, you are the most alive creature I’ve ever met.” Gale’s whisper pricked his ears.

The vampire smiled softly, and something profound welled within him. What a thing to say—it felt too substantial a comment to acknowledge. Thus, he shifted his train of thought back to the shadowy canvas above. The stars seemed closer than they’d ever been, as if he could reach up and snag one with a deft hand.

“They’re so much brighter out here in the middle of nowhere. The city lights always subdued their glow.”

Gale followed his gaze, the remnants of a sheepish expression fading from his face.

“They are quite beautiful. Though, nothing compared to gazing out at the glistening sea from my tower balcony in Waterdeep.”

Astarion scoffed.

“I thought you didn’t like that place.”

The wizard reached up to scratch at his beard absently.

“I’m tired of feeling trapped, but I most certainly miss its splendors.”

The elf turned to look at the man again, eyes narrowed.

“Well, in that regard, I suppose we are quite different.”

Gale met his eyes and sat up, a frown now marring his features.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s unbecoming. I don’t need your sympathy, and I don’t need someone to express my every thought and feeling to.”

The wizard clenched his jaw and refrained from saying anything further, so Astarion pressed on.

“We can’t control the hand we’re dealt…but we can choose what to do with the cards we have left. And I plan to play them ruthlessly. Fuck anyone who tries to get in my way.” He sat up in his chair and delivered his last statement with a snarl that would’ve made most flinch away.

But Gale smiled fondly and propped his chin up with one hand, elbow resting atop a raised knee.

“By the gods. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” The man murmured.

Astarion let his mask fall, only briefly and just for the human seated on the ground by his chair. He let the pain shine through his eyes. He let the anguish pull down at his lips. And, for just a moment, he took the man’s breath away. Gale’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he witnessed the shift in the vampire.

“For what it’s worth…I wish I could too.”

Chapter Text

They finally ventured into the Underdark the following day. Everyone was quiet as they tried to adjust to the new scenery. As the title suggested, the Underdark was, well…dark. Those in their group that possessed night vision had no problem finding their footing. On the other hand, Gale and Wyll, being the only humans among them, had a rough go of putting one foot in front of the other. A random curse would sound every now and again as a toe caught a rock, and an apology would be uttered when one of them bumped into someone else. The vampire was already mourning the loss of sunlight, so his temper had fizzled to an unbearable level. Every little thing was making him tense, and the two bumbling idiots weren’t helping. At one point Gale conjured a ball of fire, making everyone hiss angry whispers at him to douse the light. They had no clue what was prowling about down there, so drawing attention to themselves wasn’t ideal.

“What are we supposed to do then?” The wizard’s harsh whisper back notched up an octave in vexation.

“Bloody hells, here!” Astarion hissed and reached back to grab Gale by the front of his robes.

The wizard let out a squawk of surprise and latched a hand onto Astarion’s shoulder to keep from toppling forward as the elf jerked him to his side.

“Hold there and don’t say a damn word.” Astarion growled in Gale’s ear and then turned in the others’ direction. “Someone grab the other fool and lead. I can’t tolerate them both.”

Karlach trotted over to the monster hunter and gave him a gentler approach. She tapped him on the shoulder and guided his hand to her upper arm. He gave her a small squeeze of gratitude, eliciting a beam from the tiefling.

“Steady on, soldier. I’ve got ya.”

They trudged on, the muttered curses and unintentional shoulder checks dissipating significantly. The party made light conversation, keeping their voices low in case anything was lurking in the shadows nearby. Karlach was busy announcing to the man latched onto her arm every time they stepped over a rock or were about to approach something he may walk into. Astarion gave the human digging his nails through the fabric across his shoulder no such compassion. A wicked smirk would cross his face every time the man stumbled. It got to the point that Shadowheart tossed him a sideways glance and scowled.

“Astarion, give him a break. He’s practically hanging on for dear life.”

The vampire grinned at the cleric, amused.

“I’m aware.”

She rolled her eyes and quickened her pace a bit to catch up with Erro, who was several paces ahead. Astarion finally sighed, entertainment ebbing, and glanced back at Gale. The man had an anxious look on his face and appeared to be focused on him. Yet, judging by the lack of responsiveness and how sporadically those brown eyes flitted about, the elf could tell the wizard couldn’t see a single thing. The vampire glanced at the ground and pulled Gale smoothly to the side so that they both avoided a large crack in the ground. There. One nice thing to balance out the wrongs. The amused smile returned to his pale face.

They explored the area in this manner for a while, until the humans’ vision finally adjusted and they could see just well enough to not need to tether themselves to one of the others. Gale’s hand parted from the vampire’s shoulder.

“I think I can manage now. Thank you, Astarion.”

Astarion said nothing but inclined his head in acknowledgment. It wouldn’t have mattered if their eyes had adjusted or not, though, when they suddenly rounded a rocky corner and found themselves stepping out onto a path bordered with iridescent mushrooms. The large fungi gave off a cool glow that illuminated the surrounding darkness, shedding light on a footpath that led unevenly towards a dilapidated wooden structure. Erro glanced over his shoulder at them inquiringly.

“Looks like this area may be abandoned. Let’s scout around to make sure it’s safe and then set up camp?” It was presented as a question, but the natural authority leaking through made it seem more like a dressed-up command.

They all bobbed their heads in agreement anyway and followed the elf as he began to trail the stone path. Astarion didn’t enjoy the subtle shift that had begun to take place in their so-called leader’s demeanor. The fighter was becoming more…audacious—and not in a good way. The vampire was pulled from his thoughts when his boot scuffed against a weird surface, and when he glanced down he was surprised to note there was silvery sand scattered across the ground. A second later the scent of cold water hit the back of his tongue. Before he could announce his realization, they all came to a halt at the edge of a drop off. Down below was a collection of collapsing wooden structures and bridges, hugging the cliff face, and forming a semi-circle around what could only be described as some sort of beach. The silvery sand stretched out until it met with a dock and still water as black and deep as the night sky. A single boat floated, motionless, at the end of the dock.

“I’ve never seen an underground beach before.” Karlach murmured in awe.

Astarion’s mouth twitched as he readied himself to offer a discourteous retort, however the sudden sensation of something crawling across his skin kept any comments at bay. Every muscle in his body tensed. His nostrils flared instinctively, and his pointed ears picked up the faint flutter of a foreign heartbeat. No. Multiple heartbeats. He bared his fangs and growled low in his chest. All eyes turned to him in alarm, but before any of his companions could say anything he spoke up.

“We’re surrounded.” He paused and inhaled the scent again. “Duergar.”

Immediately, they were moving. Shadowheart threw out a shield of faith as the rest of them spread out, trying to gain some sort of advantage by not all standing together as one big, easy target. Erro scrambled down the netting hanging from the cliffside, followed by Lae’zel and Wyll. Karlach forged her own path, letting out a battle cry as she brandished her axe and stormed straight for the ramshackle building to their right. Gale remained by the Cleric; both of their spellcasting better performed at a distance. Astarion glanced at them briefly, catching the wizard’s eye for a moment, and then hurtled over the cliff’s edge to follow the others.

The Duergar made themselves known without hesitation. A few spells illuminated the surrounding area as the enemy sent attacks haphazardly in their direction. All of the sparkling projectiles missed, crashing into the cliffside surface or the sand below. Astarion traced their line of origin and his gaze locked onto one of the dwarves, a larger male, standing at the opposite end of the wooden platform where he was crouching in the shadows. The Duergar’s eyes were aglow with dark magic as he waved his hands about. A handful of undead dwarves burst from the sand below and clambered to their feet with a collective groan. Warlock. With a downward twitch of his lips, the vampire deftly readied an arrow and drew back the string of his longbow. He held his aim for a few moments, calculating. Then he released the string.

The arrow met its mark with a sickening thud, piercing the left side of the Duergar’s chest. The dwarf let out a pained cry and stumbled, the light of his eyes flickering. Yet, the creature didn’t fall. Instead, he let out a roar of anger and twisted to try and remove the arrow.

Then Karlach happened.

With a warrior’s cry, the tiefling crashed through the wooden wall of the building above and dropped forcefully down onto the warlock’s head. The dark dwarf crumpled to the ground beneath her and angled away just in time to avoid the blade of her axe. The weapon lodged into the wooden board below. The barbarian grunted in frustration and jerked backwards to attempt to pull the axe free. In that time, the Duergar rolled out from beneath her and fired an eldritch blast towards her right flank. With a screech, Karlach was sent flying over the edge of the small cliff down to the white sand below. Crimson eyes flickered about, taking note of where the elf’s other companions were as they grappled with their own battles. They all appeared to be standing their ground.

Astarion stuck to the shadows and climbed back up the netting behind him to get a better vantage point. When he reached the top and peered over the edge, he found himself just as quickly ducking back down. For there, several feet away, a pair of Duegar were brandishing their weapons, trying to push back Gale and Shadowheart. The spellcasters seemed to be doing an alright job of holding their own…until the dark dwarves abruptly vanished. Shadowheart let out a curse and whirled around so that her back was to Gale’s. The wizard gritted his teeth, a fireball flickering in his open palm. The man’s brown eyes darted wilding around. Unless either of them had a scroll of “see invisibility” they were screwed. Luckily for them, a charming, competent elf was there to save their hides. He inched to the left so that he was still hidden by the darkness and pulled himself slowly up over the cliff edge.

The vampire inhaled, salivating when the coppery tang of blood tickled the back of his tongue. Multiple heartbeats reverberated against his eardrums. Gale’s. Shadowheart’s…and those of the two dwarves. Astarion tilted his head one way and then the other, trying to pinpoint the sound. He zeroed in on the smell of stone, sweat, and rotten meat and let the feral beast inside of him take over. His pupils dilated. His muscles strained. Then, light as a feather and quiet as death itself, the vampire slunk forward and pounced. A snarl of satisfaction loosed from his throat as the dagger he’d slipped from his belt pierced through a vulnerable spot beneath armor. The metal blade sliced into flesh and struck bone, earning a screech of agony from his victim. The Duergar suddenly became visible, losing his focus on the spell. And, before the dwarf could even think of looking back over his shoulder at his unexpected attacker, Astarion lurched his head forward and sank his fangs into the creature’s neck. The creature’s blood wasn’t the best he’d tasted, but it was certainly more amicable than the minotaur’s. So, he took advantage and satiated his thirst with a few sizeable gulps. On his final swallow, his crimson eyes fluttered up to see Gale and Shadowheart ogling at him. He tore his fangs and dagger free and staggered back from the Duergar, allowing the body to tumble lifelessly to the ground. Before anyone could breathe a word, he swung his dagger out in a wide arc to his right. The blade snagged onto something unseen and unveiled a spray of blood from seemingly thin air. Then, the other dwarf appeared and collapsed, invisibility having been ripped away in the same instant his throat had been torn open. Astarion wiped his blade clean on the fabric of his armor and then sheathed the weapon back into its place at his hip.

“I’m glad you’re on our side, vampire.” The cleric finally voiced coldly.

Ruby eyes held hers. He searched for anger or disgust, but only found caution and uncertainty swimming in the depths of her green orbs. Good. He inclined his head.

“Lucky, you mean.” The elf corrected with a sly grin.

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose distastefully and took a step towards the net ladder.

“I don’t believe in luck. It is by Lady Shar’s will that I am in the position that I am. With the company I have by my side.” She apprehended Astarion’s gaze for a moment and then made to crouch so she could climb down the cliff side. “I’m going to assist the others. They’ll likely need healing hands. Gale, I trust you to keep the fanged one out of trouble.”

Gale huffed a strained laugh but said nothing as the cleric disappeared over the ledge. His brown eyes jumped to the vampire standing about two arms’ lengths away. Said vampire lifted an elegant brow in response, evoking a wry smile from the man.

“Didn’t you say that you were going to leave me to my experimentation?”

Astarion snorted humorlessly. He walked over to where Shadowheart had disappeared over the ledge and narrowed a calculating glare at the dissipating battle taking place below them. Erro and Lae’zel were forcing back the last two of the dark dwarves while Wyll supplied discharges of magic where he could. They had already won. Satisfied, the elf turned his attention back to the wizard.

“I did. And then you pouted like a child and said I wouldn’t because we’re friends.”

Gale blinked, surprised.

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Astarion.”

The vampire sighed in exasperation and gave a halfhearted shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t have friends, Gale. The very notion makes me feel ill.”

Gale frowned.

“Then what am I to you?”

Astarion looked at him. Truly looked at him. He took in the man’s ruffled appearance. His unkempt robes. His stray hairs that had slipped free from their place in his usually tidy bun. His stubbornly set jaw. The flutter of his pulse against the delicate skin of his neck… Crimson eyes jumped back up to meet burnt umber, and a question was gleaming in the depths of those swirling, dark pools. The vampire’s brow furrowed in thought. The wizard was trying to drag something indiscernible out of him.

“I…don’t know.” Another rare, honest answer—it seemed as though he was just dishing them out these days. “But isn’t that alright—not to know? Do we need to be something else?”

Gale swallowed. Red eyes tracked the movement.

“We don’t need to be anything. But…I find I’d rather like to be your friend, Astarion. I enjoy your company. I enjoy talking with you. More so than with any of the others. You see past the façade. You understand me. You make me feel like Gale Dekarios…and not just some washed up, retired archmage with a bomb in his chest. If that doesn’t make you my friend, then I suppose I don’t know what does.”

Astarion drew back a sliver, taken aback by the sincere revelation. Truthfully, Gale was annoying. He managed to get under his skin in ways that none of the others seemed to be able to. But wasn’t that just because the wizard had gotten to know him a bit? The human was always paying attention. Asking the right questions. Treating him like he wasn’t a monster, but a person. He felt as if he was being seen whenever he spoke to Gale. The man knew the right quips to get him riled up, but he also knew the right words to smother the beast that lurked just beneath the surface of the elf’s carefully crafted mask. The wizard sought him out. He observed him. He learned about him. He did it because he…cared. The strange feeling that had been roiling Astarion’s guts for days suddenly made itself known. He nearly grimaced.

“What does friendship entail?”

Gale tilted his head as he considered the other man. He opened his mouth to say something, but then took a second to reflect before closing it again. Then his eyes softened, and his lips parted once more to speak.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything more or less than what you’re currently doing.”

“Then why bother giving it a name?”

“Why bother giving anything that exists a name?” He didn’t wait for the elf to answer. “So that we have something to call it by. Because we’re more than acquaintances and less than lovers.”

Astarion cocked his head to one side, regarding the man before him. Before he could say anything, though, Erro hoisted himself up over the cliff side and rolled to his feet. The others followed close behind the elf and wandered over to where the vampire and the wizard were standing. The fighter rolled his neck in a half circle, likely stiff from combat, and then clapped a hand on both of their shoulders.

“Another victory. Time to find a safe spot to set up camp for a while. I think we all need to indulge in a good drink or two and a long rest.”

Karlach let out a cheer, an obnoxious sound that had Astarion gritting his teeth, and then decidedly made to pave the way. They all fell into step behind the fiery tiefling—even Erro, who was in too pleasant of a mood to care about who was in front. Shadowheart found herself straying too close to Lae’zel at one point and let out a sound of displeasure as she purposefully slowed her steps so that she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Wyll, instead. The warlock noticed but only smiled in amusement. The vampire ditched his usual spot at Gale’s side to walk next to Erro. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the conversation he’d just had with the wizard. He needed room to breathe—figuratively speaking—and time to think. Nevertheless, he could feel a familiar stare boring into the back of his head the entire time.

They made camp just outside of a myconid colony after running into the fungal underdark locals. The spore like humanoid figures didn’t seem overly threatening, but Erro decided he didn’t trust them enough to lower his guard in the creatures’ company. It was a decision Astarion approved of. Some of the others, however, didn’t seem to agree.

“Erro, if we could just see if they had any magical artefacts I could—”

“Gale. I said no. Now, stop asking. Your condition is becoming more taxing by the hour. At this rate, you’re going to become more of a liability than an asset.”

Astarion’s ears pricked at the elf’s tone—it was much colder than usual. He watched conspicuously out of the corner of his eye from where he was reclining back in his wooden chair. He had been the first to set up his tent, wanting to seclude himself as soon as possible. But, after hearing the stirrings of an argument, he had slipped out of the comfort of his canvas canopy to feign reading so as not to draw attention to himself. In actuality, he hadn’t read a single word of text. His concentration was solely focused on his two companions standing in the middle of camp several feet away.

“How can you say that? I’ve done nothing but help when and where I’m able. My condition isn’t something I have control of, otherwise I’d never—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Astarion blinked in surprise and tilted his head just slightly so he could get a better look at the pair. Erro was standing tall, subconsciously squaring up to Gale and trying to make himself seem more authoritative. The wizard, on the other, while not backing down from the confrontation, seemed to be leaning away. The man’s expression looked just as bewildered as Astarion felt. The vampire had begun to pick up on a slight change in Erro’s personality over the course of their journey, but he hadn’t expected this sort of behavior from the fighter.

“Erro—”

Astarion was out of the chair and moving in a heartbeat. He had gleaned the tensing of the elf’s arm before he had even moved it and recognized the intent behind the action. Just as Erro’s hand lifted and began to fall, the vampire stepped between the two men and lifted his own hand to catch the fighter’s wrist. Green eyes blinked at him in shock, and Astarion bared his teeth in a threat that peeked through the veil of a sinister smile.

“My, my. How the mighty have fallen. You’d really go so far as to strike an ally over a petty disagreement?” The vampire purred, eyes narrowing wickedly.

Erro blinked again, processing, and then frowned. He didn’t even try to break free from the other elf’s grip.

“I’m surprised you even care, Astarion. You’re usually the first to condone violence.”

Astarion wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Yes, but not when it’s violence towards a friend.” He made sure to stretch the title, feeling it out.

“A friend…” Erro scoffed, his eyes flitting briefly over Astarion’s shoulder to Gale before returning to the vampire’s face. “I didn’t think you cared for those.”

The rouse was easily dismissed with the roll of crimson eyes.

“The wizard has only ever followed your every direction like the good, little subordinate he is, so why kick him while he’s down?”

Those acid-green orbs burned into the vampire’s own, digging for the meaning behind his biting words. The muscles in his forearm flexed beneath the pale fingers encircling them, and he jerked his arm free. His nostrils flared as he continued to regard the other elf.

“He’s becoming dead weight. You cut loose what’s dragging you down. I assumed you, of all people, would understand that.”

Astarion quirked a pale eyebrow.

“Oh, and do you think the others would agree with that sentiment.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think.”

“Doesn’t it? If they found out this is how you treat your companions, I don’t think they’d take it lightly.”

Erro narrowed his eyes, something akin to vehemence beginning to brew within them. Before he allowed the feeling to boil over, however, he let out a long sigh through his nose and took a step back. He gave Astarion a final odd look, glanced over at Gale, and then turned on his heel to amble away. The rigidness of the vampire’s stance dissipated, leaving him feeling abnormally fatigued. He turned to face the wizard, who of which was gawking at him.

“…He was going to hit me.” The words escaped his lips in the form of an incredulous breath.

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but Gale beat him to it. The wizard gave him an unexpected look of admiration.

“Why did you do that?”

The vampire glowered.

“Why did I stop him from killing you right here in the middle of camp so that everyone could find your corpse and point fingers at me? That’s an irrational question, isn’t it?”

Gale knew better. Damn him. Those brown eyes glistened with something the elf didn’t recognize, and he was glad when the human just gave a low laugh and shook his head instead of pressing the matter.

“I’ll definitely be sleeping with one eye open from now on.”

Astarion grunted in agreement and pivoted to head back over to his tent. A firm hand at his shoulder stopped him. He glanced back hesitantly.

“You called me a friend.”

The vampire grimaced, already regretting everything he’d said in the other man’s defense.

“Yes. Now, don’t say another word about it or you’ll have more than one raging elf after your throat.”

Gale gave a wry grin, acknowledging the pun, and let his fingers fall from his companion’s shoulder.

“Thank you. I know my gratitude makes you uncomfortable, but I think it’s important that you know I feel appreciation for what you just did for me.”

Astarion considered him. He could just brush it off. He could say nothing at all. Unfortunately, something about their vexingly shifting connection encouraged him to speak on the matter. He made sure to avoid eye contact as he spoke.

“I did what I believe a friend would do.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know.”

The vampire rolled his eyes and skulked back over to his tent. He bent over to retrieve the book he’d hastily dropped in his earlier rush and set it on the side table by his chair. Air uselessly filled his lungs and then escaped from between his parted lips. He tilted his head back to stare at the dark, stone ceiling above.
He missed the sun.

Gale avoided Erro like a plague for the next few days of their underdark traveling. The large elf barely spared him a glance, but the wizard took notice of the fighter’s clenching jaw and fidgeting hands each time he got a little too close. The others hadn’t a clue of the altercation that had taken place days prior, as they had all been out of camp at the time searching for what few provisions they could find in the surrounding harsh environment. All except for Astarion, of course. Even so, Shadowheart seemed to pick up on the guarded postures and fleeting glares. The night after they had dealt with Nere and the other Duergar in Grymforge, the cleric approached his tent and called out softly to him. Curious, he pushed past the entrance flap and rose to greet her. The half elf tilted her head to the side and fidgeted awkwardly, trying to gather the words she wanted to say.

“Gale, I couldn’t help but notice that something is…off between you and Erro. Did something happen?” Her voice held nothing but genuine concern.

Concern for him or concern for her safety, he couldn’t begin to guess. Regardless, he offered his trademark crooked smile and waved a dismissive hand.

“Just a slight disagreement about something. Nothing to be worried about.”

The cleric eyed him unsurely but didn’t press the matter. Instead, she provided a small smile of her own and gestured over her shoulder to where the others were huddled around the campfire. Brown eyes flitted over and took note of two very obvious absences.

“Why don’t you come join us? Erro’s out trying to find the entrance to the Shadowlands, so he won’t be a bother tonight.”

Gale glanced back at her, surprised. He hadn’t expected the Sharren to take his side in the matter, especially without knowing the details.

“Is that so? Well, as much as I appreciate the kind offer, I think I’d rather enjoy some privacy—I’ve just reached a thrilling turn in the novel I’ve been reading, and I—”

“Gale. You don’t have to pretend. I understand. I just want you to know you’re welcome at our fire. We’re all in this together.”

The wizard’s expression softened.

“Thank you, Shadowheart. But perhaps another time.”

She bobbed her head and then pivoted on her heel to make her way back to the others. The human watched her go, his smile falling into a frown. Before she could relay to their companions that he wasn’t joining them, he slipped around the side of his tent and disappeared into the shadows. He couldn’t bear to see their worry and disappointment. He’d been on the receiving end of those two sentiments for far too much of his life. Thus, he sought a distraction. Exploring Grymforge put him at a higher risk of bumping into the large elf he was trying desperately to avoid, but he needed some fresh air. He needed time to be away from…everything.

He strode past the boat dock and slowly climbed a stone staircase, heading towards the open space where they had slain the True Soul Drow and the dark dwarves. The bottom of his boots scuffed quietly against stone as he stepped around tipped over crates and strewn corpses. The notion should’ve bothered him, twisted his guts in an uncomfortable way, but he had grown so accustomed to death over the past few weeks that he barely registered the bodies had been animated at one point—full of life. A long sigh escaped him and a sharp pain in his chest had him clutching at the front of his robe. He would be just like them soon. Just another body on the ground. So, what was the point of it all? His mind began a gradual descent into darkness. Perhaps he should’ve just let Erro—

“Ah.”

Gale’s head snapped up at the small utterance and his eyes widened when they landed on the crouched figure of his vampiric companion. The pale elf was nearly hidden behind a collapsed tent, his muscles taut as if in preparation to attack or flee. Those predatory, ruby eyes were dilated and fixed on him. The wizard would’ve been anxious about his safety if he hadn’t caught sight of the small, lifeless body held loosely in the vampire’s arms. Blood dripped down Astarion’s chin. He had clearly been feeding—and in what better place than a discarded battlefield. Gale cleared his throat uneasily and bowed his head in greeting. No matter the situation or creature, the man was a gentleman above all else. His mother had taught him that.

“Astarion. Sorry to disturb your…dinner. I was just out on a walk.”

The elf snorted and dropped the gnome to the ground with a light thud. His arm lifted to wipe the blood from his face, and he rose to his full height. As much as the wizard’s instincts screamed at him to take a step back, he did no such thing.

“And what a lovely walking destination you’ve chosen. I, too, really enjoy the smell of rotting flesh.”

Gale tried to fight the urge to smile and failed. It was these witty quips of the vampire’s that always seemed to brighten his day. Astarion’s sense of humor tickled him. None of the others smiled in the face of oblivion as they did. The wizard traversed the battleground remnants until he was standing just a few feet from his companion. The elf brushed invisible dirt from his evening shirt and gave the other man a subtle once over. That pale brow furrowed in contemplation. Gale lifted an inquiring brow of his own in response to the scrutiny.

“Is something wrong?” His voice dropped to a low, worried murmur.

Astarion frowned.

“I dare say something is, darling.” Those red eyes held his intently. “But you’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

The human blinked, confused. The vampire continued.

“After suffering two centuries of torture I’ve grown quite familiar with pain. I know what it looks like, even when it’s being hidden. So, tell me, what manner of woe is distressing you.”

The elf really could see right through him. It was maddening but also thrilling, in its own way, to be so realized by another. Tara was the closest he’d ever had to someone truly understanding him—but even she was merely a Tressym. He could handle her well-intended nagging and prodding with a dismissive wave of his hand and a smile, as he knew it came from a place of love. With Astarion, however, it was different. Whenever the vampire unearthed an idea or a feeling that he’d thought he’d buried, it made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t just smile and wave off the other man. The feeling he had whenever those ruby eyes unveiled him went deeper than that.

“Quite right. Astute as always, my friend.” He fiddled with the hem of his robe’s sleeve absently and offered a half-hearted smile. “My condition of needing to consume magical artefacts is getting worse. I fear the dark magic may…well, I’d rather not like to find out what would happen if I were unable to quench the orb’s hunger.”

Astarion sighed and looked off into the distance for a moment before fixing him with a surprisingly apprehensive look. Then he clenched his jaw, flared his nostrils, and slipped the emerald-embedded ring from his finger. Gale’s eyes widened when the vampire snatched his wrist, opened his palm, and pushed the band into his hand.

“Here.”

The wizard immediately shook his head and tried to return it, a refusal burning the tip of his tongue. But Astarion forcefully closed Gale’s fingers around the ring and pushed the man’s hand against his dark magic-infused chest.

“Take the bloody trinket and do something selfish for once.”

Gale’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the right words. Unfortunately, he hadn’t prepared for such a generous gesture from his usually self-regarding counterpart. He had meant it when he told Astarion that he hadn’t been aware of his master’s control over him before the tadpole. He had given the vampire the ring as a show of trust, not knowing how impactful the magic it possessed could be to the elf. After opening up about the cruelty of his sire, however, it had dawned on the wizard just how much that ring could aid him against the compulsions of the sadistic vampire lord. Gale considered the situation, trying to quell the pain reverberating beneath his ribcage. As much as he needed it, he couldn’t…

“Gale. If you don’t use it, then I’ll toss it into the lava over there and neither of us will benefit.”

The human looked away and fiddled with the ring in his hand. Unfortunately, he knew the vampire wasn’t joking. Gale bit at the inside of his cheek and then loosed a ragged breath.

“Fine.”

Light pulsed as the orb in his chest expanded and tugged, becoming a vacuum as it sucked the magical energy from the ring in his now open palm. Within seconds the ring lost its shimmer and sat uselessly in the center of his trembling hand. The pain in his chest had lessened considerably, but it didn’t fully extinguish. His brown eyes narrowed when they started to sting. This feeling…was guilt. It was shame. He wasn’t a selfish man. But he had done quite a selfish thing. Astarion studied him with an intrigued expression on his face, as it was the first time the elf had seen him feed the dark magic plaguing his body. The vampire hummed thoughtfully and caught his eye again.

“Better?”

Gale gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good. Now maybe our brave and fearless leader will lay off for a while. I’m not overly keen on killing one of our camp mates, but, if he threatens us again, I can’t make any promises.”

The wizard’s breath faltered.

“Us?”

A pale brow raised.

“If he kills you, you explode and take all of us out with you. So, yes, us.”

“Ah…right.”

Silly him. For a moment there, he’d thought the other actually cared. He was about to say as much, eager to fall into their usual banter to clear up any lingering self-reproach, when a deep voice called out to them from the other side of the room. They both froze and turned to see Erro giving them an unreadable look from the top of the stairs.

“I found the entrance to the Shadowlands. Pack up your things. We’ll head out immediately.”

Immediately? They hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly rest. But he wasn’t about to say that to the elf, not after the last interaction they’d had. Instead, his nostrils flared—the only visible sign of his irritation—and he gave a stiff nod of acknowledgment. Astarion said nothing. The vampire simply glared until their leader turned on his heel and started walking down the steps towards camp. Gale watched him from the corner of his eye. His pale companion may not have outright admitted to caring for him, but it didn’t escape the wizard’s notice that Astarion had taken a step nearer when Erro had appeared. The subtle show of loyalty eased his worries. At least he could count on the vampire to have his back, should things eventually go sideways.

Chapter Text

Astarion was upset with him. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but behind the pitying looks of the others he could see the vampire fuming silently where he remained at his tent while Elminster relayed his mission from Mystra. They’d stumbled across the old wizard just before the door to what Erro had said was the entrance to the shadow cursed lands. Naturally, the elderly mage coerced them into setting up camp to satiate his gnawing hunger and to allow him a moment’s reprieve from his taxing journey. Gale could only stand, arms crossed and tapping his foot, while his friend snacked on cheeses and sipped on wine. He held them in suspense for what felt like ages before brushing off his robes and turning to the younger wizard with a somber expression on his face.

“Gale, m’boy, I’m here bearing quite heavy news from our dear Mystra.”

He then proceeded to explain to Gale what exactly it was that his goddess was requesting of him. By the time Elminster had finished speaking, the younger wizard was frozen in place, frowning.

“…She wants me to detonate the orb?”

Elminster grimaced and then reached up to stroke his long, white beard.

“I’m afraid that’s the short of it, yes. But, by doing so, you’ll fall into her good graces once again.”

Gale would’ve laughed in the old man’s face if he hadn’t been so shocked. Did he truly want to sacrifice this life he’d suddenly started to enjoy again just to fall back into the good graces of a goddess who was providing him with an unfair ultimatum? It was Mystra, after all…but some part of him hesitated. Did he not have autonomy? His mind was moving much too quickly, and his heart squeezed in his chest—both decreeing battle against each other.

“I will leave you to it then, lad.” The old man gave a small sniff and dipped his head. “I will see you again when you reach the Gate. Until then, Gale of Waterdeep, do take care of yourself.”

And, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Gale tried not to make eye contact with the others as they turned their pitying gazes to him, likely gauging his reaction to the unfortunate news. Pity was the last thing he wanted. Someone moved in his peripheral—a hand raising to touch his arm. Shadowheart.

“Gale—”

“I’m fine.”

He gritted his teeth and pushed past someone, heading straight for…well, not his tent. He needed to be further away. He needed to be completely alone. Nevertheless, a strong hand gripped his shoulder, effectively halting him. He wanted it to be anyone else, but the deep voice that followed proved he wasn’t allowed even that.

“You’re going the wrong way. Shadowlands are that way.” Erro motioned with his free hand to the large door at the end of the cobweb infested hallway to their left.

The wizard braved a glance back over his shoulder and caught narrowed, green eyes. Surprisingly, there was no spite glaring back at him. No, those eyes were calculating. The elf was considering what Gale’s predicament meant for them—for him. He knew that look. It was the look of a lanceboard player considering his next move, thinking four steps ahead. And Gale was merely one of his pawns to be surrendered for the sake of strategy. The human wrenched himself free of the other’s grasp, ignored the look of surprise received, and changed his course of direction to where they were meant to be going. Fine. He'd play along. For now. Though, if his head hadn’t been so scrambled, he would’ve made sure to ensure Erro that he was an expert at lanceboard.

The others began packing up their meager provisions and belongings while the leader of the group relayed their next course of action. Gale hovered in the hallway door, waiting. He could feel someone’s gaze boring into the back of his head and, before too long, a quiet presence sidled over to him. The wizard didn’t acknowledge the vampire, though he could feel the unseen force of displeasure radiating from the man’s body. Yes…Astarion was upset with him. For what exactly, Gale couldn’t be certain. He bit at the inside of his cheek to keep from outright asking and remained staring at the door ahead. If he were being honest, he didn’t want to talk about it at the moment. And he knew Astarion was aware of that, otherwise he’d be snapping at him. So, instead, they both stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder in silence as they waited for the others to join them.

The Shadowlands were exactly as described, much to everyone’s chagrin. Leaving one place of darkness to step into a place of even more prevalent darkness was like a kick to the back of the knee. Erro grabbed for a torch lying in a nearby brazier and lit it. The flickering flames, however, barely did a thing to brighten the surrounding area. The elf tskd and grabbed for more torches. He lit them and passed them out one at a time. Between all the lit torches, they had summoned a rather generous ring of warm, glowing light around their party. The encroaching shadows still taunted them, though, as they stepped forward and began to make slow progress down the only visible path ahead. Several pairs of eyes flitted about nervously, watching for anything that may be lurking in the shadows.

“These woods feel unsettling—like they’re dangling on the edge between life and death.” Astarion’s low murmur made a few of them jump.

Shadowheart scowled over her shoulder at the vampire.

“Isn’t that how you feel all the time, Astarion? I thought you’d find it comforting.”

No one laughed.

“Funny. Very funny.” The elf glowered.

They fell into a strained silence after that, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to make any sort of idle conversation. And Gale loathed it. When he wasn’t using his tongue to prattle on about one thing or another, he was using his brain to think about that very thing. And, since he hadn’t allowed himself to talk about his current predicament with any of his companions, he could only find himself being bombarded by internal worries. Was this mission actually a way of getting back into Mystra’s good graces? If he sacrificed himself to save the Sword Coast, would she finally see him for the man he tried to be for her? The gesture seemed unnecessarily grand and altogether unreasonable…but for her? Well, wouldn’t he do anything for his beloved Mystra? Wouldn’t he die for her?

The wizard felt someone staring at him, and he turned his head to the side to catch Astarion’s ruby eyes—the luminescent eyes of a monster in the dark. The vampire was sporting a frown of disapproval, as if he could follow the train of Gale’s thoughts. The notion caused panic to flutter in his chest for a moment before he realized that he hadn’t felt the tadpole stir in his head, so it was impossible for the elf to read his internal monologue. Nevertheless, the knowing glint in those crimson depths caused the hairs on the back of his arms and neck to prickle. The human swallowed and quickly averted his gaze. He knew very little of vampires and their spawn, but there were times when Astarion would say or do things that reminded him that his undead companion was a terrifying predator. A master of seduction and deception. As cunning as he was vicious.

He was saved from having to acknowledge the uncomfortable interaction or the manner of his thoughts when Karlach let out a jarringly loud squawk of alarm from several paces ahead. Everyone flinched, having adjusted to the eerie silence of the surrounding landscape and, therefore, making the abrupt sound that much louder. The tiefling flung out an arm to point forward, drawing their gazes to a dimly lit clearing coming up in their path. In that clearing stood a small group of people, mostly humans by the look of it. They were wearing armor and holding weapons in one hand and torches in the other, suggesting that they were also familiar with the shadow curse and its effects.

“Harpers!” Karlach whispered in a way that wasn’t quite a whisper.

Naturally, her voice carried, and the humans all looked up with wide eyes to take in their ragtag party. Gale wondered how intimidating they looked, all huddled close with trepidation showing clearly in their postures. To be fair, the strangers appeared to be just as uneasy. The woman in front, a pale fighter with dark, curly hair, waved her torch in a salute.

“You there! What is your purpose in these lands? Are you friend or foe?”

Erro stepped forward, not wasting any time designating himself as the obvious head of their group. The wizard managed to reign in a scowl. Astarion didn’t.

“We mean no harm. We’re searching for safe passage to Moonrise Towers.”

The woman blinked in surprise and the men behind her shuffled restlessly.

“Moonrise Towers, you say? What business have you there?”

Erro’s nose wrinkled as if he’d just caught scent of something foul.

“That’s hardly any business of yours.”

Karlach shook her head and moved to stand beside the tall elf.

“Soldier, these are Harpers. They’re the good guys—friends. We can trust them.”

Emerald eyes flickered to Karlach briefly before returning to gauge the female holding her ground several feet away. He hesitated, weighing the pros and cons. Then he sighed slowly through his nose and gave a curt nod.

“We’re searching for a way to infiltrate the towers to find… Well, we’re trying to put a stop to this Absolute everyone’s talking about.”

The woman visibly relaxed and motioned them forward.

“Any enemy of the Absolute is a friend to us. Consider your safe passage granted. If you follow us, we’ll take you back to our hideout. You’ll be safe from the curse’s reach there.”

Erro lingered, unsure, but sighed again when Karlach hopped past him to catch up with the so-called Harpers she was so fond of. How could they possibly say no?

Last Light Inn was a surprise—not just the glowing, half-sphere of pale light encompassing the entire place, but also the number of people there. And not all of them were strangers. After passing Jaheira’s inspection, which included many complaints from Erro and Lae’zel and nonstop fawning from Karlach, they were more or less forced into mingling. Wyll recognized all the tieflings from the grove and began giving out pats on the back and friendly shoulder bumps. Karlach spotted Dammon working over in the shed to their right and skipped off in his direction. Erro and Lae’zel veered to the left to try and track down and haggle with the local trader. That left Shadowheart, Astarion, and Gale to hover awkwardly at the bridge entrance. After a few beats, the cleric urged them forward gently, in the direction of the inn. They didn’t protest.

The inn was lively. Tieflings blended with Harpers in a cacophony of laughter and banter that seemed to bounce off the wooden walls of the main room. A bar was situated near the far wall, and every chair but a few seemed to be taken with those needing to drown their reservations in a steady stream of liquid courage. Shadowheart said something that Gale couldn’t hear over the room’s chatter but got an inkling of what it may have been when he saw her slip away towards where Jaheira was standing with a small group of Harpers. That left just him and…

“I’m off to snag a drink, darling.”

…nobody. The wizard watched as Astarion skillfully disappeared into the crowd, a vampire in his natural habitat. Gale shrugged his shoulders back, subconsciously adjusting his posture so that he was standing taller and started to trail after where he’d last seen the elf. A drink sounded well-earned at that point. After the past several days he’d experienced, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to take a bit of the edge off. As he approached the bar, he noticed Astarion lounging in a seat beside a female teifling with vibrant, blue hair that fell just past her shoulders. She was flashing a shy smile at the vampire, and he was mirroring hers with a touch less coyness. A pale finger ran enticingly across pink-hued knuckles. The wizard snorted and rolled his eyes at the act. He’d been privy to enough of his companion’s charms to know the man reveled in the game of seduction.

Gale found a seat on the other side of the bar, across from the pair, and waved over the barkeep to request a drink. He was flabbergasted when a young teifling handed him a glass but said nothing as the child turned on his heel to tend to someone else. Well, he supposed it wasn’t really that odd, considering everything that had happened thus far. The wizard took a tentative sip of his wine and eased a little further back in his chair. Gods he’d missed the taste of a good pour of Elverquisst. The last time he’d indulged had been on a sunny day on his study balcony in Waterdeep. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the sun’s warm rays kissing his skin. He could almost smell the salty sea breeze and hear—

“My, my. What a sophisticated palate our dear wizard has.”

Gale nearly spit out the second sip he’d just taken and looked sideways to see that Astarion had taken the empty seat next to him. Reverie shattered, his wide eyes shot across the bar to the space that the teifling woman was no longer occupying and then back to the pale face smirking at him. He swallowed, the taste of sweet fruit washing over the back of his tongue, and then cleared his throat.

“I could say the same to you. Seems you’ve a sophisticated palate for company.”

It certainly wasn’t his finest line. To hide a cringe and an unexpected flush of embarrassment crawling up the skin of his neck, Gale pulled the collar of his robe up and averted his gaze to feign disinterest. He knew, though. He knew the vampire could hear the uneven stutter of his heartbeat. A low chuckle reverberated within the elf’s chest, and he leaned an elbow against the bar top, eyes seeking the wizard’s and failing.

“Are you referring to yourself…or perhaps the lovely lady who was seeking my attention a few moments ago? May I be so bold as to assume this is an admission to jealousy?” Astarion’s voice took on a husky quality that coaxed the flush of the wizard’s skin further up towards his cheeks.

Gale let out a near hysterical laugh, reprimanding himself internally.

“Absolutely not! I was just—I just…Oh, just leave me be, Astarion. I’m not looking to be someone’s conquest this evening.”

He let out a shaky breath and threw back a longer drink from his glass, worrying that the offhanded comment may have crossed a line. Ruby eyes tracked the movement of the human’s throat briefly, something Gale was peculiarly aware of, before flickering back up to finally catch a brown eye. Uh oh. The wizard set the glass down and finally relented, giving the vampire his full attention. Astarion was pinning him with an intense, contemplative look. It was a look that made him tense involuntarily, as if he were a hen spotting a hawk before being plucked off into the sky.

“Certainly not Mystra’s.”

A soft, distraught sound escaped Gale’s slightly parted lips, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp. The comment was blunt, punching him in the gut. He searched Astarion’s face. If this was the elf’s way of trying to get back at him, he had more than succeeded. The wizard chewed at the inside of his cheek. He clenched his jaw. He fiddled with the collar of his robe. Then he let out a huff of agitation.

“That was…unnecessary.”

“But not untrue.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed into a glare.

“What are you doing? Why did you come over here to talk to me if you’re just going to be an arsehole?”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to retreat. The vampire leaned back and splayed a dramatic hand across his chest.

“Whatever could you mean? I’m just making conversation with my dear friend. Don’t friends speak in confidence about their past loves?”

The wizard snorted, unamused.

“If I wanted to discuss the matter, I would’ve sought your advice.”

“And yet, here I am, giving it to you anyway. I’m getting extraordinarily good at this friend stuff, aren’t I?”

Gale gave a dismissive grunt, having finally hit his quota for being emotionally attacked for the day, and made to stand up.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to blow yourself up.” Astarion blurted the words, as if he hadn’t intended the statement to come out as ineloquently as it had.

The wizard stared, frozen in place. Something in his expression, though, must’ve encouraged the vampire to further rationalize, for he proceeded with quickly collected self-assurance.

“You’re not actually considering it, are you…blowing yourself up, I mean?”

Gale’s brow furrowed. What was he getting at?

“Of course I am. It’s Mystra’s will.”

“It’s Mystra’s will that you end your own life?” Astarion asked incredulously, hissing the question. “What sort of ask is that from someone who’s supposed to care about you?”

The wizard’s eyes were wide in disbelief.

“Mystra loves—”

“That’s not love, Gale.” His companion’s rebuttal was laced with venom.

The statement was a knife to the chest, and the human couldn’t help but react like the wounded animal that he was.

“And what do you know of love, Astarion? You’re hardly an expert on the topic.”

He regretted it as soon the first word had slipped from his lips. What an awful thing to say. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t—

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. If love is putting the person you cherish in painful and impossible situations at the expense of their wellbeing and happiness, then I’ve certainly misconstrued the notion this entire time.” The vampire said it matter-of-factly, but his face was subtly distorted in an uncommon show of hurt.

Gale reached out, wanting to comfort him in some way, but the instant his fingertips brushed against the fabric of Astarion’s shirt, the elf drew back with a warning growl. The wizard’s hand withdrew. He gave his companion a miserable look.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry, I just… I’m just terrified, I suppose.” He admitted, voice pitching lower into a nearly unintelligible murmur.

Blood drop irises considered him, waiting.

“…Mystra is—was—my everything. The weave is me and she is the weave, so we’ve always been intertwined. Since childhood, she… Well, she’s always been an important part of my life and of who I am. Losing her would be like losing a large piece of myself—like losing my soul. So, when she rejected me and what I tried to offer, I felt so broken. I have felt so broken and lost for so long, and now she’s proposing me a chance of redemption. I could regain everything if I just…” He trailed off, not knowing how else to explain something so substantial.

There was a beat of silence.

“And what of those on the material plane who would feel broken by your absence?”

Gale scoffed humorlessly.

“And who would they be? I’d love to meet them.”

Astarion frowned.

“What about that winged cat creature you speak so fondly of?”

“Tara? She’s a Tressym, not a cat.”

“Your mother?”

Something pulled at Gale’s heart.

“She would be reasonably upset.”

“Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach…the others?”

A small but genuine smile twitched at the corners of the wizard’s lips.

“Is a certain vampire spawn included on that list?”

“Perhaps.” The vampire offered a sly half smile that revealed one of his pearly fangs.

Astarion had finally relaxed enough to lean back against the bar top. He had his chin propped up again with one hand, elbow on the wooden counter, while the other hand fiddled with his now-empty glass. His eyes flitted about Gale’s face, trying to read the enigmatic wizard.

“At least think before doing something rash.” It wasn’t a question.

Gale was willing to concede to that. He gave a nod of agreement and took a final draught from his glass, rendering it just as barren as his companion’s own.

“Very well. You have my word that I’ll at least think before doing something rash.” He teased in his best interpretation of the vampire’s aristocratic drawl.

The elf’s eyes shone with wicked amusement at the theatrics, and all manner of previous dispute seemed completely evaporated. The concept filled Gale with such relief he nearly melted into his chair. He hated when Astarion was upset with him. The easy back and forth banter they had fallen into had become a daily necessity for him, without it he felt…empty.

Suddenly, fingers were at his chin. He stilled as they tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. Maybe it was just the wine, but the gesture had his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Then again, he’d only had the one glass. The vampire leaned forward until his face was but a mere two-finger’s length from the wizard’s, his cold breath sweeping across the man’s nose and lips. Gale shivered faintly but managed to not jerk back in alarm like his brain had initially shouted at him to do. Instead, he gazed into those alluring rubies, allowing the smell of bergamot and rosemary to blanket him.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He whispered—more like a purr—and then moved his fingers up along the line of Gale’s jaw to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind the human’s ear.

The wizard found himself holding his breath, entranced, and his eyes never left the other man’s. Was that a normal thing to do? Was that something a friend would do? Perhaps it was just something Astarion would do. The vampire was an expert at messing with his head, after all. Fighting to regain control of his mind, Gale swallowed nervously and drew back. The elf let out a hum of disappointment and let his fingers trail away from the human’s skin. Before they could fall, though, the wizard snatched the pale fingers between his own. He pulled the cold hand to his chest and pressed it against the fabric covering his heart. Astarion relented, fascinated. The faint pounding of his heart echoed within his chest, something they both felt.

“I’ll try to meet your unreasonably high expectations, dear friend. At least until this stops beating.”

And then the vampire’s eyes grew so incredibly sad that it nearly took his breath away.

“Don’t take your lovely, little heart for granted, darling. I’ve been too long without one to know how precious they are.”

Gale squeezed the elf’s hand and then released it. However, the hand remained right where it was, fingers curling into the wizard’s robe. Astarion gave the other man’s chest a few gentle thumps with his closed fist, mirroring the sound of the fragile organ. Gale took in the soft, unguarded expression on the vampire’s face and felt fondness clench his heart, momentarily stuttering the rhythm playing out beneath cold fingers. It was in that moment he realized that Astarion was right. Mystra didn’t love him—she never did, and definitely not in the way that he had loved her.

Chapter Text

They spent the night at the Inn, enjoying the luxury of warm beds, food, and libations while they still could. When morning came, or at least the time of day that they assumed to be morning, Erro rallied their party together outside at the bridge entrance to breakdown their next course of action. A small group of Harpers lingered a short distance behind the large elf, awaiting his orders at Jaheira’s suggestion. They were to assist in a mission of interception—to ambush a journeying team of cultists on their way to Moonrise. By doing so, they hoped to cut down marginally on the growing enemy’s ranks while also securing a rumored moonlantern. Though they had been blessed by the local moon maiden’s protection spell, she couldn’t guarantee the longevity and strength of its warding abilities. They needed to find something more substantial to protect themselves if they were to continue venturing amongst the cursed shadows.

Erro wanted them to split up. Divide and conquer, as he put it. Naturally, no one agreed with the notion. Well, no one except for Lae’zel, of course, who of which had been tethered to the other fighter’s side since the very beginning. Anytime he made a decision, as long as violence was promised in one way or another, she supported it. Astarion knew there was more to it, though. Vigilant as he was, he had noticed the subtle touches and whispered words between the pair. He noticed that they sat a little closer to each other than the rest when everyone gathered around the campfire every night. He noticed when they kept within an arm’s reach of each other in combat, back-to-back in an unspoken promise of protection.

It was sickening. The vampire wrinkled his nose in distaste, only momentarily distracted away from the conversation taking place by his wandering musings. He was brought back to the present when he felt eyes burning into the side of his head. Apparently, Erro had said something that warranted a response from him, because everyone was looking at him expectantly. With a smile of artificial apology, he ducked his head and met narrowed, green eyes.

“Sorry, could you repeat that, darling? My head was elsewhere.”

Erro frowned, unimpressed.

“Your head really will be elsewhere if you don’t pay attention to your surroundings.” Before Astarion could quip back, he pressed on. “I said you’re joining Lae’zel, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Wyll while Gale and I go scout ahead for the Towers.”

That made the vampire pause. He glanced at Gale, brow furrowed, and then back at the other elf.

“Just you and Gale? Seems a bit dangerous out there for just the two of you.”

The gears in Astarion’s brain were whirring faster. There could only be one reason why their wayward leader had chosen Gale, of all people, to join him. He just hadn’t expected the elf to be so obvious about it. Those green eyes glinted dangerously, challenging the indirect rebuttal.

“He’s an adult. He can handle himself.”

“He’s a walking bomb. What if something happens?” Astarion hissed.

“As long as he doesn’t die, he’s fine. And I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The hidden implication gnawed at Astarion. His eyes jumped a few faces down to Gale once again. Those brown eyes had already been trained on him, something akin to uncertainty swirling about in their murky depths. This hadn’t been something they’d discussed beforehand. He didn’t like it.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. You go with the others.” His smile twisted sardonically. “They’ll need your strong, unrelenting leadership. I’ll go with Gale, instead.”

Erro glared at him. His jaw clenched stubbornly. Then he let out a slow breath through his nose and uncrossed his arms to motion while he spoke.

“How about we meet halfway. You can tagalong with both of us. The others can handle a few goblins out in the dark just as well without you. Right, Lae’zel?” He turned to give her a pointed look.

The gith gave a curt nod and turned her chin up disapprovingly in Astarion’s direction. The vampire somehow managed to refrain from copying her in a show of mockery, even though he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he offered a dramatic bow.

“I accept.”

Erro rolled his eyes and turned back to give everyone a verbal blueprint of their respective plans. Then, once everyone claimed to understand their roles, they were dismissed and split into their groups. Astarion hung back by their leader’s side while Gale made his way over. Both elves regarded the wizard deliberately, and both for different reasons. The human gave an awkward smile and waved a hand in the direction of the bridge.

“Shall we begin our journey into the unknown?”

Erro rolled his eyes a second time and shouldered past Gale, ignoring the small grunt of surprise from the shorter man at the contact. Astarion stepped past the wizard with an air of nonchalance, barely sparing him a glance, and then trailed after the other elf. He was there to make sure that their companion didn’t just discreetly off the human away from accusing eyes, but that didn’t mean he had to make the job easier for Gale. In fact, the man had earned himself a bit of struggle for making Astarion even feel like he needed to intervene in that situation. A week ago, he wouldn’t have been so quick to stick his neck out for the wizard. But something about him had begun to vex the elf. Without even trying, Gale had somehow established a sort of power over the vampire. And again…he didn’t like it. Soft footsteps scuffed against the stone bridge behind him, and within a few moments the wizard had reached his side. He felt, more than saw, the side glance he received from narrowed eyes. Oh, his friend was upset. Amusement bubbled up in Astarion’s chest. He leaned into it and allowed a provocative smile to glide across his face. Gale took note and then let out an exasperated sigh, not even bothering to address his unvoiced complaint. So, they were to travel in silence then? Well, he’d be impressed if the scholarly man actually followed through with the notion.

“I…appreciate you stepping in.”

It hadn’t even been a minute. Still, the elf wasn’t annoyed. He returned his gaze to Erro’s back as they stepped through Isabel’s shield and into the darkness.

“Don’t.”

Gale huffed.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t do it for you. Now hush before our lordship decides your tongue isn’t worth leaving in your skull.”

He knew his words had met their mark when a slight grimace passed over the wizard’s features. He kept his mouth shut for a while after that.

They found themselves trailing down numerous uneven paths, none of which led to anywhere substantial. Astarion avoided boredom by looting every crate, cart, and barrel they came across, stuffing random trinkets and weapons into hidden pockets and packs. He was mostly trying to occupy his mind from dwelling too long on the growing hunger gnawing at his insides. They hadn’t stumbled across a single living quadruped since the Underdark—and that didn’t include the Inn’s cat, as they’d informed him the feline was not for eating. Gale simply watched the vampire, humored by his snooping, while Erro, on the other hand, was growing increasingly agitated at the lack of towers in the area. After meeting another dead end, the fighter let out a growl and kicked at a withered plant poking through a crack in the stone below.

“Where the fuck is it?” The elf shouted into the dark.

Alarm jolted through Astarion, and he straightened up from where he’d been trying to lockpick an old chest to wave an urgent hand at their leader.

“There, now, let’s remember to use our ‘vulnerable in a dangerous, cursed land filled with unspeakable horrors’ voice.”

Erro shot the other elf an unamused glare.

“There’s fuck all out here, and that includes monsters.” The fighter motioned in Astarion’s direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”

The vampire gasped silently, jaw dropping, and he pointed a thumb at the wizard leaning against a decomposing tree a few feet to his right.

“Don’t talk about Gale that way! He can’t help that he’s one trip away from becoming nuclear.”

Gale sputtered incoherently for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order well enough to properly protest. However, Erro beat him to it.

“Enough with the jokes. We need to—”

Before the elf could finish his sentence, something separated itself from the shadows of the stone wall just ahead of them and let out a hair-raising wail. The human-shaped entity seemed to be made of the very shadows itself and flickered like darkness cast by candlelight. Astarion could only presume it to be some sort of wraith, and the very thought had his hackles raising. It was quite difficult, after all, to strike something that wasn’t made of flesh and bone.

“Astarion, down!”

The vampire immediately dropped low just as a warm, crackling energy surged over his head, and he watched in surprise as a bolt of electricity struck the writhing entity with deadly precision. The creature howled angrily, not quite fully dissipated, and then sunk back into the dark. Red eyes blinked a few times, processing, and then flitted back to regard the wizard, who of which was still holding out a hand in case he needed to fire off another spell. The human met the other’s gaze with an uneasy smile.

“I forget how quick you are.”

Astarion lifted a brow.

“Oh? So, you were expecting that bolt of lightning to just hit me then?”

“No, I knew you’d move. I just—”

The vampire didn’t wait for him to finish his statement. He lunged at Gale, effectively tackling him to the ground just as the movement the elf had noticed out of the corner of his eye took shape and slashed at the air right where the wizard’s head had been but a second before. Gale let out a wheeze as his back hit the rocky path below, and he reached up to grab Astarion’s arms to ground himself. Brown eyes blinked incredulously up at the elf before turning sideways to catch a glimpse of the wraith that had nearly beheaded him. The apparition surged forward, its elongated claws raised above its head as it poised to strike again. Thinking instinctively now, Astarion fastened his fingers around the arms that were already holding his and lurched sideways. The wizard let out a squawk of alarm as he was pulled into a roll that reversed their positions, placing him atop the vampire just as those shadowy daggers missed their target one more.

“As much as I love this forwardness from you, wizard, I think it’d be best if you moved!” Astarion barked, snapping Gale back to attention.

The human shook his head to clear it and pushed away from his companion, bouncing back onto the balls of his feet, and taking several steps back to give the other man room to do the same. Gale waved a hand, producing another rush of snapping energy, and fired it at the specter. The creature dodged this time, seeming to disappear into the ground, and then resurfaced over by Erro’s feet, earning a shout of surprise from the fighter. The large elf drew his sword and swung it out to the side, distorting the image of the hunched figure but causing no actual damage. Blunt forced damage wouldn’t do then. Astarion watched the understanding unfold in the form of a subtle flicker of panic in the fighter’s emerald eyes. Erro changed tactics then and produced a small flame in his unoccupied hand. He lobbed it at the wraith. Its scream echoed throughout the liminal space, sending shivers up their spines. They all watched as it flickered and fizzled into nothing.
Erro let out the breath he’d been holding and made to sheath his sword. Just as he did, however, faint screams began to sound from the distant darkness—a promise of more enemies on the way. His eyes flickered to his companions urgently.

“Time to go.”

They didn’t question the order and rallied behind the elf as he began to trek back along the path in the direction that they had come from. The pace they set was much faster this time. Astarion may not have liked, or even agreed with, their leader very often, but he couldn’t deny the man’s ability to take control of a situation when things went to shit.

“Wait, look there.”

Gale’s insistent whisper paused them in their step, and both elves followed the human’s gaze through a previously overlooked slit in the shade to see a large monument of some sort towering in the center of a clearing.

“Didn’t the Harpers mention that something like this stood near the entrance to Moonrise?” The wizard continued, voice low.

Erro cocked his head to one side, contemplating, and after a few moments he gave a short nod of affirmation.

“Let’s take a look.”

Astarion gave the fighter a dubious glare.

“After what just happened you want to skip out into the open where anything could be prowling?”

Erro looked down his nose at the vampire.

“Scared?”

Fangs bared, the smaller elf snarled at the obvious challenge.

“Fine. But, if this comes back to bite us, it’s on your head.”

Erro rewarded him with a rare smile of amusement and motioned them forward. Gale took the lead this time, as he was more of an asset in this situation with his fancy spell work. Astarion stuck close to the man’s back, every sound setting him further and further on edge. Nothing about these cursed lands felt right. Everything screamed ‘deadly’—even the scraggly little plants that somehow managed to poke out from stray cracks and crevices in the ground all around them. His crimson eyes darted about, alert for any signs of movement. As they stepped into the clearing, however, the danger made itself known immediately. Multiple wraiths rose from the shadows at the base of the monument, flanked by undead that had long since fallen into the thrall of the curse.

“Gods, damnit.”

Astarion snatched the back of Gale’s robe and yanked him back against his chest just as a specter shot up from the ground at his feet. The rogue slipped a dagger from his hip with his free hand and reached around the wizard to stab at the thing. He’d had a theory…and it proved to be right when the creature hissed in discomfort and shuffled back. Silver. All of his blades were forged silver, and the ghosts and ghouls were susceptible to the bite of the polished metal. He was going to announce his find but was cut short when something slashed and burned across his back. With a grunt of pain, he whirled around, stinging back pressed against Gale’s, and found himself face-to-face with one of the wraiths. Its elongated fingers were glimmering with, what he guessed to be, necrotic magic. Anything it touched would wither and decay—including his undead flesh.

“There are too many, we need to—”

Erro’s shout was cut off when one of the animated corpses barreled into him, tackling him to the ground. The creature gnashed its teeth in his face and clawed at his chest while he barely managed to hold it back at arm’s length. And, for just a moment, Astarion hesitated. What if…he didn’t do anything? What if he let the cursed thrall rip out Erro’s throat? It would be an inconspicuous way for the fighter to go. No one would suspect a thing, and they’d be free of his growing dark ambitions and devious confrontations. It’d be so easy to just walk away...

“Astarion, what are you doing?” The wizard’s voice brought him to attention as the man fired a bolt of illuminating energy at the corpse, the force of the blow knocking the thing away from the other elf.

So much for that. The vampire tskd and made the mistake of meeting wild, green eyes. Erro clambered to his feet, fury seething beneath the surface of his usually well-worn mask. He had noticed Astarion’s reluctance to intervene. Instead of addressing the matter, though, he instead swiveled on his heel and made a beeline for the shadows on the far end of the clearing. Gale tossed the vampire an inquiring look and then turned to follow the other elf.

Everything happened so fast. From the opposite tree line, red eyes glimpsed a familiar spellcasting gesture from Erro. And not but a second after he’d waved his hands, all of the corpses in the area shuddered and turned towards the vampire and the wizard. The one on the ground that Gale had just struck snaked forward at a surprising speed and grabbed Astarion’s ankles. A breath he didn’t need slipped past his lips in surprise, alerting the human in front of him. The man’s robe flourished about his figure as he pivoted back around and instinctively reached a hand out towards his elven companion. Just as his fingertips brushed the vampire’s shoulder, the rogue was jerked backwards, his front colliding with the ground harshly as the undead monster dragged him across the ground. Astarion dug his nails into the broken floor, scrabbling at stone and dirt to try and find some sort of purchase that he could grab a hold of and slow the corpse’s progress. But the act of doing so flooded his mind with unpleasant memories of being buried alive and clawing through several feet of earth. His frozen heart squeezed.

But then magic sizzled over his head and struck the thing latching onto him. Rough hands released his boots, and the vampire seized the opportunity to crawl forward, pull his feet up underneath of himself, and leap up. He sprinted towards Gale, the wizard’s hands still shimmering with residual magic, and grabbed the man’s arm as he passed. The human let out a choked sound of surprise but allowed Astarion to pull him across the clearing and into the darkness on the other side. He didn’t stop running until Gale finally protested with a forceful tug at his arm. The man was gasping for breath.

“What…in the…bloody hells…was that?” The wizard managed between erratic inhales and exhales.

Astarion stared at the man, unsure of what to say. If he were being honest, he hadn’t a clue how to answer that question. But he did know what he had seen. Erro had somehow taken control of the undead back there. The elf had been lying to them the whole time. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the withered foliage to their right rustled, and said elf stumbled through with a guarded expression on his face. Astarion was in his space in an instant, fangs bared in a snarl and dagger aimed at the so-called fighter’s throat. Placating hands rose to intercept the vampire’s aggression.

“Easy there, fangs. It’s just me.”

A growl tore itself from deep within the rogue’s chest. He pressed the edge of his blade against the elf’s jugular, a violent promise. Emerald eyes narrowed, realization dawning in their depths, and then flickered over his attacker’s shoulder to acknowledge Gale.

“Gale, why don’t you get a head start back to the Inn. There’s something I need to discuss with Astarion.”

The wizard hesitated, gaze jumping between the two elves. The brown opal orbs lingered on Astarion, though the vampire refused to meet them.

“…Astarion?”

The smaller elf’s nostrils flared. He spared the man a dismissive glance.

“Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Gale wavered once more before frowning. Then he turned around and disappeared into the shadows. As soon as the sound of the human’s footsteps faded completely, Astarion applied just enough pressure with his weapon to draw blood. The hunger tearing at his insides howled relentlessly. He pushed it down and instead fixed his untrustworthy companion with a furious look.

“You will tell me everything.”

Erro regarded him fiercely, his entire body tense. A swallow bobbed his throat, grazing the edge of the vampire’s blade and forcing a drop of blood to leak down his suntanned skin. Ruby eyes followed the droplet, distracted. And that’s all the other elf needed to break free. His larger hand swiped at Astarion’s arm, removing the dagger from his throat. The rogue took a step back. The fighter followed, reaching forward to clutch the vampire’s face between his fingers.

And then he crushed his mouth against those cupid’s bow lips.

Chapter Text

Astarion couldn’t move. Panic born from centuries of torment washed over him and rendered his body immobile. Hands. Hands everywhere. Roaming hands that left trails of burning revulsion everywhere they touched. He could feel them on his face. On his flanks. On his…mouth. Mouth. There was a mouth on his. A mouth that didn’t belong there. But they never did belong there did they? All those mouths from before. All those hands and mouths that defiled his broken, dead body and made it a vandalized temple of unholy neglect. He was burning in all the fires of the hells, and his mind was screaming. It was screaming.

A tongue forced his lips apart. No, no, no, no, no…NO! Astarion shoved with all his might against the overwhelming presence before him, stumbling back from the force of his vampiric strength in the same instance that something hit the ground. He blinked, trying to vanquish ghosts of the past from his vision. But all he could see was red. Blood red. Blood. And it was everywhere.

“Astarion, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

At the sound of his name, he blinked again, this time bringing unfamiliar surroundings into focus. A large elf was staring up at him in shock from where he sat on the ground. His hands were splayed awkwardly, as if he’d just fallen to—Oh. Everything came rushing back in an instant, and the vampire took a couple of shaky steps back. Erro. Erro had tried to kiss him. He gritted his teeth. Erro had tried to deface him. Vile. Wretched. Horrid. Just like the rest of them.

“Look at me.”

Astarion glared hatefully at the fighter-maybe-warlock that now stood before him. A rough hand grabbed his pale chin and tilted his head up. Sinful emerald orbs drilled holes into his blood drop irises, demanding every ounce of his attention. A sneer distorted that handsome face.

“Astarion, don’t play coy with me. It’s incredibly unbecoming.”

After what felt like ages, the vampire found his voice. But when it passed through his lips it didn’t sound as intimidating as he would’ve liked.

“What the bloody hells do you want from me?”

He grabbed at the larger elf’s wrist and tried to remove the hand, but the fingers only pressed more firmly into his skin. Erro lowered his head so that their faces were only a few inches apart. The sneer had fallen into a frown.

“I said not to play coy. You spit your pretty, little words and whore yourself out to any willing candidate that crosses your path.” The fingers gripped tighter yet. “You act like you hate me, but I know, deep down, you really want to fuck me.”

Red eyes widened incredulously. Before he could interject, the other elf pressed on.

“I see the way you watch me. You call it hate, but I know it by another name.” Hot breath tickled Astarion’s ear. “Lust.”

Repulsion rippled through the vampire’s body, and he shoved at the fighter again. Erro staggered back but didn’t quite tumble to the ground this time. When he returned his gaze to the smaller elf, Astarion snarled. It was a feral sound that he hadn’t let tear free since he’d been left to Godey’s discretion while chained to the wall in the kennels. It was a sound that evoked a flash of genuine fear in Erro’s expression. But the revelation was brief, and the larger elf quickly fell back into his usual conduct of smug indifference. Astarion hated him. He hated him. He flashed his fangs a final, threatening time and then turned on his heel.

“Oh, so that’s it? I kiss you, we get a little rough, and then you just walk away. I thought you were more fun that.” A pout worked itself into his tone.

The vampire barely turned when he addressed his assailant.

“Wolves don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep. You are nothing but a lamb—prey for a creature of the night. And, that creature will come, mark my words.”

“What is he waiting for?” Erro asked, amused.

Astarion could see it in the elf’s face. The misunderstanding. Erro still thought he was playing some sort of game. Darkness roiled within him.

“He’s waiting for the flock to fuck off so he can slaughter you without interruption. But, when he’s able, he’ll tear out your tongue with his sharp teeth so that you can’t speak—so that you can’t violate anyone anymore. He’ll tear out your throat so that you can’t scream. He’ll disembowel you and remove all of your innards one by one to torment you—just because it’s fun. He’ll flay your flesh until the whip cracks against bone. He’ll carve poetry into your back until there’s too much blood to see the canvas—”

“By the bloody fucking gods, Astarion, I get it.” Erro interrupted, looking slightly ill.

Crimson eyes regarded the ground in front of the larger elf’s boots for a moment, and the vampire’s nose wrinkled as if he were assessing nothing more than a squished bug beneath his shoe.

“You still haven’t given any explanation as to what happened out there with those corpses. But, fortunately for you, I can’t even look at you right now.”

With that, he spit on the ground and disappeared into the dark, leaving the fighter alone in the small clearing.

Gale leaned his back against a broken-down stone wall and sighed. He had no clue how to get back to the Inn. When they had first left, he had just been trailing along behind the elves, allowing their heightened sense to lead them somewhere. So, he hadn’t really been paying much attention to his surroundings. And that wasn’t really like him. Not like him at all. He was usually so astute and had excellent memory. But, with everything that had happened, that was still happening—primarily the orb and Mystra—he just hadn’t been focused. And then there was the matter of his traveling company. Some of his companions wanted him dead. Some wanted him alive. Some didn’t care at all. But he’d had enough of receiving opinions about what he should and shouldn’t do, about things that didn’t even concern the others.

He waited. Hopefully, one of the elves would pass him by on their journey back and guide him the rest of the way. A hopeful thought indeed. Both had seemed pretty on edge when he’d left them. Why the hells had Astarion held a knife to Erro’s throat? Did he miss something? Surely it wasn’t because of what the arsehole had said to Gale back by the myconid colony in the Underdark. Such a trivial thing wouldn’t have warranted a reaction like that. So…whatever could the problem be? Gale worried at his bottom lip, listening to the oppressive silence all around him. Ugh. What he’d give to be back home in Waterdeep right about now. He could almost hear Tara’s shrill, little voice now.

Mr. Dekarios. Mr. Dekarios…

“Gale?”

The wizard lurched upright in alarm and glanced sideways to see Astarion standing a few paces to his left, his form shrouded in the faint glow of Isabel’s blessing—and honestly the only reason he was even able to isolate the vampire from the encroaching shadows. A smile danced across his face, despite his best efforts to hold it back, and he took the few steps forward necessary to reach his companion. Once he got a better look at the elf, though, he paused. Those red eyes were vacant, glazed and staring off into nothing. A slight tremor periodically worked its way through the rogue’s system and shook his fingers. That wasn’t right. Suddenly concerned, the wizard reached out a comforting hand. The animalistic snarl he received, though, had him flinching back.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?”

At the sound of his name, or perhaps Gale’s voice, the vampire seemed to somewhat return to himself. His ruby eyes found opal brown and a halfhearted smile eased away a fraction of the savagery. His movements almost seemed mechanical. When Astarion spoke, his voice sounded far away.

“Apologies. I don’t seem to be my best self at the moment.”

Gale frowned.

“Is it the hunger?”

The vampire’s brow furrowed.

“That’s part of it, I suppose.”

The wizard moved his head to catch his companion’s eye again when the elf’s gaze suddenly dropped. Astarion held his stare as if he were a lifeline.

“And the rest?” Gale prodded gently.

The vampire hummed unhappily and took a step closer to the mage. He leaned forward until his nose brushed against the man’s ear. The wizard swallowed uncomfortably, taking note of how close those fangs were to his neck. One swift lunge to his jugular and he’d be dinner. Still, he didn’t move. If anything, he met the dangerous elf halfway.

“I had forgotten…how broken a creature I am.”

Gale turned his head to get a better look at Astarion’s expression. But he had forgotten how close their faces were until his cheek bone bumped against the vampire’s. Mortified, he made to retreat, but a surprising, cold hand pressed against the other side of his face to hold him there. The wizard stilled, breath hitching. Another hum sounded low in the elf’s throat. And that’s when Gale realized that the sound he was hearing wasn’t humming. The vampire was lamenting—his dead lungs keening with despair. Without thinking, the wizard threw an arm around Astarion’s shoulders and pulled the man into an embrace. He could feel every muscle in his companion’s body tense…and then relax. Trembling hands, a little worse for wear from clawing bloody grooves across the ground before, rose to grip his shoulders from behind.

“Astarion…you have been broken but you are not broken.”

Pale fingers clenched painfully into Gale’s robes, possibly even bruising the skin beneath. But he withstood it. His hold around the vampire tightened, suddenly becoming desperate as a miserable thought flitted across his mind. Had Astarion ever been hugged before?

“Why do you always say such kind things to me?” Astarion whispered against his ear.

Gale ran a comforting hand along the length of thin armor covering the vampire’s spine, careful to avoid the ridged gashes left by one of the wraiths claws during their earlier skirmish.

“I’ve made it my personal mission to never stop telling you that you deserve kindness.”

It was meant as an attempt at a lighthearted joke—something to alleviate the mood. But the breath at his ear faltered. Then it puffed against his cheek. Then his forehead. And then he was staring into searching, red eyes.

“I don’t know that I can return the favor.”

Gale cracked a small smile, and the vampire’s eyes flitted down briefly.

“I’m not asking you to.”

Astarion took in a deep, unneeded breath and then let it out in a steady, frigid sigh. He moved his face closer…suspiciously close. Gale’s eyes mirrored the vampire’s earlier gesture and found himself distracted by perfectly arched lips. His breath stuttered.

“…Astarion…I…”

Those ruby orbs grew pleading and pale fingers moved up to cup the wizard’s face gingerly, as if he were some precious, breakable thing. And maybe he was. He was a bomb, after all. If anything, his heart was surely about to explode. What was happening? The feeling of breath against his lips jolted him from his musings. But the expected press of lips against his didn’t follow. He blinked half-lidded eyes at the elf, bewildered, and a devastated look that didn’t belong on his friend’s face cleaved his heart in two.

“I want so badly to wash away the sin on my lips with your holy breath, but I can’t bear to taint you. You are porcelain. Exquisite, breakable porcelain. And to shatter you would break me to the point of unrecognition.”

Such poetry he hadn’t expected from the vampire’s mouth. He was used to a clever quip here and there, but this...this was a succubus’ serenade, and he was falling victim to the harpy’s song. His own hand moved without his permission, and he brushed a thumb tenderly along the elf’s sharp jawline.

“What do you mean?”

That pleading look in the vampire’s eyes intensified.

“Don’t let me break you, Gale.”

The wizard’s face twisted into something stricken and the cold fingers around his jaw moved up to thread through the hair behind his ears while thumbs stroked his cheeks.

“Astarion, I don’t understand. Did...Erro do something to you?”

Astarion slowly looked away and said nothing for a while.

“He isn’t a good man, Gale. You need to stay away from him.” The vampire finally murmured.

The wizard frowned and tilted the rogue’s head back towards him.

“What did he do?”

Red eyes narrowed, hurt flashing so quickly in their depths that Gale almost missed it. Then it clicked. Astarion’s peculiar closeness. His vacant expression. His mouth so near to his own. He was trying to cope with physical trauma. In some way, their poorly designated leader had touched the vampire—body and soul it seemed. Gale’s stomach twisted. His heart plummeted. And when Astarion met his eyes with nothing but tragedy to offer, he folded. The hand at the elf’s cheek slipped back to thread through silvery curls and he pulled Astarion’s head toward his. He brought their lips together with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. The vampire fumbled at first, astonished, but then dissolved into the kiss. Those deft lips slotted perfectly with his, and, on instinct, Gale grazed his tongue along the seam of the other’s mouth. Astarion’s lips parted immediately, allowing access. The wizard’s tongue slipped into the elf’s mouth and nicked against something sharp.
Ouch. He'd never kissed a vampire before.

The bitter taste of copper coated his tongue and he made to pull back, but Astarion gripped the back of his head and held him in place. The vampire ran his tongue along Gale’s, and he felt him swallow. A shiver coursed through the wizard’s spine. The concept of Astarion drinking his blood through a kiss was oddly…alluring. A flush of heat washed over him as reality began to sink in. He was kissing Astarion. Astarion was kissing him. This wasn’t right, was it? But then a strong arm snaked around his back and pulled him flush against a leather armor-clad chest, and, well…what was he going on about again?

Their lips parted when Gale was reminded of his mortality. He took in a few long pants of air and caught Astarion’s eye. There was such vulnerable emotion there that the wizard found himself subconsciously catching his breath again. The vampire moved a hand to swipe a thumb across the human’s lips, retreating with Gale’s toxic blood painted across his alabaster skin. Brown eyes watched, captivated, as a tongue snaked out to lick the red clean from his finger. Then he shook his head and cleared his throat, hating that he knew his cheeks and ears were much rosier than normal.

“Better?”

That earned him a small, amused smile. But it didn’t last. The vampire made a somber face and gave Gale’s beard scruff a final stroke before stepping away.

“You always know how to make me better, Gale Dekarios.”

The wizard wanted nothing more than to move forward and wrap the elf in his arms once again. But he knew better. He knew what Astarion was seeking…and it wasn’t affection. The vampire had just wanted a softer touch to erase the memory of harsher hands. So, he stayed put and gave a short nod.

“I’ve been told as much, once or twice.”

A pale brow lifted, amusement dangerously close to surfacing in those crimson eyes.

“By your cat and your mother, I presume?”

“She’s a Tressym.”

“Semantics.”

“Species, actually.”

Ah, there it was. That sharp-fanged smile he was so fond of. Astarion snorted and rolled his eyes. Then the vampire motioned for Gale to follow, and he led them back in the direction of the Inn in not totally uncomfortable silence. The wizard stared at the elf’s back the entire time, wondering just what happened between Astarion and Erro back in that clearing after he’d left. He had never seen the vampire so disconnected before—a coping mechanism when suffering post-traumatic experiences, no doubt. So that begged the question…
Just what had Erro done to make the vampire feel that way, and what was their leader still hiding from them?

The others’ mission was apparently a success. Lae’zel brandished the moonlantern they’d ripped from the claws of a drider in the air carelessly, earning a distraught sound from Gale. The wizard ducked around Astarion as they stepped into the large, main room and ran up to the gith, waving his hands like a parent scolding a young child.

“Lae’zel, moonlanterns are delicate! Don’t just swing it around—”

“Oh, lighten up, Gale. We just returned from an arduous trip and are not in want of your blathering.” Shadowheart seethed from where she sat at the wooden table across from the gith.
Her elbows were on the tabletop, and she was rubbing her temples with her fingers as if fighting off a headache. Gale scowled.

“There’s a difference between blathering and warning. I just thought you may like to know that there’s a pixie trapped in the lantern, and they are capable of creating the light that combats the shadow curse.”

Shadowheart ceased her ministrations to narrow her eyes at him.

“You do know how ridiculous that sounds?”

Before Gale could protest, Karlach flicked the lantern and let out a yelp when something small clinked back against the thick, illuminated glass.

“Pixie!” She shouted and pointed at the light.

Everything felt and sounded like it was underwater to Astarion. Even moving was a trial for him as he walked past the squabbling group to head up the stairs. His legs were unsteady lead when he lifted them, each step seeming to pull him deeper into the floor as the intensity of the last several hours finally began to catch up with him. But he would die before they saw him crawling.

“Astarion, you alright, mate?”

The vampire glanced up just as a careful hand alighted on his shoulder. It took every scrap of energy he had left not at flinch at the contact. Wyll was peering at him worriedly. Astarion hadn’t even noticed that the man had been on his way down the steps, only stopping when he’d caught a glimpse of the hollow expression on the elf’s face. The vampire could lie. He should lie. But unfortunately, he found that he didn’t hate Wyll enough to do so. His red irises avoided the monster hunter’s searching gaze as he responded in a low voice.

“Just ran into something wicked out there in the dark.”

The fingers on his shoulder squeezed gently.

“Are you hurt?”

Astarion almost scoffed. Almost.

“Nothing time won’t cure. Vampires are quite resilient creatures.”

The human proffered a brilliant smile and gave him another good-hearted pat before continuing down to join the others. Before he reached the last few steps, however, the vampire glanced over his shoulder and called out to the man.

“Shadows can’t exist without light. And the brighter that light burns, the stronger those shadows become. Do be careful who you find yourself standing next to, darling. You are a beacon and there are many shadows about.”

Wyll looked back at him curiously. Then resolution settled across his features. He made a pointed gesture in the elf’s direction.

“You aren’t a shadow, Astarion.”

The vampire’s frown deepened.

“I wasn’t referring to myself.”

The monster hunter looked as if he were about to question further, so Astarion cut him off in an attempt to steer him away from further prying. There was only so much the elf was willing to reveal.

“Do me a favor and give that dear wizard of ours a few glasses of wine—Elverquisst, if there’s any left. He deserves to forget a thing or two for a while.”

Wyll’s brow furrowed, but he picked up on the hint. Good lad. The man said nothing further and gave another acknowledging dip of his head before skipping the rest of the way down the steps to make his way over to the others. Astarion watched them for a moment, taking in their ignorant happiness. He’d never been around people like this before. Most of the time he abhorred it. But every now and again one of them would go out of their way to make him feel…

His eyes landed on Gale. As if sensing his gaze, brown eyes lifted to meet his and a shy smile flitted across the man’s handsome face. That dusty organ in the vampire’s chest squeezed at the show of warmth from the human and unwarranted memories flooded his mind. A gentle touch on his face. Strong arms embracing him. Warm lips on his. Suddenly, something dawned on the elf. He hadn’t recoiled away from the wizard’s affections—from his caresses and caring eyes. It was the first time someone else had touched him without eliciting pain. It was the first time someone else had touched him without expecting anything in return. Gale had provided him with what he needed without question. The man had practically melted into him, allowing the vampire to work him like clay between his dead fingers. And yet, the human still smiled at him.

Astarion was hit with the sudden realization that he didn’t find the notion of being valued as repulsive as he’d once thought it to be.

Chapter Text

Erro didn’t return to the Inn until the next day. He had said nothing to them when he arrived but had pulled Lae’zel away for a while to have a word with the gith about something before ordering the party to get ready and head out. His demeanor had been irritable, and he had given each of them a hard look with his chin tilted up in a show of superiority. His green eyes had skipped over Gale and lingered on Astarion for a bit too long before he’d dismissed himself. Wyll had given Astarion a wary glance then, likely recalling the brief discussion they’d had the night prior. Good. They were starting to realize.
Once they’d left Last Light Inn, the days seemed to blur together. They had aided Shadowheart in the gauntlet of shar, tackling one puzzle after another. They’d freed the Dame Aylin, who turned out to be the Nightsong relic that everyone seemed so desperate to obtain. They had joined Jaheira and her Harpers and had seized Moonrise as an unstoppable force. Kethric Thorm had been slain in the belly of the Absolute’s lair, and the apostle that had chosen him had suffered the same fate. They had all been so focused on the tasks at hand that they’d all more or less set aside any underlying grudges and hostility towards one another for the sake of moving towards their main goal: get rid of the tadpole. Thus, their rests were spent planning, eating, and sleeping. It left little room for socializing. But that didn’t mean Astarion wasn’t paying attention. His predatory eyes followed Erro everywhere.

When they finally stepped through the portal leading out of the Astral Plane, where’d they just come face to face with the true, tentacled identity of their collective dream guardian, they all collapsed onto the grassy ground below. It had been too long since they’d had a solid, long respite. So, they set up camp immediately, and it wasn’t until Karlach shouted and pointed off into the distance that they all realized where they were. There, twinkling below the horizon line, were city lights. Houses and towers littered the landscape, both separated and connected by twisting, stone pathways. The scene was cradled behind a giant gate. They’d made it. They’d finally bloody made it. The group huddled around Karlach, gazing in awe out at the landscape just over the cliff’s edge.
Astarion’s eyes narrowed when the outline of a familiar palace caught his attention. His stomach churned unpleasantly. Cazador was so close.

What if his master could still sense his presence? Did he know his spawn was just a morning’s walk from reaching the Gate? Could he still command him, even with the tadpole in his head?

“Almost home…” Shadowheart’s rueful whisper cut through the vampire’s dark musings.

He spared her a reproachful glance.

“I hope your family reunion goes more amicably than mine will.”

The corners of her pale green eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Come now, Astarion, surely someone out there is looking forward to your return? Perhaps your veritable feast of sweethearts?”

He bit his tongue to halt the immediate jibe bouncing around in his skull. It’s not like she knew. She had no clue of his history—that was something he’d mostly talked to Gale about…and Erro, to some degree. The elf sighed through his nose and donned a guise of melancholy, slumping his shoulders and tossing the cleric a pout.

“Mm, Shadowheart, it’s quite uncouth to make jokes like that now that you know of my extracurriculars.”

“I’d say it makes it even more hilarious, actually. Was it the pointy teeth that swayed them? Or perhaps your captivating corpse-like demeanor?”

Astarion leaned into his theatrics with a gasp.

“You wretched thing!” Then his expression became devious, and he leaned over into her space. “I can show you just how this stunning spawn wooed the most beautiful souls of Baldur’s Gate if you’d allow.”

Shadowheart’s smile eased into something akin to fondness. She snorted a laugh and reached over to tuck a snowy curl behind the elf’s long ear.

“You and I both know you couldn’t keep up.”

Red eyes widened a sliver at that, and a real huff of amusement escaped him.

“I concede.”

The others had wandered off to their respective tents a few minutes ago, so it was just the cleric and the rogue still standing at the cliff’s edge, enjoying the rare period of peace. The Sharren-no-longer let out a contended hum and lowered herself to the ground. She swung her legs over the cliffside and leaned back on her hands, taking in the moonlit view. Astarion considered her for a moment before following her example and dangling his own boots over the ledge. They sat in silence like that for a while, listening to the steady orchestra of crickets and the gentle rustle of dancing leaves in the wake of an evening breeze. Shadowheart hummed a little tune—it was the same one she always hummed when she was doing little tasks or trying to fill the stale air of an awkward pause. It felt familiar, but whatever memory it may have evoked always alluded the vampire’s grasp.

“What happened between you and Erro?”

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it made him tense regardless. He kicked his feet distractedly, bouncing the heels of his boots against the rocky cliff face below.

“You noticed?”

“Of course I did, idiot.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards despite himself.

“We had a…a falling out of sorts. Back in the Shadowlands. But we’d had our disagreements even before that if I were to be honest.”

There was a brief pause. The cleric was thinking carefully.

“Does it have something to do with why Gale was acting so weird that one night in Grymforge?”

Astarion grunted softly.

“That was an issue between Gale and Erro. I had little to do with that. But he seems to be quite adept at rubbing people the wrong way.”

Shadowheart sighed. It sounded resigned, meaning she agreed with his claim. Her light-green eyes studied his face quietly, searching for something.

“And? What was it he did to piss you off?"

The elf scowled. Shards of broken memories returned in a cutting frenzy, instantly setting him on edge, and he bared his fangs as if facing a physical threat. There was no way he was confiding in the cleric about that particular encounter. But, there was one thing he could disclose.

“That monster…” He took a moment to glance over his shoulder, cautious of any unwanted eavesdroppers. “He’s hiding things from us. He…I saw him cast a necromantic spell back in the Shadowlands. He controlled the undead.”

Shadowheart’s eyes widened, and she copied the elf’s earlier gesture of peering about for any hidden listeners. Then she dropped her voice to an urgent whisper.

“What does that mean? Is he a warlock?”

Astarion shrugged a shoulder and loosed a subdued growl.

“That I don’t know. But he doesn’t have our best interests at heart. That much is for certain.”

The cleric bit at her lip worriedly.

“What does that mean for us?”

“…That, I also don’t know.”

The half-elf sighed. Another silence stretched out between them, this one a little less serene than the one before. Nevertheless, when Shadowheart spoke again, it was to try and lighten the darkened mood.

“You’re sweet on Gale.”

It wasn’t a question. The vampire glowered openly at his companion.

“You’re awfully meddlesome this evening. Nothing better to do than stick your nose in my business? Or is it that I’ve finally enticed you?” He ended his last inquiry with a not-so-subtle eyebrow waggle.

“You’re avoiding a proper answer. Something you’re afraid to tell me?” The cleric deadpanned.

Astarion rolled his eyes and mirrored her posture, leaning back on his hands and turning his gaze up to the stars.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized you asked a question.”

The half-elf narrowed her eyes at him, waiting. He let out a groan of exasperation and relented.

“It’s not me that’s ‘sweet on him’, as you so graciously put it. He’s got this strange notion that I’m a decent person, and he does revoltingly kind deeds for me without demanding a single, damn thing in return.”

Shadowheart lifted a pale eyebrow.

“Isn’t that just friendship?”

Astarion hissed, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal.

“Friendship?”

The cleric lifted a hand to rub at her neck uncomfortably.

“Gale and I have had little chats here and there over the course of our journey. He's a wonderful man. And he seems to think highly of you. I think he just wants you to be in his corner, Astarion. His destiny is to be fulfilled just a handful of sleeps from now, and he’s most certainly terrified. He just wants friends—and I think you’re good to him.”

“…Friends.” Astarion repeated, followed by a halfhearted scoff. “Tell me, Shadowheart, what does friendship entail?”

He asked her the same question he’d asked the wizard all those nights ago in the Underdark. He wanted to know her truth. The half-elf only pondered for a moment.

“A friend is someone who knows the stuff you’re made of and chooses to stand by you anyway.”

Something clenched at the vampire’s heart. He sat with her words for a bit, trying to digest them.

“What if he didn’t know everything? What if there were parts of me that…” He didn’t know how to finish.

But, somehow, his companion understood. She reached over and placed a comforting hand over his. He lifted his thumb to fiddle with a ring on one of her fingers. The innocent act made her smile. And in that moment, he realized she knew. The unspoken accusation glimmered in her eyes. Astarion ran the tip of his tongue over the backs of his teeth, lingering, as always, on his fangs. He squeezed her hand.

“What if the parts of me he didn’t know were too horrid—too inexcusable.”

The cleric gave him a sad smile.

“All that bravado, but you really do think quite lowly of yourself, don’t you Astarion? What happened in your past to make you think this way?”

The breath he let out stuttered. Ha. If only she knew.

“The things that were done to me have been so ingrained into my body and soul that I don’t know how to be anything other than the creature I have become.” He said instead.

Shadowheart’s eyes softened, and it was then that she squeezed his hand back.

“You may still be keeping things to yourself, but the way you treat others speaks volumes about the person you want to be, not the one you presume yourself to be. You’ve kept us safe more times than I can count on the battlefield. You’ve pilfered night orchids for me because you knew that they would make me happy. You’ve stitched up Karlach’s teddy bear when a thread tore during travel one afternoon. And you never cease to brighten the wizard’s day. You may as well be the sun in his sky given the way he looks at you.”

Astarion’s shoulders slumped a little, the weight of it all becoming too much to bear.

“…I’m going to be really vulnerable for a moment…and I don’t want you to tell another soul what I’m about to say to you.”

Those pale green eyes blinked at him earnestly, silent encouragement for him to press on. The vampire took a deep breath that his body didn’t require.

“I haven’t relayed much to you about my…history. But, to give you the short of it, I was a slave to the Szaar family—a vampire spawn turned by the vampire lord, Cazador. He had me and my brothers and sisters do all sorts of unspeakable things for him. And…if we didn’t deliver, he’d punish us. I won’t go into the gory details, but I will let you know that I spent many days escaping into fabricated scenarios of warm beds and bountiful food while my body suffered blow after blow, hanging lifelessly from chains in a kennel.”

Shadowheart’s eyes were wide in abject horror as she processed the new information.

Astarion didn’t wait for her to interject.

“Once—in the first decade of my slavery—I found a darling boy I couldn’t bear to bring back to him. So I ran, instead of hurting that sweet man.” The vampire’s voice wavered at the distant memory. “After Cazador caught me, the bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb, all on my own for an entire year. A year of silence. Months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out. More months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death… All that to say, I have been broken and put back together only to be broken again so many times that the pieces of the man I was no longer fit together. So, tell me, how could you possibly expect someone like me to hold anything precious in these bloodied hands?” He moved his hand out from under hers to display it meaningfully in the air between them.

Unshed tears glistened in the half-elf’s eyes, and she quickly swiped at her face to cover up the unwarranted display of emotion. With a soft sniff, she channeled her energy into a halfhearted glare and smacked away his hand.

“You absolute buffoon. That makes you the most qualified. You know how easy it is to break something, so that makes you more equipped to know how much pressure something can take before it falls apart. If you treat anything gently, if you nurture it, you will be rewarded the privilege of watching it flourish.”

Red eyes watched, curious, as the cleric pulled a small journal from the bag at her side and opened it to a marked page. He grunted in surprise. There, nestled pristinely between two thin pages was a pressed night orchid. Shadowheart ran a finger delicately across the dried petals and then carefully bound the book shut.

“You kept it?” Astarion asked, stunned.

“Of course I did. It was a thoughtful gift from my friend.”

That’s when the cleric’s insinuation dawned on him. He gave his companion a rare, genuine smile. She returned it.

Gale was sitting in a chair outside of his tent, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, while he flipped indifferently through repeated text. They desperately needed to acquire more reading material soon. He could already feel the folds in his brain beginning to smooth out. He was pulled out of his thoughts, though, by the rustling of foliage on the other side of the campfire a couple of yards away. Shadowheart stepped through a bush, brushed off her night garb, and then walked off in the direction of her tent. Brown eyes blinked curiously and then dropped back down to the open page in his lap. Rustling sounded again. He glanced up. A familiar, silvery-haired figure stepped out from the same bush as the cleric had not a few moments prior and red eyes immediately met his. The wizard lifted a brow. Astarion wrinkled his nose distastefully and then sauntered over. The vampire let out a grumble, his way of greeting, and then plopped down on to the carpet Gale had laid out to set his things on.

“Everything alright?” He asked, feigning disinterest.

A pale hand lifted to rub at a pale face. The elf let out a displeased grunt as answer and rocked back so that he was lying on his back. Those ruby eyes stared up at the inky expanse above them. The wizard followed the other man’s gaze, quietly pleased by the distraction. He waited patiently, having learned over the past several weeks how his companion operated. Thus, when he finally heard the annoyed sigh hiss out through the vampire’s teeth, he knew a real response would follow.

“No.”

Gale nodded and brought the upper corner of his book’s cover to rest against his chin in a stray act of contemplation.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“…No.”

The human snorted, amused, and gave another small nod that he knew the elf wouldn’t see. He lowered his gaze back to the boring text in his hands and flipped to the next page. Astarion rolled over onto his side and peered up at the wizard.

“What are you reading?”

Gale smirked.

“Would you like an excerpt? It’s a fascinating dissection of the various theological infrastructures—”

“Pass.”

The wizard laughed under his breath and flipped another page.

“Suit yourself.”

Those intense eyes remained fixated on him, though, effectively keeping him from being able to apply his full focus to the tome nestled between his fingers. Not that he was particularly engrossed in the read to begin with. Eventually, though, his natural inquisitiveness got the best of him, and he couldn’t help but spare the other man a glance.

“Was there something you needed, Astarion?”

The vampire blinked slowly. No…sheepishly. Then he glowered and looked away. He mumbled something the human’s ears couldn’t quite pick up.

“Could you repeat that?”

A soft growl sounded.

“I said I just wanted to enjoy your company.”

Gale couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face. He snapped his book closed and uncrossed his ankles, bringing his knees in to plant his feet on the carpet below. He leaned over in his chair and tilted his head down to regard his companion with a sly look.

“Fancy a game of lanceboard?”

The vampire’s eyes flickered with something he wasn’t sure he’d seen the elf express in his presence before: excitement. Astarion sat up unnaturally fast and watched as Gale waved a hand, strands of weave swirling in the spaces between his splayed fingers. His side table glided over to settle between the pair, and, with another flick of his wrist, a wooden box appeared on the tabletop. The wizard popped open the box’s latch and unfolded it to reveal a patterned board and delicately crafted game pieces. The vampire moved to sit in the seat that suddenly appeared behind him and observed with something akin to wonder as Gale set the pieces in their proper place. Once everything was set, he waved a hand at his companion.

“After you.”

Astarion flashed a wily grin that made the human’s hackles raise.

“How considerate of you, darling.”

A pale hand picked up a pawn and slid it two squares forward. Then his vulturine gaze flickered to his opponent. Gale scratched at his beard while he considered the board, planning his method of attack. He also moved a pawn. Astarion moved another piece. He followed suit. They continued in this fashion until the vampire astonished him by claiming the first casualty. Not only that, but the piece he’d lost had been a knight. His disbelieving brown eyes jumped to the elf’s.

“You’ve played this quite a bit, haven’t you?” He asked it suspiciously, as though he had just been conned.

A pointed fang revealed itself when a crooked smirk pulled at the vampire’s mouth.

“I’ve had many decades to practice, darling. One of my siblings was quite obsessed with lanceboard and challenged me to a match whenever we had our rare interludes of downtime. I admit to being quite fond of the game, myself.” He drawled and shifted another piece across the board.

Brown eyes followed the movement, scrutinizing the choice carefully. In another three moves he had managed to claim the elf’s rook. But then he lost his second knight. They maintained this back and forth until Gale let out a hum of victory and positioned his queen, forcing the vampire into checkmate. Astarion stared at the board in surprise. Then he glanced up, meeting the wizard’s eyes.

“Again?”

Gale smiled fondly.

“As you wish.”

They played two more games. Gale won the first two, but his companion shocked him by claiming the third. Astarion had snatched his king with a proud “aha” and held the tiny figurine up above the board as if he were about to slam it into the table. Then he paused, collected himself, and gently placed the piece back on the board. His red irises jumped up to the wizard’s pleased face.

“That was…pleasant.”

“Gods forbid we call lanceboard fun.”

The vampire snorted and leaned back in his chair, stretching languidly. The human couldn’t help but watch the movement, transfixed by the flexing of the lean muscles in the elf’s forearms. When Astarion glanced back in his direction, he quickly looked away and yielded to a yawn he had been holding back for the last half hour. The vampire made a thoughtful noise.

“I suppose it’s time for your mortal body to retire. A pity you can’t skip the whole sleep part of your cycle to keep me entertained all night with your scholarly games and puzzles.”

Gale chuckled, clearing away the wooden lanceboard box and the side table with a wave of his hand. He was left sat in his chair across from his companion. A sigh escaped his nose, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tired.”

The vampire tutted softly and rose from his chair. He held a pale hand out to the wizard. Gale took the hand and allowed the elf to pull him to his feet. It was only when he lifted his head that he realized just how close they were standing to each other, and he was instantly reminded of the night he’d held the rogue against him amidst the cursed shadows. The human swallowed. Before he could say anything, Astarion lifted a hand and stroked the backs of his knuckles tenderly across the wizard’s cheek. The touch left behind a burning flush in its wake. Gale bit the inside of his cheek.

“Goodnight, my dear wizard.”

The man let out a shaky breath.

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

When he blinked the vampire had vanished.

Chapter Text

They departed for Wyrm’s Crossing the next morning. And though spirits had brightened at the prospect of finally being so near to the Gate, the unspoken concern regarding their stoically silent leader remained hanging heavily over their heads. All of them harbored their suspicions—all except Lae’zel, of course. The gith continued to attach herself to the elf’s side as frequently as she could. Even now, the fighter walked at the man’s flank, mirroring his stiff posture and guarded glances. The rest of the party hung back several paces, murmuring amongst themselves as they entered the small, refugee-riddled town. They rounded a corner, and a small, red-headed girl ran up to them with panic in her eyes and a fluffy cat at her heels. She skidded to a halt before Erro and tilted her head back to fix him with a watery stare.

“Please, sir, I can’t find my mother.”

The elf’s upper lip peeled back in a snarl. Lae’zel copied the expression.

“Get lost, kid.”

Those big, pleading eyes blinked in surprise and then closed to hold back tears as she whirled around and scampered back off in the direction that she’d come from. The cat spared Erro a hateful glare, followed by a hiss, and then trailed after its human. A stunned stillness fell over the group.

“She was just a child.” Wyll voiced disapprovingly.

Erro barely acknowledged the man, and, instead, turned to his shadow.

“What do you think, Lae’zel?”

“Abomination.” She growled.

The elf gave a nod and then continued forward. Wyll shared a despairing look with Karlach and then hesitantly fell into step behind the pair. Gale glanced sideways at Astarion, who of which hadn’t said a single word since they’d left camp that morning. The vampire’s expression was unreadable, but, at this point, he’d come to learn many of the man’s tells. A pale hand clenched and unclenched a few times, revealing that underneath Astarion’s carefully crafted mask, he was seething. He knew his companion couldn’t care one way or another about the child. The elf was simply furious that their leader had gotten away with such a condemning act—that he was still able to freely walk around and do whatever the hells he wanted. The wizard had his own thoughts on the matter, of course. He'd been biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, and when the acrid tang of copper shocked his tongue, he forced his jaw to relax.

“Careful.” Astarion’s low voice made him tense.

The vampire was giving him a warning look, nostrils flaring. Ah, of course. Of course, he’d smelled the blood. Gale swiped his tongue across the inside of his cheek and swallowed. Astarion’s lips twitched upwards in the beginnings of an amused smile, but the elf said nothing more as he moved to follow the others. After a moment’s consideration, the wizard did the same.

They spoke to a few refugees here and there as they explored further into the town, trying to get an idea of what to expect and to map out the surrounding area. To no one’s surprise, Erro once again decided that splitting up was the best course of action. Once they’d reached the first town house, the fighter announced that he and Lae’zel would head to the nearest smith to procure better weapons. And he surprised them by allowing them the decision of how they wished to split up and where they wished to go. Once the pair had wandered off, the remaining party shared uncertain looks. Wyll was the first to break the uneasy pause.

“Perhaps we stay together. I don’t think breaking into smaller numbers is going to benefit us in a foreign setting. If I were to be honest, I don’t understand why we can’t all go to the smith’s together.”

Astarion scoffed.

“You know why.”

The warlock gave the vampire a wary look. When he didn’t reject the claim, the elf continued.

“He knows that we’re aware something is off. He’s keeping us at a distance.”

“But Lae’zel—”

“You mean his favorite plaything? I’m sure she’s just as clueless as we are. She’s fallen right into the smarmy incubus’ trap.”

Wyll frowned, his expression growing stern. Shadowheart stepped forward and laid a cautionary hand on Astarion’s upper arm. He spared her a displeased glance.

“Why don’t we revisit this at a better time? This is hardly the place for internal disputes.” She said in a hushed tone, eyes darting around to study the nearby huddles of strangers.

The vampire relaxed minutely.

“What did you have in—”

“Circus!”

They all jumped and looked to Karlach. The large tiefling was bouncing up and down and pointing to a gate a short way down the path. Colorful banners and streamers were strewn about, waving in the warm breeze. A wooden sign was posted in the ground, sandwiched between a man dressed in vibrant garbs and an equally clothed ghoul. Wyll snorted.

“A circus? This isn’t really the ideal situation for such a…” He trailed off at the pout his fiery companion tossed his way.

A sigh escaped the warlock.

“I suppose—”

“Fuck yes!”

The barbarian didn’t wait for any further permissions, taking the man’s reluctant affirmative as reason enough to charge down the dirt path towards the decorated iron gate. The rest of the party trailed behind at a much slower pace, exasperated but grateful for a distraction. The man by the sign gave them a bit of trouble. However, a single flash of Astarion’s fangs humbled the man into easy submission. He waved them in while the ghoul simply snarled and hissed as they walked by. Karlach was impatient excitement personified, and she bolted from their side to go explore the instant they stepped through the gate. Wyll sighed and sauntered off in the tiefling’s direction, waving an apologetic hand to the group as his way of dismissal. Shadowheart snickered after the man had disappeared from view.

“Do you think Karlach planned this so that they had an excuse to share some quality alone time together.”

Gale lifted a brow.

“And is it so wrong if she did?”

The amusement in the cleric’s smile dissolved into an odd sort of melancholy.

“Of course not.” She murmured.

They continued meandering in an uneven single file, Shadowheart in the front and Astarion trailing behind sulkily. The vampire clearly wasn’t interested in their little side quest. And much to Gale’s guilty humour, the elf kept eyeing all of the merchants suspiciously, as if one of them would jump out and attack them. The concept wasn’t impossible, but Gale doubted someone would be so bold in a place of joy and entertainment. Though…he’d been wrong before. Gale halted when a mummified figured stepped out from a colorful tent with a face painting kit and waved them down. Astarion hadn’t been expecting the wizard to stop moving and ran right into his back with a grunt. Shadowheart glanced over her shoulder, then at the mummy, and then smiled cheekily.

“You boys have fun getting your faces painted. I’m going to keep looking around.”

Astarion began to protest, but the merchant cut him off with an incoherent string of murmurs and grunts. Gale tossed an innocent look over his shoulder at the vampire. A red eye caught his, and the elf immediately frowned and waved an admonishing finger in his face.

“Absolutely not.”

The wizard stuck out his lower lip in a pout he’d seen the vampire display many times in their journey to sway matters into his favor. Astarion’s nostrils flared.

“No.”

Gale could already picture the bright swaths of color decorating the other’s face, painting the man a mask of a creature he despised so vehemently. It would be so ironic. So utterly laughable. Astarion the clown. The human let out a disappointed sigh.

“Pretty please?”

The vampire gritted his teeth and looked away. He was thinking. Gale rocked back and forth eagerly while his companion contemplated. Then, with a dramatic exhale, he turned remorseful eyes back to the wizard.

“What do I get out of this if I go through with it?”

Gale considered for a few moments.

“The pleasure of my gratification?”

Astarion huffed in discontentment.

“Not good enough.”

The wizard’s brow furrowed.

“Then how about a favor?”

A pale eyebrow lifted at that.

“A favor?”

“Yes, you can ask anything of me that you’d like. I will owe you something of your choosing.” He knew he was digging his own grave by offering the unpredictable vampire such a reward, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Astarion grinned dangerously but only gave a slight nod in response—an affirmative. With glee, and perhaps a touch of trepidation, Gale walked over to the mummified figure and proffered the desired coin for the clown paint. His companion stepped up beside him, sinister victory completely evaporated from his person as the notion of what he was about to allow to be done to his stunning face washed over him. The mummy gave a little noise of excitement and opened a box on a table beside her to reveal a menagerie of brightly colored tubes. Crimson eyes flickered over to Gale miserably.

“The things I’m about to make you do for this, wizard…”

And, with that, he sat himself on the offered stool and squeezed his eyes shut as the bristles of a small brush alighted upon his cheek.

To say Shadowheart and Karlach were elated was an understatement of the highest degree. When Gale and Astarion rounded the corner of a merchant’s booth to see the others admiring a mephit’s statues, the vampire had immediately turned on his heel. But, be it fortunate or unfortunate, Wyll had spotted them. The warlock smiled and waved a hand at them, inviting the pair over just as Gale snatched Astarion’s arm and pulled him towards their companions. The vampire was livid, offering a single, ferocious snarl as the wizard dragged him over. Karlach was the first to notice. The tiefling let out a bark of a laugh and pointed at the pitiable elf’s face. The mummy had done a wonderful job, managing to paint the vampire’s face an even more pallid shade than he already was while accentuating his features with streaks of red and black that clearly depicted the typical makeup a clown would wear.

“Clown! Astarion, I love it!”

Astarion bared his fangs, only serving to make the barbarian holler out another laugh. Shadowheart’s lips twitched, and she lifted a not-very-discreet hand to cover her mouth. Wyll just stared with wide eyes, completely at a loss for words. Gale, all the while, was beaming proudly.

“Doesn’t he look astounding?”

The vampire at his side growled.

“Not another word from you.”

Gale knew he should be worried by the threat, but he was so tickled that the vampire had actually conceded to the goofy face paint that all he could do was smile fondly in return. He was very aware of the fact that the elf could’ve easily turned him down. But, he had, albeit unenthusiastically, humoured Gale instead.

“I imagine you’ve been planning my demise since the moment you sat on that stool.”

“You’d be correct.”

Gale caught Shadowheart’s eye unintentionally, but the knowing glimmer that lurked in her gaze made him pause. She gave him a small, reassuring smile and then stepped forward to bravely loop her arm through Astarion’s, which had been bent at the elbow with a hand on his hip.

“Well, I’d say our vampire has had enough trauma for the day. Shall we head back to find Erro and Lae’zel?”

They all murmured agreement and followed behind the pair as Astarion set an unnecessarily hasty pace. And Gale realized, with some manner of guilt, that the elf was just desperate to rid himself of the humiliation splattered across his face.

When they passed back through the gate, Gale offered to take Astarion back to camp to help him get rid of the paint while the others tracked down their leader and his attack dog. Shadowheart had given him a meaningful nudge with her elbow but merely smiled and nodded her head. Karlach had pouted, claiming that she’d really enjoyed that look on Astarion—it made him seem less grouchy. To which, of course, the vampire bristled and bared his fangs at her. She had only laughed. Wyll shooed them off, saying they’d be fine. So, there they were, treading back up the dirt path to where they’d set up camp just outside of Wyrm’s Crossing. Astarion was silent the whole way, not even bothering to spare the wizard a single glance. Gale bit at the sensitive spot on the inside of his cheek that he’d accidentally worn through yesterday.

“I’m sorry.”

Red eyes flickered up but not yet in his direction. Air passed through the vampire’s nostrils in his version of a sigh.

“You’re going to be.” The jibe was halfhearted.

Still, the wizard’s lips quirked upwards in an amused smile. He could hardly take the man seriously when he looked like a jester.

“I’m well aware.”

They continued the rest of the way in silence, and, when they finally reached the center of camp, Gale veered off to find some rags and a bowl for water. He could have easily erased the paint from the elf’s face with a simple incantation. But there was something grounding and real about doing it by hand. Maybe he could ease some of his companion’s spite if he offered a little labor as partial reconciliation. Astarion was waiting for him by his tent, sat hunched over in his wooden chair. Gale took in the image with a tiny pang of despondency in his heart. Could he have really been so cruel?

“Here we are.” The wizard mumbled as he pulled over the chair from his own area and set the rags and bowls atop the vampire’s side table.

Astarion said nothing as the human’s fingers gently slid under his chin and tilted his head up. Those crimson eyes remained downcast, staring at the ground between the wizard’s feet. Gale frowned and dipped a corner of a rag into the bowl willed with warm water he’d conjured. Once sufficiently soaked through, the wizard pressed the rag to the vampire’s cheek and carefully stroked down. White and red paint disappeared from the pale flesh and clung to the small fibers of the rag. Gale retreated to rinse the paint from the cloth. When he brought it back to his companion’s face, ruby eyes were boring into him. He froze, the corner of the rag mere centimeters from the elf’s left cheek bone.

“You could’ve just used a spell.”

The wizard gave him a rueful look.

“I know.”

Astarion’s nostrils flared, and he tilted his head to the right to give the human better access to his face.

“This doesn’t count as the favor owed.”

“…I know.”

He gave a fond smile and swiped the rag in a long line across the vampire’s cheek again.

“Did it…make you happy?”

Gale paused his movements. He studied the elf’s face, noting the uncomfortable flitting about of the man’s eyes.

“The face paint?”

Astarion grunted an affirmation, and a feeling of unexpected endearment welled up within the wizard. He reached forward to gently tilt the elf’s face back towards him. Those ruby eyes latched onto his, jumping back and forth, searching for something. And then an odd feeling hit Gale. It was like being struck by lightning, and the aftershock left him reeling with the urge to lean forward. He held his breath when those fierce eyes dropped to his mouth before just as quickly flickering back up. With a fortitude he hadn’t realized he’d possessed, the wizard brought the edge of the cloth up to softly run along the vampire’s bottom lip. Those eyes never left his.

“You have no idea…how devastatingly exquisite you are.” He hadn’t meant to say the thought aloud.

Instead of smirking, as the wizard had expected, Astarion hummed low in his chest and lowered his eyelids.

“Be my mirror then. Regale me of my eternal beauty.”

And Gale’s heart all but seized at the opportunity. He slipped his thumb out from under the cloth and took its place against the elf’s bottom lip, running the pad of his finger gingerly across the soft skin there. Astarion’s eyelids lowered further, regarding the human sat before him through those half-lidded orbs.

“You have quite the dangerous smile.”

“Mhm, go on.”

Gale moved the rag up to drag across the vampire’s eyebrow, pulling paint away with the careful action.

“And such piercing eyes. Like polished rubies.”

The wizard dared to wipe the cloth across a closed eyelid. And Astarion let him. This dangerous creature—a vampire—was allowing Gale to touch him so effortlessly. It seemed sinful. As if realizing the same thing, those blood drop eyes blinked open. They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Astarion lifted his hand to cradle Gale’s face while brushing a thumb across the man’s cheekbone.

“Such fragile creatures, humans. I venture to admit I’ve become too accustomed to them crumbling beneath my touch.”

The wizard was frozen beneath the tender contact. His heart was beating faster. Is this what the vampire’s victims had felt like? Helpless in the wake of the spawn’s affectionate touches and seductive words? If so, he could only imagine how many willing victims had followed him to their deaths. The thought felt wrong in his head, but no matter how hard he tried to push it away it remained firm at the forefront of his mind. With an uneasy swallow, he moved his hand to wrap cautious fingers around Astarion’s wrist.

“I’m not as fragile as you think me to be.”

The vampire cocked his head to the side and frowned.

“I don’t think you’re fragile, Gale. If anything, your resilience perplexes me.”

The wizard faltered at the admission.

“Then what can I possibly do to make us equals? How can we stand on level ground?”

Astarion lifted a pale, slender brow and studied his face curiously. Then, having gleaned whatever it was he had been searching for, the elf provided a sad smile.

“We will never stand on level ground, because you will always be a better man than me, Gale Dekarios.” He murmured, heartfelt.

Gale’s chest squeezed painfully. He slid his fingers up the length of the vampire’s arm and grabbed his companion by the shoulder. His brown eyes danced between Astarion’s crimson, taking in the half-painted face and seeking permission for something he wasn’t even aware he desired. Yet, somehow, the elf still knew. He always knew. The cold, pale fingers at his cheek slid back into his dark locks to cradle the back of his head. In one, smooth motion, the vampire pulled him forward. Their lips met, much softer than when they’d done it before. This time, desperation didn’t fuel the passion behind the act. Their mouths moved in tandem, longingly and bittersweet, as if the kiss was a fated happening they’d been waiting for their entire lives. Gale moved his hand away from Astarion’s shoulder and placed it affectionately against the elf’s scarred neck, pleased when the man didn’t flinch away from the contact. He traced the small fang marks with his thumb at the same time he traced those sharp teeth with his tongue.

He was annoyed when his body begged him to retreat so that he could breathe. He’d never felt like this before. Not even with Mystra. Gods…Mystra. How could he have denied her a thought? She had always been his reason for everything—his reason to be. So, for him to be so inconsiderate, so foolish, so… He found his brain stuttering to stop when he met the vampire’s eyes. Those beautiful, red eyes revealing nothing but fondness for him. He couldn’t help it.

“Gods, Astarion. You make me forget my goddess.” He breathed, despite himself.

Those eyes widened ever so slightly, and before he could say more, that mouth loosed a growl and rushed forward to claim his again.

"I'm about to claim that favor." The vampire promised against his lips.

Chapter Text

Astarion used his fangs to gently nip at the wizard’s bottom lip and coax the man’s mouth open. With a hitch of breath, Gale relented and leaned back as the vampire advanced. Astarion moved his hands to the human’s shoulders and rose from his chair, parting the man’s knees so that he could press himself against the warm body before him. Gale gasped into the elf’s mouth at the unexpected contact and let out a sound—a borderline whimper—that evoked the vampire’s predatory instincts. Astarion growled low in his throat and parted their lips so that he could look down at the wizard. An obvious flush had crept up the man’s neck and framed his rounded ears. He was breathing heavily, the human’s mortality both a nuisance and a wonder to the undead rogue. But the most enticing was Gale’s heartbeat. The usual, steady rhythm had grown erratic, shooting blood throughout the man’s body in a way that clawed at Astarion’s insides. He was starving…and Gale smelled so incredibly divine.

The vampire leaned in again, this time inhaling as he trailed his mouth down Gale’s cheek. He continued his path downward, chilled breath trailing across the man’s flesh until he reached the wizard’s tender neck. He breathed in again, taking in the heady scent of lifeblood. Saliva began to well beneath his tongue. He could feel his grip on the human’s shoulders tighten. His stomach roared at him to bite. To drink. To feed. He tensed, pupils dilating. But just as he parted his lips, revealing his fangs, a hand fell gently across his back. Gale turned his head just slightly so that he could whisper in the vampire’s ear.

“Astarion…it’s alright if you drink my blood.” The wizard’s voice was a little shaky, but Astarion could tell he meant the words.

A pained smile pulled at the elf’s face as he remembered himself. He leaned in and pressed his lips in an affectionate kiss against the expanse of skin between the man’s jaw and collar bone. When he withdrew, confused brown eyes blinked up at him slowly. The smile on Astarion’s face shifted to reveal his inner turmoil, and then he lowered his head again to claim Gale’s lips once more. The wizard’s hands moved to thread through his snowy curls, tugging lightly. Before Astarion could deepen the kiss, however, the human pulled away. He took a few breaths, gathering himself, and then furrowed his brow.

“Is it because of my blood? Because it tastes bad?”

The vampire huffed down at the man. Was he actually offended that Astarion didn’t bite him? More amused than upset, he withdrew so that he was sitting back in his chair. They were still near enough that their knees brushed against each other, and the elf gave the man’s foot a little kick with his own.

“No, that’s not why.”

Gale adjusted his position so that he was more composed and subconsciously reached up to rub at the spot on his neck where Astarion’s mouth had been just moments before. He frowned and eyed the vampire timidly.

“Then why? What stopped you?”

The rogue sighed and reached forward to trail the backs of his knuckles against the wizard’s cheek.

“Can I not just enjoy an intimate moment without it being ruined by my…condition?”

Gale’s eyes grew sad at that. He made to reciprocate, his hand lifting towards the elf’s face. However, just as his fingertips made contact with the vampire’s skin, a strong hand snatched his wrist. Astarion twisted the wizard’s hand, forcing it to open, and then brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss in the center of the man’s palm. The flush began to creep its way up Gale’s face, dusting his cheeks. Flustered by the unexpected show of gentleness from such a violent creature, the human looked away.

“More than just your blood is able to satiate my appetite.”

The wizard’s jaw dropped open at the comment, and his brown eyes went wide with incredulity at the implication. Still, he refused to look at the vampire—his constitution had begun to crumble. Those deft lips hovered over his palm for a few more tantalizing seconds before the elf gave a low rumble of a laugh and pulled Gale forward by his arm. With an undignified yelp of alarm, he found himself being yanked to his feet and right against a strong chest. Powerful arms wrapped around him, one hand splaying across the middle of his back while the other threaded into his shoulder-length hair. Astarion buried his face into the human’s neck and inhaled his scent once more.

“You smell so alive, Gale. It’s intoxicating.”

The wizard winced silently, reminded that the man holding him was a corpse animated. A vampire spawn made to do unspeakable things without autonomy to say otherwise. He had been tortured, physically and mentally, and had been made to feel worthless. The only congratulations he had ever received was when he used his body to bring harm to others. And even then, his reward had been more suffering. Astarion was anguish personified, never having been given the chance to feel truly loved and appreciated. And Gale wasn’t sure that the vampire would even be aware that he was feeling those things if compassion showed him its face. Astarion wanted these benevolences—hungered for them—but the human wasn’t certain that what the elf was feeling now was entirely genuine. So, he did the most difficult thing he could possibly do in that moment. He pulled away.

Red eyes blinked at him in surprise, but then darkened when they recognized the emotion plastered across Gale’s face. Astarion bared his fangs and took a step back, turning away as he did so. The wizard grimaced.

“Astarion, I—”

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

The human took a step forward, and the vampire shot him a warning look, eyes narrowed dangerously. To say Gale was distraught would be an understatement.

“Astarion, please, let me speak. I don’t pity you.”

The elf’s nostrils flared as he struggled to refrain from interrupting again. He averted his gaze, keeping silent and clenching his fists at his sides. So, the wizard continued.

“I just want to make sure I’m not taking advantage of you.”

Astarion scoffed.

“Taking advantage of me? Whyever, dear wizard, would you worry about such a thing? Have I given you some sort of inclination as to my easy submission. Do you think you have me so easily wrapped around your magical, little finger?” The disdain in the rogue’s tone dripped like venom from his tongue, and Gale had to refrain from wincing again.

The wizard took a shaky breath and braved a small stride forward. Crimson eyes observed him sharply, gauging the movement. He held up placating hands.

“No, I don’t think that. I just know what you’ve been through.” Astarion grimaced at the claim. “And I want to make sure that you genuinely feel the things that you think you’re feeling when you’re…with me.”

The vampire glowered quietly for a few of Gale’s heartbeats. Then, he averted his gaze again with a sardonic snort.

“You make it sound as if you know me.”

“Don’t I?” Gale challenged.

Astarion’s expression shifted abruptly, becoming so vacant he appeared but a husk of a man.

“For a moment…I thought maybe you did.” The elf murmured and turned around.

The wizard watched, heart shattering as the vampire stalked off, leaving his tent. Leaving camp. Leaving Gale.

The others arrived back in camp about an hour after Astarion had left, their raucous voices alerting Gale of their return before they rounded the side of the wall dividing their camp from the town below. The wizard was sitting in the chair in front of his tent, slumped over, elbows on knees, and head in his hands. He had been like that since the vampire left. His brain was moving too fast, and his heart was squeezing painfully like it had before Elminster had stabilized the destructive orb in his chest. The chatter of his companions lessened, indicating that they’d spotted him, and the sounds of shuffling feet implied they were separating in different directions to head back to their respective spots. One pair of steps, however, grew louder as someone neared. He slowly braved a glance up, knowing he looked miserable. It was Karlach. The large tiefling looked down at him with a concerned expression painted across her face.

“What’s wrong, soldier?” Her voice was more subdued than he was used to, undoubtedly for his sake.

Gale took in a rib-creaking breath and averted his gaze.

“I think I may have pushed Astarion away.”

The barbarian bit at her lip to combat the smile trying to fight its way onto her face. She dropped down into a squat and placed a hand on the wizard’s knee.

“You think so? I’m not sure there’s anything you could say to keep him away for good. Fangs is like a big cat. He’s fickle and likes a warm fire. I reckon he’ll be back around before sundown.”

Gale offered her a feeble smile.

“I don’t know, I…I hurt his feelings pretty badly, I think.”

Karlach squeezed his knee and gave the brightest grin she could muster, lightening the load weighing heavily on his shoulders simply by her proximity. The warmth radiating from her hand eased the tension in his frame.

“Gale, you’re the nicest guy I know. If you said anything that hurt his feelings, he’ll realize eventually that you said it from a place of love. I don’t think you could run any of us off if you tried.”

The human huffed a small laugh.

“I don’t know, I think I could go on about the quantum impact of the weave in regard to certain timelines and underlying factors of—”

“Gale?”

He paused and gave the woman an inquisitive look.

“With all the love in my heart, please shut up.”

His smile widened at that. He dropped his hand to squeeze hers back and then watched fondly as she rose to her feet and backtracked to her tent. The wizard allowed his eyes to wander across the camp, taking note of the others as they settled in and started winding down for the day. The routine had become peaceful, in its own weird way, and Gale found that he rather liked the company. Their adventuring was a far cry from the monotony he had fallen into back at his tower in Waterdeep. And he was enjoying the thrilling newness of it all. Well…some things more than others, of course. His eyes scanned the tree line expectantly, hoping to see a familiar figure.

No such luck. But he knew Karlach was right. The vampire would be back. And he would be ready when he did. Gale settled back in his chair and waited.

Astarion snarled as he strode through the forest, swiping branches out of his way and kicking unfortunate rocks that happened to be in the path of his shoes. It was growing darker as the sun began to set, but the elf—and vampire—in him kept his surroundings aglow. He didn’t slow his pace until he stumbled upon the edge of a small pond. There, he decided was good enough to pause and reflect. With an exasperated sigh, he plopped down onto a large rock jutting out over the water and let his feet dangle precariously over the mirrored surface. And, just for the hells of it, he peered over the side and frowned at the lack of reflection gazing back at him.

It was quiet out, save for the insistent chirping of crickets and the rustling of small animals foraging in the underbrush. He flared his nostrils, scenting the air cautiously, and then relaxed when nothing in particular caught his attention. It was then that he allowed his thoughts to wander. He wanted to be mad at the wizard, but all he could feel was the man’s warm touch against his cold flesh. Those caring, brown eyes regarding him as if he were a god to be worshipped. Astarion scoffed at the ideology and kicked a foot as if he were punting the notion into the water. The action somehow helped, and he was able to focus on what was truly plaguing his mind.

Gale had been right.

As loathe as he was to admit it, the meager human had somehow managed to dissect him, body and soul. He knew that the wizard hadn’t been speaking from a place of immodesty. The man hadn’t been trying to provoke. Yet, the simple fact that someone he hadn’t expected to be able to see through him managed to in such a short time…well, it astounded him. It terrified him. He enjoyed being around Gale. He enjoyed their banter. Their flirting—even if it was one-sided most of the time. He enjoyed the few moments of intimacy they’d shared. But did he actually want to venture beyond that? The vampire thought back to when the wizard had addressed the importance of labels and how they were below the categorization of lovers. He supposed that still held true. But…was that something they could change? Did he want that to change?

Astarion growled and shook his head. He couldn’t trust his own mind. He couldn’t trust his own heart. Those had both been broken down and reconstructed so many times he could hardly believe they still belonged to him. Then again, maybe they didn’t. As soon as they got rid of the tadpoles and went their separate ways, the spawn would fall right back into his master’s thrall. Once more, he would be reduced to a puppet. A thing to be used. The elf gritted his teeth. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Not his slavery. Not his torture. Not the centuries he’d lost to torment. Not Gale and his big heart and precious words. None of it.

“Gods damnit, is this all I am?” Astarion mumbled as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

He swatted the traitorous liquid away in shame and glared up at the sky through the circle of trees. Night was falling. He should head back soon. However, as he moved to stand, something rustled in the bushes on the other side of the pond. In a heartbeat, the vampire slipped off the side of the rock and ducked low into the tall grass. He took in a generous amount of air through his nose and stilled as the scent registered in his recent memory. He knew that smell. Smoke, sweat, old herbs, and brandy… It was Erro. Astarion watched, intrigued, as the large elf made himself known. The fighter stepped out from behind a tree and glanced around, eyes narrowed as he searched. Astarion lowered himself even further, certain he wouldn’t be spotted but not wanting to take any unnecessary chances.
Erro retrieved a small bottle from the pack slung across his shoulder and held it up to the moonlight, revealing what was wriggling inside. Red eyes widened. It was a tadpole.

Gale lost count of how many times his eyes had scored the length of the tree line surrounding their camp. He had gotten up once to cook dinner for the party with the provisions that Shadowheart had gotten while they’d been out earlier. After that, he’d slumped right back into his chair and lost himself to his chaotic thoughts. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything to the vampire. But then again, that wouldn’t have been fair, would it? He couldn’t, in good conscience, allow Astarion to do something he would later regret. The wizard was very aware of how new all of this was for the vampire. For him to be able to make his own choices and have his own feelings. It would take time for Astarion to come into his own. Fortunately, Gale was a very patient man.

His hand began to itch in a familiar way, and he reached over to his side table to grab his notebook. It was a scholarly journal filled with research notes and drawings that he’d had on his person when the nautiloid ship had descended. His fingers traced the edges of the cover as he peeled it open and flipped to a blank page. His mother had always encouraged him to write out his thoughts and feelings when they became too jumbled, as they were in that very instance. However, his brain could hardly formulate the appropriate words to scrawl into the parchment. So, he conjured a small stick of charcoal and decided to sketch instead.

Gale would never be so bold as to claim himself an artist of any degree, but he knew the basics of line work and shading. It’s how he had always decorated his research with maps and references. Black smudged his fingers as he dragged charcoal across paper, and he had to constantly remind himself not to wipe at his face. At first, his doodling was idle. But then, after a handful of minutes, the lines and shadows began to take shape. The wizard’s concentration sharpened.

However, just before he was able to fill in the background, Gale was shaken from his practice at the sound of foliage rustling on the other side of camp. He perked up but then deflated when Erro stepped through the wall of vegetation. The elf brushed leaves from his evening shirt and paused, sensing someone looking at him. Those glowing, green eyes spared the wizard a glance. Attempting some manner of civility, Gale gave a small nod. Erro rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t see your vampire out there.”

The human stiffened.

“I wasn’t expecting you to look.” He inclined his head. “And he isn’t my vampire.”

The elf shrugged a shoulder.

“Whatever you say.”

Then he sauntered off towards his tent. Gale watched him go, eyes narrowing distrustfully. He may not have been there when the elf had revealed his true colors back in the shadow cursed lands, but he’d had enough headbutts with the fighter to know he was not, for lack of better phrasing, on their side. Suddenly, the foliage to his left began to rustle, and he tensed. But this time Astarion stepped through. The vampire slunk out from the shadows and immediately caught the wizard’s eye. A long pause stretched out between them until Astarion broke the uneasiness with a soft tsk.

“You’re still awake. Aren’t humans supposed to be asleep at this time.” The elf glanced up at the sky as if the moon was about to start scolding Gale.

The wizard snorted.

“You’re not my mother.”

“And what a relief that is.”

They both smiled. With a relenting sigh, the vampire moseyed over to his space and turned his crimson eyes to the open page in the human’s lap. He lifted a slender brow.

“Are you drawing?”

Gale startled suddenly, warmth erupting beneath his skin, and he scrambled to close the journal. Naturally, the vampire was quicker. Deft fingers snatched his notebook and held it up so that he could get a better glimpse of it in the flickering light of the waning campfire. His nose wrinkled as he studied the dark lines and smudges. He turned his gaze back to the wizard, bafflement glimmering in those ruby depths.

“And who might this be? Someone you know?”

Gale was stunned. And then it dawned on him like a swift punch to the gut. Astarion didn’t know what he looked like. And any inkling he may have recalled of the person he was had been lost to centuries of another, harsher life. The human suddenly realized he had options. He could lie to spare himself the embarrassment of admitting he had spent the last hour trying to capture the vampire’s likeness with charcoal on paper by the light of a dying fire…or he could just be honest. And hadn’t there been enough dishonesty and suspicion going around recently? He opted for the latter. But that didn’t mean he would make it so easy. Out of academic curiosity, he wanted to see just how far he could stretch it.

“He is. Quite the handsome devil, isn’t he?” Gale feigned nonchalance and made the stick of charcoal disappear with a flick of his wrist.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed critically, and he turned his attention back to the sketch in his hand. The wizard simply watched, captivated as the gears in the elf’s head began to turn. The vampire hummed thoughtfully.

“Someone you know back in Waterdeep?”

“Cold.”

Astarion scoffed, but Gale caught the hint of a smile pulling at the man’s mouth. He knew the vampire couldn’t resist a little challenge. A pale hand hovered over the page, careful not to touch the charcoal.

“He’s an elf.”

“Warmer.”

“A high elf.”

“Warmer.”

“Is he someone I know?”

The wizard paused at that. He tilted his head, considering.

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“If I elaborated more than that it’d be cheating.”

Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had established rules for this vexing game.”

Gale huffed a laugh and waved at the journal.

“Go on. You’ll get it eventually.”

The vampire glowered at him but then returned his eyes to the drawing. And then the wizard witnessed the exact moment when the comprehension hit his companion. Red eyes widened a sliver, and the elf’s jaw dropped slightly. He stared. And stared. And then he shot Gale a surprisingly petrified look. The human bit at the inside of his cheek, unsure of whether he should confirm what the vampire was clearly thinking. But then Astarion let out a long breath.

“Is this how you see me?”

The wizard averted his gaze for a moment, suddenly feeling timid.

“Yes.”

When he didn’t hear a response, Gale glanced over at the elf. Astarion was still staring at the portrait of himself, completely engrossed in every mark on the page. His eyes had widened further yet, and this time a pale finger dared to make careful contact with the wood coal.

“I…I don’t know what to say.” The vampire’s voice sounded far away, and the sound of it pulled at the human’s heart strings.

Gale lifted a hand expectantly. Those crimson eyes flickered down, acknowledging the gesture, and then he handed the notebook back. The wizard smiled softly down at his little sketch.

“You don’t have to say anything. I hadn’t planned to show it to you.”

Astarion frowned.

“You were going to just keep it from me then?”

Gale shook his head.

“This interpretation doesn’t do you justice. You are a much finer figure than I could ever hope to project onto parchment. It’s just a…study, I suppose.”

The vampire blinked once. Then twice.

“It is your interpretation of me. And that is the only version of myself that I care to see.”

The wizard lost his breath for a moment, unexpectedly touched by the sentiment. He turned gratified, brown eyes to his companion.

“Well, in that case, you have only to say the word and I shall draw you up as many interpretations as you’d like.”

Astarion grinned then, an honest, beautiful thing that would’ve made Gale weak at the knees if he’d been standing.

“Careful, I’ll hold you to that.”

“I have no doubt.”

An amicable silence filled the air. Then the wizard waved a hand and conjured a second chair and a wooden box.

“Fancy a game of lanceboard?”

“Darling, I would love nothing more.”

Chapter Text

The next day they packed up their things and made out to reach the lower city. Passing across the bridge that led out of Wyrm’s Crossing proved to be difficult, but they managed to deceive their way through. And, once on the other side, Erro split them up again to get things done quicker. They broke off into uneven groups, the elf with Lae’zel and Wyll while Karlach took Astarion, Shadowheart, and Gale. One part divided to investigate Sharess’ Caress while the other veered off towards Fragyo’s Flophouse. It was a place Astarion had reluctantly admitted to being quite familiar with, and the lack of further explanation spoke volumes. They would make the side quest a hasty one. At least, that’s what they had initially thought. What they hadn’t accounted for was a run-in with the vampire’s spawn siblings. The very-obviously-vampires had regaled them of their master’s grand plan to achieve vampiric ascension, and mentioned with unabashed excitement the benefits that they would reap in the process.

The spiteful twisting of Astarion’s face in response had everyone on edge, but none had moved when he’d grabbed his so-called brother and threatened him by way of sunlight streaming through a nearby window. Gale recalled how morbidly fascinated he’d been in the moment, studying the creature’s skin peel, flake, and burn at the exposure of a warm glow that would’ve been nothing but a gentle caress upon his own human flesh. The whole debacle had been short-lived, though, as they managed to talk Astarion down and get the information they wanted from the duo. After that, both of the spawn had vanished in a flash of red light. The wizard would not forget the ragged look on his companion’s pale face as the elf contemplated the choices that had been dropped unceremoniously at his feet. He could kill Cazador and be done with it all, cementing his fate as a slave to vampiric nuances for the rest of his eternal life. Or. He could take Cazador’s place during the supposed ritual, and become something…
Something what? Greater? More powerful, certainly. But would the vampire change? Would he still be Astarion if he ascended in his master’s place? Gale had seen the spontaneous bouts of hunger for power flash in those red eyes periodically throughout their journey. He knew which choice his companion would lean towards. But was it the right choice? At this point, he had probably been thinking about the situation more than Astarion had been. And, either way, he was aware it wasn’t his decision in the end. No, the vampire had to come to his own conclusions about himself. Who he was and who he wanted to be.

Afterwards, they met back up with Erro and the others and swapped information. Then they set course for the Lower City gate. Once again, with a little fib and a touch of theatrics, they managed to talk their way into gaining bridge access. They met with Enver Gortash in his grand hall and Karlach almost landed herself in the royal prison due to her reactive behavior upon seeing the man who had betrayed her. After that, they happened across Mizora, who said one thing or another about Wyll and his pact. Then they finally made it to the main city. It had been quite the arduous task getting there, so when they finally stepped foot through the gate the party loosed a collective sigh of relief. They did it. They made it all the way to Baldur’s Gate. Thus, Erro found the accomplishment reason enough to find a place for them to rest. Karlach and Astarion both suggested the Elfsong Tavern. And that is where they currently found themselves. Gale had never visited the Gate before, but the hustle and bustle of a lively city wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to him. Neither was a bustling tavern. The Elfsong seemed a popular establishment, for every chair and table appeared to be filled with some manner of creature upon entry. The wizard’s eyes swept left and right, taking it all in. Then Astarion’s low voice pulled him from his observation.

“Probably best if I keep a low profile. They used to know me all too well here.”

Gale frowned but said nothing on the matter. Erro beelined for the bar to ask for rooms, to which the barkeep informed the elf that they had one massive room on an upper floor that could accommodate their whole group at a lower price since it was rarely asked for. The fighter snagged the deal, offering the desired coin, and walked back over to them. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them to do whatever they wished until morning. Then he went to search for the staircase leading up to their room, Lae’zel not far behind. Karlach headed straight for the bar, dragging Wyll and Shadowheart with her. Brown opal eyes met ruby, and the wizard made a motion towards a booth table that had just been vacated.

“Care to sit?”

Astarion gave the room a quick, fleeting glance, clearly nervous, but affirmed with a short nod of his head. The vampire trailed behind him and then slipped into the velvet, cushioned seat at the table across from the wizard. Luckily, the booth was shrouded in the corner and framed by heavy curtains, providing the notorious elf a moderate amount of reprieve from the possibility of being discovered by anyone who may have recognized him. Gale decided he could do with a distraction. So, he conjured his favorite wooden box and popped open the latch, catching his companion’s attention. The elf scoffed.

“Is lanceboard your solution to everything?”

Gale quirked a brow.

“Are you saying you don’t want to play?”

Astarion pressed his mouth into a firm line and then relented, turning so that he was fully facing the board. The wizard set out the pieces as he usually did and offered the man across from him the first move—also something that had become custom during their matches. The vampire wasted no time and took him by surprise by moving his knight first. Brown eyes narrowed, calculating. Then he moved a pawn. Then Astarion moved a pawn. The scoreboard was in Gale’s favor by one victory, so he wasn’t shocked that his companion was playing as assertively as he was. The human continued to balance the pieces on the board, claiming a pawn when the vampire claimed one of his. Then the elf paused, thinking carefully about his next move. They were both very aware that one wrong decision could put Astarion in check.

“Not to come across as a braggart, but I do believe I’ll have you in check mate within the next three moves.”

Astarion smirked and picked up a piece that Gale hadn’t expected the elf to go for.

“Oh, my dear wizard, you really ought to keep that arrogance of yours in check.”

And then he blew the wizard’s mind by making a move the man hadn’t accounted for when thinking ahead. The vampire’s white knight took his rook’s square and proceeded to decimate the carefully crafted plan that Gale had woven together over the course of the game. The human stared quietly, not accustomed to being surpassed in strategy. But Astarion had done it.

“I believe that’s checkmate, darling.”

Gale smiled wistfully.

“You really are quite good at this game. It’s been such a long time since someone’s challenged me like this.”

The vampire straightened, ego sufficiently stroked, and offered him a crooked smile. It was the one that revealed just one of his fangs as well as a dimple in his cheek. It was the one that made his heart stutter. Astarion picked up a piece and waved it in front of his face.

“Care to try and redeem yourself, wizard?”

Gale squared his shoulders, not one to back down from a strategic endeavor.

“I think I shall.”

So, they set the board and played again. They continued their little back and forth until the human tried to hide a yawn behind his hand. Red eyes blinked up at him.

“Getting bored?”

Gale huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“Apologies. It seems as if the day has caught up with me.”

Astarion leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest casually, and a boot kicked at his under the table.

“Mortals.” The vampire sighed as if he were exasperated by the notion.

And that made Gale chuckle. The wizard began to put away the board and pieces, but he paused when he noticed one was missing. One of Astarion’s pieces. He glanced up at the rogue to see him gazing out across the room, lazily observing the occupants. Before Gale could make mention of the absent piece, Karlach popped her head around the corner of their booth, effectively startling them. Both men jumped, and the tiefling beamed at them hazily, her eyes out of focus and her movements unsteady.

“Hey, there, fellas, what’re you up to?”

A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, and Wyll gave a groan of vexation at her state.

“Karlach, you promised you’d only have a couple of pints.”

The barbarian pouted and pushed away from the warlock.

“And what fun is just a couple?” Then she gasped as something dawned on her. “Let’s go break stuff, Wyll!”

The Blade of Frontiers frowned as Karlach howled out a laugh, drawing the attention of every occupant in the room. Then the tiefling charged out of the building, brandishing a chair as if it were her great axe. Wyll spared the two men a despairing look before chasing after her.

“And here I was hoping to actually get the opportunity to lay in a comfortable bed and take a warm bath before getting kicked out.” Astarion muttered under his breath.

Gale snorted and stood up.

“Ah, it’ll be fine. She’ll smash a few things and then crash out in the street within the hour. Then Wyll will bring her back.”

The vampire gave him an inquisitive look.

“Gale Dekarios, are you speaking from experience.”

A subtle flush colored the human’s cheeks at the utterance of his full name being trilled from the elf’s lips.

“Of course not. I just know the type. I frequented many a tavern or two back in Waterdeep during my academy days.”

Astarion gasped dramatically and lifted a hand to his mouth.

“Devious Gale? What I’d give to meet that little rapscallion.”

Brown eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that young man traded his rambunctious escapades for a more studious life many years ago.”

The vampire pouted. Then a mischievous glint twinkled in those red eyes. Astarion stood from his seat and snaked an arm across the wizard’s shoulders, drawing him close so he could whisper in his ear.

“Then let us be studious.” He gestured across the room to the bar. “It is merely an academic interest of mine to see just how many glasses of wine a human can tolerate.”

Gale hesitated, brain moving a little more sluggishly as a result of his companion’s nearness.

“Astarion, I don’t know… I think perhaps now is a novel time to turn in and—”

“Boo. No. Boring.” The vampire grunted and steered him purposefully towards the bar. “Come, let’s be rambunctious.”

The wizard’s brain was screaming for him to not give in to the elf’s insistence, but his heart never could deny Astarion his enjoyment. So, he allowed himself to be pushed into a barstool and handed a glass filled with dark, red liquid. With a sigh, he raised the glass by the stem and gave it a sniff. Then he turned his gaze to the vampire sat beside him, surprised.

“Elverquisst? How did you know?”

Astarion gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulder and then took a deep inhale of the contents in his own glass.

“It’s what you were drinking at Last Light. I recognized the smell.”

Gale felt oddly touched by his companion’s attention to his preferences, and he brought the rim of his glass to his lips to brave a sip. It tasted just as delightful as it always did. With a pleasant smile, he turned to the elf.

“I must admit that I am partial to its particular…bouquet.”

The vampire flashed a cunning grin and followed the wizard’s lead, taking a hearty draught of the wine. Brown eyes watched, somewhat disapprovingly, as Astarion finished the glass in a second swallow and waved a hand for the barkeep to bring him another.

“Is your goal to wake up with a split head tomorrow?”

The elf scoffed.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, darling, I can’t get drunk.” Then he paused, reflecting on something. “Well, I suppose I can get blood drunk, in a manner of speaking. If I drink too much blood in one sitting it has the same effect as too many of these lovely, little glasses do on you. Different poisons, similar shades.”

Gale quirked a half smile.

“But not so easily confused.”

Astarion nodded and then leaned an elbow on the counter, giving the wizard his full attention.

“Now, amuse me with tales of your uproarious youth.”

And so, Gale did. They spent at least an hour at the bar, sipping at their glasses while the chattering around them gradually began to lessen as the time ticked by. At one point, Wyll had dragged Karlach through the room towards the stairs, but neither man paid the pair any mind. For, the more inebriated Gale became, the more he fixated on Astarion. Everything else faded into the background. Those crimson eyes held his, rendering him immobile. Still, the wizard wasn’t entirely ignorant. He knew the card the vampire was playing. The elf was a master of seduction, after all. They had simply traded one game for another, and Gale refused to let his companion win this time. He propped his elbow up on the bar to mirror Astarion’s and narrowed his unfocused eyes on the vampire.

“Is this how you seduced your victims?”

Oh, hells. Him and his big, drunk mouth. To his surprise, though, the elf simply sucked in a breath and theatrically thumped a hand over his undead heart.

“You wound me, wizard.” Then he smirked. “I was much more cavalier with them than I am with you. Do humour me, though. Do you feel as if you’re being seduced?”

Gale had to be careful. Really careful. His mouth had a tendency to move quicker than his brain when it was as diluted with the amount of wine that it was in that moment. The wizard finally wrenched his gaze free and fiddled with the sleeve of his robe.

“…I feel content.”

Astarion snorted.

“Content?”

Gale pulled distractedly at a tiny string that had come loose from its stitching.

“Yes, content. I’m content when I’m with you. And I think you’re falling into the old habit of seduction. But it’s not necessary. Not with me.”

Those pale fingers grabbed his hand gently, pulling it away from his sleeve.

“Stop that, it’ll come undone.” The vampire murmured softly without any true annoyance behind the demand.

The wizard’s hand twitched in the elf’s grip, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he surprised them both by threading his fingers through Astarion’s. He leaned more heavily against his elbow and propped his chin up with his free hand. His brown eyes flitted over his companion, drinking him in since he’d been cut off from alcohol several minutes ago. Astarion gave him a curious look but said nothing. They simply stared at each other for a while, and Gale began to notice discomfort creeping into the vampire’s demeanor. Before he could say anything, however, a light tap on his shoulder had him twisting around on his stool to catch sight of Shadowheart hovering behind him. The cleric glanced at their hands pointedly, and Astarion flinched away, ripping their fingers apart.

“Am I interrupting something?” There was a meaningful glint in her eyes, but she settled on a neutral expression with a quirked eyebrow.

Gale smiled and waved.

“Shadowheart! My favorite half-elf. What are you still doing out and about? I assumed you had already gone to bed?” There was a slight slur in the wizard’s words that had the cleric’s pale green eyes darting in the vampire’s direction accusingly.

Astarion scowled and looked away.

“I could ask you the same thing. When I didn’t see either of you in the room, I had my suspicions. Did you give him the whole bottle Astarion?” Shadowheart’s voice was stern.

The vampire gave her a reproachful look. Then he procured a smile of feigned innocence.

“We must’ve lost track.”

Of time? Of how much they’d had to drink? The vampire had been vague intentionally. Shadowheart sighed and slipped one of her arms under Gale’s.

“Come on, you big lug. Time for bed.”

Gale pouted but didn’t resist his companion’s assistance as he was helped to his feet and slowly directed to the stairs. Before he took the first step up, however, he glanced over his shoulder to see red eyes trained on him. He waved. Astarion tried to hide an amused smile and failed. And, in that moment, Gale could only think about how dreadfully beautiful the vampire was. It was sinful, really. Astarion was a spawn—a creature that was looked down upon and feared. A creature that was known to lure and kill. A creature known for its physical appeal but also its brutality. It was so tragically sinful. Because Astarion’s beauty went beyond surface level. Nevertheless, he’d only ever been seen as a vampire spawn. A slave. A puppet. A monster.

Gale’s heart twisted in his chest. And when he finally collapsed into the bed he’d been led to, he wept for the man that Astarion never got to be.

“Why are you walking like that?”

Gale blinked away the sleepy haze that still stubbornly held him in its grip and turned his attention to the vampire strolling at his left. They’d packed a few necessities and left the tavern to do more exploring of the city. Shadowheart had volunteered to stay behind with Wyll and Karlach. So, it was just Gale, Astarion, Lae’zel, and Erro. And the worry that arose as a result of the unfortunate pairing was the only thing that kept him awake at the moment. Well, that and Astarion, who of which had been diligently asking him random questions to keep himself occupied. Gale reached a hand up to run along his face. The last thing he wanted to do was admit to the elf that his bad knee was bothering him.

“I’m tired.”

“I don’t recall that odd limp of yours being a symptom of fatigue in humans.”

The wizard sighed.

“Add it to your field notes, then.”

The vampire frowned, continuing his study of the man. Then he clicked his tongue, dissatisfied by the response, and turned his gaze elsewhere. They were moving through the Lower City, trying to follow the line of evidence indicating a local murder spree that Erro had somehow procured from a Flaming Fist member. They’d heard a number of rumored theories, but the group had settled on the assumption that Bhaalists were behind the gruesome act. And where Bhaalists congregated, Orin could most certainly be found. And where she could be found, so could one of the nether stones. So, naturally, that’s where they started looking. They were on their way to the sewers to see if they could locate the entrance to the Bhaal Temple. But it was just their luck that they were quite aggressively interrupted along the way.

Everyone jumped to attention when Lae’zel suddenly let out a cry of pain. They hadn’t seen which direction it had come from, but an arrow had embedded itself deep in the gith’s shoulder through the sliver of a gap in her armor. Whoever attacked her had dangerously efficient aim.

“Shit. Move!” Erro barked.

They all did. And, as they did, hooded figures dropped from the rooftops into the alleyway that they had only managed to progress halfway through before the disruption. The figure nearest Gale struck in his direction, and the glint of a blade could be seen in what little light shone through from the street behind them. His sleep-addled brain didn’t have time to react, so he braced for the inevitable stab of pain. But Astarion was there. The vampire had already been moving when the enemy had landed, and pale fingers snatched the figure’s wrist before the tip of the person’s dagger could get within a hand’s length from the wizard. The elf twisted roughly, forcing the blade out of the attacker’s hand, and then, with his other hand, he thrust upwards. It was only when a choked gurgling sounded that Gale realized Astarion had just speared his own dagger through the bottom of the figure’s jaw. The enemy crumbled into a heap on the ground.

“Mind your knee.” Was all the vampire said to him before stepping over his kill and disappearing into the skirmish to assist the other two.

The wizard’s breath stuttered. Astute bastard. He tugged at the weave around him, and his hands crackled with electric magic. He fired a bolt at a short attacker trying to catch Erro off guard from behind, and the body spasmed multiple times before falling face-first into the dirt. Green eyes flickered in his direction. A curt nod was sent his way. He nodded back. But then, as he pivoted on his heel to search for his next victim, something slashed into the back of his knee. With a shout of pain, he dropped down hard onto his other knee and braced his fall with still glowing hands. Instinctively, he threw himself sideways into a roll, just barely managing to dodge the stab of a short sword through his back. Instead, the tip of the blade found purchase in the ground below, and Gale used the opportunity to fire magic at his assailant. The figure ducked, skillfully avoiding the attack, and lunged for him once more. He made to lurch backwards, but the wound on the back of his knee sent a lance of pain throughout his leg, crippling him instead. Panic froze him in place. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t—

A sickening crunch reached his ears, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed to see Astarion latched onto the figure’s throat, which the vampire had exposed by ripping through the enemy’s head covering with his dagger. Wild, red eyes met his as the rogue sucked in a mouthful of blood. The now-revealed half-elf wailed and clawed at her neck, trying to scratch at Astarion’s face. But her body had become too weak, and she shuddered and dropped like a stone to the ground beside the wizard. Gale tilted his head back, gazing up at his savior. Large rivulets of blood still careened down the vampire’s chin, making him look even more sinister than he already was. But the wizard knew the elf to be anything but. He reached to grab the hand that his companion offered out to him, and, just as his fingers wrapped around Astarion’s, something happened that neither of them had been expecting.

“…Ah.”

That was the only sound the vampire made as they both glanced down to ogle at the long blade sticking out from the center of Astarion’s chest.

Chapter Text

Astarion staggered forward, and arms hooked under his armpits in the same instant that the foreign object protruding through his core was jerked out through his back. The blood he’d just consumed welled back up into his mouth and spilled down his chin, collecting with the rest. He didn’t need to breathe, but Gods…is that what choking felt like? Something bright filled his waning vision for a split second and a loud scream of pain sounded behind him. But he couldn’t turn to look. He was having great difficulty moving in general, actually. Was he even still standing?

“Astarion.” A voice shaky with panic addressed him from what felt like very far away. “Hey, look at me!”

Fingers grabbed his jaw roughly and pushed his head up. He blinked his heavy eyes, trying to focus. But all he could make out was a blurry, purple shape. He tried to speak, but more blood blocked his throat and spilled over his bottom lip. That hand on his jaw turned into two hands, and they cradled his face unsteadily.

“Erro!” There was that far away voice again. “Help me, please!”

Astarion blinked again, and this time some of the fog cleared a bit. He was able to make out Gale’s face, and his brow furrowed. The wizard looked more distressed than he’d ever seen the man. Those brown eyes were wild with desperation as he looked at something or someone off to his right. And then they turned back to the vampire. He couldn’t quite place the expression that washed across the human’s face in the moment their eyes met, but whatever it was had encouraged him to try speaking again. This time, he was able to choke out a barely coherent name.

“G...ale...?”

The wizard squinted his eyes and clenched his jaw, looking as if he were the one who’d just had a sword jammed through his ribs. Astarion could barely feel the gentle thumbs swiping across his cheekbones. Then Gale moved one hand to grip his shoulder, making him realize that he had been tipping forward again. It also became aware to him that they were both kneeling on the ground. When did that happen? He tried to ask, but the noises he made must not have made too much sense, for the human’s eyes just grew more pained. Gale looked away from him again sharply as another presence approached them. The man’s expression became pleading.

“Erro, I need potions.”

A pause.

“Lae’zel and I used them. She was hurt pretty badly.” Had Erro's voice always sounded like it was underwater?

“And he isn’t?” The vampire had never heard the wizard use such a venomous tone with anyone before.

He blinked again, trying to see the man more clearly as his companions squared off. Gale was beyond livid, hands shaking where they touched the elf to keep him from falling over.

“Just leave him. Healing him will be more trouble than he’s worth. All he does is complain anyway.”

If Astarion could laugh, he would have. It was rich, really—that attitude coming from the very man who’d tried to shove his tongue down his throat but a handful of nights ago. He supposed that was just the fighter’s way of doing things. Utilize what’s beneficial until it loses its purpose and then discard it. All this time, Astarion had just been a plaything. That’s all he’d ever been.

“You can’t be serious. You’d leave him to die?”

An annoyed tsk sounded in the air somewhere above the vampire’s head.

“He’d leave any one of us to die in a heartbeat, so why treat him with any more kindness than he’d show another? Whatever he’s led you to believe is false—he doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about any of us.”

The laugh that escaped Gale was borderline hysterical.

“Are you sure you aren’t speaking of yourself?”

An uncomfortable stretch of silence followed, during which Astarion found himself fading off again. But, before his consciousness succumbed to darkness, he heard the other elf utter out one last thing.

“Leave him or don’t come back with us. Your choice.”

Then everything went black.

The last time Gale had felt this lost was when Mystra had rejected him. His heart felt made of stone, and his steps were heavy as he limped through secluded alleyways with his vampire companion bleeding through the robe on his back. He was carrying the elf, a hand gripped securely under each of the rogue’s thighs. Those pale arms were dangling over the wizard’s shoulders lifelessly, and Astarion’s chin was nestled in the crook of his neck. A shuddering breath rattled his ribs, evoking a wince out of him. How had it all come to this? What were they supposed to do now? Without the artefact and the Emperor’s protection, it would only be a matter of days before the parasites in their brains decided to alter their anatomy. He had to find a way to get to Shadowheart.

“Wha’s…go’n…’n?” A ragged voice at the wizard’s ear startled him out of his dark musings.

Gale’s breath caught in his throat, and he paused in his step. After another few beats, one of those dangling arms began to move. A pale hand trailed up the human’s chest and settled right above his hammering heart.

“Astarion?” He asked softly, afraid that if he spoke any louder his voice would betray his anxiety.

A groan was his only answer as the vampire pressed against his back began to shift. The chin at Gale’s neck lifted away but didn’t move far, for chilled breath washed over his ear.

“Wass goin’ on?” The elf managed with a touch more cohesiveness.

The wizard tilted his head so that he could somewhat catch a glimpse of the alabaster face behind him.

“We’re fugitives on the run.”

A pause.

“…Sss’not what I had in mind for rambunc…rambunc…rambunctiousness.” His companion’s voice was starting to grow stronger.

Gale made the decision to shuffle over to the nearest wall and lower himself down slowly. A hiss of pain escaped him as the back of his knee protested the action. When he’d made it all the way down, he carefully slipped the vampire from his back and propped him against the wall. When he turned, red eyes were boring into him, still unfocused. The human dropped to his knees and reached forward to examine the still-bleeding gash in Astarion’s chest as he pondered the rogue’s words.

“I wholeheartedly agree. Look at me.” Gale kept his words firm but his voice soft.

Those crimson eyes blinked a few times and then lifted to meet his. They were getting clearer. Good.

“Do you remember what happened.”

“…Yes. I was…stabbed.”

“You were. Right through the heart.” He nodded with a downtick of his lips. “And yet, you’re still alive.”

To his utter disbelief, a corner of Astarion’s cupid bow lips curled upwards in a smirk.

“Perks of…already being…a corpse…darling.”

Brown eyes looked away for a moment and then flickered down to the elf’s chest again. The bleeding was slowing, and his companion’s ability to regenerate far surpassed his own, but it would still take quite a while. They’d need to find somewhere safe to hide in the meantime. They could worry about the woes of ceremorphosis later.

“Gale.”

The wizard braved meeting the vampire’s intense eyes again.

“Thank you.”

Emotion welled within Gale that he hadn’t expected, given their current predicament. But, when it came to Astarion, it seemed there were few things regarding his feelings that could be helped. He sighed through his nose and offered a weak smile in return.

“Despite what Erro said, I know you would have done the same for me.”

“I would have.” The elf said admitted without hesitation, making the human’s heart skip again.

He gave Astarion’s leg a reassuring squeeze and then cast a quick spell to remove all the blood from their clothes, skin, and hair. Red eyes regarded his glowing hands hazily.

“I love it when you do your little magic tricks.”

Gale snorted and slid his arm around the vampire’s back, pulling him forward so that he could get a good hold. Then he stood up, pulling the elf up with him. He winced through another sharp pain in the back of his leg, but managed not to make a sound as he situated his companion against his side. Astarion slipped his arm across the human’s shoulders, supporting at least some of his weight, and then spared Gale a somewhat abashed glance.

“If I were in a less sorry state, I wouldn’t allow this.”

The wizard huffed a laugh.

“Oh, I know.”

“I do like to maintain some amount of…decorum.”

“Well aware.”

And then those ruby eyes crinkled in the wake of the rogue’s lopsided grin. And, oh how Gale had needed to see it. With a deep breath he took his first step forward into the unknown. When he’d walked away from Mystra, he’d been so lost. He’d felt so hollow. So alone. And he’d carried that burden with him for years after his fall from his goddess’ grace. He’d carried it with him when he’d been plucked from Waterdeep by mindflayers. He’d carried it when he was pulled from an unstable portal back on that beach all those weeks ago. But now? It was the first time during this wild adventure that he realized he didn’t feel that way anymore. He didn’t feel alone anymore. And, he had Astarion to thank for that.

Without thinking, he tilted his head to the side as they made sluggish progress through the alleyways, bumping it against his companion’s. Snowy curls tickled his cheek, and he found himself smiling tenderly, despite himself. The now familiar and comforting scent of bergamot, citrus, and brandy enveloped him. He heard the vampire grunt. But then, after a few long moments, the hand gripping his shoulder squeezed in response. Gale hoped he never lost this—whatever it was that he had with the vampire. If he did…well, there was still a bomb in his chest, wasn’t there?

They took shelter in an empty building at the end of a lamplit street that had been closed to the public. The Flaming Fist had marked it with a sign outside reading “Do Not Enter—Crime Scene Under Investigation”. For them, that simply meant a safe place to take refuge until morning. Gale had immediately beelined for the single bed in the main room and guided Astarion to the mattress. The vampire slumped down into a hunched over seated position and picked at the torn slit in the front of his armor, frowning.

“This is going to be a pain to mend.” He grumbled.

The wizard sat next to him with a huff and spared the marred leather a fleeting glance. Then he slapped his hand against the elf’s chest, without warning, and pulled at the weave within him. Light flashed beneath his palm for a split second, and, when he removed his hand, his companion’s armor had been repaired. Red eyes widened a fraction.

“Magic again? Gale, you’re spoiling me.”

Gale quirked a halfhearted smile.

“You were stabbed a few hours ago. I’d hardly call it spoiling.” He paused to consider something. “How are you feeling by the way?”

Astarion leaned back and braced himself on his hands, carefully stretching his front. When all he experienced was a dull twinge of discomfort, he hummed in satisfaction and flopped all the way down onto his back.

“About as undead as I usually do.” He turned his head and noted the wizard’s dubious look with a roll of his eyes. “Which is a positive in my case.”

Gale gave a little nod of his head and followed the vampire’s example by lowering himself all the way onto his back. His shoulder brushed against the elf’s, and they simply laid like that for a while. Astarion listened to the sound of the human’s heart beating. And, for some odd reason he tried to remember what it felt like to have one. He’d never been able to properly recall anything from his life before his vampirism, but sometimes, he had these weird feelings—pseudo memories that would claw at him from the inside until he acknowledged them. But whenever he did, they would slip away like sand through his fingers.

The drumming of Gale’s heart began to slow, and when the vampire glanced sideways, he was amused to see that the wizard had dozed off. He took the opportunity to study the man, eyes raking over the human’s less angular features. His eyes followed the line of the faint mark trailing from Gale’s closed eye until he reached the collar of the man’s robe. But he knew that the mark traveled all the way down to the center of the human’s chest to form a flaming circle—a symbol of the dreadful orb lingering inside of him as a reminder of a previous faux pas. Astarion frowned, something like despondency falling over him the longer he studied the wizard.

Why Gale? Of all people? It wasn’t fair. The vampire moved a hand up to gingerly brush away a few strands of long, brown hair strewn across the human’s forehead. He hummed absently as his cold fingers trailed across the warm skin of Gale’s face. He traced his cheekbone. His scruff covered jaw. Then…his lips. His fingers hovered over the man’s slightly parted mouth for a few moments before he withdrew, turning over onto his side so that his back was facing the wizard. Something as broken and jagged as he shouldn’t be touching something as fragile and wholesome as Gale Dekarios. He was shattered glass, and Gale was the compassionate hand trying to pick up all the pieces. He didn’t deserve it. Not one bit.

The mattress creaked all of a sudden and Astarion stiffened when an arm slung itself over his waist and dragged him backwards. He glanced over his shoulder to see his companion, who was very much still asleep, nestling himself against the vampire’s back. The elf gritted his teeth and carefully grabbed the man’s arm, maneuvering it up over his body and back to Gale’s side. The wizard mumbled something incoherent and rolled over onto his other flank so that he now had his back to Astarion. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he? Even when the bloody fool was sleeping. Gods damnit. The vampire scooted to the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor to stand up. When he didn’t wobble, he ventured further into the room, eyes roaming over the small space. Might as well do some exploring while the wizard recovered.

He soon found himself opening drawers and cabinets and peeking under and behind furniture. His roguish nature just couldn’t be shaken. Every trinket and bobble he came across found its way into the pack he’d snagged from a wardrobe by the street-facing window. This is something he’d often found himself doing in his victim’s houses when they’d managed to drag him back to their residence. Those were some of the worst nights—when the evening of cat and mouse prolonged itself into dangerous hours. Cazador had never strictly set a deadline for acquiring his conquests, but he’d also never known his master to be a very patient man. And, of course, there was also the risk of treading into daylight hours if things took too long.

It'd happened to him once. Towards the beginning of his newly turned vampire spawn years. A young woman had tugged at his freshly undead heartstrings and requested his company while she hid from her abusive spouse. He’d known the face of cruelty by that point and felt an immediate kinship with the lady. What he hadn’t accounted for was her insistence that he stay with her until she could be sure her husband wouldn’t return. Unfortunately, that ended up being right until the morning sun’s rays peeked out over the horizon, bathing the world in its deadly light. He remembered fleeing the house with a blanket he’d stolen from her bed, trying to shield himself from the light to no avail. By the time he’d returned to the palace, his skin had burned and flaked from his head all the way down to his ankles. And, instead of showing him mercy, Cazador had commanded him to chain himself in the kennels so that Godey could further the peeling of his flesh with his favorite toys.

Astarion shivered at the memory, pausing momentarily in his scavenging to try and clear his thoughts. It would do him no good at all to ruminate about such things now. For the first time in his life, his freedom was within his grasp. He wouldn’t let it slip away so easily. He couldn’t. Shaking his head, he roamed back into the main room and cast a glance at his still snoozing companion. Gale had tossed and turned a few times while he’d stepped out and was now lying on his stomach, cheek pressed into the firm mattress. The vampire walked over to the edge of the bed, abruptly struck by the alarmingly overwhelming desire to wake the man so that he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts anymore. But, as he neared, he noticed the blood stain on the back of the human’s pant leg. He hadn’t noticed it before because the man’s silly robe had been in the way.

He propped one knee against the edge of the bed and leaned forward to get a better look. The fabric at the back of Gale’s knee, while dyed a dark red with the man’s blood, was also torn. Dexterous fingers slipped into the slit of the fabric and quietly ripped it back, revealing a nasty gash in his companion’s flesh. Astarion wrinkled his nose in displeasure. The careless oaf. The elf grabbed a corner of the white bedsheet and tore it into a long, thin strip. Then he reached back over to the wizard’s leg and carefully looped it around the human’s knee. He wound it around and around until he had exhausted the length and then tucked it firmly back into the not-too-tight wrapping. Unintentionally, his meticulous ministrations had stirred his companion to consciousness. Gale let out a groan and lifted his head to glance back at Astarion.

“What’re you doing?”

The vampire patted the man’s leg below the wrapping and shifted back into a standing position by the bedside. He leered over the wizard with a snarky grin.

“Playing nurse. Want to collaborate? I’ll let you take my temperature.”

Gale gave him a deadpan look, but after a few moments a touch of pink colored his cheeks. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and averted his gaze.

“Why are you like this?”

Astarion allowed a low chuckle to reverberate in his chest.

“You like it. Don’t lie.”

The wizard deemed not to reward him with a response. However, the growing flush on his skin answered for the man. Before he could say anything, Gale took notice of the fabric wrapped around his knee. The human rolled over onto his back and then sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he could get a better look. The human reached down and ran his fingers over the neatly applied bandage. Then he turned his searching brown eyes up to Astarion. There was a question on his face that he seemed to answer in his head, for he smiled and glanced back down at his leg.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

The vampire smirked.

“Aren’t I just? And I can show you many more if you’d like.” He drawled with a wink.

Gale snorted and returned his gaze to his companion’s amused face.

“You are absolutely insufferable this evening.”

“Tell me that you want me to stop, and I will.” He challenged and took a step closer, crowding into the wizard’s space.

The human was forced to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact with his companion. He swallowed but didn’t refute. Pale hands rose to card through long, brown locks. Dark eyes continued to hold red, becoming intense. Then Astarion lowered a hand and dragged the backs of his knuckles down across the wizard’s face. He’d seduced so many people. So many that he’d lost count long ago. And he tried to forget them all. But the man before him? He wasn’t cut from the same cloth. Gale wasn’t some dreaded conquest of his. He wasn’t a target. He wasn’t a victim or just someone that was better to forget. The vampire tilted his head, gaze flitting about the human’s expectant face. Gale was… Gale was… He descended, like a predator lunging to land a killing blow. His lips crashed into the wizard’s, and he shoved the man back onto the bed. Gale’s breath left him in a startled gasp that was swallowed by the elf’s hunger. Their mouths danced together immaculately, and when they parted for the human to collect himself, Astarion bared his fangs, unable to contain the feeling welling up within him.

“You are the air that fills my dead lungs.” He moved his mouth to kiss Gale’s forhead. “You are the warmth I’ve never known.” He kissed Gale’s cheek. “You are the heart that makes mine yearn to beat.” His parted lips hovered over the side of Gale’s neck. “You are the blood that fills my veins.” He whispered.

Then he opened his mouth and bit down, sinking his fangs into the tenderest of necks. Gale lurched beneath him, the man’s hands flying to the vampire’s waist to ground himself as blood was leeched from his body. Astarion swallowed the hot liquid greedily, ignoring the rancid flavor that burned at the back of his throat. Strength coursed through him, and he could feel whatever wound remained from their earlier skirmish heal completely. He took another lengthy draught. The fingers digging into the elf’s sides gripped harder, and it wasn’t until he heard a weak exclamation of his name beneath him that he pulled away in fright. His fangs unsheathed themselves from the man’s neck as he stumbled back. Gale didn’t move. That had him pitching forward again, and he hovered over the man, dropping a hand into the mattress on either side of the wizard’s head. The human’s eyes were closed.

“Gale?” His voice came out strangled.

He could feel a drop of blood rolling down his chin, and he lifted a hand to wipe it away before grabbing his companion’s face. Brown eyes fluttered open at the cool contact and jumped to Astarion.

“I’m alright.” He murmured with a feeble smile.

The elf’s shoulders sagged with relief. He allowed his crimson eyes to roam over the wizard’s body, taking in the sickly pallor of the man’s flesh. He’d let himself go too far. He should’ve known better. And Gale had almost paid the ultimate price. An unnaturally chilled hand brushed against his arm, catching the vampire’s attention.

“I’ve never been bitten by a vampire before.”

Astarion scoffed humorlessly. He sighed through his nose and moved to sit on the bed by the wizard. Gale turned his head so that he could observe the rogue.

“And you never will again if I have anything to say about it. That was a…mistake. A miscalculation on my part.” His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

The human gave him a sad look then.

“Don’t be. I gave you permission to remember?”

“Yes, and you were a fool to do so.”

“I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“Unwise choices.”

Gale procured an amused smile and waved a lethargic hand in the air between them.

“I like this—this banter between us. It makes me happy.”

Red eyes took the wizard in, pondering the man. He couldn’t help the reluctant, fond smile that tugged at his lips. Then he leaned over the human and gave him a swift peck on the lips. Brown eyes ogled up at him in surprise and then softened affectionately. It was that very look that crumbled what remained of the walls Astarion had so painstakingly constructed around his heart. He became so vulnerable. So terrifyingly raw.

“There is nothing more important to me than making you happy, my darling wizard.”

Chapter Text

They departed the house at first light, keeping to the shadows as the city began to stir awake. Astarion took the lead, as he was familiar with every twist and turn they needed to take to make their way back to the Elfsong Tavern. And, by the time they found themselves crouching next to a trader’s cart across from the establishment, the streets had become lively with its inhabitants once again. Red eyes narrowed as they observed the tavern’s patrons walking in and out of the front door.

“Should we wait for them to leave?”

The vampire shook his head. No, they couldn’t just hide outside and wait for Gods know how long for their companions to exit their place of respite. They had to be more proactive than that. Astarion turned a thoughtful look to the wizard beside him.

“Can you cast ‘disguise self’?”

Brown eyes gleamed knowingly and then Gale waved a hand over his face, stretching his features into unfamiliar elven sharpness. Long, pointed ears took shape where smaller, round ones had been, and those murky irises of his paled into a light gold. That scruffy beard disappeared entirely. Astarion grinned deviously.

“Well, hello handsome.”

High elf Gale rolled his eyes and turned his head away, attempting to cover up his sudden discomfiture. And, as the man did so, the vampire caught the glimmer of something that made him frown. He reached up and delicately pinched the wizard’s earring—the sign of his connection to Mystra. Discontentment roiled in the elf’s gut, but he merely gave his companion a pointed look. With a halfhearted sigh, Gale removed the jewelry and slipped it into a pocket. The vampire moved his hand to tug at the front of the wizard’s robe.

“Now we just have to do something about this…” He trailed off, contemplating.

The disguised human abruptly glanced up to the cart they were still crouching behind and pointed up. Crimson eyes followed the gesture and narrowed when they caught sight of the garments hanging above their heads. Well, wasn’t that just convenient? Astarion stood, keeping one eye on the front door of the tavern, and expertly pilfered an armful of clothes. Once he’d gathered what he deemed to be an appropriate outfit, he motioned to his companion to stand up. And then he steered the man back into an alleyway. Once they were well out of sight of any possible onlookers from the street, the vampire turned his back to the wizard.

“Alright. Change.”

Gale spluttered.

“What? Here?” His voice pitched an octave in disbelief.

Astarion just made an impatient gesticulation.

“Yes, here. I’ll keep watch.” At the stern look he received from those narrowed, golden eyes, he sighed in exasperation. “And I promise to keep my eyes from…roaming.”

With a disbelieving huff, Gale began to shrug off his robe. As promised, the vampire kept his gaze trained on the entrance to the alleyway. Sounds of shuffling and a few muttered curses sounded over his shoulder as his companion struggled to quickly dress himself. Then, after what felt like ages, the human-elf cleared his throat. Astarion turned around and stilled, eyes drinking in the visage of the man before him. It was odd seeing the wizard in anything other than his trademark robe. Well, it was odd seeing the man as anything other than himself in general.

“Is this acceptable?” Gale questioned with some amount of trepidation, having noted the other’s pause.

Astarion gave a curt nod, successfully managing to keep his stare from roving over the man’s snug pants and low-cut blouse—not entirely unlike the one he opted to wear in the evenings. Only, Gale’s was a flattering shade of forest green that complimented his brown hair and wheat-colored eyes.

“It’ll suffice. Now, come, let’s go find our darling cleric.”

The wizard nodded and made to walk past him, and as he did, the vampire halted him with a hand to his shoulder. When Gale tossed him an inquiring look, the elf stepped behind him and procured a jade ribbon he’d also snatched from the trader’s cart. Pale fingers reached up to comb through his companion’s dark locks a few times, relieving any tangles, and then bundled the hair into a loose bun. He used the ribbon to hold it in place, looping it around itself and then tying it off so that the stray ends dangled slightly. Then he stepped forward, around the wizard, to give him a solid once over. Gold eyes regarded him bashfully.

“Thank you.”

Astarion gave the man a crooked smile and ushered him towards the now-busy street. At the end of the alley, the vampire peeked out into the throng of pedestrians and settled his studious gaze upon the tavern on the other side of the road.

“Alright, go walk your pretty, little self in there and find Shadowheart.”

Gale shot him a pensive glance.

“How much should I tell her?”

“Tell her everything. She already knows not to trust Erro.” The elf distractedly adjusted the ties of Gale’s shirt. “Her empathy will be for us.”

The wizard looked doubtful but gave his companion a nod and then stepped out into the crowd.

To say Gale was nervous would be an understatement. He had never been one to partake in acts of tiptoeing and deception, so he wasn’t sure how well he would pull off their last-minute patchwork plan. The human-elf opened the tavern’s large, wooden door and stepped inside. There weren’t as many people frequenting the establishment as there had been two nights ago when they’d first arrived. Considering it was early hours, though, that made sense. Honey-hued eyes scored the room, searching for familiar faces as he ventured further into the open space towards the bar. The barkeep, a charming human woman with bouncy, blonde curls, glanced up from her task of cleaning a glass. A bright smile crossed her face.

“Mornin’, sir! What can I get for ya?”

Gale pondered a moment, wondering whether he should straight out ask if she’d seen his companions around or if he should just wave her off and continue his own snooping. He opted for the former and flashed the woman a sly grin of his own.

“Oh, nothing for me thanks. I’ve just popped in looking for some friends to see if they are still utilizing one of the rooms here.” He threaded a slight lilt into his voice to make the act more convincing. “Perhaps you can assist me. Have you seen a large, angry-looking elf recently? Or perhaps a fiery, red tiefling with one horn?”

She gave him a quick, inquisitive look and then frowned.

“I don’t just give out my visitors’ information for free. They’re well-paying customers, after all.”

Gale folded his arms atop the bar counter and leaned in, dawning a charismatic smile he’d seen his vampiric friend wear on more than one occasion to sway a matter in his favor. He lowered his eyelids halfway and hummed.

“Perhaps I can offer you something of greater value. All I’m asking is for you to tell me if my friends are still here or not. What do you say?”

The woman swallowed, and a light dusting of pink appeared on her pale cheeks. She bit her lip, considering.

“That depends on what you’re offerin’?”

Gale dipped his head lower, meeting her blue eyes.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m offering, darling.” He drawled, using Astarion’s favorite sobriquet.

Her eyes flickered away shyly, and then she gave a small, nervous laugh.

“Alright, twist my arm. Your friends left earlier this morning. I overheard mention of some weird stuff, like ‘Bhaal’ and ‘sewers’…oh, and some sort of stone? Does that help?”

The disguised human reached forward and trailed a suggestive finger down the side of her face and then along her jaw until it came to a halt under her chin. Then he leaned in and planted a soft kiss against her lips. The woman practically melted and made to further the gesture, but Gale withdrew sharply and snaked a hand up to cover her eyes. A pulse of purple magic glowed under his palm, and in the same instant his disguise self spell flickered away. He watched with a grimace on his own face as the barkeep crumpled to the ground. She fell onto her side, heading lolling and eyes closed. After a few tense moments, a quiet snore escaped her. He loosed a weighted sigh and then pivoted on his heel to leave.

Astarion was waiting for him in the shadow of an adjacent building when he exited the tavern, and, as he approached, something devious flitted across his companion’s face. The wizard’s steps faltered, and he lifted a brow in question. The vampire simply shook his head as he met the human halfway, allowing the sunlight to wash over his pallid figure and highlight his striking features.

“Mm, as stunning as you were as an elf, I much prefer this version of you, Darling.”

Gale’s heart did a little flip, as it always did when the elf weaved flirtatiousness into his greeting. An easy smile stretched across his face, but then the merriment faded when the reminder of what he was meant to relay washed back over him.

“They weren’t there. Left this morning. The barkeep said they mentioned ‘Bhaal’ and the ‘sewers’, so I’m thinking they may have found some sort of entrance to the Bhaal Temple in the sewers somewhere.”

Red eyes sharpened, and Astarion frowned.

“Of course, where else would you find a sadistic, meat-wearing freak with severe father issues?” The vampire sneered rhetorically.

“Not a fan of the sewers then.” Gale stated.

“Sewers are rank and filled with rats. And I’d say I’ve rather had my fill of those. Enough for over two of your measly lifetimes.” His voiced dropped low—heavy with barely-suppressed anger.

The wizard bit at the inside of his cheek to keep from expressing his sympathies. He knew how much the elf hated the sentiment. So, he instead, changed to a lighter topic in hopes of improving his companion’s somber mood.

“You didn’t ask how I got the information.”

Astarion blinked at him blankly. Then he snorted.

“No need.”

Gale stared at the vampire, baffled that the man wasn’t even remotely interested in hearing about his recent, little stunt.

“Really? I’m offering to brighten your day at my own expense.”

A mischievous glint twinkled in those ruby eyes. The elf took a step nearer, placing his face but a mere hand’s length from the human’s, and lifted a finger to tilt the wizard’s chin up minutely. Gale went completely still as Astarion inclined forward, mouth hovering but an inch from his.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what you’re offering, darling.” The vampire breathed across his lips teasingly.

Heat exploded across the wizard’s face at the obvious implication. Astarion had been watching his entire interaction with the barkeep from Gods know where. He’d watched him charm the woman. He’d watched him kiss her. Before Gale could move backwards, the elf whispered something that made his knees nearly buckle.

“Tell me, Gale, did she taste as sweet as me?”

The human swallowed, eyelids fluttering as his gaze dropped to the vampire’s tantalizingly close lips. It was an indirect challenge.

“No.” He whispered.

Astarion huffed a laugh, a sound that reverberated in his chest, and then stepped back. Gale let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and shivered. Amused, crimson eyes regarded him.

“Of course not.”

And then the wizard said something he hadn’t ever expected to say to anyone. Something that would’ve made him cringe if his heart hadn’t been so sewn into the words rolling off his tongue.

“Not even a goddess can compare.”

Astarion’s eyes went wide for a moment. And then a real, vulnerable smile crossed his face.

“Careful, if you keep that up, I may break my vow and bite you again.”

“My blood is yours.”

Those red eyes shimmered with some unspoken emotion the human hadn’t seen expressed by the elf before, and the notion made him feel warm. Then, after a few beats, the vampire squared his shoulders and waved a hand towards the street, bringing Gale back to reality.

“Alright then, to the sewers we so gleefully venture.”

Gale rummaged through his pack and retrieved a chunk of baguette Astarion had nicked for him from a bakery they’d passed by on their way to the tavern that morning. He unwrapped the striped cloth he’d preserved it in and brought the bread to his mouth.

“How the Hells are you able to eat with this putrid stink in the air?”

The wizard paused, halfway through a bite, and glanced at his companion. The vampire was crouched before a gate several feet away and had been fiddling with a lock. Red eyes were boring holes into the human, fixing him with an incredulous look. Gale shrugged a shoulder and finished biting through his slightly stale snack.

“I haven’t yet eaten today—I’m hungry.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and then proceeded to successfully pick the lock. He rose to his full height and swung the heavy gate open with an earsplitting screech. The wizard winced at the noise.

“Try going a whole year without consuming anything and then I’ll listen to you complain.”

Now it was Gale’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighed as he passed the elf to walk into the now-accessible, long hallway.

“You say some of the most tragic things so offhandedly. I’m not sure whether you’re trying to make me sad or make me laugh.”

The vampire cocked his head to one side, feigning contemplation, and then smiled sardonically.

“You pick.”

The wizard clicked his tongue in disapproval but said nothing more. They walked in silence for a while, save for the occasional tearing and chewing of bread. Astarion was right, though, the place did reek something foul. It was to be expected, as they were in the sewers, but perhaps he hadn’t been prepared for just how pungent it would be. The human’s stomach turned and with a grimace he wrapped up what remained of his baguette chunk and stuffed it back into his bag. A breathy laugh sounded behind him. He ignored it.

“I must say, I am enjoying your new wardrobe. The clothes compliment your figure far more than that ghastly robe ever did.”

Gale felt heat crawl up his neck, but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he pivoted around and pointed an accusing finger at his companion. The vampire halted, red eyes iridescent in the dim light.

“And just what did you do with my robe, you rogue?”

Astarion blinked at him innocently.

“Me? You’re the one who changed out of it.”

The wizard’s jaw dropped.

“Are you saying my favorite robe is still lying on the ground in some dirty alleyway somewhere?”

The elf shrugged. Dread began to creep its icy fingers across Gale's skin, and he let out a sound of distress. That robe was the last piece of Waterdeep he had left. It had still even had little Tara hairs on it. It was his blanket on a cold night. It was his moral support. It was a part of his identity. And now? Now…? He took a shaky breath and looked away from his companion. Astarion frowned, observing him carefully. Then the vampire furrowed his brow and reached into his pack. A flash of familiar purple caught the human’s eye.

“Here, you big oaf.” A pale hand extended in Gale’s direction, handing him what was very clearly his robe. “And they call me the dramatic one.”

The wizard perked up instantly and gingerly accepted the garment. His fingers brushed against Astarion’s cold hands, and his brown eyes jumped up to meet the elf’s.

“You picked it up and kept it for me?”

“Now, now, let’s not go and make this all about you. For all you know I was planning to barter it for a new dagger.”

Gale scoffed. Then he smiled and reached forward to caress the vampire’s cheek. But Astarion caught his wrist before his fingers could make contact. The elf chided softly.

“You think you can touch me so casually after having locked lips with another?”

The wizard raised a brow.

“We both know you’re not upset about that.”

“Do we now? And why shouldn’t I be upset?”

Gale huffed an exasperated breath.

“Is it validation you’re seeking? Because I can easily regale you all day with compliments and—”

And then lips were on his. Brown eyes went wide, and the man took a couple of steps back, caught off guard. Their mouths disconnected at the sudden divide, and the vampire scowled.

“I don’t want worthless compliments, Gale, I want you.”

And then Astarion stiffened, as if he hadn’t meant to say what he did. Red eyes closed for a moment as the vampire collected himself, then he let out a long sigh through his nose. He opened his eyes again. Gale was gawking at him, cheeks aflame. The elf cleared his throat awkwardly and darted his gaze to the side, avoiding eye contact.

“What I mean to say is, I enjoy being with you and I want to be…appropriate for you. But I don’t know how to be.” He worried at his lip with a fang absently while he gathered his thoughts. “I have been tainted by all of the wrong concepts of affection. For me, it’s always been a transaction. If someone does something for me, I offer them my body in return. It’s a habit of sorts, I suppose. A two centuries’ old habit that is incredibly difficult to break. But I also know you like when I touch you, so I…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of how to continue.

Gale stepped forward and reached up with both hands, allowing them to hover on either side of the vampire’s face without making physical contact. His eyes squinted in the wake of the overwhelming fondness that washed over him. No one had ever made him feel this way before. Not past lovers. Not Mystra. And, like a punch to the gut, he realized that he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to carry out his goddesses’ will of becoming the bomb to end it all. He wanted to live. He wanted to stay alive so that he could forever reassure the man before him--the beautiful, cunning, skilled, emotional, immortal vampire spawn. And, in that moment, he became all too aware of the reality of it all. The reality of what everything had built up to. This moment. His heart began to pick up its pace. Blood drop irises jumped to his chest, taking notice. But no. He needed to be looking into those eyes when he said it. So, he dared a shaking touch to that perfectly crafted jaw and tilted Astarion’s face up. A single tear escaped Gale’s eye and rolled down his cheek.

“That I could also live forever to be by your side until the end of time. To assure you every day of how perfect your every imperfection is. To touch you without fear of consequence, and to kiss you and have you know I expect nothing in return. I have tasted others before, but none could ever compare to you. You are intoxicating, and I fear I have become addicted to your flavor.” He dragged a thumb slowly over those cupid’s bow lips. “And I’m not looking for an intervention. I’m not searching for a cure, because I am happy. I’m happy simply existing with you. You needn’t worry about me leaving. And you needn’t worry of my affections for you. Because they are unchanging. In the face of everything we’ve been through and all that you are…Astarion, can’t you see that I love you?”

Chapter Text

Astarion was frozen. His eyes leapt between Gale’s, searching. Desperately searching for the sliver of a lie. He knew it was there. Nobody meant the word ‘love’ when they said it to him. It was an utterance, slipped out from lips numb with passion. It was said as a flippant descriptor, not as a heartfelt admission. He’d been on the receiving end of that word many times, in the throes of inequitable ecstasy with his victims. But they didn’t love him. Cazador had said it to him a few times over the many years, as an inadequate balm to his unimaginable suffering. And then he’d enslave his mind and do unspeakable things to his body in the very name of the concept. Cazador never loved him.

Love? That wasn’t right. Love didn’t exist. Nobody actually meant it when they said it. So then…why did Gale look so sincere? The vampire’s brow furrowed. He shouldn’t fall into the trap again—to be the fool tempted by the notion of affection. But the wizard was a walking bleeding heart. And Astarion did oh so relish the damned gushing organ. The hand at his face began to lower away from his jaw in the wake of his hesitation. If he didn’t say something, the human would most certainly take his silence as denial. But what could he possibly say? That he loved the man back? His throat grew tight as he watched the emotional light begin to fade from Gale’s warm, brown eyes. A sudden urgency moved his arm, and he found himself encircling his fingers around the wizard’s wrist to halt his retreat.

“I…” He trailed off, still at a loss.

But the human waited patiently. The man had always been most graciously patient with him. Crimson eyes lowered for a beat and then flickered back up fearfully. What should he say? Shit. A breath that wasn’t needed stuttered in his dusty lungs. Those soulful eyes regarded him cautiously, and then a sad smile pulled at the wizard’s lips.

“You don’t have to say it back.” The man murmured softly, as if talking to a cornered animal.

The vampire stared at him, dead heart aching. He should try again.

“Love,” he tested the word with some manner of strain, “is…a tricky word for me.”

Gale hummed in affirmation.

“I know.”

“It doesn’t hold the same meaning for me as it does for you, I think.”

“Then consider my version of it when I say it to you, not yours.”

The elf averted his gaze, suddenly feeling quite small.

“That’s…a difficult ask.”

“I know. And I’m sorry that it’s so difficult for you. But it’s important to me that you try.”

He returned his eyes to Gale’s, feeling dizzy in response to the tenderness swirling in those brown opal gems. His fingers gripped tighter around the warm wrist, and he growled softly in frustration.

“Gale.”

“Yes?”

Astarion’s nostrils flared. He bared his fangs as if he were facing a rampant beast.

“You really want to do this right now? In the sewers?”

A glimmer of amusement shone in the human’s eyes.

“I would have this discussion with you anywhere.”

Red eyes rolled in their sockets, but, after a few moments’ contemplation, the elf conceded. Desolation overtook his face.

“No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me. You’re the only one. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re you. No one is like that.” He began to fumble for the right words. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be what you want to see in me…but I will do my best to express my feelings more articulately. That being said, I won’t just say that I love you. Because it wouldn’t mean the same coming from me. So, I’ll wait until that changes. And when it does…then I’ll say it.”

A brilliant smile blossomed across the wizard’s face.

“You said ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

“Like I said, I’m trying.”

And then arms were suddenly around him, enveloping him, pulling him in close to a warm chest. Astarion tensed at first, but then after a few seconds he relaxed into the embrace. He slowly lifted his arms to reciprocate, settling his hands on the human’s back. The vampire buried his face into the crook of the man’s neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Gale slipped a hand across the nape of the elf’s neck, threading his fingers through the snowy curls there.

“Gods, you are both my bane and my salvation, Astarion.”

Astarion huffed.

“I do like to keep you on your toes.”

As the wizard pulled away, he gave the vampire’s pale cheek a gentle kiss. Red eyes blinked in surprise at how diffident the simple gesture made him feel. Gale took a few steps back, giving his companion his space, and then gave a decisive nod.

“Onward?”

Astarion gave a crooked smile.

“Lead the way.”

They spent longer than they would’ve liked scoring the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate in search of their companions. And the further into the sewers they ventured, the less sure they became that the others had actually even been down there. That is until Astarion picked up the faint chime of a familiar voice echoed in the distance. They had just talked their way past a cultist group consisting of humans and mephits and had crossed a bridge over rancid, green liquid. Before they reached the other side, the vampire shot out an arm to halt his companion, and the wizard tossed him an inquiring look.

“Shadowheart. I heard her voice.”

Brown eyes widened slightly, but the man only gave him a nod in response. The elf led the way, ears pricking as he followed the path of the reverberating chatter. As the voice grew louder, he began to make out the pitch of another. Karlach. He parted his lips, tasting the air. Ignoring the very obvious stink surrounding them, the vampire was able to detect a trace of brimstone and night orchid. But Erro’s musky smell didn’t reach him. Curious. He and Gale rounded the side of a collapsed cement structure and froze at the sight of their companions.
Karlach and Shadowheart were standing face-to-face a few yards away, both bristling and talking in urgent voices. The tiefling stopped in the middle of a sentence, however, when her gold eyes caught sight of the other pair. Joy instantly lit up her face.

“Boys!”

She bounded over, ignoring the cleric’s admonishing tone as she demanded the barbarian lower her voice. Karlach skidded to a stop before them and laid a heavy, hot hand on both of their shoudlers. She gave them a hearty shake.

“Gods, am I glad to see you! Erro said you were dead.” She gave Astarion a watery look—one he grumbled at.

Gale barely managed to refrain from smiling. But then the seriousness of the situation washed over him.

“Where are the others? Where’s Wyll? Lae’zel and Erro?”

The tiefling frowned, something akin to fury darkening her eyes. It was an uncommon emotion to see the barbarian express outside of battle, and the severity of it had the wizard leaning back nervously. Flames flared from her skin, and the hand on the human’s shoulder squeezed tighter. He grimaced.

“That bastard…” She snarled, baring her teeth.

Shadowheart stepped up beside her and gave her a pointed look. Karlach let out a sharp breath through her nose and released her hold on the men. Astarion rubbed at his shoulder with a displeased expression. The cleric turned her pale, green eyes to them gloomily.

“Erro betrayed us. You were right, he had been lying to us the whole time.”

The wizard’s breath hitched.

“What happened.”

The tiefling growled.

“He’s a fucking disciple of Bhaal. He walked us right into that bloody temple knowing what was waiting for us there.”

“Wyll is just around the corner speaking to a trader, but Lae’zel…” Shadowheart supplied reflectively.

“Lae sided with him. We knew she would, but…I don’t know, it still hurts. I don’t know how she can be so blind.”

Shadowheart just shook her head. They were all quiet for a few moments. Astarion was glowering. Gale was staring at the ground with narrowed eyes, processing. Erro was a disciple of Bhaal? How did the fighter manage to keep that from them for so long? Were they really that ignorant? The wizard’s frown deepened. It all made sense, in retrospect. The gradually shifting mood. The blasé discarding of their companions’ wellbeing. The urgency to reach Baldur’s Gate. He had simply been using them to reach this point. They’d been played. The realization shook the human to his core. So…where did that leave them?

“Gale, did you raid Astarion’s wardrobe?”

The wizard glanced up with a scowl, and multiple pairs of eyes flitted in his direction humorously.

“Come now, Karlach, doesn’t he look fetching?” The vampire tutted.

The tiefling turned her expanding grin to the elf. They shared a look that made Gale’s face grow warm. He waved a hand dismissively.

“A story for another time. We have more important things to worry about right now.”

Karlach waggled her eyebrows at him but dropped the matter. She then glanced over her shoulder as the sound of footsteps echoed from the other side of the room. Wyll popped around the corner and then paused upon seeing them. His face lit up.

“You’re alright!” He jogged over and came to a stop by the barbarian’s side, gaze roaming over the other two men. “Erro said you’d died, Astarion, and that Gale abandoned all of us in fear.”

The wizard scoffed.

“Like Hells I did.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gale saw Astarion smirk. Then the vampire gestured to his person dramatically.

“Yet, here I am, somehow still walking amongst the living in all my glory.”

The wizard cast the elf a disparaging glance.

“Yes, snarky quips and all.”

He received a wily grin in response followed by a snort from Karlach. Shadowheart sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Alright, obviously we’re all here and in one piece…so, what do we do now?”

Wyll lifted a brow.

“What we’ve been doing. We have two of the netherstones, now we just need the third from Gortash.”

Gale blinked, surprised.

“You got Orin’s stone?”

The warlock flashed him a smile.

“Of course we did. We’re not Erro’s helpless cohorts. He turned on us, so we turned on him. He killed Orin, but we snagged the stone and gave him and the other Bhaalists the slip.” The smile fell from his face then. “He’s still down there in the Temple, though, so it’s only a matter of time before he notices what’s happened and comes looking for us.”

The wizard grimaced.

“Time to go?”

They all nodded in unison and began their arduous trek back through the sewers.

When they reached the surface, Wyll suggested they split up and stock up on supplies. When they got what they’d needed they’d meet up outside the Elfsong Tavern and discuss where they’d be staying for the night. Residing in the same place seemed too risky a move, after all. Wyll took Karlach and Astarion to procure potions and weapons, leaving Gale with Shadowheart to scavenge for food and drink. The wizard and the cleric stood side-by-side, watching the other three walk down the street and disappear around the corner of a wall. A small frown tugged at Gale’s lips. Sharp eyes noticed.

“Worried?”

The wizard gave her a questioning look, and she smiled knowingly.

“About your vampire.”

His skin crawled in the wake of his blush, and he clenched his jaw stubbornly.

“He’s not my vampire. And, no, I’m not worried.” He said with no real spite behind the words.

Pale, green eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement, but the cleric relieved him of her prodding in favor of steering him in the direction they were meant to be heading. The man allowed her to direct him, as she knew the city better. He had changed back into his robe in the safety of an abandoned home once they’d left the sewers, so he was feeling more himself—more confident—as he strode down the cobblestone path. Tall lamplights shone steadily as the sun descended, illuminating their path. Brown eyes trailed across the buildings as they passed them by, reading shop signs and peering into dirt-flecked windows. It took every ounce of willpower Gale had not to suggest stopping in every spell and magic shop they came across. That wasn’t their objective.

“Can I ask you something, Gale.” His companion suddenly asked in a quiet voice.

Dread roiled in his gut. He had an idea of what the cleric was about to address, so he took a deep breath in preparation.

“I imagine you’d ask even if I said no.”

“Clever boy.” She laughed softly and then sobered. “It’s about your goddess.”

That gave the man pause. Okay, so maybe he’d been off the mark. He turned curious eyes to the woman.

“About Mystra? What would you like to know?”

She hesitated, biting her lip.

“I just…how do you know she’s leading you in the right direction?”

Gale’s brow furrowed. He stopped walking, and after a few extra paces, Shadowheart did as well. She turned to face him fully, not quite meeting his eyes. He wondered if she was questioning her own shift of worship. But instead of asking directly, he answered her honestly.

“I don’t. I thought I did, but that’s changed. This adventure of ours has put me in a position to do a lot of self-reflecting, and I’ve found myself frequently evaluating my relationship with Mystra. I thought I loved her. I thought she loved me. But that thought changed when someone told me directly that she did not, and I was forced to face a truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.”

Shadowheart gazed at him sadly—understandingly, even. Her voice was delicate when she spoke again, as if he were a fragile thing she didn’t want to break.

“And you believed that person? Why?”

The wizard offered a small, melancholy smile.

“Because the person who told me that Mystra didn’t love me is the very one who showed me what love is actually supposed to feel like. And I’d choose that a thousand times over anyone who’d try to subject me to anything less. Even if that anyone was a god or a goddess.”

The cleric regarded him with something like awe for a few moments before smiling and reaching over to give his arm a squeeze.

“Take care of him, Gale. He’s already been so horribly broken, and one wrong word could shatter him like glass.”

The wizard had to look away when his eyes began to sting. He hadn’t expected such raw support from the woman. Yet, there she was, knowing and caring, despite everything.

Astarion grumbled in annoyance as Karlach let out another excited exclamation and pointed to a large hammer hanging from the wall on the other side of the small shop. They’d been there for ages while Wyll chatted with the shop owner, lost in a story about him saving some child, or something to that degree. Meanwhile, the large tiefling in their party stomped about the establishment pointing out every weapon that she could use to crush a bugbear’s skull in with one swing. Her gold eyes flickered to the elf with glee.

“Fangs, what about that one?”

He glared.

“Karlach, dear, I think you could punch a bugbear and break every bone in its body. You don’t need any of the damn weapons in this shop.”

A laugh escaped the barbarian, and she skipped back over to Wyll’s side. The warlock spared her an acknowledging smile and then turned his attention back to the elderly half-elf behind the counter. Bored, the vampire huffed and made to stand by the window, peering out into the darkening street to watch the city night life begin to stir while he waited. It felt eerily familiar, as if he were back under his master’s thrall searching for victims to take back to the palace. A shiver coursed its way up his spine, and he scowled, banishing the thought. He hadn’t experienced a single compulsion from Cazador since the mindflayers had descended. And, if he had anything to say about it, he never would again.

His eyes jumped from person to person, noting their clothing. Their expression. Their stride. It was a little game he liked to play to try and guess a person's background and current situation before actually finding out what kind of character they were. And, he was rather good at it, as it was how he chose his conquests. He watched a human man drag a small cart filled with an assortment of vegetables behind him. Then he watched a young elf child and her mother dancing beneath a lamplight. Then his eyes glided to a couple approaching the shop, and he did a quick double take. Shit. Astarion pushed away from the window and took the few strides necessary to put himself at Wyll’s other side. The warlock glanced sideways at him and frowned, noting the urgent look in his red eyes.

“Astarion, what’s—”

The shop bell jingled, and all four occupants looked up to see a long-haired elf and a tiefling woman enter the building. Astarion slipped behind Karlach, earning a raised brow from the fiery tiefling. Wyll narrowed his eyes, trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together, and watched the unfamiliar pair as they walked right up to the shop counter. The male elf barely spared the warlock a glance as he addressed the shop owner.

“Good evening, I’m looking for my brother. Perhaps you’ve seen him. High elf. Red eyes. White hair.”

Karlach reached back to grab Astarion’s arm, keeping him firmly behind her. He’d have to remember to steal her that hammer later. Wyll visibly tensed, everything clicking into place. Then the man was moving, and the Blade of Frontiers made himself known with a flourish. He propped an elbow on the counter and tilted his head forward, allowing the lamp light to shine over his cheek and accentuate the long scars on the side of his face.

“Red eyes you, say? I also happen to be looking for a creature with red eyes.” He held out a hand then. “Wyll Ravengard, Blade of Frontiers and monster hunter, at your service.”

The long-haired elf regarded the warlock uncertainly then, ignoring the hand hovering in the air before him in greeting. He glanced at the red-eyed tiefling by his side and frowned.

“I don’t think we’re looking for the same—”

The elf froze, nostrils flaring. Astarion tensed. Of course, they could bloody smell him. What had he been thinking? A pensive look crossed the stranger’s face, and he took a step to his left to peer around Karlach and fix his gaze on the hiding vampire spawn. A wicked grin crossed his face.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the naughty runaway. We’ve been looking for you, brother.”

Chapter Text

Gale knew something was wrong. He could feel it setting him on edge and twisting his guts, and he bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently as Shadowheart purchased the last of their provisions and stepped out of the shop to meet him back outside on the street. She shifted her full pack as she approached and glanced up, brow furrowing in worry at his clear restlessness. Before she could speak, he voiced his discomfort.

“I think we should hurry back. Something doesn’t feel right.”

The cleric frowned and tilted her head, considering the admission.

“Alright, I trust your intuition. But I’m sure the others are absolutely fine. They are all quite capable of handling themselves.”

He fiddled with the sleeve of his robe absently and trailed after her as she set a hasty pace back the way they came. Of course he knew that. Every single one of them was more than adept to take on any threat that could present itself…but, for some reason, the fact didn’t quell the growing anxiety within him. Traveling across the city to where Wyll had told them they’d be shopping for weapons seemed to take hours, but, eventually, the small establishment came into view when they turned down a narrow path. A lone lamplight illuminated the front of the shop, and just as they neared the door, Karlach burst through with a yowl of fury. The wizard and the cleric stumbled back in alarm, nearly careening over. The tiefling stomped out into the light and then caught sight of them, her gold eyes wild, swirling maelstroms of rage. Shadowheart raised placating hands and dared a few steps towards their companion.

“Karlach, what’s wrong?”

The barbarian spat on the ground and slammed the head of a large hammer she’d been wielding into the stone below, effectively cracking it. Her teeth were bared when she addressed them.

“They took him.” Her voice wavered with barely contained misery.

Gale’s legs felt like they’d been kicked out from underneath him. He may not have known what exactly had transpired, but the implication of who had been taken was unmistakable. And his speculation was confirmed when Wyll stepped out of the shop behind Karlach with his head hanging low. The warlock was holding an arm close to his chest, the skin of it welted and charred. His eyes flitted up to regard them solemnly. Then they settled on Gale, brimming with shame.

“I’m so sorry. We tried to stop them.”

The wizard’s breath caught in his throat, and a weird, strangled sound tore itself out from the depths of his lungs. He took a shaky step forward.

“Who took him?” He asked in a much too quiet voice.

Wyll grimaced and sent Karlach a helpless look. The barbarian sauntered over and placed a warm, steadying hand on the human’s shoulder.

“The other spawn. They were much stronger than we thought, and we didn’t expect them to just grab him and…vanish in a flash of red light.”

Gale let out a slow breath through his nose.

“…Cazador has him?”

Karlach gave him such an anguished look then that he had to turn his gaze elsewhere. His heart was pounding too forcefully in his chest. His hands were shaking. This couldn’t be real. Astarion had been dragged back to that damn palace? Back to that place of unspeakable torment and abuse? The place that had beaten and broken him over, and, over, and over again? The wizard pulled away from the tiefling and stumbled over to the nearby wall of the adjacent building. He threw out an arm and braced himself with an unsteady hand against cold stone. With his other hand, he clenched at the front of his robes, right above his relentless heart. This couldn’t be real. He struggled to control his erratic breaths.

“So, what’s the plan?” Shadowheart inquired gently from somewhere behind him.

Wyll answered her with marginally revived conviction.

“We go to the Szarr palace in the morning—”

“In the morning?” Gale interrupted incredulously but didn’t move from his current position.

He could feel eyes resting heavily on his back. The wizard dared not turn to acknowledge them.

“Gale, I know you’re worried, but we all need rest if we’re going to infiltrate a vampire lord’s palace and take him and all who are under his thrall in a fight.”

Gale knew that was the intelligent thing to do. But it didn’t feel like the right thing to do. His mind flashed with unwarranted images of his vampiric companion locked away in a dark dungeon, receiving all manner of horrific tortures while they laid snuggly in their bedrolls. The backs of his eyelids danced with visions of flayed pale flesh and cracking bones. His stomach churned. He was going to be sick. But then, a gentle hand settled between his shoulder blades.

“Gale, look at me.”

With a great amount of effort, he turned his head to the side to give the cleric a hesitant sideways glance. Her expression was the softest he’d ever seen it. Her pale, green eyes held his for a long moment, making sure she had his attention.

“We’re going to save him.”

He swallowed.

“You speak of respite and recovery, but you know there’s no way I could possibly sleep peacefully knowing what he’s going through.”

She rubbed her hand consolingly along his spine and gave him an aggrieved look.

“I know. So, use that time to strategize then. Think of the most logical way to approach this—not the most chaotic. Don’t let your feelings take charge here, otherwise we’ll all just be rushing in to lay our heads on the chopping block.”

The human winced and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew she was right. Of course, she was right. But, to tell him not to allow his feelings to take charge was like telling him to refrain from consuming a magical item when the orb in his chest was tearing him apart—it was impossible. If it meant saving Astarion, though…well, he’d do anything.

“…Alright.” He relented in a small voice.

The hand at his back patted a few times and then retreated.

“Let’s go find a place to get ourselves together. And then as soon as the sun peeks over the horizon, we’ll go rescue your vampire.” Shadowheart whispered.

Astarion was trembling, and he despised that he was. Leon and Aurelia had dragged him to the kennels as soon as they’d teleported to the palace and dumped him at Godey’s feet. The old sack of bones had been filled with delight at the gift, and he had instantly made to chain the spawn to the wall at the far end of the blood-spattered chamber. The elf hung forward, shirtless and already covered in a spattering of bruises and gashes. The shackles at his wrists and throat suspended him, keeping him from hitting the floor. The reanimated skeleton stalked back and forth in front of him, tapping the tip of a bloodied blade contemplatively against his skull. His old, tattered boots dragged across the stone below.

“My favorite pet has returned. Godey is very happy indeed.” The familiar, wispy voice sent dread coursing through Astarion’s body.

A boney hand reached up to thread through his curls and yank his head back aggressively. The vampire bared his fangs and hissed. A hollow chuckle echoed throughout the room.

“My, my, little one. You’ve a bit more meat on your bones than you did the last time I saw you. No longer just skin and bones. Have you been feeding without permission?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It’s no matter. More meat for me to carve.”

The tip of the dagger lifted to trace tantalizingly along the line of the elf’s jaw, not quite pressing hard enough to cut the flesh. Yet. Godey leaned in close, the smell of rot infiltrating Astarion’s nose. The undead warden lowered the blade to the spawn’s chest and applied pressure. The elf was practiced enough to not give his torturer the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, but every nerve in his body was alight with pain as the dagger carved random shapes into his skin. Red eyes glared hatefully into empty eye sockets. Another dark laugh bounced off the walls of the chamber.

“Come now, pet, scream sweetly for Godey.”

The blade moved to his restricted hand and the skeleton wedged the tip of it under one of the elf’s fingernails. He clenched his jaw. He would not scream.

Gale sat, leaning back in one of the rickety, wooden chairs in the room they’d rented at a nearby dive. He rested his head against the grimy wall. The place was filthy, but at that point, they very well couldn’t complain. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all. They had to split the rooms, so Wyll and Gale took one while Shadowheart and Karlach shared the other. His roommate sat on the edge of one of the beds, regarding him quietly. But after a few, uncomfortable minutes, the warlock sighed and shifted closer so that he was sitting right across from the wizard.

“Talk to me, Gale.”

Gale shrugged and rolled his head to the side, staring at the opposite wall blankly.

“What’s the point?”

“It’ll help. I promise.”

Brown eyes flitted in Wyll’s direction, gauging. Gale frowned.

“What do you want me to say?”

The warlock made a vague gesture.

“Maybe tell me why you are taking this so close to heart? Don’t get me wrong, I think Astarion is a great person once you get past all the smarminess, but I’ve never seen you behave this way before.”

The wizard let out a slow breath, effectively deflating his lungs. He wondered how much he should say. Or if he should even say anything at all. However, upon catching his companion’s empathetic eye, he couldn’t help but give the man something. Besides, did it even really matter anymore? Gale hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he averted his gaze fearfully. Then he refilled his lungs.

“I love him.”

It was the first time he’d put it so simply and out in the open for another to hear. Wyll’s eyes went wide, and he straightened his spine. A beat of silence passed between them, and then the warlock hummed thoughtfully.

“I had noticed you two had grown close, but I didn’t realize…Gods, Gale. I’m so sorry.”

Gale closed his eyes, hiding the anguish that simmered there.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

The bed creaked as Wyll rose and stepped forward to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll get our vampire back. I’m not going to ask you not to worry, because I know that would be futile. But I will ask that you put your faith in me.”

The wizard blinked open his eyes and looked up at the stoic face gazing down at him. His brow furrowed.

“My faith in you has never left, Wyll. You’ve had it since the beginning.”

The warlock smiled and squeezed the other man’s shoulder. Then he stepped back and made his way over to the door.

“Good. I’m going to see how the others are fairing. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, he stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind him. Gale stared at the paint-chipped door for a while, feeling slightly better than he did an hour ago. Of course he had faith in his friends. There was no questioning the trust he granted them. But that didn’t mean he had to feel good about what they were—or weren’t—doing. Irritation crawled across his skin, and the wizard scratched at his arms. It was going to be a very long night, and he already knew he wouldn’t be getting a single wink of sleep. Or, what sleep he did manage would be filled with nightmares of a certain vampire spawn writhing in agony. Lovely.

Astarion had shut his brain off an hour ago, his mind retreating deep within itself as a means of coping with the overwhelming amount of pain he was experiencing. It was a skill of sorts that he’d honed over hundreds of years of torture. The blade dancing across his body, hacking and slashing, had become nothing more than a distant nuisance. And that was all good and well, of course, until the vampire’s consciousness returned to him. He barely even registered that he was still chained to the wall, alone on his knees in the dark chamber, for the instant he blinked open his eyes the pain consumed him. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as he writhed and fell sideways to the floor. His raw flesh struck unforgiving stone, and his spine arched in the wake of the burning that licked across his entire body.
He tried to think. Tried to reason. How long had he been there? What exactly had Godey done to him? Where had the sadistic bastard gone? And where in the Hells was Cazador? But he couldn’t focus enough on one question to properly speculate. Instead, he pressed his cheek against the cold, damp floor and groaned miserably. It hurt. It hurt. IT HURT. He moaned in aguish and arched back again, attempting to stretch out the pain. But it just would not go away. Godey must have done something to the blade to tamper with his vampiric regeneration, for his body wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have. He blinked open eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed and glared around the room, confirming that he was, in fact, alone.

That’s when he let the tears fall. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He had gotten out. Escaped. He had been free. It wasn’t fair. IT WASN’T FAIR. Astarion snarled at nothing and strained against his shackles, sending fresh waves of searing agony through his arms. He pulled at his restraints, anyway, fighting against their hold. Another growl ripped from his chest, and he jerked forward, wincing as his abused skin tore. He could feel blood dripping down his fingers. But what was a few more drops into the endless sea of crimson beneath him? Astarion cursed into the darkness, spit and gore flying from his trembling lips. No more. No more. No more…

Please, no more.

His consciousness faded to black.

When they had convened in the early morning hours, Wyll had laid out an immaculate plan and had given each of them specific roles to carry out during their mission. What they hadn't accounted for, however, was how freely they would be able to move about. The party were more than bewildered that none of the humans under Cazador’s thrall paid them any mind as they stormed into the vampire lord’s palace. But they certainly weren’t complaining that no one tried to stop them. Thus, there they were, strolling around as if they owned the place. They opened various doors and searched the myriad rooms for their missing companion, growing more agitated as time ticked by and they’d still discovered nothing. Eventually an hour had passed, and, after opening the door to yet another empty room, Gale let out a groan of dismay. Shadowheart came up behind him then and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. It’s just a big place.”

Brown eyes regarded her with appreciation. He didn’t say it enough, but the three by his side really did manage to wriggle their way into his heart. They all cared about him, in their own unique ways, and the sentiment was most definitely returned. The loud crunch of someone biting into an apple caught his attention, breaking him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see Karlach leaning against one of the hallway’s walls with the fruit held a few inches from her mouth. All eyes jumped to her, and she paused in her chewing.

“What? I didn’t get to eat breakfast because you guys were all ‘go, go, go’ this morning.”

Wyll scowled at her and tried to snatch the apple from her hand, but as he did, she pulled back and he only managed to knock it loose from her fingers. The tiefling let out an indignant squawk as the fruit fell and bounced across the floor. And they all watched as it rolled right through the wall on the other side. Everyone blinked, bewildered. Gale was the first to move. He took the few steps necessary to reach the opposite side of the hallway and he lifted an arm. It passed right through the wallpaper. He looked back at the others, eyes wide.

“It’s an illusion.”

After a few tense moments of no one breathing a word, the wizard stepped through the wall. His world became enveloped in darkness, and on instinct, he conjured a flickering ball of flames to illuminate the space around him. Yet, he immediately wished he hadn’t. For there, on the other side of the room in a crumpled, broken heap on the floor, was Astarion. The vampire laid in a pool of his own blood, the dark, red liquid still dripping from various wounds littered across the elf’s pale body. Shackles had worn the skin at his throat and wrists raw and bruised. And his face… His perfect, ethereal face…

Gale fell to his knees and wretched.

Chapter Text

Astarion stirred awake at the sound of voices—voices that were familiar but that he couldn’t quite nail down. His whole body tensed. Was Godey returning? Or perhaps Cazador was finally making his way down to see him after all the torment he’d allowed the skeletal torturer to inflict upon him over the last few hours. Either way, he wasn’t ready. His mind was barely conscious, feeble and malleable like clay. His body was still raw, an overworked canvas with no additional room for marks. Still, the sound of someone approaching grew louder. A presence hovered over him, and hands descended upon the burning skin of his mangled arm. An animalistic snarl escaped him. It was an awful, terrified sound he hadn’t made in quite some time. The fingers at his bicep retreated immediately.

“Don’t touch me!” He howled, trying to sound menacing, but his voice only cracked with misuse and panic.

His eyes snapped open. He was no longer obscured in heavy darkness, for there, crouched over him was an imposing, horned man holding a ball of dancing fire in one hand. Recognition flashed through the vampire, but his brain was still much too frantic to put a name to the scarred face. The man’s eyes were mismatched, one appearing to be emotionless stone while the other, a warm, dark brown, squinted down at him in dread. Astarion bared his fangs. Perhaps it was some goon his master had hired to inflict upon him even more horrors. No matter, the man would soon find out that the broken elf before him could still offer a nasty bite. A hand rose suddenly, and the vampire growled.

“Astarion, it’s me, Wyll. Please…I’m not trying to cause you any harm.” The voice was warm and full-bodied, rich, and soothing like honey.

It did little to balm his wounds, but the screaming in his mind did falter at the claim. And he realized that the human-devil-whatever was simply holding up his hand in a conciliating gesture, not to strike him. Astarion’s body remained coiled and taught like a spring, but he did allow his eyes a secondary roam over the stranger’s figure. Wyll? …Wyll? Why did he know that name? His gaze picked the man apart, searching for something that might rekindle his memory. But then he was distracted by a second set of approaching footsteps. His eyes jumped over the stranger’s shoulder to see yet another distantly familiar face. A tiefling. She was the largest he’d seen, with red skin, sharp tattoos, and a glowing chest. Now that one…that one could definitely break his bones. He growled again, this time louder so it resounded throughout the room as a warning to any additional occupants. Again, pacifying hands rose. The tiefling fixed him with a grief-stricken look.

“Gods, Astarion…we’re here to rescue you. You’re safe now.” Her voice was much quieter—much gentler—than what was considered normal for her, and he wasn’t sure how he knew that.

Then another figure popped up behind the tiefling. A woman with silvery hair and sad, green eyes. Just how many of them were there? He was starting to feel claustrophobic. The walls were closing in. Breath his body didn’t require began to accelerate, and his eyes danced wildly from one stranger to the next, waiting for an inevitable blow or sharp word. But then a voice spoke up, clear and authoritative from the back of the chamber.

“Get back. Give him space.”

Astarion blinked in surprise when they all conceded. The horned ones and the silent half-elf took several steps back, making room for a single human man to approach. Red eyes narrowed as threateningly as he could manage as the stranger slowly dropped into a kneeling position by his side. The human’s breaths were long and ragged, as if he were fighting back an illness. Those deeply distraught, brown opal eyes raked over his body, opening back up every single one of his wounds. The elf hissed when a hand twitched in his direction. But, to his dismay, the hand didn’t withdraw. Instead, it bravely neared his face. Then it set something small on the unforgiving stone by his head. Red eyes flickered up, catching sight of a small figurine in the still flickering light.

It was a lanceboard piece—a hand-carved horse head painted with chipped white paint. A pale brow furrowed, memory beginning to stir. He knew this piece. He’d had it in his pocket when he’d been dumped at Godey’s feet. The sadistic bastard had stripped him of all his belongings and tossed them carelessly onto the floor by his table of torture instruments. The vampire remembered having watched the piece bounce across the floor to the other side of the room—somewhere just out of his assailant’s sight. Ruby eyes narrowed. Then they blew wide as everything came rushing back like a hammer to his skull. The human kneeling above him smiled carefully, as if too much emotion would break Astarion further. And perhaps it would.

A shaking finger touched the top of the small horse’s head and inclined the game piece in his direction.

“Fret not, darling. Your white knight has come to claim the head of the evil king.” The man that he now recognized murmured.

The vampire’s eyes were burning. Tears. Tears were falling unbidden down his face and onto the cold floor below, mingling gruesomely with the stagnant pool of his borrowed blood. He turned his crimson eyes up to meet the tender ones gazing back at him.

“…Gale?” He rasped through abused vocal cords.

The wizard moved his hand to oh so gingerly brush the backs of careful knuckles across the elf’s pale cheek. And Astarion surprised himself by not recoiling from the touch. After a few heavy moments, the human tore his eyes away to glance at someone over his shoulder.

“Shadowheart, I think we may need your healing hands.”

The cleric came forward slowly, approaching the wounded predator with all appropriate manner of cautious behavior. Upon reaching Gale’s side, she knelt beside the man and raised glowing hands. Before she descended, however, she sought out pained, crimson eyes, seeking permission. Astarion hesitated. Being touched by another was the last thing he wanted in that moment. But…after catching the wizard’s encouraging eye, he relented with a stiff, rueful nod. Shadowheart’s hands shimmered with a healing glow as she lowered them to hover mere inches above his tattered flesh. Her brow furrowed in concentration. All the while, the vampire found himself staring at the small, battered lanceboard piece—the white knight he’d snatched from Gale’s gameboard back at Sharess’ Caress to use for later antics. How ironic. His knight donned in purple robe.

The hand at Astarion’s cheek continued its gentle ministrations, easing loose the pain-clenched muscles of the vampire’s face. A long breath escaped through the vampire’s nose, not quite a sigh, and he allowed his eyes to flutter shut as his wounds attempted to knit themselves back together. Attempted being the key word. For, after several minutes of ruthless spell casting, the light beneath the cleric’s hands sputtered out. She leaned back onto her heels with a frustrated huff and turned concerned eyes to the wizard at her right.

“Something’s wrong with the injuries. There’s some sort of strange enchantment keeping them from healing completely. I was able to mend some of them, but…” She trailed off, implication hanging uncomfortably in the air between them.

Gale frowned and brushed a thumb absentmindedly across Astarion’s split cheekbone, avoiding the angry gash. He narrowed his eyes in thought.

“I can do some research and see what magical interferences are at play so that we can heal him completely. In the meantime, we need to leave this awful place before someone comes back for Astarion.”

Shadowheart nodded her agreement and rose to her feet. What little she had managed to heal of the vampire served its purpose as Astarion groaned and managed to push himself halfway up into a sitting position. The fingers at his face shot down to grip supportively at his shoulder, keeping him from slumping back down. Brown eyes scored over him tentatively and then sought his. The vampire grimaced at the apology lurking there. The man was about to do something he knew Astarion wouldn’t like. And, given the very clear context clues, the elf grumbled under his breath.

“For fuck’s sake, just pick me up then and get it over with.”

Gale bit his lip and slipped an arm around the vampire’s shoulders while threading the other beneath his knees. With a grunt and a crack of joints, Astarion was lifted from the ground. He let out a pained hiss as his body protested, wounds screaming and broken bones splintering beneath bruised, pale flesh. The wizard muttered a ceaseless string of apologies and slowly made his way over to the others, the elf cradled close to his chest. Multiple pairs of eyes fell upon them miserably as Gale walked with him to the illusionary door and stepped through. Gods, he couldn’t wait to be out of that damned, freezing palace and walking freely beneath the warm, forgiving sun again.

The others offered to trade off carrying Astarion so that Gale could take a break, but he stubbornly refused every time one of them suggested he relent his hold on the quivering, cold body in his arms. He’d spent too many hours distressing over whether he’d ever be able to see or touch the vampire again, so he would soak in every second he was given. Still, Karlach hovered close, her steady presence an unspoken comfort in case he needed it. He really did appreciate them—loved them even. In such a short time they had become his family, and that was something he’d been missing for a very, very long time.

Astarion stirred in his arms suddenly, and he glanced down. Red eyes were peering up at him from behind heavy, half-lidded eyelids in hazy confusion. The elf had been fading in and out of consciousness since they’d left the palace. And now, it seemed, the vampire was waking once more. Gale smiled down at him affectionately, not accustomed to witnessing such a vulnerable display of lethargy from his companion. As long as he’d known Astarion, the man had always been on high alert, either dishing out surly quips or slashing open someone’s throat with a skilled hand. So, for the wizard, it was a refreshing shift in the vampire’s demeanor. A low hum sounded deep within the elf’s chest as he considered the face above him.

“Gale?”

The human hummed back in greeting.

“Astarion.”

Red eyes opened marginally further and swept around sluggishly, trying to take in the vampire’s surroundings. They were traveling down a foggy, cobblestone path, nearly back to the dirty, old tavern that the group had stayed in the night before invading Cazador’s palace. They would spend another night there before planning their next course of action since it seemed to be the simplest option. Plus, the other patrons there were shady enough that they wouldn’t question the oddness of their group, or even inquire as to why they were carrying a bloodied and battered elf into the establishment. A few meaningful coins placed in the appropriate hands would ensure everyone’s mouths remained firmly shut.

“Where are we?”

Gale brushed a thumb back and forth across the exposed, pale skin of the vampire’s arm.

“On our way to a tavern—not the Elfsong.” He added hurriedly at the strained expression overtaking his companion’s face.

The body in his arms relaxed, and the wizard couldn’t help but smile. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe that Astarion was allowing him to carry the vampire without complaint. Perhaps the sudden show of leniency was due to all the injuries the elf had received and the mental torment he’d just experienced. Now that made the human frown. He knew Astarion’s situation had been bad before all this, but for them to find him in the position that they had… A shudder coursed through his body. Ruby eyes flickered up to his face. The vampire glowered.

“Don’t do that.” Astarion grumbled.

Gale’s frown deepened, and he lifted an eyebrow.

“Do what?”

“You’re making that face. Stop it.”

A huff escaped the wizard’s lungs.

“What face?”

“The ‘oh, Gods, poor, poor, broken Astarion face’. Your pity face.” The vampire mocked in an exaggerated, nasally version of the human’s voice.

The human scowled.

“Is that really what I sound like to you.”

“Yes, actually.”

Shadowheart’s groan of exasperation sounded from Gale’s other side.

“Ugh, when we reach the tavern let me know which room you both are sharing so I can be sure to steer clear of it.” The cleric jibed.

The wizard spared her a disapproving glare and grunted softly. Pale, green eyes flitted over to his face, revealing a sparkle of amusement. Karlach whined from his left.

“Hang on, if those two are shacking up together then where is Wyll going to stay.”

Shadowheart’s face became devious then, and before she could shift her taunting to the barbarian, Gale cut in with unconcealed annoyance.

“Wyll will still be sharing a room with us, so don’t go getting any weird ideas.” The wizard stated with a pointed look in the cleric’s direction.

Shadowheart scoffed.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that.”

The human rolled his eyes and caught the disappointed look on Karlach’s face in the process. He was aware of her crush, for lack of a better word, on the warlock, but he wasn’t sure in what situation it would be appropriate to suggest that Wyll share a room with the tiefling. At least, not without it seeming as if he was meddling. And Gale did so very despise involving himself in others’ drama. But he figured he’d at least throw her a bone. She had been nothing but darling to him, after all.

“Perhaps he can stay in your room until we retire to sleep, though, since I will be doing very boring research for a while to try and find a way to heal Astarion.” He managed to keep his voice nonchalant.

Still, a pair of red and a pair of green eyes regarded him humorously. The barbarian, however, perked up immediately. She let out a little sound of agreement and smiled, quickening her pace to catch up to Wyll, who had lengthened his stride as he lost himself in thought. The warlock was several feet ahead, just out of earshot if Gale decided to whisper. And he did just that to the elf in his arms and the half-elf to his right.

“There, good deed done for the day.”

Shadowheart snorted and shook her head, following Karlach’s lead and hastening her steps to catch up to the pair. Brown eyes glanced down, catching a glimpse of a familiar smirk. The wizard’s skin prickled.

“What?”

Astarion’s face shifted into a mask of feigned innocence.

“Nothing. You’re just annoyingly skilled at being a decent man.”

Gale gave his companion a bemused look.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you wish, darling.”

Gale huffed a small laugh. A pleasant silence fell over them for a while. But then…

“Just so you know, if I could walk—”

“Yes, yes, you wouldn’t allow for me to be carrying you, I know. Decorum and all that.” The wizard interrupted with a sigh.

The corners of the vampire’s lips twitched upwards.

“Decorum.” He confirmed.

Astarion settled himself closer to the man’s chest then and pressed a pointed ear to the place right above Gale’s beating, human heart. His eyelids began to flutter again, and the wizard took notice.

“Rest now, I’ll rouse you when we reach the tavern.”

Those eyelids closed the rest of the way, and this time, the darkness that swallowed the vampire was a much more welcome one.

Astarion awoke to pain. His body was burning, and aching, and itching, and pinching and his eyes felt as if they’d been bruised repeatedly by bony knuckles as he forced them open. And maybe they had. Godey had never been above getting his hands dirty, after all. Those red orbs swept around the room the vampire discovered himself in. It was small and dank, with poor insulation and only a single candle atop a bedside table to illuminate the few feet around him. Luckily, he had darkvision. His head rolled to the side, and he caught sight of a second, empty bed with rumpled sheets. The smell of stale, mildewy fabric invaded his senses, and he wrinkled his nose. The others had warned him that the place they had planned to reside in was lacking, but this…well, it was a far cry from their room at the Eflsong. He wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t rather be laid out on a bedroll outside.

The door to the room opened suddenly, catching his attention, and Gale stepped through, balancing a handful of books in his arms. The wizard used his foot to shut the door and then made his way over to the other bed. With care, he lowered the tomes—Astarion counted eight—down onto the stiff mattress. Astarion watched as the man spent a few minutes arranging the books. Then he retrieved his notebook and a quill from the satchel at his side, and began to pull up the single rickety, wooden chair from his side of the room. That’s when he noticed that the vampire was watching him. Gale perked up and changed his course, dragging the chair behind him and situating it beside his companion’s bed. The man plopped down into the chair, earning a creak from the abused furniture, and then scooted forward.

“You’re awake!”

Crimson eyes blinked slowly. He noticed that the collar of the man’s robe was folded incorrectly, and his hand twitched to fix the wizard’s wardrobe.

“I’m a vampire spawn, we don’t sleep.” He said instead, keeping his hand right where it was by his side.

Gale huffed an amused breath and waved a meaningless gesture. He used the weave at his disposal to lift one of the larger tomes from the other bed and float it across the room into his expectant hand. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking—”

Astarion snorted, cutting the human off. “Careful, that’s proven to be dangerous for you.”

“—and after reading some of these books, I’ve started to acquire a better understanding of what may have occurred to keep your wounds from healing properly.” Gale ignored the interruption and opened the book’s cover to begin flipping through its pages.

The vampire pouted quietly, dissatisfied by the lack of reaction to his little witticism. He considered readdressing the jab for a brief moment but then thought better of it. He sighed through his nose and conceded instead, giving the man his undivided attention.

“Enlighten me, wizard.”

That earned him a pleased grin. Gale turned the book in his hands to show Astarion a page filled with lengthy text and tiny scrawls of a variety of symbols. Red eyes squinted as they studied the page, not recognizing the language glaring back at him.

“How can you read any of this? Is this even Common?”

The wizard shook his head. He turned to another page, revealing to the elf some sort of hastily sketched out diagram. The vampire stared at it, unimpressed.

“It’s not, but I’m fluent in multiple languages and can read most of them.” He rifled through the pages again, and this time spun the book back around so that he could study the page’s contents. “This particular account is in Draconic, a harsh spoken tongue but the writing is more…delicate.”

Astarion lifted a brow incredulously.

“Is it? That all looked like hacked runes to me.”

Gale smirked.

“Wer xanalre ui lerovupel.” The wizard all but hissed.

The vampire gave the man an odd look, and then huffed a short laugh that jostled his ribcage uncomfortably.

“And you think the Dragonborn know something about what Godey did to me?”

A frown tugged at the wizard’s mouth at the mention of the elf’s torturer. But he gleaned over it in favor of leaning forward to hold his companion’s searching, red eyes.

“I think they have some answers, yes. A reverse enchantment of sorts.”

Astarion seemed unsure. But he would always give his wizard the benefit of the doubt. Especially after the man had gone through so much trouble to aid him. The vampire worried at his lower lip with a fang while he thought, and brown eyes dropped to his mouth, noting the subtle act. That’s when the elf’s train of thought shifted. He stared into those tantalizingly warm eyes, falling headfirst into them like the desperate, miserable creature that he was. He sought shelter there, as he always did, for he knew Gale would provide him with anything he requested. And wasn’t that just oh so terribly sad? The wizard was doing all of this for him. For Astarion. For the manipulative, sinful vampire spawn that had played puppet master in the very beginning only to find his own strings becoming more tangled with the human’s as time passed. And when those strings had been cut free…Oh, how hard he’d fallen.

Astarion took a stuttering breath that did nothing to sustain him and turned his head back to lie on the very unsupportive pillow, fixing his gaze on the dark ceiling above. He couldn’t look at the man anymore. If he continued, he may say or do something regrettable.

“Cazador will be furious I slipped away again.” He mumbled to change the topic to the more pressing matter at hand.

Gale grunted, and then reached forward to grab the vampire's motionless, pale hand. The wizard was merely a man latching on to the vandalized body of a corpse.

"He will be. And, I swear to you that we will be prepared to face his wrath as soon as you are better. We will return to the palace and end his immortal tirade once and for all. Please, believe me when I say that I want nothing more than for you to be free of that monster."

Astarion narrowed his eyes. They were burning again--stinging with tears he refused to let fall.

"My white knight." He whispered.

Chapter Text

Gale had laid out his bedroll on the hardwood floor by Astarion’s bed that night while Wyll claimed the other, and he moved all his books into two neat stacks on the side table by the window to clear the space for the warlock. Astarion simply watched the wizard move about the room from where he lay, still too injured to do much more than that. Every now and again the vampire would initiate in some form of light banter, but, for the most part, he remained silent. Gale tried not to overthink the quietness. Astarion was likely just tired. His battered body working relentlessly to try and heal itself. And, until he was able to figure out why said healing process had been so decelerated, the elf would likely continue his taciturn attitude.

The door to the room opened abruptly, and both occupants glanced up to see Wyll enter. The warlock bobbed his horned head in greeting and dropped his pack onto the floor by the empty bed. Gale had been reclining back in that wooden chair, but the wizard rocked forward and rose to meet the other man as he approached. Wyll lifted an arm and handed the other human a wrapped parcel.

“There you are, my good wizard.” The warlock smiled and gave a little bow. “And it was only but a meager few coin.”

Gale beamed back and held the small package to his chest.

“I truly appreciate you going out of your way to get this for me.”

Wyll waved a dismissive hand and moved back towards his mattress.

“It wasn’t any trouble at all, I promise. I found a few things for myself in that shop as well, so it was a worthwhile trip.”

While they spoke, red eyes jumped back and forth between them, obviously trying to decipher what was going on. The warlock spared the vampire a fleeting glance and gave him a small wave.

“Astarion, I hope you are feeling somewhat better.”

The elf raised an eyebrow and spoke for the first time since the tall human had left for the shops.

“I’m not.”

Wyll grimaced apologetically and then turned his attention back to the wizard. He clapped a firm hand on the man’s shoulder, and Gale startled a bit.

“Well, I’m off to my new room. The one across the hall just became vacant, and I honestly wouldn’t mind a little time to myself.” The horned human said with a wink.

The wizard frowned, brow furrowing.

“Wyll, that’s certainly not necessary, we can—”

“Gale.”

The mage clamped his mouth shut at the pointed look the warlock was giving him. Wyll gave him another pat on the arm and then strode back over to where he’d sat his pack. With a grunt, he hoisted the bag up and across his shoulder then turned towards the door, but not before throwing Gale a contemplative glance.

“We all deserve to sleep in our own bed tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

And, without waiting for an answer, the warlock stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind him, leaving the vampire and the wizard alone once again. A peculiar silence settled across the room. And Gale was surprised when Astarion was the first to break it.

“Subtle.” He stated impassively.

The wizard tossed him an inquisitive look but said nothing on the matter. Instead, he cast his eyes down to the parcel in his hands and began to unwrap it. He could feel the vampire’s gaze on him.

“What’s that?”

A pleased smile tugged at the human’s lips as he pulled back the plain paper to reveal the fragrant bar that he’d requested Wyll grab for him while the man had been out looking for a few supplies an hour ago. The scents of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy wafted up to tickle his nose. They were the smells he had come to associate his vampiric companion with, and the familiarity of them filled his chest with unexpected warmth. He turned his delighted eyes to Astarion, and the elf’s expression shifted into something akin to suspicion.

“Is that what I think it is?” The vampire asked with a measured amount of hesitation and carefully situated himself into a seated position, leaning his back against the bed’s headboard.

Gale dropped the paper wrapping onto the floor and made his way over to the old, worn tub on the other side of the room. It was a standard, wooden washing basin separated only by a worn, black standing divider. Nothing like the extravagant one he had back in his tower in Waterdeep. But, in their current situation, it would do. The wizard fiddled with the knobs for a moment, turning them to no avail, and then waved a glowing hand over them. The connected, metal pipes surged to life with water, and when Gale turned the hot water handle again liquid poured through. He let out a satisfied grunt and then twisted around to address Astarion. However, he paused when he caught sight of the vampire’s horrified expression.

“What’s wrong?” The wizard asked over the sound of rushing water.

Unreadable red eyes snapped from the gradually filling tub to the human’s face, and Gale suddenly wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake. But then the elf swallowed and averted his gaze, suddenly becoming uncharacteristically bashful.

“I…I’ve never had a proper bath before.” Astarion admitted softly. “Cazador gave us wash buckets, and rags, and cheap perfumes to cover the smell of death. But we were never allowed this...luxury.”

The wizard’s heart nearly shattered. He had to look away from his companion for a moment so as not to reveal the compassion splayed clearly across his face. The vampire didn’t want his pity—he had stated as much once or twice before. After gathering himself, Gale rose to his feet and approached the side of Astarion’s bed. Red eyes flickered up uncertainly.

“Then let me be the first to grant you this luxury.” The human murmured soothingly.

He offered the vampire his hand, and, after several moments of reluctant consideration, cold, pale fingers slid across his. The wizard guided the other man to his feet, overly aware of Astarion’s every discomfort as the elf’s injuries flared with pain. Astarion winced and leaned his weight against Gale, allowing the man to slip an arm around his back and wind one of the vampire’s pallid arms across his shoulders. A hiss escaped through bared fangs.

“I’ve got you. Small steps.” The wizard whispered and took a few experimental steps forward.

The elf held onto him as if he were a lifeline as they shuffled over to the tub, and, when they finally reached it, Gale used magic to pull the chair over from across the room until it settled behind Astarion. He guided the vampire down into the chair, receiving a short grunt of hurt from the other at the unanticipated movement. The wizard uttered an apology and rested a tender hand on Astarion’s bruised cheek as the elf settled into the chair. Red eyes opened and stared into his feebly.

“Now what?” The vampire rasped.

Gale dropped to his knees, despite their usual protest, and reached down to grab one of his companion’s boots. He unfastened the laces and slowly pulled it away from the vampire’s foot. Then he did the same with the other boot and moved them both to the side. When he lifted his gaze back up, he froze. Crimson eyes had lidded over while he worked, and something foreign swirled about deep within their depths. The wizard fought the urge to ask what the other man was thinking. He dared not break the sudden, strange tension of the air around them. Instead, he straightened up further onto his knees and moved his fingers to the belt of Astarion’s trousers. That’s when those lifeless hands dropped to halt his. Gale’s breath caught in his throat.

“What the Hells do you think you’re doing?”

The wizard honestly didn’t know. The vampire was more than capable of undressing himself. He just… He just what? With an embarrassed huff, the human made to retreat, but those cold fingers only tightened around his. When he dared to glance up again, Astarion gave him a searching look. Then those ruby eyes darkened once more with that something Gale couldn’t put a name to.

“I didn’t say you had to stop. I was just confirming something.”

The wizard frowned.

“Confirming what?”

Astarion parted his lips, the tips of his fangs gleaming in the candlelight, then he moved his hand up and trailed his fingers across the skin of the human’s warm face. Those fingers continued moving until they threaded into the hair at the back of Gale’s head and pulled him forward. The wizard braced himself with a hand on either one of his companion’s knees, and he found his nose quite suddenly tantalizingly close to a sculpted, alabaster stomach. He tilted his chin up to fix his companion with an incredibly flustered look. However, when his brown eyes met Astarion’s, a deep growl rumbled in the vampire’s chest. Something warm, and distinctly familiar pooled low in Gale’s gut.

“Don’t give me that look and act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me, Gale of Waterdeep.”

The wizard started with a sharp intake of air at his full title. His fingers squeezed the vampire’s knee caps as a means of grounding himself, but the action only enticed another growl from the man seated before him. The vampire’s abdominals flexed as he leaned forward and gave Gale’s longer hair a light tug, pulling his head back further still and exposing his throat. One of the wizard’s hands shot out reflexively to grip the edge of the tub beside them, and his knuckles ached in the wake of the force he put behind the hold. A sputtered gasp escaped him.

“What I’m doing to you?” He finally breathed out incredulously. “Don’t you mean what you’re doing to me?”

Hunger. Desire. Trepidation. Those were just a few of the very clear emotions warring across Astarion’s face as he stared down at Gale. The vampire pried away the hand that the wizard had fastened onto the rim of the tub and brought it up to his chest, pressing the human’s palm against the cold skin right above where an undead organ wasn’t beating. His red eyes became pained.

“You can’t feel it, but you’ve made this still heart of mine beat for the first time in centuries.” The hand over Gale’s squeezed harder, demanding his attention. “In a thousand years, when I’ve all but forgotten how to love, yet again…you will flit back into my heart. And I will weep, wondering what happened to my mad love.”

The wizard was frozen in place, staring up into those endlessly tragic crimson eyes as they held his in turn. He hadn’t expected the onslaught of romanticism. In a thousand years… Gale tried to imagine but couldn’t. In a thousand years Astarion will have lived many lifetimes. He will have met so many different people. Perhaps he’ll even have fallen in love a few dozen more times. And yet, there the vampire was, promising to always reserve his heart for the fumbling, ridiculous wizard he’d chanced upon during his days of freedom traveling the Sword Coast. The notion seemed improbable…and yet, he believed every word. A tear spilled from Gale’s eye, unbidden. Then another. And then he couldn’t contain his emotions anymore. With an awed whisper of the elf’s name, he brought both of his hands up to pull that impossibly beautiful face down towards his. He captured Astarion’s mouth with his lips and kissed the man fervently—desperately—as if he may vanish into thin air.

When Gale pulled back for breath, the vampire chased him, his nipping teeth finding the soft flesh of the wizard’s throat instead. The human gasped as a bruising kiss was placed against the side of his neck. He leaned into it with a small groan. The sound only made the elf more frantic, however, and those sharp teeth pricked provocatively into his skin. Gale let loose a growl of his own, less impressive than Astarion’s, but it got the point across.

“Do it.” He huffed.

Immediately, those fangs stabbed into his neck, and an electric current jolted through the wizard’s body. He arched his back, but surprisingly strong arms pulled him in. He found himself being halfway dragged up into the chair with the vampire as the man crushed him against his battered, bare chest to get a better angle. When the elf sucked out a mouthful of his blood, the strange sensation fizzled into pure euphoria. His every nerve was firing sporadically, and he could feel his pupils blowing wider by the second.

“Astarion.” He gasped.

A content grunt sounded at his throat, and the vampire took another long draught before pulling away. Gale didn’t get the chance to complain about the absence of fangs in his body, for bloodied lips descended upon his, surprising the wizard with the taste of his own blood. A tongue slipped into his mouth and swiped against his, spreading the coppery tang. And suddenly, he could taste it—the slight bitterness lurking just beneath the surface of iron. The netherese poison that plagued his body. Yet, Astarion still drank from him without protest. Gale’s mind reeled at the near impossibility of the situation—of everything that had to have occurred for them to end up there, as they were, in that very moment. What Gods had a hand in their union? There was no logical way that it could have been anything other than divine intervention that brought them together.

When they separated again, Gale bowed his head, chest heaving as he steadied his breathing. And, once his lungs refilled with air, he spent it right back out in the form of a ragged exhale of disbelief. His hands moved of their own accord then and he pushed back gently against the vampire’s statuesque frame, giving his thoughts a chance to settle. Intense, red eyes regarded him with amusement.

“Too much?”

The wizard released a slightly hysterical laugh. He made himself meet that gaze while something like regret tugged down at his lips.

“Not enough, actually. But I’m afraid I need to put a temporary end to this…whatever this is. You’re still healing, and I would hate to chance worsening your condition just to appease my…my want.” Gale stuttered out, internally cursing the traitorous flush burning his cheeks.

Astarion’s eyes flickered between his for a moment, considering.

“Appeasing your ‘want’ is well worth the risk, darling.”

The wizard had to look away. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“You’re making this incredibly difficult, Astarion.” The human all but whined.

“It doesn’t have to be. Look at me, Gale.”

Gale did as commanded, holding his breath. The vampire was studying him with a ferocity he hadn’t been anticipating, and the attention made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. A pale hand rose, and deft fingers brushed stray strands of hair back behind the wizard’s ear.

“If my centuries’ long torment ended with us tangled together in our collective ecstasy then I’d welcome it with all my undead heart. I can think of no finer end to my miserable existence.”

Gale shot to his feet then and stumbled back, lifting a hand to try and cover the mortification on his face. How could the elf speak so openly of such things? The human turned away so that he could think without the influence of that captivating predator’s stare. His chest heaved a few times, and he let out a few long exhales through his nose. Still, his fretful heart refused to cease its rampage against his ribcage like the trapped beast that it was. Gods damnit. What was he supposed to do? The wizard gazed at the floor with such deliberation he was surprised he didn’t drill holes into the uneven boards below his feet. After a couple of minutes’ worth of inner assessment, he managed to angle back around to regard his companion. Astarion had slumped over slightly, his hands trembling from where they dangled over his knees. And the scene was enough to sober Gale.

“Astarion?” He asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice as he strode back over to the vampire.

The elf tilted his head up, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“’M fine.” His voice slurred a little.

The wizard frowned and gingerly pressed the back of a hand against the vampire’s pallid forehead, fingers brushing against silvery curls. The flesh there was peculiarly warm for a man of Astarion’s particular condition. Feverish, even. Had the elf been like this the whole time, and he just hadn’t noticed because he’d been so distracted by…other things? Mentally berating himself, Gale slipped his hands under the vampire’s armpits and hoisted him up with a moderate amount of effort. Astarion grumbled at him but didn’t resist as the wizard guided him a few steps over to the filled tub at his right. He braced the vampire against the edge of the basin and lowered a hand to undo the man’s belt. Red eyes flitted up in alarm, and a hand swiped at his weakly.

“I can do it.”

The wizard hesitated but then slowly released his hold on his companion, watching with careful eyes as Astarion forced his weight against the side of the tub and fiddled with his belt. Once the latch popped free, he snaked the leather from around his waist and let it fall to the floor with a small clang. Then he grabbed the hem of his pants and glanced uncertainly at Gale. Making the choice for the elf, the human turned his back to the man and gave him his privacy. The rustle of fabric sounded just over his shoulder and then the splash of water and a low hiss revealed Astarion had safely managed to submerge himself into the readied bathwater. The wizard braved a look over his shoulder. The vampire’s arms were draped languidly over either side of the iron rim of the basin while his neck was craned back, head resting on the opposite side as the pipe and handles.

Gale moved to grab the bar of soap that he had earlier discarded on the small table by the tub as well as the chair that Astarion had been occupying but minutes before. He sidled over to place the chair on the ground behind the elf and then sat down. His timid hands reached over the edge of the basin, one holding the soap, and slipped cautiously into the lukewarm water on either side of the vampire. Pale shoulders tensed briefly, but then went lax when Gale began carding dripping fingers through the man’s snowy locks. A pleasant hum resonated from the elf, and the wizard couldn’t help but smile at his companion’s easy acceptance of the show of domesticity. Or perhaps Astarion just wasn’t able to recognize the tenderness of the action, since he’d never been treated with such care before.

“You know, you always say such suggestive things for someone who is afraid to actually reveal his body to the target of his undying affection.” Gale challenged softly, rubbing the bar of soap into blood and dirt-flecked hair, spreading the cleaning bubbles.

The vampire grunted and leaned back a bit further, giving the wizard better access to his head as the human continued to comb his fingers through partially tangled locks.

“It’s not my body that I’m hiding.”

Gale waited, but the elf provided no further explanation. With a small sigh, he set the bar of soap back on the side table and then began to massage the man’s scalp. Astarion groaned and sunk a little further into the water. The human decided to try a different approach.

“Tangible love is something I’ve allowed myself to grow unfamiliar with. The Gods are quite fond of their ability to stretch the far reaches of the mind—to experience pleasure at its peak as a metaphysical merging of souls and energies. They see it as a way to surpass the limitations of mere body and flesh to feel something even greater than just carnal delights.”

“Sorry I failed to meet your godly expectations.” The vampire grumbled sourly.

Gale rolled his eyes and tugged admonishingly on a handful of white hair.

“I’m not belittling you. I’m just saying that this isn’t an easy feat for me either. I haven’t been with anyone like this since…” He trailed off, biting his tongue.

Astarion growled.

“Don’t.”

The wizard scowled.

“You fear losing me to a goddess, but it was at your feet that I found myself kneeling just moments ago, was it not?”

The elf stilled. He took his time formulating a response, and when he spoke, his voice sounded strained.

“…I am an unholy atrocity—the complete opposite of something meant to be worshipped.”

Gale’s hands paused in their movements. He stood and leaned over his companion, looking down so that he could meet the vampire’s red eyes.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as you need for me to until you believe it, but you are the most divine creature I’ve ever met. Your imperfections are the very things that make you perfect, and any harsh word said against you is a sin and one that I take very personally.”

Astarion’s eyes were shimmering dangerously, a single blink away from releasing the tears he was holding back. The wizard smiled down at him fondly.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned of yesterday’s horrors so that I can get back to my research and find a way to get you patched up. I’m quite tired of carrying you around everywhere.”

The vampire scoffed.

“So much for that devotion of yours.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Gale left to go to a local wizardly book shop. Supposedly, he needed another book or two on some topic or another that would help him bridge some sort of scholarly gap to blah, blah, blah. The vampire tried to listen—most of the time—but, when the wizard went off on one of his academic tangents, it really was quite difficult to keep up. To put it simply, Astarion was left alone in that unkempt, little room with nothing but his own twisted brain to entertain himself. He laid back in his bed, pillow over his face, and passed the time by staring at the backs of his eyelids. At first, unwelcome images flashed in the darkness there, but he let them brush by, focusing instead on the conversation he’d had with Gale the night prior. ‘You are the most divine creature I’ve ever met’ echoed contemptuously from across the void of the elf’s thoughts, and Astarion couldn’t help but huff out a scornful breath.

Divine? Him? The human was daft. He’d give the man the benefit of the doubt and admit he trusted that Gale believed the vampire was worth caring for…but that didn’t necessarily make it fact. Two hundred years was a long time for someone to wallow in self-loathing, so if the wizard thought that Astarion would just smile lovingly and hold his hand—

“If you’re trying to off yourself, Fangs, I’d say a pillow’s not the way to go about it—at least, not for you.”

He’d been so wrapped up in his musings that he hadn’t heard Karlach approach, so the abrupt reprimand of an amused voice by his bedside sent a jolt of alarm through his body. The elf yanked the pillow away from his face and glared up at the tiefling. She bestowed upon him a brilliant grin in response.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He hissed, only partially annoyed.

Karlach rolled her eyes and dropped her hands to firmly rest on her hips.

“And here I thought you had good hearing with those big, pointy ears of yours. Sorry, guess I should’ve stomped even louder than I usually do.” Sarcasm dripped ruthlessly from her tongue.

With an exasperated sigh, Astarion pushed himself up into a seated position with a slight wince, settling himself back against the headboard, and then he fixed her with a wary look.

“What do you want?”

The barbarian sneered and waved one of her hands in a vague gesture.

“Oh, so no ‘good morning Karlach, it’s lovely to see you. Haven’t had a good chat with you since before I was kidnapped’ then?” She mocked in a poor imitation of the vampire’s aristocratic intonation.

Red eyes narrowed, and the elf scowled.

“Did you need something, dear, or are you just here to harass me?”

Karlach snickered and then dropped down onto the edge of the bed by the vampire’s feet.

“Both. I need your advice, but I figured I’d annoy the Hells out of you while I’m at it. It’s fun to ruffle your feathers.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and cocked his head to one side.

“Mm, less feathers more fangs. You’re ruffling the fur of a cornered wolf, darling.”

Gold eyes blinked at him innocently.

“Really? You’ve always struck me as more of a peacock.”

The vampire’s nostrils flared, and he bit his tongue to keep from spitting out the biting remark he’d had prepared. With a deep inhale through his nose, he finally relented. He crossed his arms over his chest and offered her his undivided attention.

“Very well, what can this lowly peacock do for you?”

The tiefling’s smile faltered a bit, and she began to fidget, fingers picking idly at an invisible stain on her leather pants.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

He paused, pretending to consider while rolling his neck.

“Sure, why not.”

Karlach narrowed her eyes at him pointedly.

Astarion huffed.

“Fine. Fine. I won’t tell another soul for the rest of my undead existence.”

The barbarian bit at her lip, fingers finally stilling.

“And promise you won’t laugh.”

The elf lifted an inquisitive brow.

“So many promises! I’m starting to think—”

“Astarion!”

“Gods above, fine! I promise. Do you need my pinky as well?” He jested, uncrossing his arms to hold out the mentioned finger.

Karlach frowned and swatted his hand away.

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told. Still, you wouldn’t be here confiding in me if you didn’t like me at least a little bit.”

The corners of the tiefling’s mouth twitched upwards. She gave his leg a fond pat and then went back to her previous squirming. After a few moments of dubious silence, she finally caved.

“I really like Wyll.” She blurted it out, as if the admission had just been building up beneath the surface of her chest for the past several minutes.

A pale hand shot up to cover Astarion’s open mouth.

“By the Gods, Karlach! Swooned by our very own Blade of Frontiers?” He overdramatized with several unnecessary blinks of his eyes.

Karlach glowered at him.

“If you’re not going to take me seriously—”

“Apologies, please continue.” He waved an encouraging hand.

The barbarian hesitated for a few seconds before snorting and furthering her train of thought.

“…I don’t know what to do about it.”

The vampire quirked an eyebrow once again.

“So? Why have you come to me with this?”

The tiefling fixed him with a bewildered look then.

“Because…you’re good at all that flirting and wooing stuff. You did it for ages for that vampire bastard, right? I want you to teach me how.”

Astarion stared at her for a moment. For two moments. For three—

“You can’t be serious.”

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms defensively. Her foot began to tap an uneven rhythm on the scuffed floorboards below. The elf couldn’t believe what the barbarian was asking. The task itself wouldn’t be a monumental effort, however, the fact that she’d directly called him out on something he’d rather not be made synonymous with rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, he was practiced with subtle, suggestive touches and knew how to weave poetry with a serpentine tongue, but that didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed it. He had only done it because Cazador had made him. He had only done it because that’s the only way he knew how to protect himself—to stay safe. People won’t hurt you or kill you if they decide to keep you around for an entirely different purpose altogether. A shudder coursed through Astarion’s body involuntarily. Gold eyes noticed.

“I…I didn’t mean to bring up…you know…” Karlach fumbled for a few seconds while waving her hands, trying to reel back and correct where she thought she may have misspoke.

The vampire frowned and averted his eyes, his fingers absently tracing over one of the still-open lacerations in his left forearm. Godey had been callous with his cruelty. But, Cazador would have been… Astarion growled softly, ridding himself of such thoughts. A hand squeezed his shin suddenly, breaking him fully from his musings, and he glanced up to see the tiefling watching him with a sympathetic look on her face.

“What I mean to say is, I’m sorry.” Her brow furrowed. “I know what it’s like to have shitty people telling you what to do—using you to further their own vindictiveness.”

The vampire frowned at her, not liking the comparison. He was affronted at the display of fabricated empathy. She couldn’t possibly relate. She had no idea what he had been through…or the repercussions that his past still had on his shattered mind.

“We are not alike.” He snarled softly. “Don’t say that you understand me, when you have no idea what I’ve experienced.”

Karlach’s mouth dropped open in stunned silence. Then, after a few beats, she shook her single-horned head and gave a small growl of her own. Her fingers squeezed a little harder around the elf’s leg.

“And don’t brush me off so easily, Astarion. You have no idea what I’ve experienced either. I’m not trying to compete with you for a ‘who had it worse’ award. I’m just trying to say I get why you’re such an arsehole all the time.”

And with that, the spell was broken. Astarion huffed in amusement.

“Peacocks are quite dreadful creatures, aren’t they?” He asked.

The barbarian bit her lip, and, after some contemplation, her face broke out into an easy smile.

“I always thought they were beautiful birds.”

“Obnoxious.” He chimed.

“Proud.” She countered.

“Spiteful.”

“Misunderstood.”

Red eyes softened. Astarion bowed his head in defeat and allowed himself to relax against the headboard. There was a reason why everyone adored the tiefling as much as they did. The elf wouldn’t go so far as to say that he held a certain amount of affection for the woman. But if she happened to find herself in some sort of a mortally dangerous predicament…well, he supposed he’d stick his neck out for the bumbling fool.

“Shall we discuss the courting rituals of such a fine-feathered bird then?”

Karlach gave a timid nod and offered the vampire her full attention as he regaled her with all the dos and don’ts of infallible seduction.

Gale hurried up the tavern’s rickety, wooden steps, disregarding the ache of his knee as he did so. His head was spinning with all the information he’d consumed over the course of the past few hours, and, now that he had some inkling as to how to aid his vampiric companion, a sense of urgency had ushered his pace. The wizard practically hopped over the last step and rounded the corner in the hallway. He counted down the doors, steadily approaching the one that he shared with Astarion but halted in his step when he saw the door swing open. Karlach stepped out into the hall, pulling the doorknob behind her. She glanced up just as the door clicked shut and caught sight of him, the remnants of a smile morphing into surprise.

“Gale! You’re back!” She considered him for a moment. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

He tilted his head to one side curiously, discounting the question.

“What were you doing in our room?”

An awkward laugh bubbled up from her chest and spilled out from her lips.

“U-uh, nothing important! Just checking in on Fangs to see if he was feeling any better!” Her statement came out rushed, only serving to increase Gale’s wariness.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and stepped up to the door as she slowly backed away from it. When he placed his hand on the doorknob, it was still warm from her touch.

“If you two are trying to prank me, I’ll have you know—”

But the barbarian was already fleeing, her long strides carrying her all the way to the end of the hallway in a matter of seconds. She swung open the door to her room, spared him a fleeting glance over her shoulder, and then slammed the door closed behind her. The wizard scoffed.

“What in the Nine Hells…?” He murmured and then proceeded to open the door in front of him.

Astarion was sitting up in his bed, back against the headboard, when the human walked in. Red eyes jumped to study Gale as he closed the door behind him and made his way over to the vampire. His pale companion lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“Successful adventure?” Astarion asked, crimson gaze flitting briefly to the book in the wizard’s hand.

Once again, Gale disregarded the question asked. He lifted an eyebrow of his own and settled himself into a seated position at the end of the bed by the elf’s feet. The sheets there were suspiciously warm—not unlike the door handle had just been.

“What did Karlach want?”

Astarion let out a huff of amusement.

“Courting advice.”

Brown eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Ha, ha, what did she actually want?”

When the vampire gave him an unwavering, pointed look, the wizard scoffed.

“What, so she actually came in here asking you how to…flirt?”

Pale eyebrows waggled at him.

“Is that such a surprise? I am an expert, after all.”

Gale snorted and dropped his stare to the book he now held in both hands, one finger slipping under the hard cover.

“Truly. So, will you allow me to discuss my findings with you?”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes.

“It’s not as if I was keeping you from speaking…though, that can be arranged, if you’d like.” The vampire all but purred, gaze narrowing suggestively.

The wizard blinked at his companion impassively. Then he carried on, deigning not to acknowledge the remark.

“I found a spell that can remove the dark magic currently blocking your healing abilities. Would you allow me to try it?”

The elf gave him a curious look.

“What’s with all the ‘allows’? You can do whatever the Hells you want without my permission for everything.”

Gale’s brow furrowed.

“I believe asking consent for things is important to someone who…has experienced what you have. I won’t assume anything I do is inherently acceptable.”

Astarion averted his gaze at the admission, feeling oddly discomforted by the man’s consideration.

“I’ll let you know when something isn’t alright. You don’t have to ask every time.”

The wizard observed the elf for a long moment, making the man fidget even more uncomfortably. Then he gave a short, approving nod and flipped open the book he’d settled in his lap. Gale’s palm hovered over the page he’d bookmarked as his brown eyes trailed across intricate, handwritten text. A glow pulsed between his skin and the page and then began swirling in ribbons between his splayed fingers. And, though he couldn’t see it or tell any different, his eyes began to radiate a vibrant, purple light. Astarion watched, clearly fascinated. The wizard began uttering an incantation, the language foreign to both sets of ears present. As long as it could be properly pronounced, though, the spell could be cast. About a minute of spoken verbiage passed before the purple glow sputtered and began to fade. Before it completely disappeared, the human waved his hand over his companion’s body and said one, final word. Then everything fell silent, albeit for the snapping of the book’s pages as Gale closed the tome. Red eyes blinked a few times, processing.

“I don’t think it—”

Then Astarion hissed in pain. Both men watched in morbid intrigue as the lacerations on the vampire’s skin began to knit back together. The dark bruises dissipated. The broken bones shifted and fastened themselves back whole. The elf let out a strangled gasp as his undead organs mended from where they’d been ruptured by strategically placed blows. Once the hurt stopped, however, the vampire gazed up at his companion with wide eyes. Gale swallowed nervously and set the book down on the mattress at his other side. He lifted his hands to hover apprehensively in the air between them.

“Did it work?” He breathed.

Astarion lurched forward abruptly, snagged the wizard’s forearm, and pulled him forward. Gale let out an alarmed sound that was swallowed by the vampire’s mouth crashing into his. He leant into the gesture and responded with equal amounts of voracity, the fingers of his free hand lifting to cradle the elf’s perfectly sculpted face. Some God—probably not Mystra—must’ve favored him to some degree to allow him this bliss. To have provided him with the opportunity to have met Astarion. For the vampire to care for him—to crave him as Gale did the elf. It seemed impossible, for someone of Astarion’s caliber to fall for someone like him. Yet, there they were. The vampire spawn and the once archmage. He would likely never stop being in awe of the unlikelihood of them.

They broke so that Gale could breathe, and, just as they did, the room to their door flew open. Wyll stepped into the room and then froze, hand raised, when his gaze fell upon the two men. The warlock cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his eyes. Astarion scowled.

“Is knocking beneath the Blade of Frontiers?” The elf grumbled and released his hold on the wizard, leaning back and out of the other man’s space.

Gale sighed contritely through his nose and turned brown eyes to his disconcerted companion lingering in the doorway, trying to will away the flush burning his ears and cheeks.

“Did you need something, Wyll?” He asked, much more amicable.

The warlock spared him a quick glance and then returned his gaze to the floor where his feet were fidgeting.

“I-uh…sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to, uh… What I mean to say is—”

“For fuck’s sake, Wyll, spit it out.” Astarion growled and ignored the disapproving glower he received from the human by his side.

“I saw Erro and Lae’zel on my way back from the Elfsong, and I overheard them talking—from a safe distance, of course, and very well hidden. They didn’t spot me.”

“Congratulations. What do you want, a pat on the back?”

Gale gave his companion an exasperated look.

“Astarion, must you be so boorish?”

The vampire crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the headboard, sulking.

“Yes.” Was all he said in response.

The wizard tossed Wyll an apologetic look and gestured for the man to continue with a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry, Wyll, you were saying?”

The warlock just shook his head and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe casually, his previous embarrassment finally fading.

“It’s quite alright, I should’ve expected as much from our fanged friend.” He disregarded the middle finger said companion tossed him. “As I was saying, I overheard Erro and Lae’zel discussing their next steps. They mentioned having found some sort of energy source down in the sewers back where the Bhaal Temple was located. I think they mean to find and approach the brain.”

Gale balked.

“Without the stones?”

Wyll shrugged a shoulder at that.

“It would seem so.”

“And how do we know this isn’t just a trap to lure us after them so that they can steal the stones from us?” Astarion piped up somewhat bitterly.

Again, the warlock shrugged.

“We don’t. I’m simply relaying what I heard, not suggesting anything. Although…I don’t think it would be wise to just let them go and make contact with the Elder Brain. Obviously, Erro doesn’t boast much of a heroic streak, and with power like that at his disposal…” The man trailed off meaningful.

Ruby orbs flickered over to Gale and widened marginally when they caught sight of the wizard in the middle of an agreeing nod. Brown eyes met his then, and the human’s expression morphed into something pained.

“No, no, no, don’t give me that look. We agreed to kill Cazador before addressing any of that brain nonsense.” Astarion accused venomously.

Gale winced but managed a small shake of his head. His gaze grew delicately soft as he regarded his companion.

“Astarion…” What could he even say?

Of course he wanted to kill the vampire spawn’s evil master and put an end to the elf’s torture. He wanted Astarion to be free. He wanted Astarion to feel safe. But how could they possibly put everyone else’s lives at risk by making a grand detour like that? If what Wyll had said was true, then it was only a matter of days—perhaps even less—before Erro did whatever it was that he planned to do with the brain. If the worst came to pass, then all of the Sword Coast would perish. Could they really take that risk? His face must’ve been answer enough, for Astarion fixed him with an agonized look.

“You promised.” The vampire uttered, his voice disbelieving.

Gale wanted to detonate the orb right then and there. Nothing could be worse than what he felt in the moment that he lost himself in those tormented, crimson eyes.

“Astarion, listen to me—”

“I should’ve known better.” Astarion snarled and rose from the bed.

The wizard shot to his feet and reached forward to grab the elf’s bicep as he made to retreat. Naturally, the vampire was quicker. He dodged the desperate hand and bared his fangs in a very clear threat as he careened backed towards the door. Wyll had moved out into the hallway to give Astarion space, and the bristling elf blatantly ignored him as he pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the room. The warlock’s gaze followed the vampire until he turned a corner and disappeared down the stairs. Then, hesitantly, he returned his attention to Gale. The wizard had fallen back onto the bed, his elbows braced on his knees and his head cradled in his hands.

“What am I supposed to do?” He moaned pitifully.

Wyll lowered his head with a frown.

“We’re saving thousands of people, Gale. You have the right intentions at heart.”

Gale lifted his head then, eyes rimmed red as he focused them on his companion.

“Then why does my heart feel like it’s being ripped in two?”

Chapter Text

Gale waited outside while his companion’s put on their armor and packed up their belongings. He’d slept alone in his room last night. Astarion hadn’t returned. The vampire’s absence gnawed at his heart continuously, whittling away bits and pieces of his constitution until only a hollow of the person he was remained. The others took notice of his change in demeanor, of course, but all merely met his tragic eyes with piteous looks of their own and halfhearted smiles of encouragement. ‘We’re doing the right thing, Gale’, they kept trying to remind him. But they weren’t. He knew they weren’t. Astarion had put his trust in Gale—his very faith—and the wizard had gone and squandered it. He had smashed the fragile thing beneath the heel of his boot and ground it into the lowly dirt until nothing of it remained.
His dull, brown eyes scanned the horizon line and stuttered to a halt on the striking silhouette of a familiar palace cutting through the sky in the distance. It towered ominously above the rooftops, mocking him. Gale averted his eyes. What a coward he was. The tavern door swung open behind him, alerting him to the arrival of one of his companions. He didn’t bother sparing them a look though, as they approached. He’d recognized the familiar waft of brimstone. A heavy, hot hand fell upon his shoulder, forcing his attention.

“Alright, soldier?”

He huffed a humourless breath.

“Must you ask?”

Karlach grunted softly, and scanned his face with her gentle, gold eyes. She gave his shoulder a little, comforting squeeze.

“Remember what I said about cats and their warm fires?”

Gale finally glanced at her, his aching heart bleeding out into his expression. The tiefling’s brow furrowed as she considered him sadly.

“He’ll come around, magic man. Just give him time to cool off.”

The wizard scoffed.

“This wasn’t just some tiff, Karlach. I…” He didn’t even know what to say.

His actions, or lack thereof, had been unforgiveable. It would take more than his meager lifetime would allow to make it up to the vampire.

“I know. And, he knows, too.” She murmured.

But, if Astarion had returned, he continued to remain very well hidden. They continued their original mission, slipping back into the sewers to try and track down their former, ill-intentioned companions. Gale was quiet the whole journey, only speaking to cast necessary spells when they found themselves locked in an unexpected skirmish. Wyll had taken charge of their group, and no one complained as he barked out orders and led them through the dank tunnels. The warlock was a natural leader, and his heroic nature served as a beacon of hope amidst the impending darkness. Karlach trailed right behind him the whole way, making odd quips and comments that were painfully familiar to those that a certain fair-haired elf would make. At one point, Gale had even hissed at her to shut up, an act that was incredibly unlike him. Nevertheless, everyone recognized the source of his displeasure, and all chatter ceased after his uncomely outburst.

In the hours that passed, they found a boat at the end of the Bhaal Temple and road it across unfamiliar waters to an unfamiliar underground landscape. They trekked about until an overwhelming psionic sensation reverberated throughout the space and seized their minds, forcing them to their knees.

The Elder Brain.

They had found it. And in doing so, they had found Erro as well. The elf was standing at the edge of a watery expanse when they discovered him. Lae’zel, who stood just at his right shoulder, stepped towards them and drew her greatsword. No one had the chance to attack, however, as the large brain screamed and rose up into the air. It ascended. They ascended. And everything just happened so fast. One moment they were standing in undercity muck, and the next they were sprinting through the crumbling city of Baldur’s Gate. They fought their way through hordes of enemies, all under the brain’s thrall. And, the entire time, Gale’s brain was traveling at the speed of light. This is it. This is what they had been struggling toward these past few, arduous months. They could end it all here. They could free themselves. They could save the Sword Coast.

But…what about Astarion? He faltered. And the slip in his guard was enough to allow a nearby assailant a clear strike at his flank. The edge of a blade tore through the wizard’s robes and sliced cleanly into the flesh of his waist. With a cry of pain, Gale whirled around and threw a ball of fire at the enemy. A screech sounded, but he didn’t watch to see if his attacker had been fully subdued. Instead, he pressed a hand to his bleeding side and staggered over to the nearest wall. Upon reaching it, he slipped into the shadows and leant against the uneven stone. Fuck. When he pulled his fingers away, they were coated in sticky, crimson liquid. He stared. Astarion would’ve appreciated the easy snack. The human shook his head. Gods, he was getting delirious. He allowed his brown eyes to flit back up, taking in the chaotic scene around him. All his companions, plus some of the allied forces they’d picked up along the way, were all respectively locked into their own battles.

A throb of discomfort lanced through the wizard’s side, and he maneuvered his hand back down to cover the wound. He had to move. They were running out of time. With a limp, Gale managed to make his way across the battleground without drawing too much unwanted attention. He stumbled up stairs and down unfamiliar, crumbling pathways until he spotted a grotesque pillar of what appeared to be pulsating flesh. It had to be the brain. Something deep within his core trilled in response to the psionic siren of the enemy. Netherese called to Netherese, and he felt himself being pulled forward by the explosive orb in his chest. Mystra’s voice echoed in his mind, overwhelming his thoughts.

‘Only you can do it, Gale. Detonate the orb. End this mess’

Only he could. That’s right. To sacrifice himself was his divine purpose. This was his reason to be. Gale moved his bloodied hand up to his chest, digging his fingers into the fabric there. There was no other way. If he didn’t do this…everyone would die. His body didn’t feel entirely his own as he approached the brain’s pillar and began to climb. What probably took several minutes felt like seconds, and the wizard soon found himself climbing to his feet atop a fleshy platform of sorts. It appeared to be the top of a giant brain. His breath was ragged as he reeled forward, his feet shuffling as blood began to soak into the hem of his pants. It was alright, though. It would all be over soon. The Netherese magic surrounding him was oppressive, nearly forcing him to the ground. But he endured. All the while, a single thought echoed forth from the depths of his subconscious. That he would die in the process, just to win the favour of a goddess who scarcely cared for him.

“Come to die? Come to kneel? Surrender and live—THRALL!”

Gale winced as he neared the glowing, swirling orb at the end of a long, sweeping pathway. The voice screeching in his head was deafening despite it not actually having reached his ears. His scuffed boots came to a stop just before the thing, and a piece of himself seemed to return in that moment. A small, melancholy smile tugged at his lips.

“Thrall? No, I think you’re mistaken. The name’s Gale of Waterdeep. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Though our time together will be exceptionally brief. Farewell, and happy landing.” He feigned a cheerful tone with a mocking bow.

Then he pulled at his chest, iridescent, purple strands of weave collecting at his fingertips as he drew a dagger, born of magic, from his very core. The weapon hovered in the air between his two hands. Then he slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade. He aimed it at his chest. ‘Goodbye’, he ruminated sadly, regretting everything that would never come to pass once the ethereal weapon found its place in his heart. His final thoughts were of angry, red eyes and flashing fangs. He braced himself. Then he thrust the dagger inwards.

“You fucking idiot!”

A body slammed into his, barreling him sideways and effectively dissipating the magical blade in his hands. With an alarmed grunt, he hit the ground and scrambled to sit up. His hand found his side instinctively as pain erupted from the gash there. And, as he blinked his eyes into focus, he froze. There, crouching on the ground beside him, was Astarion. Those ruby orbs glared down at him fiercely, and a pale hand shot forward to ball into the front of his robes, yanking him forward until his face was but a mere few inches from the vampire’s. Those fangs bared menacingly. Ah, so he hadn't imagined it.

“What the bloody Hells do you think you’re doing?” The elf’s snarl jumped an octave, bordering on a whine.

Gale blinked owlishly at his companion, still not fully convinced the man was actually there with him. He moved a hand to curl his fingers around the vampire’s wrist, shocked when skin met skin.

“Astarion? I thought you left.”

A pale brow furrowed.

“I did.” A low growl sounded. “But then I saw you lot scurrying down into the sewers and I knew. I just knew, Gale of bloody fucking Waterdeep…” He trailed off, staring deeply into the wizard’s wide, brown eyes.

Gale swallowed.

“It’s the only way, Astarion.” He said lamely.

The elf scowled and grabbed at the human’s shoulders, shaking him as if he could force common sense into the man’s body.

“You imbecile. You dimwit. You buffoon. You—”

“Alright.”

“You would just give it all up? You could be so much more than this, Gale.” The vampire whispered.

Gale truly looked at Astarion then. Taking in his ruffled appearance. He’d been fighting. Fighting his way through the fray to follow the wizard. He took in the trembling of the vampire’s frame. He was scared—terrified—body still coursing with adrenaline derived of the fear that he could have been too late in stopping the human from doing the unthinkable. Gale’s heart broke all over again. He straightened up and reached forward. His hands cradled either side of that pale face, and tears began to slip through the cracks of his disintegrating mask.

“Sometimes, I wish I were a more selfish man. Life would be so much easier. Alas, all I wish is for everyone to be happy and well.”

Astarion tried to snarl again, but the sound caught in his throat. Instead, he let out a low keening sound that had the wizard drawing that still-quivering body into his. His arms circled the vampire, holding him close. The elf’s fingers dug into the fabric at his back.

“And what of me? If you die, I will not be happy and well.”

Gale’s body shuddered in the wake of the unexpected sob that escaped him. He threaded his fingers into the curly hair at the base of the elf’s skull.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d managed to make you hate me.”

Astarion gripped him tighter still.

“You’ll have to try harder than that. If you go, I’ll go with you. So, think about that before plunging a dagger into your chest. It may be difficult to kill a vampire, but I’m sure a massive explosion will do the trick.” It was a poor attempt at humour, despite everything, but the wizard still found himself releasing a strangled exhale of a laugh.

He pressed his cheek against the vampire’s, his tears wetting both their faces.

“…Alright.” He finally conceded.

“Alright?”

“You win.”

“I win?”

Before he could answer, a cacophony of voices sounded from the other end of the platform. Gale lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder to see the rest of their companions pulling themselves up over the ledge and jumping to their feet to run over to where the two of them were still kneeling, wrapped in each other’s arms. Karlach reached them first and immediately dropped to her knees beside them. She threw her warm arms around them and squeezed fiercely, earning a startled grunt from both men. Then Shadowheart lowered herself by Gale’s other side and did the same thing. Then, reluctantly, Wyll joined them. And there they were, all huddled together, holding each other at the end of all things.

“As lovely as this little moment is, I think we have something more pressing to deal with.” Astarion finally cut in begrudgingly, giving them all enough reason to sober and pull away.

They helped each other to their feet and then turned collectively to face the shimmering, squiggly form of the brain.

And, with much trial and error—with much struggle and bloodshed—they eventually succeeded and overcame the brain’s power. The aftershock of the creature’s death shook the very tower they stood on and sent it careening sideways. Everyone scrambled for some sort of hold on anything nearby as feet began to slip and bodies tumbled with the movement. Astarion leapt for Gale when the wizard missed a grab for a jutting piece of the platform and started to slip over the edge of the tower. Cold, pale fingers locked around his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping the man from plummeting to his certain death. His feet kicked uselessly in the air below as the vampire fought to pull him back up. Gale tried to formulate a spell of any variety to assist, but his magic was practically nonexistent after all the earlier fighting and having summoned the dagger that almost detonated the orb. He swung his free hand up to grab at the ledge. But, just as he did, Astarion lost his hold on whatever it was he had been latched onto. They both slipped over the side.

Gale let out a cry of fear as he struggled to formulate a spell of featherfall. But it just wasn’t working. Light sparkled at his fingertips but then fizzled out as he plummeted through the air. This is how he was going to die. After all that. After everything. This is how he was to go? Strong arms suddenly found him and encircled his body from behind, drawing him against a firm chest. The wizard glanced over his shoulder to see Astarion grimacing back at him. The vampire flipped them over so that his back was facing the fast-approaching Chionthar below. And that’s when Gale realized what he was doing.

“Astarion!” He shouted.

But the elf merely gave him that crooked smile he loved oh so much.

“Brace yourself!” He shouted back.

And then they collided into the surface of the great river with all the force of a falling star. Black waves engulfed them, stealing the breath from the wizard’s body just as he opened it to scream. He clamped his jaw shut as his consciousness flickered, rattled by the violent impact. The arms that had been around him were gone, as was the sturdy presence at his back. His arms and legs moved sluggishly through the dark water, churning over and over as he fought to move in the direction he thought was up. Then, with an overwhelming amount of relief, his head broke the surface. He choked out a gasp and coughed a few times, ridding his lungs of the foreign intrusion. Immediately, he whipped his head around, eyes darting around wildly in search of his companion.

“Astarion!” He cried out.

But the vampire was nowhere to be seen. No, no, no, no, no, no, no… Gale took a massive breath and then dove back under the waves. He forced his eyes open and looked every which way that he could. No pale skin. No shock of white curls. No red eyes. He breeched the surface again. Took another breath. Then he tried once more. Still, nothing.

“Astarion!” He all but shrieked.

He paddled in the direction of the docks with long strokes, hoping that maybe the elf had been the wiser and headed towards safety. In the back of his mind, though, a nagging voice arose. He knew better. Astarion would never leave him. Brown eyes flitted about again, searching desperately. Then he saw it. A flash of white just below the surface several feet away. With newfound vigor, Gale surged forward, kicking his boots off in the process to give him a better advantage. He reached forward as he neared and felt the skin of his arms wrap around familiar leather armor. With all his might, he hoisted back, pulling his companion up out of the water. He braced the cold body against his, and a lifeless head lolled onto his shoulder. The vampire’s eyelids were shut, and, though the human knew he didn’t need to breathe, the lack of chest movement sent a shock of dread through his system.

“Astarion?” He asked shakily.

When the man didn’t answer or stir, he kicked his feet against the water and began to slowly swim back towards the shore, towing the vampire as best as he could with him. The docks were hundreds of meters away, and the wizard wasn’t entirely practiced in staying afloat. Through desperation, however, he managed. And, after what felt like hours, Gale finally found purchase with his bare feet in sand and hauled Astarion forward. He crawled up onto the sandy shore, dragging the unresponsive body after him until they were both a safe distance away from the lapping water. Then Gale collapsed, giving himself a moment to catch his breath and allow his aching limbs a moment’s reprieve. He turned his head to the side to study the eerily still elf beside him.

“Astarion?” He asked again—all but begging—his voice hoarse from all the inhaled salt water.

With monumental effort, he sidled closer to the vampire and lifted a shaking hand to rest against a paler than usual cheek.

“Astarion? Please, open your eyes.”

Nothing. Gale lowered his hand to rest in the center of Astarion’s chest. He shook him.

“Astarion.”

Still, nothing. The wizard gritted his teeth and forced himself up onto his knees. Then he braced both hands on the vampire’s sternum and forced the weave to bend at his command. A crackle of energy coursed through his body, instantly drying the remnants of the river from his person and sending a surge of electricity through his companion’s body. Astarion jolted once. Then his head fell to the side. Gale gritted his teeth and repeated the pulse of magic. Again, the pale body beneath him surged. This time, though, eyelids fluttered, revealing a sliver of red. The wizard almost keeled over in the wake of his relief and exhaustion. Those crimson eyes blinked a few times, slowly, and then crawled up to settle on his face. Gale offered a feeble smile.

“All that talk of vampire’s being hard to kill and a bit of running water almost did you in. That would’ve been an ironically sorry way to go.”

The corner of the vampire’s lips twitched upwards and Astarion hummed. He closed his eyes again.

“A tragic end, no doubt.” He mumbled, voice brittle.

The wizard trailed a hand across the elf’s cheek fondly and then began the arduous climb to his feet. Ruby orbs flickered back open and regarded him peculiarly.

“Where are you going?”

Gale glanced down at the man, who of which was still too weak to properly move. He stretched experimentally, wincing at the unhappy crackle and pop of his joints as he did so. A little voice in the back of his mind made itself known and reminded him of just how much worse it could’ve been had Astarion not sacrificed his body to brace his fall. The vampire had very well saved his life. Yet again.

“I’m going to find a strong tiefling who can carry you around, because Gods know how useless I am right now.” He admitted with a touch of fond amusement.

Astarion huffed from where he lay on his back, face now upturned towards the evening sky.

“Useless may not be the appropriate word.” The vampire grumbled.

An easy smile crossed the human’s face.

“Is that a compliment?”

Another deep hum sounded.

“Take it as you will.”

The wizard chuckled and made to take a step back, but, just as he did, the vampire on the ground flinched and hissed. Brown eyes shot back to his companion in alarm as the elf forced himself to a seated position and raised his hands into the air. They both watched in abject horror as Astarion’s pale flesh began to peel and flake. He was burning. Two pairs of eyes glanced up at the sun in shock before dropping back down to the vampire’s sizzling skin. A choked wail escaped the vampire, seizing Gale’s heart.

“No, no, no, no, no, it can’t be!” The elf howled and rose unsteadily to his feet.

The wizard tried to brace him with a steadying hand, but Astarion reeled away and stumbled back onto the ground. His boots scrabbled frantically in the sand as he scooted backwards and managed to rock up to a standing position once again. Those aghast, red eyes found Gale’s for a moment, and the wizard watched, dismayed, as the man’s face began to corrode. Then the vampire was running.

And this time, Gale followed, bare feet striking cobblestone as he chased after his fleeing companion.

Chapter Text

Gale watched as Astarion dove into the collective shadows of a few large shipment crates and a hanging tarp near one of the docks. The vampire was naturally fast, but the wizard had managed to keep up somewhat since the other man had the disadvantage of being burned to a crisp as he fled. The human took a few gasping breaths as he came to a halt by the corner of one of the wooden crates, trying to still his hammering heart. Then, once he’d collected himself, he peered around the edge. Everything seemed to disappear around him in the moment his searching eyes met the mortified, ruby orbs of his companion. Astarion was curled in on himself in the corner furthest from the wizard, his knees drawn in close to his chest while his still-smoking arms wrapped around legs. Every part of the elf’s flesh that had been exposed to the sun had disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but long spans and patches of burns and white ash.

Astarion watched him intensely from the corner of his eye, and Gale was left unsure as to the best way to approach the elf. So, he opted for treating the other like the cornered animal that he was and rose placating hands as he took a cautious step forward and ducked into the shade. The vampire’s body tensed. The wizard paused.

“Astarion, it’s alright.” He murmured gently.

The elf growled deep in his chest and lowered his head.

“It’s not alright. Do you know what this means?”

Gale knew what it meant. Still, he waited for the hurting man to answer his own question, as he knew he would.

“It means I’ve been reduced to nothing, yet again.” Astarion snarled.

The wizard took another bold step forward and was hit with a wave of satisfaction when the vampire merely scowled at him. Instead of continuing his advance, however, he simply lowered himself to the ground and sat, legs-crossed, several feet away. Astarion seemed to relax a bit at the gesture. Gale took that as a sign that it was safe for him to speak.

“You are not nothing, Astarion. You were never nothing.” When red eyes tried to shift away, the wizard leaned forward, recapturing the elf’s attention. “And you’re not alone in this—I promise you that.”

The vampire snapped his teeth like a savage predator, and he kept his fangs bared as he addressed the human.

“Promises are meaningless when they fall from your traitorous lips. Just because I saved you back there doesn’t mean that we’re—”

“You know that I care for you.”

That shut the elf up. Astarion blinked several times. Then his gaze narrowed dangerously, and he opened his mouth to rebuke. However, Gale cut him off.

“And you care for me. I made an unforgivable mistake. I know that. And I will never forget the misdeed I have made for the rest of my short human life. And I know apologizing over and over again won’t do anyone any good. So, I offer myself instead. You have me, body and soul, for as long as I have left to live. And perhaps even after that, if such a thing is possible.” The wizard declared, hand pressed firmly over his beating heart.

The vampire regarded him for a long while after that, a multitude of emotions flitting across his face, pulling at his brow, lips, and eyes in a variety of ways. Then he turned his head away with a halfhearted growl, revealing the charred half of his face that he had been trying to keep hidden from the human. Gale’s insides twisted at the macabre sight. But he made no obvious acknowledgment.

“I hate it.”

The wizard tilted his head to the side, observing the elf carefully.

“Hate what?” His voice was soft when he asked.

“This. You. Me. I hate it.” Astarion’s voice was stale, revealing little sentiment.

Still, Gale smiled, albeit sadly.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

The vampire’s crimson eyes glared at the bottom of the tarp over their heads, and the human was almost surprised that the material didn’t catch fire under the intensity of such scrutiny. A tense silence settled upon them then, stretching out into seconds. Then minutes. Then…

“Someone once told me that a friend is someone who knows the stuff you’re made of and chooses to stand by you anyway. If that’s true, then what does that make us? What entails someone to go beyond that label of yours?”

“I’d venture to say it is love.”

“Love.” Astarion scoffed quietly. “You’ve used that word before.”

“As have you.” Gale countered with a slight curve of his lips. “Though, maybe not as directly as I have used it.”

The vampire grunted but said nothing further on the matter. Another silence blanketed itself about their little hiding spot, but this time it was much more cordial as it lengthened. The exterior sounds of debris falling and distant voices chattering and shouting were the only things reminding Gale that the world still existed outside of their shared space amongst the shadows. Red eyes finally dropped to regard the wizard, something foreign swirling in their depths. It was the look the elf gave him every time he tried to put metaphorical puzzle pieces together—the pieces that, once properly slotted, formed Gale Dekarios.

The wizard worked his jaw subtly, preparing to speak the words bubbling to the surface of his forethought. But then the scraping of heavy boots and the shriek of metal being dragged across stone forced his teeth back together. A large shadow passed across the opening of the corner they were tucked away in. Gale clenched his jaw, entire body going stiff, and whirled around just as Astarion rocked forward. A pale hand reached for his back in the same instant that an all-to-familiar tanned and bloodied hand snaked towards his front. Unfortunately, unforgiving fingers yanked at the front of his robes before the vampire could grab hold of him. The wizard stumbled forward at the intensity of the pull and found himself lurching to his right just in time to avoid the arching swing of a heavy blade. He rolled sideways across rubble-littered cobblestone and then pushed back onto his knees to see Erro sneering savagely down at him.

The elf looked unstable. His eyes were wide and unfocused. Cuts and bruises riddled the expanse of his exposed skin, and he was hunching slightly as if catering to the pain of an abdominal infliction. But the strength with which he lifted Gale… The strength with which he had brandished his sword… It was unnatural. Brown eyes narrowed indignantly. This was the man who had forsaken them.

This was the man who had left Astarion to die.

Power he wasn’t aware he still possessed crackled beneath his skin as he called out to the weave. The orb in his chest sang its disapproval. He ignored it. Electricity crackled between his fingers, and as he met those sickly, green eyes, the fighter’s blade lifted into the air once again. Gale wasted no time. He aimed a bolt of lightning at the elf’s chest, and the spell met its mark with a shuddering snap. Erro howled in agonized rage, but the attack only managed to force him back a few unevenly shuffled feet. The wizard pushed himself to his feet, a knee popping in the process, and readied another rush of magic into his tingling palms. The elf gave an inhuman snarl, grinned disturbingly, and lunged at him. Gale conjured a ball of fire and lobbed it at the fast-approaching figure, but this time, the fighter allowed the flames to lick and burn over his body with nothing more than a grimace to reveal his displeasure.

The sword swung out during the wizard’s brief and vulnerable moment of stunned silence, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He tried, and failed, to turn his body as the edge of the weapon ripped through the purple of his robe and sliced into the same, still open wound he’d received just hours ago. Sharp metal cleaved deeper than the original gash had been and drug all the way across his front and down to his left hip. A shriek of anguish tore free from the human’s throat, and he stumbled sideways. A large boot collided with his side, effectively sending him back to the ground. Erro towered over him, all previous sinister glee overshadowed by infinite wrath.

“You took everything from me. I was so close to having it all, and just like that…you ruined it.” The elf waved his other hand aggressively and scowled down at the writhing man at his feet. “I don’t give a fuck if you blow up and decimate me and half of the Sword Coast with you. I’m ending this right here and now.”

With that, the fighter raised his sword. Gale peered up at him through eyes narrowed in pain. He needed to move.

If he died… If he died… If the orb detonated…

However, before the blade dropped, something darted out of the shadows in the wizard’s peripheral.

Astarion.

His whole body tensed as the vampire stepped over him and brought his two short swords up, crossing them over each other to intercept the greatsword’s ruthless decent. The force of the strike was enough to evoke a grunt from the smaller elf, but his burning arms held firm, and he pushed forward to urge Erro back. The show of strength from Astarion was astounding, considering all he’d been through in the last handful of hours, and Gale couldn’t help but watch in awe as the vampire roared and lifted a foot to deliver a well-aimed kick square in the fighter’s gut. Erro let out a startled wheeze and staggered back, taking his sword with him. When he glanced up, his expression was beyond livid.

“You little roach. You just won’t stay dead, will you?” His lips peeled back in an ugly snarl.

The smaller elf set his shoulders and clenched a jaw that was quickly decomposing, much to the wizard’s horror. He hadn’t expected the light exposure to take its toll so quickly. At this rate, Astarion only had but minutes until he was reduced to nothing.

“Astarion, go back to the shadows!”

Red eyes didn’t bother acknowledging him. Instead, that cracking nose wrinkled in displeasure as the vampire continued to stare down Erro.

“Yes, run away, roach. Run before I squish you like the insect you are.”

A fissure formed suddenly in Astarion’s forearm, causing him to cry out in pain. But, still, he bared his fangs at the enemy. Gale couldn’t watch this any longer. He couldn’t watch the man he loved just wither away to nothing as he lay helplessly on the ground. So, the wizard, pushing back the pain that threatened to overwhelm him as he moved, forced himself to his feet. His legs trembled slightly as he met Erro’s calculating, green eyes over Astarion’s shoulder. He lifted a hand. And then black smoke spilled away from his open palm and billowed out to completely cover the small area. They were blinded. But now the vampire was safe from the sun’s brutal reach. And Erro had no clue where they were.

Shuffling sounded a few feet in front of him, the scuff of boots on stone, and he flinched back when hands found his shoulders.

“It’s just me.” Astarion’s urgent whisper tickled his ear when the elf pulled him forward, and then the man began to guide him sideways.

Gale almost tripped over his own feet as he lattice-stepped through the darkness, but a surprisingly strong hand held him steady. They managed to make it several more feet before a loud shout of frustration rang out from somewhere way too close to where they were standing to be considered comfortable. Then Astarion reeled back, sensing something he couldn’t, and the sound of a sharp hiss and metal clanging against rock sent a jolt through the wizard’s spine. He reached up to grab one of the vampire’s wrists that was attached to the hand still gripping his arm. He squeezed sun-marred skin.

“Astarion?” He prodded anxiously.

Instead of providing him with an answer, he was jerked back behind something. The elf released him. The presence before him shifted forward violently. A howl of pain echoed out. And then…silence. Seconds ticked by. Then a minute passed. Gale swallowed uneasily and inched a step, sweeping his hand out to feel the space in front of him. His fingers met nothing. A strange, choked noise escaped him as his mind started to spiral towards worst case scenarios. What if Erro had somehow managed to strike Astarion down. What if Astarion…

“Gale.” Cool breath puffed out against his ear.

His entire body twitched, alarmed. Then fingers alighted cautiously upon the fabric at his chest. The human relaxed and grabbed for the vampire’s shoulder. After a few unsuccessful tries he finally found it. His thoughts were moving way too quickly, and he realized that he was holding his breath.

“Are you alright?” He finally exhaled.

A huff sounded from the inky space he knew his companion’s head to be.

“I will admit, I have been better.” A pause. “Can you dispel the mist?”

“I can, but I don’t think that would be wise, considering your current predicament.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Astarion—”

“Gale. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t. The wizard bit at the inside of his cheek, as he was wont to do. Then he sighed in exasperation and began to shrug off his robe. He slid the covering away and unfastened the belts.

“What are you—”

Gale cut him off by sweeping the robe up into the air and allowing it to settle over the vampire’s head and back. Cold fingers brushed against the human’s as they moved to hold the robe in place.

“If you’re going to be stubborn, at least do so safely. That is something you once asked of me, if I’m not mistaken.”

A small, quick intake of break. Then, “…Thank you.”

The wizard flicked his wrist, effectively dispelling the shroud of black mist he’d conjured. Gauging, brown eyes flickered about until the world around them began to seep into view. Sunlight broke through the remnants of the dark clouds as they dissipated, making Astarion flinch. Gale instantly pulled the sides of the robe more firmly over the vampire’s head and began walking him back towards their previous source of shelter. The elf shuffled backwards, permitting himself to be maneuvered, and crimson eyes flitted wildly to something behind the human. He knew Astarion was looking at Erro. But the wizard couldn’t quite yet bring himself to steal a glance back at the corpse of the man they’d once deemed as their brave leader. His heart was riddled with enough cracks as it were.

They waited in that little tucked away corner beneath the tarp until the sun began to dip nearer to the horizon. Astarion’s skin had mended itself almost fully over the past few hours, and they had settled into a not entirely uncomfortable silence. They sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, with their backs leaned against the side of one of the large shipping crates.

“Do you think the others are alive?” Gale asked dismally after a while.

Red eyes considered him quietly.

“If Erro was still alive, I’d venture to say the others survived the fall as well.” The vampire murmured somewhat reassuringly.

That made sense. Enough so that the wizard leaned his head back and breathed out through his nose in relief.

“A nice thought.” He hummed.

“Nobody likes an ugly painting.”

“Fair enough.”

Then, snowy curls fell onto the human’s shoulder. Gale went completely still. The action was oddly sentimental coming from the vampire.

“I’m tired. Bone-tired. And that’s saying something because vampires don’t really need to sleep.” The elf all but mumbled.

The wizard’s brain reeled for a moment, but then he braved a tilt of his skull that brought his cheek down upon the other’s head. Soft hair tickled his nose, and the scent of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy enveloped him in its comforting embrace. He took a deep breath.

“I’d say you’ve earned a good rest.” Gale’s voice sounded just as weary, even to his own ears.

“But I can’t rest. Not with Cazador still out there.”

The wizard tensed involuntarily at the reminder. Of course. Even though they’d slain the Elder Brain and saved Baldur’s Gate, Astarion still wasn’t free. His invisible shackles were still clamped tightly around his pale wrists and neck. The moment the spawn’s master realized he was still alive, he’d compel him away into the night. And it was all Gale’s fault, wasn’t it? If he’d just kept his promise and helped the vampire kill his master before things went sideways, then he’d…he’d…

The human grunted and lifted his head from where he’d rested it on the other man’s. The elf deserved better than that. He deserved better than the wizard and what little the human had to offer. Why did he keep finding himself in such a position? He had always been so desperate to prove himself—to be some sort of valiant hero. To be someone worthy of the love that others bestowed upon him. Yet, he always took it that one step too far. Or he simply missed the step entirely, like he had in this situation. He could’ve been better for Astarion, but instead, he went and ruined the wonderful thing that had been established between them.

“I can sense you overthinking something. Stop it.” The vampire grumbled and shifted his head to narrow a drowsy, crimson eye up at Gale.

The wizard frowned.

“I can’t.”

“Then speak.”

The wizard bit his lip.

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Again, you think too much. Just yap like you usually do. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Gale scoffed.

“Impossible.”

Astarion sighed and pulled away from the man’s shoulder. And, as he did, a familiar, sour tang wafted up to his astute nose. He glowered at the human, gaze roaming over his person. That’s when the elf noticed the blood caked across the wizard’s torso. Red orbs widened, and the vampire slid the robe he’d still had draped across his back to his lap to study it. The fabric was torn in multiple places, confirming that the blood on Gale’s body was, in fact, his own. His eyes snapped back up to the man’s face. The wizard was staring hazily at nothing on the other side of the covered space.

“Gale, what have you done?”

Gale glanced at him blearily. His hand lifted, shaking, to press against his bleeding abdomen.

“I’ve never been very skilled at close combat…but don’t worry. It’s merely a scratch.”

Astarion’s brow furrowed, and he pulled the man’s hand away to better inspect the injury. His hackles raised as he peeled back the human’s tattered and sticky, white top. The wound was anything but a ‘mere scratch’. Gale watched the vampire’s expression shift a few times, not settling on any one emotion in particular long enough for the wizard to have an idea of what the elf was feeling. Nevertheless, the wrinkling of a pale nose and the flash of a grimace provided him with some manner of insight. Gale braced himself for the reprimanding he knew he was about to receive. But Astarion surprised him. Those red eyes searched his for a few moments. He remained eerily silent.

“What?”

The vampire looked away from him to glance outside. The daylight was dwindling fast, and soon they’d be able to leave their little hideaway.

“When night falls, I will take you to a healer.”

Gale huffed.

“Do you think you can find one in all this mess?”

“I will find one.” The quiet conviction warmed the wizard’s heart.

The human rolled his head to the side to stare out into the debris-strewn clearing alongside his companion. How impossible it was that they were there. There, in that moment. Impossible that everything they had been through had brought them to the very situation they were in. Their journey had just been one thing after another, nonstop. Step after step. Blow after blow. From being abducted by mindflayers all the way to crashing into the Chionthar. They’d lost so much. But they’d also gained just as much. Brown eyes flitted to regard the vampire crouched beside him. Never in all his years would he have guessed things would have turned out the way that they had. He’d been the chosen of a goddess, a breath away from divinity himself. Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep. And now?
Astarion turned and caught his eye.

“Gale?” The voice sounded uneasy…and oddly far away.

Now he was Gale Dekarios. He had become the man he was always destined to be. And, against all odds, he had found something even greater than godhood in the process. When he blinked, all he could see was Astarion. Red eyes. Sharp fangs. Pointy ears. Porcelain skin. And a beautiful, broken heart. In a way, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing his very soul reflected at him. They were two sides of the same coin, weren’t they? Both hungry for more but only ever accepting what was dropped at their feet. They could do so much better for themselves. Yet, there they were, clinging to each other at the end of everything. He had never met another who had become so entangled in his identity. Without the vampire, he was nothing. And that notion shook an unexpected sob free from his rattled chest.
Astarion moved to wipe away the tear that escaped from the corner of Gale’s eye. That ethereal face was twisted in something akin to pain as the elf observed him. Cool fingers brushed against the skin of the human’s face, evoking a stuttered breath from the man.

“I’m tired, Astarion.”

The vampire squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Then, when he reopened them, he forced a smile onto his face. The gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yes, darling, I know.”

“If I close my eyes…will you be here when I wake?”

Astarion’s smile fell slowly. The hand at Gale’s cheek moved down to settle in the crook of his neck.

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“I will always be here, love.” That gentle voice whispered.

With that, the wizard allowed his eyelids to flutter shut.

Chapter Text

When Gale awoke, he was immediately aware of two things.

One: Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

Two: the orb in his chest was gone.

And both absences shook him to his very core.

“Thank the Gods you're alive.” Shadowheart uttered from where she sat in a chair by his bedside, cutting through the haze of his panic.

As thankful as he was that she, too, was alive, he could only manage to turn tormented, brown eyes to the cleric. His hand lifted to tug weakly at the wrapping that had been carefully dressed over his torso.

“Where is he?” His rough voice broke.

Shadowheart shut her eyes for a moment and leaned back. And it was then that the wizard noticed the parchment held loosely in her hands. Dread washed over him. He wanted it to be anything other than what he knew it was. Pale, green eyes opened and studied his face warily. She lifted the paper so that it was within his reach. He took it from her fearfully, as if it were the bomb that had been torn from his chest.

“He left a letter for you.” Her voice was so soft—so breakable. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

She pushed the chair back and stood, and Gale watched her as she backed towards the door of the small tavern room he believed himself to be in. Her hand found the doorknob and she twisted it, opened the door, and stepped out. Before she shut the door behind her, she tossed him a final, morose look.

“Please…don’t hate him, Gale.”

Then she closed the door behind her, leaving him all alone. The wizard’s fingers trembled as he hesitantly turned the parchment over in his hands. His breath stuttered in his lungs, and he held it there for several moments before releasing it unsteadily. He didn’t want to read it. He already knew what it said. Yet, his predisposition for self-destruction overruled his need for self-preservation. Already stinging eyes dropped to the elegant scrawl decorating the page.

‘My dearest Gale,

I told you I would be there when you opened your eyes. I lied. And I am sorry.
I will spend the rest of my endless days regretting that, as I will imminently regret leaving you.’

Gale paused for a beat. Squeezing his eyes shut to quell the rush of hurt that threatened to leak through. Then he opened them again.

‘Walking out of that room and leaving you, still injured, in that bed was the most difficult decision I have ever made—and that is in consideration of the two centuries of pure shit I experienced beforehand.

Know that I didn’t want to walk away. I HAD to walk away. For your sake. And mine.

I am a vampire spawn—cursed with immortality. And you are a human who, at most, may live a good century. I have already experienced two of your lifetimes, Gale. And time…it just passes by in the blink of an eye. And that’s not what I want us to be. I don’t want to spend the rest of your days falling deeper and deeper in love with you only for you to slip through my fingers like sand. I don’t think I could bear living beyond losing you.

I don’t expect you to understand, though I know you will try to—you have always been fond of a good puzzle. Still, I ask that you don’t worry your pretty, little head about me.

Forget me. Please, forget me.

Fall in love with someone. A mortal, preferably. And then cherish them as you have me. If you treat someone gently, if you nurture them, you will be rewarded with the privilege of watching them flourish. And, I have flourished, Gale. Because of you. So, keep putting yourself out there in the world. Let everyone know your name.

And then maybe one day it will reach my ears again, and I will smile.

And I will weep, remembering my mad love with the Wizard of Waterdeep.

Love yours, now and forever, darling — Astarion.’

Gale dropped the letter, let it flutter over the edge of the bed to the floor below, and howled in grief. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he clutched at his breaking heart. Though the wizard didn’t want to, he understood. He hated that he understood. That made it so much worse. He pulled the blankets up to his face and buried his eyes into the soft fabric, trying to cease the unending flow of pure agony. Choking gasps broke free from between his quivering lips and he only paused in his hyperventilating to let loose a wounded moan. Oh, how it hurt. This had to be the worst pain he’d ever experienced. Nothing had ever quite cut him to the core like this before. Not the orb. Not Mystra forsaking him. Nothing. He wanted it to stop. He’d give anything to make it stop.

He spent the rest of the day in that bed. In that room. Crying until his body had run dry of tears. And then, when it somehow replenished, he wept again. It was only when he rolled onto his side, his back to the door, that he spotted something small sitting on the bed’s side table.

It was the lanceboard piece—his white knight.

After about a week passed, Gale was able to move about more freely. He left the tavern once he’d felt brave enough. More so because Shadowheart bullied him into going out to ‘get some fresh air’. And, although his injury had mostly healed—thanks to the cleric’s efforts—his heart was still in irreparable pieces. He wandered the messy streets of Baldur’s Gate, head down and feet dragging. The wizard ignored the grateful nods thrown his way as he passed by the city’s residents. They recognized him. They knew what he’d done for their darling Baldur’s Gate. But he didn’t want their thanks. He didn’t deserve it. All he truly wanted was to crawl back to the tavern, into bed, and shut his eyes forever.

But he couldn’t do that.

Subconsciously, his body betrayed him, and he eventually found himself coming to a halt at the remains of a once grand palace. Shadowheart had informed him that the Szaar residence had been one of the many casualties during the Elder Brain’s rampage, but it was his first time coming face to face with the evidence. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that the vampire lord had met his fate at the bottom of all that rubble. No, Cazador had most certainly fled the Gate with all of his spawn in tow. With Astarion. The wizard clenched his jaw and forced his gaze away from the wreckage. He was just meant to forget then, was he? Just turn tail and go home to Waterdeep as if nothing had ever happened? As if he hadn’t just carved his heart out of his chest and stomped it into the broken ground of this city? Baldur’s Gate had bled all over him, and there wasn’t a single God out there that could remove the stain it had left on his soul.

“Gale Dekarios?”

Brown eyes flitted sideways to watch as a sharply dressed gentleman strode across cobblestone to reach his side. The man was a half-elf with a dark complexion and long, blonde hair tethered back in a neat, little ponytail. Gale narrowed his eyes as the man lifted his hand, holding out a small card to the wizard. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, much less a businessman. Still, he waited for the man to explain himself.

“Ulricus Neverember, descendant of Dagult Neverember and avid donor of the esteemed Blackstaff Academy in Waterdeep—at your service. It is with great honor that I approach you with a most grandiose proposition.”

Gale lifted an eyebrow. Well, that introduction had certainly caught his attention. He was familiar with the family name Neverember, but the half-elf standing proudly before him was one he did not recognize. The man had journeyed all the way from Waterdeep to find him? How very curious. The wizard hesitantly took the offered card and squinted down at the tiny text.

‘Mr. Dekarios,

We at Blackstaff Academy formally invite you to consider our offer of a permanent position as a professor at our school of arcane arts. Please respond as soon as possible.

We look forward to your correspondence.’

Gale scoffed and glanced up at Ulricus just as the man adjusted his glasses further up onto his long nose.

“A teaching position?”

The half-elf gave a slight bow, tipping his hat and making the human feel suddenly very underdressed. His robe had mysteriously vanished the morning he first awoke in the tavern—though, he had a good idea who the culprit behind the garb’s disappearance might have been—so he had settled, instead, on casual, brown pants and a slightly too tight, purple top that Shadowheart had snagged from Gods know where.

“Yes, Mr. Dekarios. They are most insistent.”

The wizard’s brow furrowed.

“Just Gale is fine.” He paused. “Why me?”

Ulricus inclined his head.

“Because you are a wizard of considerable acclaim, and scholar of exceptional accomplishment.” The half-elf leaned in then and lifted a hand to cup around his mouth as if he were about to reveal some grand secret. Gale couldn’t help but lower his head as well. “But truth be told, there is another professor at the academy who has a special interest in your most recent endeavors.”

The wizard frowned at that.

“And which endeavors are you referring to exactly? I’ve spent the past few months traveling the Sword Coast trying to rid myself of an Illithid parasite that had been inhabiting my skull. I hardly had the time for side projects.”

Ulricus frowned at the human’s exasperated tone, and he darted his blue eyes about to look for any nearby eavesdroppers. Of course, there were none.

“Word travels fast, Mr. Dek—Gale—and a trusted source has caught wind of your recent association with a vampire spawn.”

Gale went rigid, blood becoming ice in his veins. The man was speaking again, but he wasn’t listening to a single word. Instead, his mind flashed with unwarranted memories. Sharp fangs nipping at his lip. Cold hands on his flesh. His fingers threading through curly, white hair. Captivating, blood drop irises. A crooked smile. A lanceboard…a white knight.

When his mind returned to him, the half-elf was still rambling.

“—you may have to correct me, but I believe his name was Ast—”

“Don’t. Don’t say his name.” He choked out. Then, after a few moments, he breathed out through his nose and blinked stern, brown eyes at the man. “Please.” He added for formality’s sake.

Ulricus took a small step back, giving him his space, and tried unsuccessfully to hide a stunned expression. The half-elf waved a hand.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to bring up anything untoward.”

“No, forgive me, I just...” Gale fought for the right thing to say. “It is a difficult subject matter for me at the moment. A lot has happened.”

“I have no doubt.” The sharply dressed man uttered with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

The man then gestured to the small card in Gale’s hand.

“I do implore you to consider the position, Gale. The man who requested you by name is none other than the academy’s revered Guillermo Rell—a recent alumni of the academy who has shown outstanding talent and who was hired on by Vajra herself.”

Gale scoffed. Vajra he knew all too well…but Guillermo?

“A former ‘student’ asked for me? And how, pray tell, does this young man know of me?”

A finely crafted hat tipped in the wizard’s direction once again, and the half-elf smirked.

“As I said, Gale, word travels fast. Especially in our dear City of Splendours.”

Ulricus gave another bow, signaling his intent of departure. But then, he paused, head inclined as he considered something for a moment.

“If it serves as a means of enticement, I would like to mention that your presence and your…specific connection to a certain person are in want for a project Mr. Rell has been working on as of late.”

Gale narrowed his eyes suspiciously as the man began to turn on his heel.

“And what project would that be?”

Sapphire eyes glinted back at him knowingly.

“A cure for vampirism.”

And with that, Ulricus strode back the way he had arrived from, his coattails sweeping just barely out of reach of the dirt as he left. The wizard stood there, stock-still. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage.

What did he just say? A cure for vampirism?

The tiny square of parchment that Gale had been squeezing between his fingers suddenly slipped out of his hand and danced to the ground below. He did not bend down to pick it back up. Instead, he began to walk. Then walking turned into a jog. And then he was running. His knee was vicious in its protest, but he disregarded it and ran all the way back to the tavern, dodging stray people and stumbling over uneven cobblestone. By the time he reached the ramshackle building, his lungs were heaving for air. He braced a hand near the main entrance door for a few seconds to gather himself, and then he pushed into the establishment. Shadowheart was already sat at the bar when he entered, and she swiveled in her chair to regard him with startled, green eyes as he stormed into the room. He staggered over to her and dropped an unintentionally loud fist on the surface of the bar counter, making the barkeep jump in alarm and send a glare his way.

“I have to return to Waterdeep.”

The cleric blinked a few times, leaning back a little in response to his odd intensity.

“Alright…care to elaborate?”

And so, he did. He moved his fingers to grip, knuckles white, onto the back of the wooden chair beside hers and told her everything. She listened aptly, the beginnings of a fond smile tugging at her lips as she took in the wizard’s overwhelming passion—something he hadn’t possessed in quite a while. It made her happy to see him so excited. So lively. So, of course she encouraged him when he asked her opinion on the situation.

“Gale, I want nothing more than for you to be happy. Will this make you happy?”

The human fixed her with such a determined look it nearly melted her heart.

“If it means I can save him…nothing would make me happier.” Spoken with such conviction.

Ugh. The sentimentality of it all. Shadowheart grinned and gave the man’s shoulder an affectionate shove.

“Go save him then.”

Gale paused.

“What about you?”

The cleric shrugged a shoulder and turned back to the drink she had been nursing before she’d nearly been shocked out of her chair.

“I’ll continue searching for the others. I know they’re still out there somewhere.”

The wizard smiled softly. Then he waved a hand, conjuring a small, polished object. He pushed it across the bar until it came to a stop by his companion’s glass of wine.

“A sending stone. It’s limited to only twenty-five words, but…you’ll let me know if you find them?”

The cleric stood from her chair and threw her arms around the man’s back, pulling him into a spontaneous embrace. Gale only floundered for a second, but then once he’d gathered his bearings, he hugged her back.

“Of course I will, you big lug.”

The wizard squeezed a little harder and then let her go. Shadowheart stepped back and then gave him a quick once over.

“Take care of yourself, Gale.” She paused and bit her lip, considering. “And take care of our vampire when everything works out.”

Brown eyes softened at that. And then the human turned, summoned a glowing portal with a wave of his hand, and stepped through.

That was the last Shadowheart saw of Gale Dekarios for quite some time.

Gale’s access to magic had been steadily returning to him since the orb had disappeared, but he still wasn’t quite powerful enough to teleport all the way to Waterdeep. So, he traveled to the nearest teleportation circle in Baldur’s Gate—one he’d used only once before—and then used it to teleport the five-hundred-mile distance to his beloved city. The whole process only took around twenty minutes. And he soon found himself materializing in the center of an achingly familiar room. The sudden rush of relief was so overpowering that he dropped to his knees in the middle of his library. He was home. After all this time. Familiar comforts tugged at the peripherals of his mind. All the books, his desk covered in scattered papers, his fireplace, his balcony, his…

But there was so much to be done. The wizard forced himself to his feet and popped his low back with a small grunt. Alright. First thing’s first. Gale strode over to his old writing desk and nabbed the small sending stone he’d been using as a paperweight for months before he’d been captured by the mindflayers. It was the one he had used for Blackstaff Academy correspondence back when he… The man shook his head with a scowl. None of that mattered now. He lifted the stone closer.

‘Vajra, this is Gale Dekarios. I have returned to Waterdeep and have heard word that my presence has been requested. Please respond post haste.”

There. And with one word to spare as well. He was about to pocket the stone when a response immediately echoed in his head.

‘Gale Dekarios. As I live and breathe. Come to the Academy at your earliest convenience. We will speak more in person there.’

A wistful smile twisted his lips. Gods he’d missed this. His initial impulse was to head directly to the academy, but there were a few things that needed to be seen to first. First and foremost, he needed a robe. The Baldur’s Gate grunge just wasn’t quite doing it for him. So, he made his way over to the library door and opened it. He had to hold onto the doorframe to keep from crashing to the ground again. It really had been too long since he’d been home, and the recurring flashes of nostalgia were making him weak in the knees—well, more so than usual. He’d merely stepped out onto the staircase, but even that, it seemed, had its sentimental value. Gale straightened and began to unsteadily make his way up the steps, letting his hand slide across the railing as he ascended. When he reached the next available door, he opened it.

“Mr. Dekarios?” An achingly familiar voice shrilled.

And that’s when the wizard allowed gravity to drag him down once more. His knees hit the stone floor as a small feline figure bounded across the hallway to meet him. A ball of fur struck him square in the chest and he instinctively curled his arms around the tiny body.

“My dearest Tara. How I’ve missed you so.” He murmured and lifted her up to gently knock his forehead against the top of hers.

A robust purr rumbled in the Tressym’s throat, and Tara opened her big, yellow-green eyes to stare up at him.

“My dear, Mr. Dekarios, you have returned home! And how rude of me, I haven’t prepared for your arrival!” She fussed and squirmed her way out of his hold so that she could hop back down onto the floor below.

She ruffled the feathers of her wings and paced by the wizard’s feet when he stood, brushing affectionately against his legs. Gale’s heart swelled. He smiled down at the small creature.

“There is no cause for such trouble on my behalf. Besides, I didn’t give you much of a warning, now did I?”

Slitted eyes glanced up at him disapprovingly, but then the Tressym huffed and walked past him to the staircase, flicking her tail at the man as she passed.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to humor me from time to time.”

Gale huffed a laugh.

“Gods, I’ve missed you.”

She gave him a fond look.

“And I you, Mr. Dekarios.” She flicked her tail again and began to pad down the steps. “Now come. You must regale me of your travels.”

Gale snagged a robe from the wardrobe in his bedchamber—a dark gray one that didn’t seem to wear as well as his old, purple garb—and tossed it on before heading down the steps to the kitchen where Tara was waiting. He sat at the small, wooden table in the room and began speaking. And, once he started, he found that he had a difficult time stopping. He told her of the Illithids and their parasites. Of the crash on the Sword Coast. Of meeting others who’d suffered the same affliction. Of Astarion. And that is where he stuttered to a pause—a pause that the Tressym took special interest in. But she allowed him to continue without interruption. She listened intently, making few remarks until he concluded his tale with his sudden and unexpected appearance in the tower library naught but an hour ago.

“You speak somewhat fondly of this vampire spawn.” Tara finally prodded curiously.

Gale gave her a sad smile. It was a smile she knew well. For, it was she who had been there for him during those lonely days after the goddess of magic had cast him aside. The feline creature tilted her head and placed a paw on the back of his hand. The wizard reached up with his other hand to scratch soothingly into the scruff of her neck.

“Yes, I daresay I was quite fond of him.”

Tara blinked her moon-colored eyes.

“And now?”

The human’s smile faded. He averted his gaze to the table, not brave enough to show his companion the depths of his sorrow.

“I still am.” He whispered, not trusting his voice to raise any louder than that.

Tiny claws pricked the skin of his hand gently. They weren’t there to scold him. They were there to ground him. He took a deep breath and dared to catch her eye. She lifted her head boldly.

“Do you love this spawn?”

Gale bristled subconsciously.

“He’s not…he has a name.”

“Astarion, then. Do you love him.”

The wizard glowered and looked away again. Those claws became a little more insistent.

“Yes.” He admitted in an exhale of breath.

Tara gave a little dip of her head and removed her paw from the back of his hand. She shifted the wings between her shoulder blades and rose to all four paws, shaking out her calico pelt as she did so. Then she arched her spine in a stretch.

“Well then. I suppose you have your work cut out for you, Mr. Dekarios. Curing a curse that’s origin date is unknown is quite a feat.”

Gale deflated a bit at that. The Tressym regarded him from the corner of her eye and then lifted a paw to examine it in feigned indifference.

“But, if anyone can, it would be you.”