Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The young man’s pulse throbbed beneath his skin. Astarion could almost taste it, he could smell the blood flowing through his veins - there was so much of it, an abundance of the stuff floating around behind the thin veil of skin that held this human boy together. Surely he could spare some? 

No - that was a useless train of thought. Astarion’s master had made his thoughts on that sort of thing very clear, no thinking creatures. Not now, not ever.

“Are you alright? You look a little distant.” 

Astarion tore his eyes from the young man’s pulse points and back to his concerned eyes, flicking a switch in his mind and pulling a warm smile from his cabinet full of masks. 

He’d been doing this for ten years - he was getting rather good at it.

“Perfectly alright, darling - sorry, I got a little lost in your eyes for a moment. They are quite lovely.” He lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from the young man’s face and felt his pulse quicken beneath his fingers. 

“You feel a little chilly - do you want my jacket?” He asked - what was his name again? Astarion generally called all of them one of the various pet names that tripped off his tongue so easily. Darling, sweetheart, lover, they were all far safer than trying to remember a name. This one, however - there was something sweet about him, something that he almost wanted to remember. 

“You’re very generous - tell me, what did you say your name was again? I’ve really lost myself in those baby blues.”

He chuckled and a light pink flush spread over his cheeks. 

“Sebastian,” He said, “I don’t blame you for forgetting, it’s far less grand than Corellon.”

“Hardly - Sebastian has a hint of something regal to it, don’t you think? Fit for a king.”

“More like a magistrate. That’s the way my parents are leaning anyway.”

“A magistrate? How exciting - plenty of opportunity to make powerful friends there, though do be careful that you don’t make too many enemies either. I imagine it’s quite easy to get out of your depth in a job like that.”

He’d know.

It’s fine, really. He’s fine. He’s had ten years to come to terms with it. Astarion had made a few rather regrettable rulings and it had rubbed the wrong people the wrong way. It happened. That’s life - or, rather, that’s death. 

At least he was getting another chance at something akin to life, not everyone was so lucky.

“Anyway!” He said, clapping his hands together, “I think that I ought to buy you a drink before I keep soaking up all your delightful attention. Let me guess, you’re a fan of a nice Thayan Red?”

It wasn’t a guess - Astarion had heard him order it here a week ago, but people like feeling like they’re noticed and understood and, for some reason, they think that guessing their drink order is the same thing. 

“Are you some kind of psychic?”

“Just a hunch, Sebastian, my sweet - I’ll be back in a tick, don’t go anywhere.”

He stood and headed to the bar with a wink, thanking the drunk he’d pickpocketed as he’d arrived at Elfsong that night for the drinks and waved down the bartender.

“One Thayan and one Esmeltar, thanks.”

“You really don’t look like someone who enjoys Esmeltar.”

Astarion jumped a little at the voice to his right. Looking up, he saw the man to whom it belonged. A human who looked to be in his late thirties. He wore a bright and deeply ugly purple tunic. His hair skirted his shoulders and he sported a short beard that could do with a trim.

He was nursing his own glass of wine at the bar and smiled warmly at Astarion when they met eyes. 

“And, pray tell, how could you know that?”

“Quite easily really.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“Well, it’s horrible. No one likes it.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Why don’t you ask your connoisseur friend over there?”

The stranger nodded towards Sebastian and Astarion looked back and shot his companion an apologetic smile.

“You could do a taste test with him - get a second opinion.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business? Hmm?” Astarion shot back with a terse tone. Perhaps this new interested party would make a good mark in a few nights’ time but, for now, he had his sights set. 

“I would, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to be even nosier.”

“Are you now?”

“Indeed - you see, I know the boy’s parents and I know that they’ll be most upset to hear that their boy is being strung along.”

“And you know that I’m stringing him along, do you?”

“I do.”

“Based on what, exactly?”

The stranger smiled - it was a strange smile. He was looking at Astarion as though they were old friends and he was smiling at a joke that only they understood.

“Let’s just say that I know your type - if the boy comes home heartbroken then there will be hell to pay, that family doesn’t let things go. They’ll rip the city apart to find out who hurt their little boy.”

Bollocks. The last thing that the master wanted was that sort of attention. He’d wasted over half of his evening on a high-risk target without even realising it.

“Actually, scrap the Thayan,” Astarion called to the bartender. This new stranger will have to do. “What are you drinking then? Something expensive and exotic like Elverquisst?”

He snorted, “Hardly - putting gold in something might make it expensive but it doesn’t make up of shoddy craftsmanship.”

“Well then, what’s your poison?”

“Blackstaff,” the man replied, gesturing to his glass at the barkeep in a silent request. “But don’t worry, I’ll happily buy my own - yours too if you promise to leave young Sebastian alone.”

“Well then! To generous strangers!” Astarion declared, lifting his fresh glass of tasteless rubbish towards him and smirking at the man who lifted his own and clinked their drinks together. 

“To new friends,” The man added, taking a long sip - clearly savouring the taste. Astarion mirrored him - people love that. Cross your arms or shift your weight in step with them and they’ll eat out of your hands.

“Is the Esmeltar living up to your exacting standards?” His tone was teasing and far too familiar.

“It’s living up to expectations, certainly.” It was horrible, but Astarion had anticipated that. It was also very cheap, which makes it a lot easier to stretch out limited funds for treating unsuspecting victims to their own favourite tipple.

“Would you let me buy you a glass of something less offensive - if only for my own sake, I can smell the stuff from here and it’s revolting.”

“I suppose I could allow that, on one condition.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You tell me your name and consider coming home with me this evening.” It was a bold play but this man looked like one who liked that sort of thing. Clearly, Astarion was right - the man’s face split into a wide grin at his words. He waved at the bartender and ordered a glass of Berduskan.

“Isn’t that stuff strong enough to fell an ox?” Astarion asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Not at all - and I’m not going home with you, by the way - I thought you’d like it. Have you never had it before?”

“Never.” It was far too strong for him to have tried a decade ago and far too expensive for him to get his hands on these days.

“Well, you’re in for a treat, thank you,” He handed some silvers over to the barkeep and pushed a glass over to Astarion.

“I did say that I’d only allow it if you considered my invitation, perhaps I should decline - or go and hand it to Sebastian over there.”

“You could do that, yes. Or you could sit here with me for a while and enjoy our drinks, then you could find some other, less pitiful soul to invite to your bed.”

Astarion considered the offer. The man was buying - and putting in a little effort early on often made his life easier in future. He scanned the room. There were plenty of other drunks around who’d be quick work to cajole back to the palace. 

“Alright, but I did also request a name.”

The man smiled and extended his hand, “Gale.”

Astarion shook Gale’s hand and cocked his head to the side. 

“Just Gale? No last name or title.”

“Nope. Just Gale.”

“No returning the question, either?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me if you want to,” He said with that knowing smile again, and that - that was a novelty. Did Astarion want to tell this man his name? He didn’t really care in all honesty - but he thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to consider the matter and come to his own decision. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit weird?” Astarion asked, lifting the glass to his nose for a sniff.

“They never really stop.”

The wine smelled good - strong and sweet. As he took a sip, the flavour was heavy and cloying - it managed to punch through his dulled sense of taste rather wonderfully and left him with a pleasant burning sensation in his mouth. It might well be the best wine he’d ever drunk.

“Good?” Gale asked, smirking at him.

“It’ll do,” Astarion replied, taking another mouthful and ignoring the way the corners of Gale’s mouth quirked up even more. 

“Yes - clearly you’re struggling to stomach it.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and then surveyed the room around them again. The evening was wearing on and business was good so there were plenty of options. He was eyeing up a half-elf who was sniffling into her glass on her own at a table when Gale cleared his throat.

“You know, if you’re planning to sweep someone off their feet and then break their heart, might I recommend the reason for that poor girl’s tears rather than the girl herself?”

Astarion turned back to Gale and narrowed his eyes.

“You know an awful lot about the people in this tavern - are you an old friend of someone else’s meddling parents?”

“Not at all, I simply observed their exchange earlier this evening. That chap, over there,” Gale pointed at a brash-looking human who was currently paying rather a lot of attention to a rather uncomfortable-looking young girl, “He broke it off with her, and proceeded to say some rather unkind things about her appearance and willingness to meet his needs, and has since been one by one plastering himself to every blond in the building until they either throw a drink at him or let him drag them into the outhouse. I daresay that you are on his list too.”

Interesting. Someone behaving recklessly, making plenty of enemies - if the glares being shot his way are anything to go by - and who’d be even easier to lead home than even dear Sebastian.

“Well, perhaps, when he makes his way over to me, I shall be a little more enthusiastic than most of his other partners this evening.”

“I daresay you will be.” Gale waved at the bartender again and ordered a flagon of ale.

“Are you particularly thirsty tonight?”

When the flagon appeared, the man took a pinch of something from his pocket and sprinkled it into the drink, then pushed it towards Astarion. 

“I sincerely hope you don’t think I’m stupid enough to drink that.”

Gale smiled and chuckled a little, “It’s for him - just in case one of you should find yourselves less keen on than you’re anticipating.”

“Gale, did you just provide me with a drink with which to drug someone so they’ll sleep with me?”

“If that’s what you want him to do. It’ll simply render him a smidge more suggestible than he would otherwise be. No ill effects, no harm to the body, brain, blood, or anything else.”

Interesting. Gale was proving to be incredibly interesting - and useful. Astarion lifted the ale up for a sniff. It smelled perfectly ordinary - even under his keen nose - and it would render the man suggestible. Perhaps he could simply ask him to come with him back to the palace, without even the pretext of sex, and the man just would.

Gale might be under the impression that he’s helping Astarion get laid - however ethically questionably and for whatever strange reason - but the prospect of getting this over with, easily and without all the sweat and fluids and forced smiles and faked moans and aching sense of guilt with each lie he told, well… that too was incredibly interesting. 

“Do you often give drugged drinks to strangers in taverns with which they might suggest their way into another stranger’s undergarments?”

“It’s not a habit of mine, no.”

“What exactly makes tonight special?”

“Perhaps I just wanted you to leave Sebastian alone - help you get your kicks elsewhere.”

“Then you’d have let me go after the sad and lonely girl in the corner.”

“Then perhaps I just wanted to see someone get what’s coming to them.”

“You’re a vigilante drink spiker? How novel.”

“I aim to please.”

“In that case, bullseye.”

Astarion savoured another mouthful of his delicious wine and turned to observe his new target. As he did, the man’s gaze flicked up and met Astarion’s. Putting on his sweetest come hither smile, Astarion scooped up his secret weapon and stepped away from the bar.

“Wish me luck.”

“I doubt you’ll need it,” Gale said with a smirk and nodded to him as he made his way across the bar. 

“Well, hello, handsome - here, you looked thirsty.”

As the man lifted the flagon to his lips and drank, his eyes raked over Astarion’s body with a hunger that made his skin crawl. 

When the man followed Astarion home, keeping a respectful distance and not asking a single question, the elf wanted to sing Gale’s praises from the rafters. 

When he left the man in Cazador’s antechamber and rang the bell, he could have leapt for joy at the approval dripping from his master’s tongue. He was rewarded with a literal pat on the back and his flesh sang at the feeling - as well as a particularly plump-looking rat for his meal.

Aurelia asked him the next day how his hunt had been. He smiled and simply replied, “Interesting.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand how you’re suddenly bringing so many back - where are you finding these gullible idiots?” Aurelia asked him before slumping back onto her cot. Their shared room was one of the dingier in the palace but it kept out the sun and it had plenty of rats scuttling past it so it served its purpose. 

“Perhaps it’s just my good luck and natural charm.”

“Perhaps you’re enchanting them in some way? Or have you got your hands on a drug to make it easier?”

Damn Aurelia and her irritatingly perceptive mind - but Astarion couldn’t risk telling her about his little arrangement because she might stick her horns in it and screw everything up. This had been the best week that Astarion remembered since his untimely demise - their master was happy with him, he hadn’t had to choke his way through sleeping with some poor unfortunate, he barely even had to put any effort into getting them to follow him home, and his evenings had been filled with strong wine and good conversation. 

Ever since that night with Sebastian, he’d returned to the Elfsong and found Gale sat at the bar nursing a glass of Blackstaff, a glass of Berduskan sat beside him waiting for Astarion. 

At first, he’d been wary. 

“Rather presumptuous darling, you don’t even know my name.”

“I am ever the optimist. Join me for a drink?”

But it hadn’t taken long until Astarion found himself heading straight for the bar, not even scouting for marks beforehand, and throwing himself onto the barstool beside Gale and into a rant about whatever took his fancy - how Aurelia had used his sewing supplies again without asking, how much he hates the gnome family who took over his favourite haberdashers, how tieflings snore horrendously, how tacky the new gas lanterns in the street look.

No matter how strange his choice of conversation, Gale wouldn’t bat an eyelid - just let him talk and then chimed in with his own, usually fairly entertaining thoughts on the matter. Frequently he completely disagreed with Astarion but he always let Astarion talk first before sharing any of his own ideas. 

“Surely the gas lanterns are better than the old candles that need replacing so often and would sometimes burn down unevenly and go out too soon?”

“That all sounds awfully practical - I think they’re ugly, I say nothing of their functional merits.”

“In a thing like street-lanterns, should their practicality not be the forethought?”

“Only if you want the whole city to lose its character - is that what you want, Gale?”

The man snorted, “Not sure it’s got much character to begin with.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, his strange new friend was a Waterdhavian and had made his opinion of the Gate quite plain.

“Well, if you love Waterdeep so much why don’t you go back to it?”

“I have things I need to do here in Baldur’s Gate. I’ll go home when they’re finished.”

“Ah yes, your mysterious business that you simply must attend to - do I get to hear about it yet?”

“Do I get to hear about what happened with any of your nightly invitees?”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t take you for the type.”

Gale smirked but rolled his eyes. “My point is: you have your business, I have mine.”

“Hmm,” Astarion eyed Gale curiously. He had decided not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth - not think about who this man was, who had such strong substances on his person at all times, who’d happily sprinkle them into a stranger’s drink with absolutely no idea what Astarion did with those poor, helpless souls when they left the tavern.

Well, poor helpless souls might be a nice way of describing them. Astarion did his best to choose the sort of person who wouldn’t be missed, not just because no one would look for them but because anyone who might would actually be quite pleased with their absence. 

Gale helped. He seemed to be staying in the tavern fairly long term, so he picked up on all sorts of gossip - who seemed to get a little firmer than necessary with their children or wife, who’d recently come into a large amount of ill-gotten gains, who threatened the barkeep when she got their change wrong, who kept the rest of the people in the tavern, who were trying to sleep, up until the early hours with terrible singing or general inconsiderateness.

When they selected his victim, Gale would order a drink that the pair of them predicted the idiot would enjoy and then Gale would add his finishing touch to it, all before sending Astarion off to play the generous stranger, captivated by their beauty from across the room. He kept up the act until the glass was empty and they had a slightly distant look to their eyes. Then, he’d wink at Gale and encourage them out the door and back to the palace without incident.

Back home, he was the favourite. Aurelia was doing her best but she didn’t have Astarion’s secret weapon. He was being rewarded with ample meals, feeling the hunger almost abate for the first time since it settled into his bones. He was even given a book as a prize for his hard work - something to make the mornings and afternoons drag a little less painfully before he could head out at sunset to find Gale.

“Have you ever read Balduran the Sailor?” Astarion asked, as he sat in his now usual seat, plucked his glass of wine from the bar, and sipped without so much as a greeting.

“I can’t say I have - any good?”

“Oh, the best book I’ve read in years," Largely because it was the only one he'd had access to in the last decade. "Though, I have to say that it’s a little ridiculous.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, the hero fights a Kraken by jumping down its gullet and stabbing it from the inside.”

“How very courageous of him!”

“Stupid more like - if you can’t stab something from the outside then why would the inside be any different?”

“I suppose the outside might have a thick hide to protect it - the inside is going to be far more vulnerable.”

“But once you’re in, you’re just stuck there. If you can’t stab through its hide from the outside then you’ve just as little chance of getting through it from the inside.”

Gale chuckled into his glass, “I suppose I’ve never thought of it like that. But, perhaps he wasn’t hoping to escape? He just wanted to kill the beast, save the day, with no thought for his own survival.”

“Then he’s even more of an fool than I’d thought.”

That knowing little smile was back on Gale’s face and the man cocked his head to the side.

“You don’t believe in self-sacrifice for the greater good?”

“Of course not. There’s always another solution and you’re far more likely to find it on this side of the mortal coil.” Astarion wrinkled his nose, “Waste of a perfectly good Balduran,” he declared, taking another mouthful of his wine. 

At that, Gale’s face split into one of his delighted grins and he knocked back the rest of his wine while waving for another round. As he did, a few drops escaped the cup and dripped down his chin. He chuckled to himself and moved to wipe them away but Astarion was feeling bold. 

“Let me,” He said, snapping out a hand to catch the errant drops with his thumb from the man’s beard. He smirked as he heard Gale’s heart flutter at the contact between them. He let his fingers linger for a moment until Gale moved his face away from Astarion's grasp.

When Astarion withdrew his hand, Gale cleared his throat. “But, idiotic and self-sacrificing literary figures aside, have you had a good day?” Gale asked, nodding to the barkeep as she refilled their drinks.

That was something Gale did. He asked about Astarion’s day. No one asked about Astarion’s day. No one cared. Aurelia was there all the time during it and she barely cared - their master certainly didn’t care so long as he returned before dawn with a freshly drugged-up nobody for him to sink his fangs into, and Godey - well, the less said about him the better. Astarion had managed to avoid any contact with the old pile of bones for the last week and he intended on keeping it that way.

“Better than ever, dearest.” Astarion always stared him down after Gale asked about Astarion’s day. He knew that convention should have him asking after Gale’s but this was his little slice of self-indulgent luxury and he didn't have to. Convention had no place here - Astarion said and asked his new friend whatever he wanted to say and ask. 

Sometimes though, he actually wanted to know about the man’s day. 

“What about yours? Stalking the streets with criminal intent?”

“Only in the morning. After lunch, I decided to storm a dungeon to steal an ancient magical relic.”

“Naturally - one of immense power, I imagine.”

“Fairly immense, yes. One that had been lost to time.”

“Did you find it?”

“Not yet. It was the wrong dungeon.”

Gale always came out with shit like that. He wouldn’t tell Astarion what he was up to in the Gate, only spouted nonsense about magic and curses and deals he was supposedly making. Astarion didn’t believe a word of it. However, from the steady beat of Gale’s heart - which Astarion could actually glean useful information from, now that that the noise didn’t overwhelm him with hunger - it didn’t sound like Gale was lying, which was odd.

From the gold in his coin purse and the softness around his middle, Astarion had Gale pegged as a man of reasonable means who’d lived a fairly easy life. From the little pouch of magic dust that he kept on him, Astarion assumed that he was also some sort of sexual deviant or sadist - but, by whatever means he was indulging that particular avenue of desire, kept that side of himself away from Astarion, and that suited the vampire just fine. From his way with words and rather extensive understanding of current events and politics, Astarion also figured that Gale was probably some sort of low-level politician, perhaps here in the Gate from Waterdeep for a treaty or trade deal. 

He also wasn’t very well. 

That much was clear - occasionally, when the man leaned forward, Astarion caught sight of a bandage wrapped around his chest that smelled faintly of rot. There was a dark, sunken look in his eyes that screamed of too many sleepless nights and more pain than most people could stand. He also complained rather frequently about his knees.

Astarion wasn’t an expert in human health, but he looked like he was suffering more than most men his age - like something had taken a great toll on him. 

The two fell into their usual rhythm. Gale caught him up to date with the gossip of those who reside in the tavern’s lodgings and Astarion began to survey for his usual victim. 

“What about her? She looks like she had a nasty streak in her.”

“Indubitably, you should have heard her over breakfast when the poor serving boy got her coffee order wrong. She threatened to whip him, though I’d rather hoped that I could persuade you to take a break from our routine this evening.”

Astarion suppressed a sigh. It was always going to happen. Gale had been giving far too much help and received nothing in return, it was only a matter of time before he asked for something back. 

“What did you have in mind?” Astarion asked, letting his voice drop into a seductive purr.

Gale just snorted and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, I’m still not going home with you - and we can always resume our usual activities later. I just wondered if you’d fancy joining me on the roof? I’ve discovered that there’s a delightful little terrace up there.”

“A terrace?”

“Well, maybe that’s a romanticisation - it’s a flat bit that you can stand on and there’s a fairly pleasant view. Interested?”

Astarion felt his danger senses tingling. This man with his potent drug and his knowing smiles was trying to get Astarion alone, somewhere with limited means of escape. He knew that game - he’d spent ten years playing it from the other side. Sure, there had been the odd fool who thought that they were playing him, the odd bastard to whom Astarion had pandered - played the unwilling victim, made them feel powerful, let them crush him, and take what they wanted. The end result had been the same - Astarion just swapped out the guilt on those nights and instead allowed himself to languish in his own pain, rather than that of his victim. 

He’d really hoped those days were behind him. 

As he opened his mouth to agree, Gale cut him off. 

“No, you know what - another night.” 

Astarion blinked in confusion, “There’s no need to change your mind on my account, darling, I was just about to take you up on the offer.”

“I know, but I changed my mind. Another night.” Gale smiled at him but it wasn’t his delighted grin or knowing smirk. This one was sad - sad and tired. Those dark circles around his eyes looked particularly sunken and exhausted. 

Astarion leant back on his seat and shrugged.

Men who wanted to hurt him didn’t usually look at him like that - like they were trying to apologise with their faces and keep their movements slow and non-threatening. 

“So, You've picked out your companion for the evening?”

Astarion turned to look around the room but no one caught his eye. He looked back to Gale. 

“I have.”

“What are they having?” Gale started to lift his hand to wave at the barkeep. 

“They usually stick to Blackstaff.”

Gale’s hand dropped and he sighed. 

“I’m really dead set on the not going home with you rule - it’s nothing personal. I sincerely hope that’s not going to become a problem.”

“Hardly a problem, but it is interesting.” Everything about Gale was interesting. His strange clothes, his coastal accent, his mysterious business, his kind eyes, his magic dust.

“It is?”

“It really is - you know, you may have made my… conquests, a little easier to attain but I was hardly struggling before you came along. I’m very charming.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m rather good-looking too.”

“I do have eyes.”

“I’m well-spoken, educated, funny - quite frankly, Gale, I’m a delight.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“And yet you’re quite content to sit here, buy me drinks, and ask for nothing in return - not even my name.”

“Perhaps your scintillating conversation is enough for me.”

“Is there something wrong with you? I’ve known plenty of men who struggle a little in the performance department, it’s really no bother-”

“I assure you, Astarion, I am perfectly happy with our relationship as it stands.”

The elf stopped, his glass in the air midway to his mouth. Gale had called him Astarion. In theory, he could have learned his name from someone - except that he never gave his real name to any of his marks, not even Sebastian. He plucked fantastical names from the stories he’d been told as a child, Corellon, Sehanine, Aerdrie, Hanali, Erevan, whatever came to mind. No one questions an elf with a silly name.

“Ah - you’re wondering how I know your name.”

There was that knowing smirk again.

“Yes,” Astarion replied, a little more harshness than intended seeping into his voice, “I am.

“And you shall continue to wonder about it, my friend, for I shall not be telling you.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” Astarion growled, his hand finding its way to the hilt of his dagger. 

“Unwise,” Gale said, cocking an eyebrow as he took another sip of his drink. 

Astarion chanced a glance around the room. The two of them were sat close and had been each evening for a week - no one was paying them any mind and the man with the bag of do what I say powder was hardly going to want to draw attention to himself. 

Pulling his dagger from where he kept it tucked into his belt, Astarion whipped it out and pressed it into Gale’s side with a fluid motion, and in such a way that his own body or Gale’s would block the view of it from onlookers from nearly every angle. He let the point press into the man’s abdomen and heard his pulse quicken when it did and Astarion knew that he’d drawn a drop of blood when that faintly fetid smell became more pungent in the air. 

“How do you know my fucking name?” He whispered through gritted teeth, because the only people who knew his name were either dead or they were dangerous and Gale very clearly wasn’t dead.

Where most people, with an increasingly erratic near-stranger before them pressing a knife into their gut, might have called for help, tried to talk him down, or potentially just cried, Gale smiled at him again. This one was a little forced, it had a hint of pain beneath it, but it still looked like a genuine smile.

“Astarion, you should put the knife away,” He said, not begging or pleading for his life, not ordering or demanding him to behave or fall in line. From his lips, those words sounded like simple advice.

However, Astarion wasn’t very good at following advice. He let out a frustrated growl and pushed deeper, letting the pressure of his blade worry the man’s vital organs beneath that horrible purple tunic and paper-thin skin. 

Before he could repeat his question, however, Gale had muttered something under his breath and made a strange series of movements with his hands. Astarion was about to question whether the man had started to pray when suddenly he felt a searing pain in his hand. On reflex, he dropped his blade with a hiss and it clattered to the ground. Before he could dart down to grab it, Gale’s foot shifted and planted itself on top of the weapon - the dirt on the bottom of his boot letting out a sizzle as he did. 

“Best not,” He said.

Astarion looked at his hand in confusion - it still hurt, but far more manageably. When he inspected the wound, he saw a series of burns that, plain as day, formed the shape of his dagger’s hilt. 

He raised his eyes to meet Gale’s with an accusatory glare. When he did, the man’s face was split into his delighted grin. 

“It’s a good trick, that one. Isn’t it? Do you want something for the burn?”

Before Astarion could spit that he didn’t want any help from this weird and apparently magical madman who knew his name, Gale was pulling a small jar from his pocket and pushing it toward Astarion. 

“That will help - it’s a salve. Put a little on each day, it’ll be all healed up in no time.”

“What? No wiggly fingers and magic chant to heal me?”

Gale chuckled. “I’m not a cleric, I’m afraid - just a humble wizard, who has often thought that he should have paid a bit more attention when they showed us healing spells at the academy.”

Astarion picked up the jar and turned it over in his hand. The stuff looked homemade.

“This hasn’t got any of your,” he mimed sprinkling something over his drink, “stuff in it, does it?”

“No, that wouldn’t help with burns.”

“I wasn’t thinking of its potential medicinal properties, Gale - you’ve hardly shown yourself to be particularly trustworthy tonight.” He spat his words and hoped that his tone would convey his irritation, even if his eagerness to apply the sweet-smelling salve to his hand might have undercut it.

“And you have? I just happen to know your name - you’re the one that tried to stab me.”

“And you’re the one who neglected to mention all your time studying magic at the academy until now.”

“It hasn’t been relevant. Still wouldn’t be if you hadn’t tried to stab me.”

The moment that he spread the stuff over his palm, the stinging pain melted away. He sniffed it to try and find out what it contained - perhaps he could replicate it.

“I’ve got more of it if you want any,” Gale said, gesturing vaguely upstairs. “I can bring more tomorrow if you like. You can have it.”

“And what need would I have for this mysterious substance?”

Gale shrugged, “Perhaps you get sore after all your many conquests - it’s yours if you want it.”

It sounded so simple when Gale said it. It’s yours if you want it - as if anything was just given up freely.

“I could always accompany you up there this evening, you could tell me all about it,” Astarion purred out the words but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to keep talking to Gale here at this bar, to tease out details of how Gale knew his name, what else he could do with a flick of his wrist and a mutter of arcane words, why he was offering Astarion all these many small kindnesses.

“Neither of us wants that, my friend.” He was right - but how did he know? “I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. That little jar will help with your hand until then.”

“I suppose it’ll have to,” Astarion replied, with a roll of his eyes. Then he squinted at Gale. “Are you really not going to tell me how you know my name.”

“Perhaps I found it out with magic?”

“Did you?”

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ and took another drink. 

Astarion huffed and scanned the room. It was getting late. The unpleasant-looking woman glanced up and smiled at him - it was more sneering than warm but it would do. 

“I think she looks like she likes Thayan, don’t you?”

“Good a bet as any,” Gale replied and raised his hand towards the bartender, “Some Thayan, please. Thank you.”

Moments later, Astarion was approaching her with a slightly adjusted glass of the stuff and an obsequious expression on his face. 

He felt numb as he left her in Cazador’s antechamber and rang the bell outside.

He felt numb as he was rewarded for his efforts with a gentle hand cupping his jaw and a scrap of the praise that he had spent years craving.

He felt numb as he tucked into the entire cat that he’d been given as a reward to keep his strength up - draining the creature dry. 

It wasn’t until he curled up on his cot and let his mind wander to Gale, his new friend - the wizard who knew his name - that he felt anything at all.

Chapter Text

The master was looking particularly pleased with himself in recent days. It was making Astarion and Aurelia nervous. 

“Has he said anything to you?” She asked, picking at the skin around her nails. 

“No - well, he mentioned having made a new friend but that could mean literally anything. It could mean that we have a bouncing baby boy or girl on the way to join the family or it could mean that he’s found someone who’ll finally do up the east wing.”

“You don’t think he’d make another one of us? Do you?”

“With how well I’m doing at the moment? I doubt it.” Aurelia rolled her eyes at his arrogance. “Don’t pout, sweetheart, it doesn’t suit you. I’m simply speaking truthfully.”

“Maybe I should come join you at Elfsong? Clearly my usual spots aren’t working.”

Astarion jumped to shoot the idea down, “Absolutely not - one person whisking away its patrons is easily overlooked. Two? Especially one that stands out as much as you? Unthinkable - if I see you anywhere near it, I’ll skin you.”

She held up her hands in surrender, “Fine! Fine - have it your way. I’ll just have to expand my radius. Maybe Rivington would be a good bet? Plenty of people desperate to get into the city.”

“Only issue being that you would also have to get back into the city with them.”

“Yes, I suppose there is that.” She continued to chew on one of her fingers. There was a scratching from just beyond there door and both of them turned to find the source on instinct.

“Go ahead, sister, dearest, I had a whole cat a couple of days ago.”

The moment he’d spoken, she pounced, flinging the door open and descending onto the quivering little creature in seconds.

Astarion turned back to his book as she fed. No one likes an audience when they’re eating rat. It’s not a high point in anyone’s life. Balduran was starting to grow on Astarion with each reread. There was something quite sweet about a man willing to sacrifice his own life to save others, even if Astarion did want to shake him by the shoulders until he saw sense.

Shortly after Aurelia finished her meal and Astarion finished the novel for the fourth time, Astarion felt a tug in the back of his mind. It had passed sunset. It was time for them to hunt.

“Good luck, darling. I’m rooting for you,” Astarion said with a wink as he fluffed out his hair and headed for the door, ignoring the bitter grumbled from behind him. 

Elfsong was busy that night - but nevertheless, Gale had reserved his usual barstool for him and had his glass of Berduskan waiting. Additionally, sat on the bar in front of him was an entire bottle of the stuff, as well as a bottle of Blackstaff.

“Were you worried that they’d run out tonight, or just feeling particularly thirsty?” He asked as he approached Gale and gestured to the bottles. 

“Actually, I rather hoped I could re-extend my earlier invitation of some drinks on the roof.”

“I wasn’t the one who revoked it, my dear. Lead the way,” Astarion replied, waving him towards the stairs, feeling far calmer about the prospect this time round.

Despite Astarion’s little violent outburst and the man’s mysterious knowledge about him, Gale had remained as steadfast in the few nights since as he had been previously. He helped Astarion pick out a target, render them harmless, and then let Astarion walk out the door with them - frequently wishing him a good night as they went. He’d even firmly continued to insist that he wanted nothing more from Astarion - who had started to lay more and more traps for him in that vein. Occasionally, Astarion would offer to pay for their drinks or to help him with work - once, he even volunteered to apply some of that mystical salve to Gale's achey knees. Nothing. Later, Astarion had offered himself as a tour guide around the city. Gale had just smiled and shrugged, claiming that he was quite content where he was.

The man wanted none of it. The only thing he wanted was to sit at the bar with Astarion, chat, drink, and then help him with his nightly kidnapping errand. 

Even Gale’s heart didn’t give him away. Astarion started keeping more of an ear out for it since the dagger-incident, to try to catch him in a lie or sense any deception - to just get a little insight into him. It told him nothing except what he already knew. Gale was for real, and he was a little bit under the weather.

Astarion followed him up a couple of flights of stairs, idly wondering as they passed the lodgings area which room was Gale’s, until they came to a ladder. Gale stood aside and gestured towards him. 

“After you.”

With a wink and a nod, Astarion climbed up, wiggling his behind a little as he did and earning an amused snort from Gale. “Enjoying the view?” Astarion teased.

“As one would a cityscape.”

His pulse remained steady. How was Gale this painfully earnest all the time? How could he be so very clearly lying, tricking, or at the very least misleading Astarion, while also remaining so honest, relaxed, and at ease.

Once he clambered through the small hatch to the roof, Gale followed him up, his breathing picking up the pace at the exertion. 

“You aren’t about to pass out or something, are you?”

“I’m not that old and decrepit.”

“You’re certainly not that old. Not so sure about the decrepit part.”

Gale huffed out a slight laugh and moved to lean on the waist high wall that wrapped around the small flat patch of roof. He looked out at the city and Astarion joined him. The Gate looked far more peaceful from up here than it ever did from the ground. Gas lanterns flickered on every street corner, flags flapped gently in the wind, urchins scurried down alleys, and drunks pissed into gutters.

“Let me guess, you’re thinking this is no Waterdeep!” Astarion said, nudging Gale with his elbow.

The man rolled his eyes, “I do have other thoughts. I’ve been to the Gate before this visit, you know. Spent quite a bit of time here - in this very tavern, in fact.”

“Did you really? Were you as strange and lonely back then? Picking up random delinquents as drinking buddies.”

“No, I was with people - friends.” He sounded sad again.

“These friends of yours, what happened to them?”

Gale smiled and shrugged. “More than I can say, really. A couple of them had to leave and head off on their own adventure. One had some family matters to attend to. One gathered as many orphans as he could and went off to find a refuge for them. And one, well, one of them came back home with me.”

Astarion chuckled, “Lucky thing. You know, it all makes sense now - you’re not a celibate, you’re a romantic.”

“Is that right?” Gale asked with a smirk and this time Astarion let himself groan at it.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Smile like that, like you know something I don’t - no, more like you know something that we should both know but I’m missing the joke.”

“Well, that’s not a million miles from the truth.”

“I also hate it when you say shit like that.”

“I know - that’s why I say it.”

“Because you’re a bastard who loves to taunt me?”

“Because the only reason you keep coming back to talk to me is because you find me interesting and novel, and I’d quite like you to keep coming back to talk to me.” He shrugged and smiled softly, “Therefore I have to keep being interesting and novel.”

“You know if you’re as good in bed as you are at magic and talking absolute fucking nonsense then I daresay I’d keep coming back for that.” Why did he always say things like that? Astarion cursed himself and his reflexive seduction attempts. If he’s not bloody careful then Gale will take him up on it and it’ll ruin everything.

“Again, neither of us want that.” Relief washed over Astarion.

“Because of your friend?” He teased.

“Among other things, yes.” Gale took a sip from his bottle of Blackstaff and sighed into the night. “The city was different last time I was here.”

“How so?”

“More on edge, more fearful, more dangerous. It felt rather a lot like a ticking bomb.”

“And now?”

“Now, it’s just a city. Just bricks and mortar and people going about their lives.”

Astarion frowned at him. He sounded upset about that.

“Well, it’s always nice when a place settles down a bit, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He was smiling sadly again and Astarion wanted to shake him. 

Instead, he took a swig from his own bottle and turned to face Gale.

“Show me a magic trick,” Astarion demanded, and Gale’s sombre expression melted into a grin. 

He set the bottle down on the wall and muttered something, waving his hands with his fingers working in complicated patterns. After a moment, he pushed his hands out from himself and chuckled as a wave of light emanated out from them both and shimmered in the air, swirling and glittering until it settled into a shape that Astarion almost didn’t recognise. 

It was the city below them, same buildings, same flags, same urchins and drunks, but this time the lot of it was illuminated in bright golden sunshine. Astarion felt his eyes squint and his hands fight to come up to shield himself, but he kept them tightly wrapped around his bottle of wine. The sky was pale blue and and roof tiles gleamed in the light. 

He let his gaze trace each familiar route of his around his home - studying them in their bright and colourful glory - gods, he’d forgotten how colourful the city was by day. Then he turned his face towards the sun itself - shimmering and illusory though it was - closing his eyes and basking in the glow he saw behind his eyelids. He could almost feel its warmth on his skin.

Then Astarion turned back to Gale and tried to keep his face guarded, as though he hadn’t just been given one of the top three things he’d craved most in his heart and bones for the last decade by someone who had no idea what they were giving him. 

“Neat trick,” He said, taking another swig and noting that in the sunlight Gale’s hair and beard glittered with a sprinkling of greys amongst the brown.

Gale was looking back at him with that knowing smile, “Isn’t it just. My friend’s quite fond of it. He likes to sunbathe in the illusion - doesn’t want to burn in the real thing, you see.”

“And you summon up these grand gestures for him so he doesn’t get sunburnt?”

“Among other things,” he conceded with a nod.

“You know I’ve heard tell of wizards like you getting up to all sorts of trouble with your spells - especially in the bedroom.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“There was one in particular, I remember, Edward’s something? It involved tentacles.”

At that Gale released a bark of laughter and threw his head back into a hearty cackle. When he fought back the fit of giggles, he wiped his eye and looked at Astarion, his face split into Astarion’s favourite of his various smiles. This one was soft, fond, and familiar. Gale looked at Astarion like he was a wonder of nature.

“You know, you sound just like him sometimes.”

“Your friend?”

“Hm.”

“Is he the jealous type?” Astarion asked, wrapping his lips rather lewdly around the mouth of his wine bottle. Gale just smiled more, heartbeat not raising an iota.

“Most definitely.”

“How boring of him,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’ve always found that petty and possessive attitude to be rather dull.”

“I’m sure.”

Briefly, Astarion considered kissing Gale - just throwing himself at the man’s apparently endless supply of self-control and seeing what happened. He almost thought it was worth it for the chance to feel the sun on his bare skin for a little longer - to keep the illusion going a little longer. Perhaps then Gale would conjure this illusion for him every night, if Astarion would purr in his ear just right, the way that he imagined men like Gale probably liked.

As if reading his mind, Gale cleared his throat, “You know, we can come up here more often. This could be the new normal, if you like.”

“But then how will I decide who to take home with me?”

“We could come up here every night for a while, then head back downstairs and you can make your selection.”

“What if I’ve already made it?”

“I’m not going home with you, Astarion.”

“Your room’s downstairs.”

“And you aren’t setting foot in it.”

“Because of your friend,” Astarion spat with an eye roll. Gods, he hadn’t felt rejection in years - not real rejection. Some idiot decides they’d rather keep drowning their sorrows than be distracted from them, that’s a mild inconvenience, easily rectified by the next idiot who’s more than happy to let him lead them to his lair.

This almost hurt in a way that Astarion hadn’t felt since his heart used to beat in his chest.

By the hells, he wanted more of it.

Gale just nodded and shrugged.

“Among other things,” he said.

Astarion added those words to the list of things he hated and took another swig from his bottle.

“Alright then,” he said with a sour expression. “Up here, every night. Will you sort the wine?”

“Of course. I’ll wait for you - could even get us some chairs.”

“How considerate,” Astarion muttered, closing his eyes again and revelling in that glow behind his eyelids. Something in his heart ached - a far cry from the numbness that had enveloped him for years - and he had the sun on his face and good wine in his hand and someone by his side who didn’t want to hurt him or use him - who wouldn’t let Astarion hurt or use him - offering this every night. Astarion fought back a smile and let Gale tell him all about the foundation of Waterdeep until both their bottles were empty, all the while considering various theories for what in the realms this madman was doing here with Astarion of all people.

As he left the tavern that night, trailed by a dopey looking young man who’d thrown a glass at the barkeep when she’d told him that he’d had enough, he stopped on a street corner.

“Whatever your name was again,” He said at the man following him.

“Hugo,” The man said, dumbly.

“I don’t care - give me your coin purse.”

He man handed it over immediately.

Then Astarion squinted into the darkness until he caught sight of movement. With a whistle and a wave of his hand he encouraged an urchin to approach him. 

“You, yes, you behind the railing - I can see you. Do you want to earn a large amount of money for doing something easy and painless?” He jangled Hugo’s coin purse in the shadow’s direction. He saw a nod.

“Then come here and listen very carefully.”

Chapter Text

“Right, tell me what you found out,” Astarion said, dropping another coin purse - Agatha’s - in the young boy’s hands. “And remember, you could have one of those every night if you keep being useful to me.”

“Yessir! I followed the man, like you said.”

“The right one, yes? Horrible purple tunic, long hair, beard.”

“That’s the one, I heard him tell someone that his name was Gale.”

“Excellent, what did he do?”

“He went to that big shop that all the wizards like.”

“Sundries?”

“Yeah, then he did a bit of a loop around the creepy old mansion.”

“The Szarr palace?”

“Yessir, he stayed there for a long while.”

“What else?”

“He stopped in a tea shop for lunch - while he was there it was like he was talking to himself, though. Bit weird if you ask me, like he was having half a conversation.”

“Was he talking into something? An amulet or a book or something?”

“Not that I could see, just looked like a nutter.”

“Right, what did he say in this half-chat?”

“Something about needing more time? He didn’t look happy.”

“Alright, and after lunch?”

“He spent about an hour trying to drag a couple of chairs up a ladder - in the end he just took some cushions.”

Astarion snorted. He’d noticed the distinct lack of chairs on the roof and Gale hadn’t looked pleased when he’d mentioned it.

“Right, well. You’ve done marvellously - keep following him, make sure he doesn’t spot you and, if he does, you better not bloody tell him who’s paying you, alright?”

“Yessir! Thank you!” The kid skipped off into the night, toying with his prize and wearing a far shinier pair of shoes than he had been the previous night. 

“Agatha, forget you saw any of that.”

“Any of what?”

“Excellent, follow me.”

After depositing her in Cazador’s antechamber and ringing the bell, Astarion considered what he’d learnt. His master smiled at him and told him that he’d done well. That cool hand ran down the side of his face and Astarion let himself enjoy the feeling for a moment before turning his mind back to Gale. As he sank his teeth into another cat, he wondered who he could have been talking to and why he’d told Astarion that he’d spent much of his day in an annoying meeting with his boss.

“Then what did he do?”

“Well, then he had his lunchtime talking to himself again - this time he kept saying ‘I know you can hold it off a little longer, you’ve done it for this long’ and then rolling his eyes like he was getting annoyed.”

“Okay, then?”

“Then he went to the library and read for a bit.”

“What did he read?”

“One book was called," the boy squinted at the scrap of parchment in his hand, it had clearly been torn out of a book. "Artor Morlin: Waterdeep’s Hidden Guardian.”

“Perhaps he’s feeling homesick - anything else?”

“Another one called," He produced another torn scrap from his pocket, "Lathander Bleeds: A History of Holy Relics.”

“Sounds dull. What then?”

“Then he just headed back to Elfsong, sir. Not long before you arrived yourself.”

“Alright, good job - here,” He dropped Barcus’ coin purse into his hands and watched him scurry away, looking a lot warmer in his new coat.

“Barcus, forget you saw any of that.”

“Any of what?”

“Follow me.”

“So, read anything good recently? I’m tiring of Balduran.”

Gale swigged his bottle and shrugged. “I’ve been brushing up on my religious history, did you know that one of the oldest Lathandrian temples is in Baldur’s Gate?”

“I don’t care much for the gods.”

“I don’t blame you, but their history is fascinating.”

“What’s so interesting about an old temple?”

“Well, no one knows where it is, for a start - and it’s rumoured to hold a holy relic.”

“If no one knows where it is, how can they know what’s in it?”

“That,” Gale nodded, “is an excellent question.”

“So, is that what you’re doing in my fair city?  Spelunking? Looking for ancient ruins? Digging things up?”

“Among-”

“Other things, yes, I know. Good gods, you’re like a bard who only knows one ditty.”

“I’m terribly sorry if I’m boring you.”

“I’m not sure you could bore me if you tried - though, I am slightly convinced that you are.”

“Quite the opposite, I promise.”

“But why?" Astarion opened his eyes against the illusion sun and studied Gale's face. "Why the hells do you keep buying me wine and doing magic tricks for my entertainment and listening to me rant?”

“I have my reasons.”

“But what the bloody hells are they?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I’d love the chance to decide that for myself, darling.”

Gale looked him, his warm eyes, glowing in the bright light, meeting Astarion’s defiant glare. He smiled - the sad one - and shrugged. 

“Soon, I expect. Not tonight.”

Astarion blinked back. 

That was a new one.

It had been a couple of tendays now and Astarion’s insistent teasing and flirting and demanding had largely gotten him nowhere - neither had the week old habit of having the man followed. For all Astarion and his pet urchin could figure out, Gale was a nutter, one who pretended to have meetings over lunch, lapped the Szarr estate a couple of times each morning, and then, every afternoon, went off and did something weird. Either reading obscure books in the otherwise deserted library, disappearing into temples, inspecting tombs in the necropolis, prying open gates to old catacombs, talking to birds and rats. 

“Soon?” Astarion asked, raising an eyebrow. “Will there be a special signal? Will the realms align? Are we waiting for something?”

“In a way - I’m working on something and when I’ve cracked it, then I’ll be able to finish my work, then I’ll explain everything before I leave.”

“Why not before then?”

“Because if you know everything before I crack it and then I don’t managed to crack it there will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“Unpleasant ones.”

“Well, if they were pleasant, my dear, we probably wouldn’t call them problems - what blasted problems?”

“Astarion,” Gale sighed and reached out a hand towards him. That was new too. It sat on the cushions between them, palm up, an invitation. Astarion looked at it but didn’t accept.

“What problems, wizard?”

“I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Astarion said. It wasn’t strictly a lie. He trusted Gale to buy him the good wine and be here when he arrived. He trusted Gale not to tell anyone that each of the people he left this tavern with were never seen again - surely the man must have noticed that by now? He also trusted Gale not to touch him or hurt him.

But that was about it.

“Do you have everyone that you trust followed by an increasingly well-dressed child every day?”

Fuck.

Astarion gritted his teeth. 

“Did you get that little shit to give me false information?”

“No, I simply noticed that I’ve had a shadow for about a week. You’re clearly paying him handsomely.”

“Someone is, that’s for sure.”

Gale smiled at him - that irritating little smirk.

“Stop doing that.”

“Sorry,” He said, but his face didn’t change.

“Why do you visit the Szarr palace everyday?”

“Trust me.”

“No - why do you talk to yourself when you have lunch?”

“I don’t. Astarion, just a few more days - a little more patience.”

“What if you don’t crack it?”

“Then your life will continue as if I never interfered. No harm will be done, other than a smidge of confusion a little further down the line.”

“Stop talking in fucking riddles - how am I supposed to be patient and wait for something that might not even happen.”

“That’s where the trust comes in.”

“Well, I don’t trust you - not in this.”

“But in other things?”

Astarion rolled his eyes at the little pleased jump in his voice at the idea.

“Yes, fine, I trust you in some ways, but this isn’t one of them. Telling me to trust you won’t change that, either.”

“No," Gale sighed and looked wistfully out over the wall. "It would be wonderful if it worked like that though, wouldn’t it?”

“That would make me as easily led as anyone that ingests that powder of yours.”

Gale shrugged, “Or it would make you a person with exceptionally good intuition.”

“Where do you get that stuff anyway?” Astarion asked, ignoring the jibe.

“Don’t worry, if I have to go and leave this unfinished, I’ll give you plenty of it - the salve as well.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw.

How did Gale know? How did he always know what Astarion is worried about? What he fears? What he needs? Why did he visit the palace? Did he know that just the other side of the fences and walls, there lay Astarion in his cot? Did he know that just a little further, past the corridors and fireplaces, there lay the corpses of every poor soul that Gale has helped Astarion take home? Did he know that in the centre of it all lay a man that would just as soon stroke Astarion’s hair as snap his bones? Whose mood determines if Astarion starves or thrives - whom Astarion loves and hates with every fibre of his being.

Did he know that Astarion asked for this illusion each night because it had been a decade since he felt the real sun on his skin? He wasn't able to sink his teeth into any of the delicious walking blood bags that surrounded him each night because the leash around his soul holds him back, and he daren't run into the night, hop on a boat and head for somewhere far, far away, because all it would take is one yank on the chain and he’d throw himself at Cazador’s feet begging for forgiveness - forgiveness that would not come. None of that was possible, and not even this strange and powerful stranger man could grant it - but the sun? Gale just gave him that without question.

“Gale, what do you know?” Astarion asked.

“Quite a lot,” Gale replied with a knowing smirk.

“What do you know about me?”

“Astarion, give me time. I will explain everything, you have my word. Just give me time.”

From his cot, he could hear Aurelia’s screams. 

It was inevitable, really. He’d been doing too well. She’d been lagging behind. The master thought that she needed a little reminder of why she hunted each night. Godey was only too happy to help deliver the message. 

Astarion pulled his pillow over his ears and tried to focus on his book. Balduran was about to jump into the Kraken’s mouth again - like an idiot. Astarion imagined that the cries from the kennels were his. That Balduran was getting his comeuppance for such a silly scheme - rather than his sister being punished because Astarion was cheating the system. 

When he felt the tug in the back of his mind to head out to hunt, he was grateful for the distraction. Stepping out into the night, he was happy to leave Aurelia’s screams behind him. 

Walking through the city, Astarion turned everything over in his mind. He listed what he was sure of.

Firstly, Cazador had been talking more and more about his new friend. He seemed excited - but secretive. The man was planning something.

Then there was Gale, who clearly knew about Astarion’s connection to Cazador - or at least that there was one.

Gale had known Astarion’s name. 

Gale had not once mentioned the fact that Astarion could drink an entire bottle of Berduskan each night and not show a single sign of being drunk.

When asked for a magic trick, Gale had immediately shown Astarion the sun - which most people would hardly consider impressive because most people could see it whenever they bloody like.

Despite having a fair few braincells to rub together, Gale had never queried the fact that not a single one of Astarion’s conquests ever returned to Elfsong - or that a few of them had missing posters up around town. 

He stopped on the street opposite Elfsong as he came to his conclusion. There was a slight glow coming from the roof.

Gale knew.

That was the only logical answer - one that had been gnawing at Astarion for some time now. Gale had to know what Astarion was, that was the only thing that made any sense. It didn’t clear up everything, by any means. There were still plenty of big questions to answer. Most of the ones that sprang to mind started with why the fuck…?

Astarion looked up at the roof again. He could see Gale watching him with a smile and a little wave.

Fuck it, Astarion thought. Gale knew - it was plain as day. He clearly wasn’t going to bring it up at any point but maybe Astarion could shock him, surprise him into showing just a little of his hand.

He looked around to check that no one else was about to see his little trick. The coast was clear. Astarion took a little running jump and grabbed a window ledge of The Elfsong, swung himself up and easily climbed the remaining couple of stories to the roof. He hopped the low wall and stood beside Gale, staring him down without having broken a sweat.

“I see that we’re dispensing with that particular secret now,” Gale said with his most irritating smirk on his face.

“No point hiding when you clearly know the truth - I’d love to know when you figured it out, though.”

“That the mysterious, pale, red-eyed stranger with the pointy teeth was a vampire? If none of that had given you away, you have a permanent aura of necrotic magic and smell faintly of death.”

“But when?”

“Drink?” Gale asked, offering a bottle to him. 

Astarion scoffed at it, “We can both stop pretending that wine is my preferred beverage.”

“It doesn’t do anything good for the living people that drink it either - wine’s not for sustenance, it’s for indulgence.” Gale smiled and gestured with the bottle at him once more. This time, Astarion accepted it with a smirk. As he took a swig, he let the flavour settle over his tongue. Indulgent was the right word. 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll sink my fangs into you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

How does he know? How can he look at Astarion and have that confidence? If it wasn’t for the leash around his soul, Astarion would pounce in an instant. He wouldn’t kill Gale, probably, but he’d certainly want a taste. But Gale is so sure of himself - meaning…

“You know about my master, don’t you?”

Gale opened his mouth to reply but then snapped his jaw shut with a snort.

“What?”

“You won’t like my answer.”

Astarion scoffed, “Among other things?”

“That’s the one.”

“You even know of his orders.” Gale nodded. “You know where I take these people.” Gale nodded again. “You know what he does to them.” His third nod was different, he hesitated first but then nodded with a shrug. “You help me anyway - you help me lead them to their deaths.”

“I help you because I know what he’ll do if I don’t.”

If anyone else had claimed to know a damned thing about Astarion’s life - the way he’d lived for the last ten years - he’d have done something unspeakable, something that definitely would have sent him to the kennels in Aurelia's place if it had ever gotten back to Cazador. 

Because how could they know? How could they possibly know what it’s like to live with the knowledge that the same man who gave you everything you had - life, power, salvation, the chance at becoming his equal, if only Astarion could just prove himself - how he could be the same man that you fear most of all, the one who could have you flayed and broken and starved with a single word. He could even make Astarion do it all to himself.

He and his sister had quietly remarked in the last few months that he was getting worse - more power hungry, more sadistic. His approval was getting harder and harder to attain, his demands more and more unrealistic, his offerings of blood for them to drink becoming scarcer and scarcer.

Then Gale had arrived and helped Astarion stay in his master’s good books. It had been the best couple of weeks that Astarion remembered, but it was fragile. 

One slip up and it would be him screaming in the kennels under Godey’s touch, or worse.

How could anyone else possibly understand that?

Gale was looking at him sadly again.

“How do you know?”

“Would you believe me if I said that my closest friend went through something very similar?”

“The one that you’re disgustingly in love with?”

“The very same.”

“Probably not. That seems incredibly unlikely.”

“It is. But nevertheless it’s the truth.”

“Exactly how many vampires do you know, Gale?”

“Just the one.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve been told.”

Astarion finally settled down onto the cushions and sat back. He took a sip from his bottle and watched as Gale sat down beside him. He let the silence sit for a few moments before clearing his throat.

“You know, I can hear your heartbeat.”

“I know.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes, of course he knew - is there anything this mad bastard didn’t know?

“I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Then you know that I’ve never lied to you - well, I’ve lied once. I never met Sebastian’s parents.”

He’d figured out as much. Astarion did know that Gale believed what he said - but then, nothing he said made any sense. His friend had gone through the same shit as Astarion, apparently, but at the same time the man only knew the one vampire - how does that work?

He has lunch talking to himself and then tells Astarion that he was meeting his boss - how are they both true? He’s attracted to Astarion, thinks he’d interesting, funny, good looking, but has no interest in taking him to bed. Gale told him several times that he enjoyed his company, that he wants him to come back each night to talk to him, but refused every attempt of Astarion’s at getting to know him or seducing him.

Astarion swigged from the bottle once more. 

“You’re infuriating.”

Gale snorted and shrugged, “Among other things.”

Chapter Text

“Boy?” His master’s voice called him across the palace. He didn’t need to speak louder than a whisper for Astarion to hear him - to know that he was summoned, no matter where he was. Astarion didn’t need to tell his legs to move for them to do it. He didn’t need to think about where Cazador was in order to find him. 

He was pulled from his cot by the call and found himself walking quickly down the halls towards his master’s antechamber. The man was stood outside, wiping blood from his chin with the pad of this thumb. He looked happy - sated. That was good.

“Master,” Astarion said, smiling sweetly and keeping his gaze low. 

“These offerings you bring me each night - they’re remarkably pliant.”

“Yes.”

“That’s very useful to me.”

“I’m glad.”

“But it’s also very strange.”

Astarion felt himself flinch at the hint of edge to Cazador’s voice. But, he’d rehearsed this. 

“There’s a new drug in the city. The people who take it are very easily led. I don’t know where it comes from.”

“Hmm,” Cazador sucked his thumb into his mouth thoughtfully. “At least it doesn’t spoil the taste.”

Astarion smiled. Gale wasn’t the only one who knew how to lie by omission.

“Did you enjoy your reward?” He asked, and Astarion nodded quickly. It had been a large dog. 

“Thank you, master.”

“You’re welcome, boy. Keep doing so well and there may be an even greater one on the horizon.”

“Thank you, master.”

“You may go.”

“Thank you, master.”

Astarion turned to leave, feeling the animalistic part of his brain preen under the attention - he had been noticed and rewarded and promised even greater rewards to come. If his heart could swell with love then it would have.

Back in their room, he pulled his pillow over his head to muffle the broken sobs coming from Aurelia’s cot. 

“Don’t you look unusually chipper?” Astarion asked as he hopping the short wall and joined Gale on the roof.

Gale jolted from his daydream when Astarion spoke and clutched a hand at his chest. Astarion heard his heart rate spike and breathing pick up. Perhaps the man wasn’t omniscient.

“Please don’t make me jump, Astarion - it’s bad for my heart.”

“So’s all that wine.”

“But at least I find the wine enjoyable.”

Astarion settled onto the cushions beside him with a smile. 

“Speaking of things you enjoy - what was with the idiotic grinning to yourself before I arrived?”

Gale’s furrowed brow slowly smoothed and a small, prideful smile graced his face. 

“I had something of a triumph today. I daresay your urchin will fill you in later.”

“Or you could.”

“I could, yes.”

“But you won’t?”

“Nope.”

“Alright - keep your secrets. I’ve done enough bowing and begging for scraps recently.”

Gale looked hurt, “I do hope that’s not truly how you see our conversations, Astarion.”

“Well," The vampire thought, plucking the bottle of Berduskan from the floor and settling onto his usual cushions with a dramatic sigh. "I spend my evenings in the company of a man who knows far more than he’s letting on, who makes strange and nefarious plans without elaborating on them, who keeps making vague promises to me with no evidence to suggest that they’ll ever be made good on, who gives me dark red drinks as a reward for my compliance, and who has the power to make people bend to his will." He took a swig and then shrugged. "Then, by day, I go and bow at the feet of my master who does the exact same things.”

Astarion was expecting an eye roll and a sad smile at the comparison. He was not expecting Gale to tense up and positively radiate fury beside him. 

“Astarion, please don’t compare me to that man.” He spat his words and washed them down with an aggressive gulp of wine. “I can take a lot of things - that is decidedly not one of them.”

As he cast his eyes over Gale, Astarion saw how his grip on the neck of the bottle became white-knuckled and tight, his free hand shook in his lap, his jaw clenched, and his eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

Something clicked in Astarion’s mind. The answer to every why the fuck question that swirled around in his head.

Gale was here to kill Cazador.

This squishy human wizard with his soft underbelly and silly purple outfit - with his illusion sun and generous libations - was here to kill Cazador.

The thought caused a giggle to bubble up in Astarion’s chest. 

This man, with his kind face, his soft, honeyed eyes, his creaky knees, and his cryptic words, was going to try to take on a true vampire.

The giggle turned to a cackle as Astarion’s head was thrown back at the ridiculousness of it all. 

Gale looked at him like he was mad - which was a bit fucking rich from someone planning a pointless suicide mission. 

“Oh, Gale, darling, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” The idiot cocked his head to the side and squinted at Astarion. 

“Sweetheart, I've figured it out - I’ve finally figured it out: why you’re here, why you help me, why you buy me drinks, and cast all your little spells. You haven’t got a chance, my dear, not one single shred of a chance.”

“Care to elaborate on what you’ve figured out?” He looked amused, like he didn’t think Astarion really knew.

“You’re here to kill him, aren't you? Oh, gods!” Astarion clicked his fingers as he realised. “Your friend - I bet he knew my master before my time, probably before Aurelia’s too. Maybe he’s even a big brother of ours, a fellow one of the Szarr spawns.” 

Gale’s face was unchanged, but his heart was giving him away this time - his pulse quickened. Astarion was right.

“It all makes sense! You’re here on some romantic mission to get revenge." Astarion let out a short, bitter bark of laughter. "Well, Gale, do yourself and your friend a favour, give me a big bag of magic dust and then go home to Waterdeep. You’re going to get yourself killed, wizard.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Don’t forget, I can tell when you’re lying-”

“You can hear my heartbeat, there’s a difference. I know it’s jumped a little just now-”

“A little? It’s practically trying to leap out your throat.”

“Yes - yes, alright it is, I’m,” He swallowed. His eyes were wide and his breath coming in quick bursts. “Alright, yes. I’m terrified right now. Completely and utterly, but not for the reasons you think.”

“So, take a moment to calm down and then tell me that you aren’t going to try to kill him.”

Gale rolled his eyes, but took a swig from his bottle and pushed out some deep breaths.

Slowly his heart rate slowed to a far more respectably pace. 

“I’m not going to try to kill him.” Steady beats. “I’m very much going to actually kill him.”

Astarion snorted again. “Just because you believe that, it doesn't make it true.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I’d done it before?” Thump… thump… thump… no stuttering, no quickening.

“I’d believe that you’re delusional.”

“I need you to trust me, Astarion.”

“Why were you scared? If you’re so sure of yourself.”

“Because if you’ve figured it out then there’s a chance that he could find out from you - I don’t mean that I think you’d tell him voluntarily, but I know that you can’t easily hide things from him, let alone lie outright.”

“And that would ruin your plan.”

“No. It could get you killed, or far worse.” Thump… thump… thump…

“Pray tell, what’s worse than being killed? I’d say that I’m more of an expert on the subject than you - having actually, you know, died.”

“I know what he’s capable of.”

“From your friend?”

Gale sighed and nodded. Astarion smirked, he was right about that bit too. Any satisfaction that he might have gotten from that was, however, immediately undercut by a realisation. 

“I’m never going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Not if we sat here for two centuries.”

“You know, when you fail you’ll be leaving me to find out what your friend was talking about - to find out exactly what our dear sire is capable of.”

“Good thing that I won’t fail then, isn’t it?”

“You’re insane.”

“Potentially, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“You said before that you might not figure out what you’re working on - how can you be so sure now?”

“Like I mentioned earlier, I had a bit of a triumph today.”

“You cracked it?”

“I did.”

“Then tell me.”

“I need to finish the job first.”

Astarion whined and closed his eyes. Gale was insane - he was going to get both of them killed. If Astarion had any sense then he would drag this man before Cazador and tell his master everything - then he’d pray for mercy, and hope that the man saw fit to bestow it for once. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Astarion.”

“Do you now?”

“I can do it. I just need you to trust me.”

“I expect that you’ll want me to help you - sneak you in and give you information.”

“I don’t need information. I don’t need you to sneak me in.”

“Well, what do you need? Hm? Other than someone to bury your fucking corpse after he’s done with you.”

Gale placed his hand, palm up on the cushions between them. 

“I need you to trust me,” He spoke quietly. His voice was soft and low and Astarion wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket. With a fumbling and awkward gesture, Astarion placed his own hand in Gale’s, relishing the warmth as he closed his fingers around Astarion’s pale ones. “In three day’s time, if you ask me to come home with you, I will.”

“I thought that you were rather keen on that rule.”

“Every rule has its exceptions.”

“Then what happens?”

“Then it will be over.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“In the very unlikely event that he kills me, it’s important that you're as far away from the palace and the city as possible. I’ll set up a portal to take you wherever you want to go.”

“He’d still control me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself coming back.”

“It’s important that you’re far away because, if he kills me, he still dies - it just means that rather a lot of other people will as well, so I’d rather avoid that outcome if possible.” As he spoke, Gale lifted his free hand to rub at his chest. Astarion followed its movement with his eyes. He did that a lot, when he was lost in thought mostly - but this was different. He looked as though he was considering his hand and the flesh beneath it carefully.

“You have a wound on your chest,” Astarion stated.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“It hasn’t healed.”

“Not yet.”

“Will it?”

“It will get better when I’m home.”

Astarion squeezed Gale’s hand. Three days, he thought. He’d lived like this for ten years. What was three more days?

“If you’re killed, who’ll tell me what the fuck’s been happening this whole time? Will I need to track down a grieving vampire in Watergate?”

“You wouldn’t find one. I have a letter for you. I’ll give it to you before I go, just in case.”

“I think I’d go look for him anyway. Perhaps we could bond over how much of an idiot you are.”

Gale chuckled and smirked. “Oh, you’d get on famously. Though, I’m not sure that Faerûn would survive if you two did meet.”

“Too much charm in one place?”

“Something like that.”

“Three days?” Astarion asked.

“Three days.”

“Kid!” Astarion called into the night. The boy didn’t appear.

Instead a little girl cleared her throat, passed Astarion a scrap of parchment, and held out her hand.

With a raised eyebrow, he turned the note over. In childish handwriting there was a message scrawled on the other side.

Daisy is now working for me. Please give her the coin.

The man did the usual in the morning and talked to himself again at lunch. Nothing new. 

He went back into the catacombs after and came out looking very happy and holding a box. 

I think he knows I’m following him. 

He smiled at me then pointed to the box and said I’VE FOUND IT! HURRAY!

Then he bought me a slice of cake.

I’ll have Daisy follow him from now on.

“By the hells, he’s an enterprising little shit, isn't he? Alright, Daisy, here - Gregory, give her your coin purse.”

Gregory dropped the purse into the girl’s waiting hands. She nodded and skipped away.

“You saw nothing, Gregory. Come with me.”

“Another very compliant find, well done, boy.” He cupped Astarion’s jaw and held his face up, their eyes met.

“Thank you, master.”

“Anything interesting happen tonight?”

Astarion focussed desperately on keeping his tongue still while he ran through the evening quickly, skipping details - he went to the roof, spoke with Gale, drank wine, then went downstairs, chose a victim, drugged the victim, took them home. That was all the new normal - nothing at all interesting to see there. Not one single interesting or noteworthy thing. After all, words aren’t things that happen. Interesting words don’t count as interesting happenings. Nothing they said is relevant. He could do this. 

But now he’d been silent too long. He had to say something. 

“I think the street urchins are unionising.”

Cazador’s hand slipped away and he let out a sharp bark of laughter. 

“This city always has some trouble or other brewing. You may go.”

“Thank you, master.”

As he left, he tried to keep his paces measured and steady - not sprint back to the safety of his cot as he wanted.

That had been close. Too close.

Three days.

Chapter Text

“How are you doing it?” Aurelia asked. Those were her first words since she came back from the kennels. She was pitiful. Curled on her cot, pillow held tight to her chest. She was watching Astarion intently as he lay on his own cot, staring at the pages of his book, pretending to read like he didn’t already know the thing by heart. 

“Hm?” He replied, to buy himself a little time to compose his answer.

“How are you bringing back so many?”

“I told you, it’s just luck, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll end up back in the kennels when it dries up and you’ll be back on top, my dear. It’s just the way of things.”

He didn’t have a traitorous heartbeat to give him away and he was immensely glad of it. 

Aurelia rolled over, away from him, muttering, “good.”

He couldn’t blame her for wishing away his good fortune - he’d be doing the same. In fact, he would be far worse. Gale is rather lucky, Astarion mused, as he flicked a page and hummed thoughtfully, that Astarion was the vampire spawn that he'd approached with this whole plan - if he’d gone for Aurelia and Astarion had gotten wind of anything at all, he’d have been determined to expose them. He’d have followed Aurelia every night, dragged her and Gale both back home to throw before Cazador and revealed every little detail of their plan. 

Perhaps Gale knew that too. 

The revelation about his friend knowing Cazador was interesting. If the man was a spawn then he’d be at Cazador’s command no matter how far away he was - but perhaps Gale had some magicks that solved that? But then why wouldn’t he have used that on Astarion? Perhaps it’s very complicated magic, Astarion theorised, even something that relies on the distance? Or perhaps the friend is just someone that Cazador hurt at some point. Elves do get about, especially vampiric ones, and neither him nor Aurelia really knew how old their master was.

The only thing that still niggled at him - something without answer - was still that first thing.

How did Gale know his name?

He might have known about Cazador, spotted Astarion as a spawn - perhaps Astarion was just so very typical of vampire spawns at large that all of his thoughts and fears and experiences were quite common for his type. It's entirely possible, as much as it grated on him to consider. He wouldn’t know, the only other spawn he knew was Aurelia and they hardly sat around chatting about their feelings. 

But even with all that, no one knew his name. His family were dead and they hadn’t been in the Gate very long when he met his untimely demise. He didn’t exactly still look like the young, noble, elf magistrate that he had been for a couple of short years. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him that he was far thinner, almost gaunt, now. His eyes were blood red and his skin impossibly pale. He also wore the same shirt and trousers that he’d found on a line after he clawed his way out of his grave. He’d repaired them a dozen or so times and they’d been cheap to begin with.

No one would recognise him, even if he did happen to bump into someone he’d brushed shoulders with in another lifetime. 

So, how did Gale know his name?

A mind reading trick, potentially. He knew that there were spells that could do things like that. But the man had said that he hadn’t used magic and Astarion knew that he was telling the truth. Running through possibilities, and dismissing them one by one, Astarion whiled away the rest of the afternoon.

Inevitably, the tug of the leash came, calling them to work.

Aurelia stood and regarded him cautiously. 

“I’m coming with you to Elfsong.”

“We’ve been over this-”

“I don’t care, Astarion. I’m coming with you.”

Fuck.

The walk there was, to say the least, tense.

As they approached the tavern, Astarion risked a glance up to the roof. He could see a light but not Gale himself. 

He cleared his throat loudly and said, “So, Aurelia, darling, what’s the plan? Are we going to double act or pretend we don’t know each other?”

Astarion hoped that Gale’s measly human ears were good enough to have heard him. There was a slight shift on the roof and the top of a head poked over the wall.

Thank fuck. At least he knew that she was here.

“I want to see what you do - how you’re doing all of this.”

Fuck! That meant that he was actually going to have to do it - do it properly and normally, by batting his eyelashes and getting down on his knees in an alley like he did for ten long and fucking horrible years.

“Alright, but don’t put my marks off with your creepy staring.”

He pushed open the tavern door and was greeted by the usual sounds of drunken revelry. Shortly after he walked in, Aurelia followed, slipping to the side and finding a seat out of the way. Astarion could feel her eyes boring holes into his back.

Astarion took a deep breath. He could do this - he just had to get back into the swing of things. He bumped into a nearby patron, and apologised profusely as he slipped his hand into their pocket and lifted their coin purse. After taking a few silvers from it, he pretended to have spotted something on the floor, ducked down and held it up.

“Sorry again, but I think you dropped this? No, no need to thank me, really - the least I could do. Have a lovely evening, darling.” 

Coins in hand he approached the bar. 

“Glass of…” Astarion was painfully aware that this really shouldn’t be the bit that he was most upset about, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting. “Glass of Esmeltar, please.”

“No Berduskan today?” The barkeep eyed him warily. If she ruined this for him then Astarion would skin her.

“Not today, no.” 

“Alright,” She shrugged. Praise the hells!

She pushed a glass towards him and took his silver, exchanging it for a couple of coppers in his hand. 

Astarion sipped at his horrible, watery, tasteless wine and scanned the room. His eyes caught on a nasty piece of work who was currently arguing loudly with someone in the corner about whose round it was. No - he had to do this the old way, so he was going pick his mark the old way too. He searched each face around him for some hint of vulnerability - some weakness he could exploit. 

There was an old woman in the corner who looked lonely, but that never works - they love a chat but can’t be convinced to leave with you. One particularly drunk young woman was barely holding herself upright, but she was also making a bit of a scene and would likely be remembered. A sheepish looking elf at the bar was eyeing him with interest, but they looked high maintenance and Astarion needed a sure thing. Then, in the corner sat a young man who looked familiar. He was glancing at Astarion nervously. 

It was Sebastian. 

Of all the nights that he could have picked to return to Elfsong, to look at Astarion with those sweet, hopeful eyes…

Gale had confessed that he didn’t know Sebastian’s family and that his line about the boy’s parents tearing the city apart for him had been a lie - the only lie he’d told Astarion, which the vampire probably would have picked up on at the time if he’d been well-fed enough back then to hear anything in a heartbeat except potential and hunger and want.

Sebastian would go anywhere with him - all he had to do was ask. Astarion probably wouldn’t even have to drop to his knees in an alley, or let the young man fuck him on the couch in the antechamber.

“And a glass of Thayan.”

With two drinks in hand, Astarion approached Sebastian’s table. 

“Well, well. It’s been a while, sweetheart. How have you been? Sebastian, wasn’t it?”

Astarion put the glass in front of him and sat down in the chair beside the boy. There was one opposite him that he could have chosen, but side-by-side was always more intimate - more effective. 

“Good evening, Corellon,” Sebastian smiled at his drink and then at Astarion. “You remembered my favourite?” 

“How could I forget? I’m so sorry about the other night - an old friend that I hadn’t seen in a while, you understand.”

“Of course, no worries at all!”

Astarion smiled at the boy and lifted his glass, “To fate,” he said and Sebastian clinked his glass with Astarion’s.

As they both drank, Astarion saw a familiar purple tunic descend the stairs and head outside. He ignored it. 

“That was your friend wasn’t it?” Sebastian said, his head turning to see where Gale went through the window.

“Hm?” Astarion said, bringing the young man’s focus back towards himself with a finger under his chin, “I didn’t notice. You know, your eyes might be my favourite shade of blue - of any colour, really.” The skin under Astarion’s hand flushed pink. Sebastian lifted his hands to hold Astarion’s.

“You’re awfully cold again - have you been outside a lot tonight?”

“How sweet of you to worry, my dear - but, you know…” Astarion paused and quickly ran his tongue across his lower lip, then let his blunt front teeth bite down on it slowly. He heard Sebastian’s breath hitch and his heart stutter. “I can think of a few ways to warm up.”

He reached under the table and rested his hand on Sebastian’s knee. The boy flinched but then pressed his leg closer to Astarion. 

Tonight, he really needed a sure thing.

As the evening wore on, Astarion’s guilt steadily climbed. Sebastian was sweet - he was innocent and kind and looked at Astarion like he’d hung the moon. From how he stuttered and smiled and flushed, Astarion would guess that the boy had never been kissed, let alone been taken home by a stranger in a tavern. 

He started to wonder if he should lead him into an alley first, if he should try to make this poor soul’s last night on this mortal coil something worth remembering. It was the least he could do - he was trading Sebastian’s life for his own, after all.

Eventually, it was time.

“You know, darling, there is somewhere else we could take this little party of ours - do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Sebastian swallowed and let Astarion lead him by the hand. 

“Then come with me - let me take you home.”

The boy nodded shakily and rose to his feet.

As the two of them headed through the door, out into the night, Astarion caught Aurelia’s eye. She nodded to him slightly and then turned back to her conversation with the high-maintenance elf.

Now all he had to worry about was the master noticing that his meal was a little less pliant than he was used to. 

As they stepped outside, Astarion slung an arm around Sebastian’s waist. 

“Is it far?” He asked. 

“Not too far, no. But there’s plenty of time to get up to a little trouble on the way,” He purred with a smile. The young man blushed and hid his face in Astarion’s shoulder. 

“You know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Don’t worry, darling. You’re in safe hands.”

He whispered the words conspiratorially and grinned as Sebastian chuckled at him. But with each syllable, each exhale of his laughter, Astarion felt a stab of guilt in his chest. 

It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d done this - since he’d been prepared to do this with Sebastian himself. 

They walked down the road, rounding a corner, when suddenly a voice interrupted their chatter. 

“Pale elf with white hair,” said the voice. It was attached to a large man - the large, nasty man who had been arguing with someone in the tavern earlier in the night. Astarion recognised the vacant stare on his face. The man stretched out his hand and pushed a letter towards him. 

On the front was a tight and messy scrawl - Astarion.

“What’s that?” Sebastian asked, glancing worriedly between his escort and the large man.

“You know, I’m not sure.” Astarion opened the letter, but as he did, he felt some powder slip out. Inside was written:

It also works upon inhalation. When he wakes up, he won’t remember a thing about the evening.

“Look at this, Sebastian, darling - I think it’s glitter.” 

With a curious expression, the boy craned his neck to look at the parchment. Astarion held it up between them and with a quick blow, he scattered the dust in Sebastian’s face.

The boy coughed and spluttered, but after a moment and a deep breath, he swayed on his feet and stared blankly at Astarion.

“Go home,” Astarion said, “and don’t ever let a stranger in a tavern talk to you into something like this again.”

He didn’t really think that the powder worked like that but, on the off chance that it did, he thought that the instruction would do the boy’s sense of self-preservation some good.

Astarion watched, his cold dead heart feeling a little lighter, as Sebastian turned and walked away without question. 

Grinning at the large, dead-eyed man before him, he said, “What did the purple wizard tell you?”

“Wait for pale elf with white hair. If he’s with a tiefling, ignore him and go home. If he’s not, give him the letter and do what he says.”

“Did he mention that he’s my favourite person in the entire world?”

“No.”

“Pity. Give me your coin purse.”

The man handed it over.

“Follow me.”

As they walked, a little girl in a new looking dress skipped over to him. 

“The man’s been busy, sir.”

“I’m sure, but tonight you get your money for not telling me what he’s up to.”

His last conversation with his master had been too close. He didn’t want to know anymore. 

Gale had come through for him tonight - in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Astarion had an inkling that it hadn’t been Sebastian that Gale had wanted to save when they’d first met.

Two days. 

He could trust Gale for two days.

After dropping the coin purse in the girl’s hands, he headed back to the palace. 

After leaving the man in the antechamber, he rang the bell. 

He said thank you, master and yes, master at the appropriate times. 

He ate his four legged reward.

Then he returned to his cot and thanked every god he could think of, once again, for the fact that his heart couldn’t give him away.

Chapter Text

“I cannot express just how glad I am to see you,” Astarion declared as he hopped onto the flat roof. 

Gale froze at the sound of Astarion's voice and whirled around where he sat, then he was leaping to his feet and pulling Astarion into an embrace. 

Astarion felt himself tense up at the sudden movements. This was new. 

Gale wrapped his arms around Astarion’s shoulders and squeezed him like his life depended on it, burying his face in the elf’s shoulder and breathing in deeply. 

“Thank the gods, Astarion, you’re alright - it worked, then?”

“No gods to thank, my dear, just your excellently quick thinking and delightful magic dust," he mumbled in reply to the desperately relieved tone of the man before him. 

Astarion's arms were pinned to his side and he was entirely engulfed in Gale - Gale's smell, his hair, his arms, his stupid purple tunic, just... Gale. The vampire was torn between leaning in further, wrapping his own arms around Gale and burying his own face in the wizard's shoulder, and shoving him away roughly. The embrace was nice, but overwhelmingly Gale. 

Perhaps sensing his conflict, in a way that only Gale seemed capable, the man released Astarion and backed away, tucked his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. 

“Right, yes, well… it all worked out in the end, that’s what’s important. She hasn’t come with you tonight?”

“No, she was satisfied that Elfsong wasn’t some grand kidnapper’s panacea and returned to her usual haunts.”

“Good, that’s good. Yes.”

Gale was flushed, his heartbeat swift, and his eyes were flickering just about everywhere but Astarion’s face. 

He was embarrassed, Astarion realised. How delicious. With a smirk, Astarion tugged on the cuffs of his shirt to straighten it out after Gale's pouncing.

“Good thing that your friend wasn’t here to see that little outburst, hm? If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were getting a bit fond of me, wizard.”

He rolled his eyes and sat back on the cushions, still blushing furiously. He uncorked his wine and took several mouthfuls. 

“I’m sure he’d understand,” Gale muttered.

“Are you really?" Astarion sat down beside him and lay back against their pile of cushions. "I thought he was the jealous type?”

“I suspect that even he couldn’t fault me in this instance - it is a rather unique situation.”

That was an interesting development - some wiggle room, maybe? A space under his skin that Astarion might be able to crawl. A crack in those principles and rules that could be exploited.

Did he want to?

Astarion liked Gale - he was useful and he was kind and he asked about Astarion’s day and listened when he answered. He also rather liked the fact that he hadn’t once cast his eyes over Astarion’s body like he was a steak waiting to be cut into, or put his hand on Astarion’s thigh, or huffed out boozy breaths into his face. 

He was also growing increasingly fond of the fact that Astarion could flirt to his heart’s content and Gale would only smile at him knowingly - knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere, knowing that Astarion was only doing it out of habit, because he hadn’t spoken to another person that wasn’t his master or Aurelia or fucking Godey in any other way in ten long years. 

Despite his near constant insistence to the contrary, Astarion didn't want to lose that. Not yet.

“Unique or not, you better not start changing the rules on me now, Gale. You’re only coming home with me if you have murder on your mind.”

Gale looked surprised at his words - hells, Astarion was surprised at them and he’d said the damned things. The man’s face moved from surprised to something else. It was a small smile with wide eyes. Astarion thought that he recognised the look from somewhere - not from recently, not from anytime in the last decade, but from before - from back when his heart could still swell at such things. 

Gale looked proud of him. 

“Of course," He nodded, still beaming. "I wouldn’t dream of it, and there’s not long left to wait. My preparations are nearly complete.”

“Excellent," Astarion nodded back and swiped the bottle beside his cushion for a swig. "Can I have the sun now? Might be the last time.”

“It won’t be - even if I die tomorrow there’s some daylight somewhere ahead of you.”

“Stop talking nonsense and wave your hands, magic man.”

With a chuckle, Gale did his thing - muttered a few words, twiddled his fingers with admirable dexterity, and then pushed the light out of himself. 

Suddenly, brightness and warmth enveloped them both. Astarion closed his eyes and basked in that glow. He heard Gale chuckling beside him.

“You know, when you do that, you look a lot like my friend - a different friend, mind you.”

“Goodness me," Astarion lifted a hand to clutch at his figurative pearls. "You have more than one friend? Will wonders never cease?”

Astarion could hear Gale’s eye roll as he gave a fake laugh, “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Tell me about this definitely-real second-friend of yours.”

“She’s a tressym.”

“What in the hells is a tressym?”

Gale chuckled and shook his head.

“If I tell you then you’re just going to call her a cat.”

“Is that because a tressym is a kind of cat?”

“No, they’re very different.”

“Alright, fine.” Astarion shrugged and sat up to drink more of his burning, flavourful wine. “Tell me all about your cat.”

Gale shot him a glare and Astarion grinned back. The man muttered something about there being no winning with Astarion and sighed.

“She was my best friend from when I was a boy.”

“Until, of course, your mysterious friend with the jealous streak arrived on the scene.”

“Quite. She was my only source of comfort in my darkest moments, a constant companion through thick and thin.”

“I’m not quite seeing the similarities, if I’m being honest, darling.”

Gale snorted. 

“Of course you aren’t.” He sighed again but then turned to Astarion with a smirk. “She also likes to find a nice sunbeam in which to snooze.”

“I have always felt a bit of an affinity with felines - they are rather delicious.”

Gale shook his head, “Well, should you encounter a tressym at any point, please bear in mind that they are intelligent creatures with rich inner worlds - and are entirely capable of making any mercy you might show them worth your while.”

“Am I looking out for a tressym in particular?”

Gale smiled, “She’s a tabby called Tara. You probably will encounter her at some point, though not for a long while.”

“And he’s back to talking cryptic rubbish! Fantastic - my favourite.”

He chuckled and shrugged, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. The situation demands it.”

“The situation being?”

“One more day, Astarion. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

“You should know that if, after all of this, everything ends up being in anyway disappointing or underwhelming or otherwise irritatingly mundane then I’m going to use my new-found freedoms to skin you alive and drink you dry.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“If it turns out you know my name because of some paltry magic trick, or you overheard me slip up with a mark, then now’s the time to fess up.”

“You wound me.”

“Just saying, if it’s not worth all the bloody build up then there will be hells to pay.”

“Utterly reasonable.”

“So long as that’s understood.”

“Completely.”

“Excellent - now," Astarion flapped a hand in Gale's direction. "Go on, talk more riddles at me.”

He could hear Gale smiling beside him - Astarion could feel the way it made the sunlight on his skin warm him even more impossibly. The cushions shifted as Gale settled back into them and hummed quietly in thought. 

“You know, if you could just pull me out of the rock without slapping me first this time, I’d appreciate it.”

“Absolute nonsense,” Astarion declared, grinning at Gale who returned the smile.

“Oh, and you should just punch that drow alchemist in the face.”

“There’s a drow?”

“Somewhere.”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps.”

“Sir, the man’s been doing some weird things again.”

“Daisy, darling, do me a favour - leave the man alone.”

“Is he dangerous, sir?”

“Not at all. I actually think that he might be rather trustworthy.”

“Why were we following him if he’s trustworthy?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. But it’s been fun and I’ve been delighted to help get this little venture of yours off the ground.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion turned to the half-orc beside him. “Whoever you are, give the girl your coin purse - you stole everything in it anyway. Good. Now follow me.”

“I’m pleased that I can rely on you, my boy - your sister is proving herself to be weak.”

“Aurelia is doing her best, master.”

“Is that so?”

“She came with me the night before last to see if I was doing anything different.”

“And?”

“She said that I was just lucky.”

“Do you think it’s luck, boy?”

That was a difficult one - it’s not luck bringing them home every night, but it is luck that he stumbled upon Gale and his neat tricks.

“Yes, master.”

“Humility. Good. You may go.”

“Thank you, master.”

Balduran was throwing himself into the Kraken’s mouth again. Astarion had come full circle and was back to wanting to shake him by the shoulders and scream in his face.

It was stupid - stupid to throw yourself at a problem, to risk life and limb for other people when you weren’t even going to be there to enjoy the result - Astarion would never catch himself doing something so incredibly stupid.

But Gale would - Gale had even been the one to highlight Balduran’s motivations all those nights ago. Astarion snapped the book shut and clenched his jaw as a thought struck him.

Gale was throwing himself into the Kraken’s mouth. Astarion was going to lead him there by the hand and then run away to cower until either the city exploded or the hero clawed his way back out of the beast’s corpse. 

He'd seemed so sad when he spoke about his cat. He always flitted between seeming sad and amused when he spoke of his friend. 

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed. Aurelia looked up from her cot at him but didn’t say anything. She was still sulking.

The vampire was painfully aware that Gale was fully prepared for the following night to end in his death. Astarion knew that for a fact - the man had more or less said it himself. The wizard might be hoping to make it through but he’d certainly resigned himself to the idea that he might not. 

Astarion, however, had not.

Astarion didn’t want to find everything out from some letter - he wanted it to come from Gale’s mouth. He wanted to hear Gale talk and talk and talk until all of those strange little sentences and riddles that he’d sprinkled into conversation over the last few weeks all made perfect sense. He wanted to ask the man a million questions and drag even more information from him than he'd intended to give. He wanted to pounce on him when he was least expecting it and press a soft kiss to those smirking lips - his friend back in Waterdeep be damned.

Gale might be okay with dying, but Astarion, as he decided in that exact moment, simply was not going to let that happen. 

Unfortunately, there was very little he could do, confined to their tiny little room in the middle of the day. 

Astarion needed help. Through gritted teeth, he cleared his throat.

“Aurelia, darling, I have something to tell you.”

Chapter Text

His first mistake, Astarion thought as Godey’s whip clawed into his back for the fifth time, was letting the wizard convince him that he was safe.

His second mistake, a sixth strike, was letting himself believe that he’d successfully worked the system in his own favour. A seventh.

The third, eighth, was forgetting that Aurelia had not had, ninth, the best few weeks of her entire undead existence. Tenth.

She’d had the worst. Eleven. No matter how sweet his dear sister really was deep down, twelve, no one came out of the kennels without wanting to put someone else there in their place. 

Thirteen.

Astarion’s fourth mistake was not grabbing Aurelia by the shoulders the moment that she stood up and ripping her head clean from her shoulders.

Fourteen.

He was rather well fed these days. He could have done it.

Fifteen. 

And he should have.

Sixteen.

He should have pinned her to the floor and ripped her throat out with his teeth.

Seventeen.

And he will, the second he has a chance to.

Eighteen.

He was going to make her suffer, the way Godey made both of them suffer.

Nineteen.

No, he’d be far crueller - far more vicious. 

Twenty.

Astarion heard the whip clatter to the floor and then - 

Astarion, where are you? What’s happened? Reply in twenty-five words or less. 

Gale’s voice in his head. He could feel a connection in his mind - a crack he could whisper through.

Godey was picking up a pair of bolt cutters and that never meant anything good. If he wanted to send Gale something more articulate than twenty-five words worth of agonised screams, he needed to think fast. 

I fucked up. Aurelia found out and she told master. I’m in the kennels. She’s gone to hunt you. I’m sorry. Go home, Gale.

Not bad for someone watching a skeleton chop their toes off. They’ll itch when they grow back, Astarion thought, as he passed out from the pain. 

Astarion’s words echoed through Gale’s mind.

I fucked up. Aurelia found out and she told master. I’m in the kennels. She’s gone to hunt you. I’m sorry. Go home, Gale.

Well, fuck, he thought, slumping against the wall of the Elfsong's roof. That rather changes things. 

Gale closed his eyes and mentally adjusted his plan for the night. He’d been hoping to ambush the bastard, who would, by now, be expecting a perfectly pliant little spawn-to-be who’d do exactly what they were told. He would not have been expecting the Blood of Lathander to the face and a particularly powerful variant of the daylight spell the instant that he walked into the room. 

Now, however, he might have something of an inkling. 

Good thing that Astarion had stopped listening to his little gang of urchins. He couldn’t have known enough of Gale’s plan to actually divulge anything that matters - not that there was much to it. Gale may have rather massively over exaggerated how much of a plan he had - a tactical choice! If the enemy believes you have a clever plan, they probably won't be expecting to be openly assaulted six fireballs and a mace. 

It had also been important that Astarion had believed Gale to have a complicated and clever plan, otherwise he may have turned Gale in to Cazador himself.

Gale had been so careful - kept this young elf at arm’s length. He’d let him get close, but not too close. Told him enough, but not too much.

Astarion - his Astarion, that is, the one waiting for him at home in Waterdeep in the year 1493 - would be proud. He’d always said that Gale was a bad liar, wore his heart on his sleeve, couldn’t keep the lid on anything. To be honest, Gale had been expecting it to be harder. 

When he’d first arrived in 1278, it had all been rather uncanny and disconcerting, but those familiar white curls had been a sight for sore eyes. But, the more he’d spoken to this version of his love, the more bizarre it had felt. He had the same smile, the same sense of humour, the same pet names dripping from his tongue like honey - he certainly had the same taste in wine 

But then he was also so much more innocent, trusting, and open. 

Gale had let his guard down the previous night - he’d just been so relieved to see that Astarion was okay after his run in with Aurelia and almost taking Sebastian home again. The moment he let Astarion go, he’d seen the cogs turning behind his eyes, he could almost hear that seductive purr readying itself behind his lips, Gale had been preparing to backpedal quite considerably and remind him that neither of them wanted that - but then Astarion had done what Gale believed impossible. He'd held back. He’d stood firm.

Gale wasn’t sure that the Astarion waiting for him at home had quite gotten to that point yet, and it had been months since his escape. A mere couple of weeks of almost-freedom, and this Astarion was asserting his boundaries. Gale couldn’t be prouder. He'd hoped that he'd picked a good year to do this, a year before all the worst of it, but not so early that he'd be erasing the Astarion that he knew and loved from this branch of reality. 

However, all that would mean nothing if Gale couldn’t finish the damned job and, ideally, not die in the process. 

His Astarion would be very upset if he did. He’d be okay in the end, Gale reasoned. He had Morena and Tara, and Halsin if he wanted him, Shadowheart too if he asked - Karlach and Wyll would probably find their way back from Avernus at some point and they would be more than happy to help him out as well.

But he’d be upset. Gale hated that idea. Astarion’d been upset enough - that was rather the point of this entire exercise, to try and remedy just a little bit of all that suffering, to prevent the deepest depths of the vampire's suffering in the first place. It wouldn’t help his Astarion, but the knowledge that somewhere out there in the realms was a version of his love that hadn’t had every single one of his prayers ignored - well, that was all that Gale could wish for.

So that’s exactly what he’d done.

Perhaps he should have been a little more specific in said wish - perhaps granting himself god-like powers to help him for the duration of his visit, or even just remembering to specify that the damned enchantment keeping the orb stable should come through with him so that he hadn’t had to grovel before the strange, older version of his goddess to keep the damned thing in line. 

Sighing, he plucked the heavy mace from the ground and tucked it into his belt. It was more Karlach’s sort of thing, but Gale would have to do. 

He took a final swig of Blackstaff, just in case it really was his final swig, and climbed down the ladder and stairs.

The moment he step foot in the bar of the tavern, he saw her. Unfortunately, she also saw him and, godsdamn those vampires and their panic-detecting ears.

She locked eyes with him and a cruel sneer spread on her face. 

Gale then proceeded to curse the fact that those damned vampires also don’t actually ingest the drinks they imbibe or air that they breathe. It goes in their bodies, sure, but those bodies don't actually do anything with it, if it isn't blood. That was a fact he'd learned when Astarion - his Astarion - had been inconsolable to discover that he was immune to the rather fashionable drugs that periodically swept through Waterdeep. Gale cursed it now because it rendered Astarion’s helpful, if ethically reprehensible, powder completely useless agains them. 

He’d been mortified when his Astarion had first told him about the stuff, how he’d discovered it during his last decade in Cazador’s clutches but he could never get hold of enough of the stuff for it to really help him. 

Gale did though. It was a several-birds-one-stone situation. He could send this young Astarion off with people who almost deserved what was coming their way, but in such a way that he could be sure they wouldn’t actually harm the elf in all the ways that Astarion had confessed to him, shaking and sobbing during their first few nights in Waterdeep. All the ways that made Gale want to rip this entire city in two with his bare hands. It also meant that those unfortunate enough to end up on the wrong side of Szarr’s hospitality wouldn’t remember their grisly demises once they woke up as spawn.

Finally, as Astarion had promised, it had the handy side-effect of making young Astarion absolutely enamoured with both the stuff and Gale - it had kept him coming back for more.

So, Gale had found as much of it as he possible could and, fortunately, remembered to specify in the wish that it was coming with him. He’d also made his Astarion promise that he'd make sure anyone who sold it learnt a lesson in body autonomy while Gale was away. That was the sort of project that Astarion quite enjoyed. It was part of his solo effort to clean up the streets of Waterdeep, one bite at a time.

Aurelia was sneering at him. Gale couldn't really do anything about the fact that he’d been spotted, but he could use their surroundings to his advantage in a last ditch effort to avoid having to harm her.

His Astarion had just told Gale to kill her immediately - that she might seem sweet, and she is really, really deep down, but she was also devoted to Cazador and blind to his true nature. 

Gale had hope that Astarion might have misjudged his sister. 

After all, Astarion had also claimed that his younger self would be quite happy to throw Gale at Cazador like a bearded grenade, given the opportunity - but in reality, the young elf seemed quite keen that Gale survive his encounter.

Gale took a deep breath and smiled softly. They were in public, Aurelia couldn't attack him blatantly here, she'd try to get him alone first. That gave Gale time to do what he did best... talk. 

“Aurelia, I take it?” Gale said, slowly approaching her, his hands visible and open.

She looked him up and down and frowned.

“You’re the one that my brother is sending to kill our master? He’s stupider than I thought.” 

Her voice was low to keep from attracting the attention of any of the tavern’s other patrons, but he could still hear the scorn in every word.

“I know that you’ve suffered - more than I can imagine, horrors beyond what most people think possible.”

“I see that the whelp told you about the kennels, too. He’s enjoying his own time there now.”

“I know. I also know that tonight is the night that Cazador Szarr dies.”

He said it with all the certainty that he could muster, looking her straight in her red, glowing eyes as he did. She flinched.

“You don’t know anything. Tonight is the night that you die,” She spat.

Gale shrugged. “Maybe. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

She furrowed her brow further.

“You accept death that willingly?”

Gale pressed his hand to one of the spikes on his mace until he drew a little blood.

“Smell that - appetising?”

Her nose wrinkles and she lifted a hand to cover it. 

“What the hells is wrong with you?”

“I’m a bomb - a walking magical bomb. It’s a little more complicated than that, really, and I hate oversimplifying things, but I keep getting told that I should just cut to the chase, so there it is. I’m a bomb.”

“A bomb?”

“I’m going to do my best to kill him, and I brought the tools for the job. I’m a powerful wizard with a holy relic at my side and," Gale paused. "I know you might find this difficult to believe so I’m going to hope that you can listen to my heart and verify that I’m not lying to you, I have actually done it before.”

“You’ve killed a true vampire lord?”

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but - here’s the thing - even if I am insane, even if I haven’t got a chance and the bastard kills me with a snap of his fingers, he still loses.”

Aurelia cocked her head to the side and regarded him cautiously. Slowly, she replied, “Because of the bomb?”

“You’re smarter than Astarion gives you credit for, you know that?”

She smiled at the praise and Gale grimaced internally. It was painful for him to see how easy these spawn were to manipulate. They craved kindness and approval to such a degree that even from a complete stranger, so long as it seemed genuine and wasn't based on their pretty faces, it sank into their hearts.

“So, you try to kill my master and, even if you fail, he still dies.”

“Question is not whether he dies tonight, only whether you die with him. Tell me, Aurelia, do you want to be free?”

She didn’t hesitate. 

“More than anything.”

“Then pay close attention.”

It wasn’t usually this hot in the kennels. 

Astarion blinked open his eyes as his consciousness settled back into his screaming bones. He liked it when he passed out. It wasn’t often but it was a nice little treat on the rare occasion that it happened.

When he managed to peel his eyelids back and survey the room, he realised why the kennels were so hot currently. They were on fire. The entire room, which must be twenty-feet across, was engulfed in flame. Except the very small area in which Astarion was hanging from his wrists.

Huh. Weird. He tugged on his restraints to no avail. He tried to get his feet under himself, but his abused flesh screamed back at him in pain and he slumped back down where he had been hung up.

Eventually the flames died away and Astarion craned his neck around to see what had caused it. He noticed that Godey was lying on the floor, a pile of bones and armour, his pliers discarded beside him. There was noise coming from behind him but he couldn’t make sense of it. Godey was the only other person in the kennels - the master never lowered himself to visit and, unless Aurelia had been dragged here, she'd never come voluntarily. Astarion vaguely wondered if she'd failed to catch Gale and was joining him in punishment as his eyes flickered shut.

His feet hurt.

“Tara forgive me,” Astarion heard - and that sounded familiar, he knew a Tara, probably. Maybe he’d lured one back to the palace at some point. 

His back hurt.

There was something soft and warm being held near his face. It smelled like blood and life and Astarion wanted to sink his teeth into it, but he knew better than that. He knew to wait until he was given permission. He’d had plenty of rats snatched out from under his fangs because he’d been a little too eager.

“Eat, Astarion.”

That would do - he bit down. Clamped his jaws around the warm, kicking thing, and drew mouthful after mouthful of hot blood. He felt an itch as his wounds started to heal and his mind reawakened. He realised who was in front of him, holding a cat to his face with a sad expression.

“Gale,” He gasped out in between breaths, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“A thank you wouldn’t go amiss. Can you stand?”

Astarion struggled to get his feet beneath him. The itch was almost unbearable but he nearly had toes again, so that was an improvement. He nodded and Gale reached up and unhooked him from the ceiling. 

“Now, I suspect you’re going to be rather unhappy when you turn around but please bear in mind that we’ve had a good chat and she’s come round to our way of thinking.”

Astarion snarled and whipped his head around the moment Gale had released him from his cuffs.

“You traitorous little fucking snake!” If his feet were up to it, he’d have leapt at her, ripped a horn off and stabbed her with it.

“You would have done exactly the same in my position!”

“But I was in my position - and it was very fucking painful.”

“Oh! And where exactly have I been while you were off drinking wine and drugging people to get them here for the last few weeks? Huh?”

It was a fair point but Astarion didn’t care. The skeleton had chopped off his fucking toes.

“When this is over I’m going to hunt you down and rip you limb from limb.”

“Children, please - can we please focus on the matter at hand?” Gale rolled his eyes at them and passed a potion to Astarion. 

“Drink this. I’m afraid the plan has had to change somewhat. He’s expecting me so I should really save as much of my strength as possible. I can’t summon a portal like I’d wanted, but I can buy you both time. Get out of the city-”

“We can’t,” Astarion lied, as he pocketed the potion. His toes were already nearly functional once more, thanks to his vampiric regeneration.

“What?”

“We can’t leave the city - can we, sister?” He glared at her in a slightly different way, a slightly more pointed one. Astarion knew that Cazador was going to die tonight, but he'd be damned if he'd let Gale go with him. He hoped that knowing he'd be killing Astarion and Aurelia both before either of them had a chance to live would keep him sharp and determined to survive this himself. 

“No, we can’t,” Aurelia agreed, nodding hastily.

“It’s one of his commands. I should have realised when you mentioned a portal - I wouldn’t be able to walk through it, sorry, darling.”

Gale’s brow furrowed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Right - that would have been good to know a long while ago, okay - no matter. You’ll be stuck in the city, along with thousands of other people I’d rather not kill.”

“and one person you should really be trying a little harder to keep alive,” Astarion added - prodding him in the chest.

“Alright, yes. I’ll do my best, but regardless you can’t be here. He could call you and make you help him, then I'd have to hurt you both and I won't do that. Where can I put you so you can’t escape? I was going to rely on distance alone, that it would take you too long to get back here to be any good to him but, I’m afraid I’ll have to restrain you.”

Gale turned to look at Astarion more specifically, with a sad face, “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Astarion frowned. 

“Fine? I’ll take being locked up if it gets Cazador dead without blowing up the city.”

Gale blinked and then made a face of realisation. 

“Of course, I stopped that, didn’t I?”

“Stopped what?” Aurelia asked.

“Don’t bother, sister dearest, he doesn’t elaborate.” Astarion rolled his eyes and gestured for the door. “We should move. This room isn’t producing any screams right now and that might attract attention.”

The three of them left the kennels and moved quickly and quietly through the palace. 

“I need to get you two locked up before he summons you.”

“He’ll start to wonder where I am soon,” Aurelia whispered. “How about our room? I couldn’t break down that door if I tried - remember when I did?”

“Yes, you dislocated both your shoulders and one ankle. It’s perfect.”

Gale nodded and turned down a corridor in the correct direction. Astarion didn’t ask how he knew where he was going. 

Astarion and Aurelia hurried in when they reached the door, but Astarion lingered by it.

“Wizard,” he said, reaching out a hand for Gale, grasping at his sleeve. “Please don’t die and blow up the entire city.”

“I’ll do my utmost to make sure I don’t.”

“Good." Astarion nodded, but he didn't let go. "Can I do something that your friend wouldn’t approve of?” His voice sounded croaky and awkward, but Gale didn't seem to mind.

“I honestly think that you’d struggle,” Gale smirked at him with that knowing little smile. “Unless you mean Tara, of course, in which case, you frequently do.”

“Shut up,” Astarion said, fisting his hand in his horrible purple tunic - and gods the man wasn’t even wearing armour, they were all going to die! - and pulling him closer, planting a kiss on his lips.

It was soft, closed mouthed, and positively chaste. 

Astarion’s whole body felt more alive than it had in a decade.

Slowly, Gale’s hands moved up to cradle his face, pulling it back from him a little. It was only then that Astarion realised he was crying. Gale wiped away a tear with his thumb. 

“It’s going to be okay, my friend.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know lots of things, Astarion - things I shouldn’t, things I can’t possibly, things that make no sense. Why is this any different?”

He was probably right. Astarion had decided to trust him and, after all, it made no difference to the outcome if he spent the last hour or so of his life in fear or in hope.

Given the choice, it was an easy decision. 

Gale prised Astarion’s hands from his tunic gently and reached into his pocket to pull out a letter. 

“In the unlikely event that I don’t make it out and you survive, you should have this. Just in case.”

Astarion pushed it back towards him. 

“I don’t want to find out from a damned letter, Gale. Come and tell me yourself.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up and Gale slipped the letter back into his pocket. 

“I rather hoped that you’d say that. I don’t quite trust that this letter isn’t just a list of investments and bets to make.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later.” 

With a smile, Gale swiped his thumb across Astarion’s cheek once more. If Astarion had a functioning heart, it would be beating out of his chest, stuttering like a mad thing with every movement of Gale’s skin against his. 

But the wizard’s? Steady beats. Thump…thump…thump…

He closed and locked the door with a smile, then turned and walked towards Cazador’s antechamber. 

Chapter Text

Astarion - his Astarion - would probably forgive him for kissing his younger self. After all, he didn’t really do the kissing and, as surprising as the fact was, even to Gale, he didn’t really feel anything for the young elf. Of course, his being an identical copy of the man Gale loved was a little strange, and they were essentially the same person. He loved the same things in both of them - that innate strength of character, that determination to get what they want, to survive no matter what. 

But then there was the softness. All Astarion really wanted, deep down, when he pushed everything else aside, was to curl up in the sun with a good book and a nice glass of wine. If Gale was there to stroke his hair, bonus. That was constant between the two Astarions. This young one was just as happy to sit there, basking in illusory daylight, drinking wine and listening to Gale waffle on about things that didn’t matter as he would be in two hundred years. 

Beyond all that, though - this one didn’t know Gale. He didn’t know the heights to which he'd risen or how far he’d fallen. He didn’t know about his past with Mystra, didn’t know how his mother liked her tea, he didn’t tease Gale for falling asleep with his nose in a book yet again or for blushing whenever Astarion lowered the tone. He didn’t know why Gale would be excited to receive a letter that stank like sulphur, or why he'd take any excuse at all to visit Reithwin with a bag full of cheap magical tricks to entertain Halsin’s gaggle of orphans. 

This Astarion doesn’t understand why he gets jumpy whenever he gets a headache, or why he wakes up in the night sometimes choking, feeling like he has tentacles forcing their way out of his mouth. He doesn’t know why spiders make Gale nervous now, or why his heart beats faster whenever a shadow passes over him unexpectedly.

His Astarion knows him - for better or worse, zenith or nadir, joyful evening sharing a bottle of wine or cold sweat in the night holding him through an episode.

This Astarion looks at him like he has all the answers, but Gale's used to being looked at with an arched brow for asking bizarre questions. 

He was missing that arched brow as he stalked through the Szarr palace - that haughty expression, the way his Astarion would cock his hip, tilt his head to one side and say, “Really, darling? You’re going to fight the vampire lord all by yourself with a mace you can hardly lift?”

Which is a fair point. He wasn’t lying when he’d said that he’d done this before, he just failed to mention that last time he’d had three other people with him, all of whom were rather more adept at this sort of thing than he was.

Oh well, Gale thought, in for a copper…

He headed deeper into the palace. At least he wouldn’t have to faff about in dungeons with secret doors and worry about rituals this time - just one lone vampire. All he had to do was use his shiny new toy to cast daylight, then throw as many fireballs at him as his hands and lips could muster until the bastard stopped moving. 

Then maybe once or twice more for good measure. 

Then Gale was going to cave his skull in with the Blood of Lathander, purely for his own satisfaction.

This might not be the same Cazador that locked Astarion up for a year for trying to spare the life of one innocent young man who’d never been kissed, or the one who’d spent hours carving infernal into his love’s back while Astarion screamed in agony - but he certainly would have if Gale hadn’t shown up, and that was enough for him.

He walked towards the door of the antechamber, knowing that the vampire had probably already heard him coming, and pulled it open. 

Inside was a small room resembling a living room - which, Gale thought, was rather ironic.

In the middle was a large black couch, piled high with dark coloured cushions. 

Astarion had told him about the couch.

Gale knew that this was where many of the elf’s nightmares took him. The kennels was one thing - it was a horrible, painful, awful thing, but Astarion had said that there had been something simple about the torture there. He’d messed up so he was punished. It was as easy as that - he could let go and just accept it. 

But the couch - he’d brought people there under false pretences, lied to them and cheated them out of the rest of their lives to get them there. But Cazador needed them pliant and vulnerable, not het up and confused, so he had to deliver on the promises he made to get them there. 

And Astarion couldn’t have them feeling rejected or asking questions, so Astarion had to pretend to enjoy it, no matter what it was. 

Gale was going to burn the couch, he decided.

“I see that my assassin has arrived.”

He recognised Cazador’s voice and turned to face him. He looked the same - but of course he did, a couple of centuries isn’t much to a vampiric elf. There was something a little younger in his eyes though, a certain gleam or excitement which hadn't been there when Gale last saw him. 

His Astarion had told him how the man wasn’t the same after he dragged Astarion back out of his tomb. Something had happened that year and Astarion had never found out what it was. He was dug up, given a rat to feed on - one singular rat after an entire year of starvation - and then thrown back into their little bedroom, only to discover that a stranger - a gnome, no less - had taken his cot. Ever since then, their master was different, crueller, even more stringent with rules and punishments, even more exacting with demands.

“I admit, I’d been expecting to recognise you. From what the boy said, you seem to have quite the vendetta, but you have me at a disadvantage, mister?”

Gale smiled, of course Cazador was going to try and goad him into a conversation. Instead of indulging him, Gale gripped the handle of his mace and replied: “Sol!”

The reaction was immediate - that false, slimy smile was replaced with a vicious snarl. The creature lunged at him as the room burst into bright light. Cazador’s skin started to sizzle and peel almost immediately, but Gale was already onto his next trick. 

“Aqua!” He cried, and raised his hands, feeling his feet dampen as a pool of water materialised at his feet, “Coge!” He commanded, pushing his hands out towards Cazador. The water ran towards him, then began to circle at his feet. 

The vampire hesitated, caught between trying to shield himself from the daylight that was making his skin blister from above and trying to remove himself from the water winding itself around his legs like an excited cat, which was burning through his clothes and the flesh of his ankles, hissing like a handful of snow tossed onto a campfire.

Gale focussed on keeping that water running, for as long as he could, but it wasn’t long until Cazador recovered himself. With a sneer, Cazador locked eyes with him and Gale felt a tug in the back of his mind - and that was interesting. How did he do that? Gale wanted to ask him but - no, the fucking bastard was charming him. He shook his head to break free but it had been enough to break his concentration. The water sat around Cazador’s feet, damp and useless. 

“I’m going to enjoy watching my boy choke the life out of you.”

“Give me two hundred years," Gale replied, backing away a little, "Then I might quite like that.”

The man frowned, pausing his lunge for a split second. It was enough. 

“Ignis!” Gale pointed and engulfed the room and vampire in flames.

An animalistic snarl ripped its way from Cazador’s throat and, really, Gale should have thought that this was all going a little too well. He lunged, teeth first, his clothes still smouldering and his skin red and peeling in the sunlight, his ankles and feet nearly dissolved to the bone. He threw his entire body weight at Gale, pushing him back towards a wall, pinning him and clamping down with his fangs.

Gale felt the pain sharply. It was nothing like when Astarion fed on him - which was gentle, intimate, pleasurable even. This was like being mauled. Fortunately, Gale had reverted back to being utterly inedible upon stepping through his portal in time. Since Elminster’s charm didn’t come back with him, his blood was once again flowing thick with Netherese poison.

Cazador took one mouthful and then reeled back, spitting it over Gale’s face - which was unpleasant, to say the least, but it did give him an opening.

“Fulmen,” he whispered, grabbing Cazador by the face as he tried to spit even more of Gale’d blood into his eyes. The shocks coursed through the vampire’s body, he writhed under Gale’s touch. His flesh had started to bubble and blister. Gale pushed him back by the throat, and he moved surprisingly easily, what remained of his ankles dragging on the stone floor. 

Gale gave him a sharp shove and he fell back against the couch. 

The second Gale broke contact, the shocks stopped. Cazador’s eyes flew open and he bared his fangs. Before he could lunge, “Oleum,” and the man and the couch both were coated in a thick layer of grease. He tried to stand but slipped and fell back against those plush, dark cushions. 

“Goodbye, Cazador. Give Raphael my regards, Ignis!” 

The room was engulfed in flames once more, but this time, when most of them died down, the couch continued to burn. Gale watched Cazador’s body flail and listened to him scream as Gale slowly grew fainter and fainter. He lifted a hand to his neck and then raised it to his face.

Oh - that explains it. He was still bleeding - rather a lot actually. 

How inconvenient.

He reached back for something to hold onto as the room started to sway. There was nothing there.

His bloody hand found a doorframe, but slipped over it uselessly. Gale’s knees - creaky and treacherous as always, gave out beneath him.

Shooting pains ran through his back as he collapsed to the floor.

From the ground, he observed Cazador’s body stop moving as the flames died down. The couch was a charred mess beneath him. 

Good. He’d killed the bastard and burnt the couch. Not a bad day’s work for a wizard half chewed-up by a ball of evil magic. 

Gale thought back to the last time that he’d been about to explode. This was better - this was for him. Astarion had been the one to pull him up by the collar that time, to shake him by the shoulders and talk some sense into him.

“What are you doing, wizard? She doesn’t care about you - none of the gods care a damn about a single one of us. Do you know how many times I prayed? How many temples I snuck into? How many clerics I fucked? None of them lifted a finger, not Lathander, not Shar, not your Lady of fucking Mysteries. Why would you give up your chance at life itself - at freedom, at this, here, right now between us - why would you give all of that up for her?”

Then his voice dropped to a whisper and the hands at his shoulders shaking him became a tight embrace. 

“Why would you do that to me? I’ve only just found you, Gale. Don’t make me lose you now, not you too.”

Smiling weakly at the pile of grease and ash and flesh before him, Gale mused that this was a far better time to explode.

Astarion would be upset, of course, and he’d be wiping an entire city more or less off the map, which didn’t sit amazingly on his conscience but, in his defence, he’d tried rather hard not to die. It wasn’t his fault that he was a bit squishy, as Astarion always called him - both Astarions, that is.

At least this time it was for something he believed in. Not Mystra, not the greater good, not his own ego. It was for a young, white haired elf - one who’d probably already picked the lock on that bedroom door with the pocket knife he’d stolen from Gale when he’d kissed him. One who was hopefully halfway out of the city by now, bumping into strangers and swiping their coin purses for enough coin to purchase a fare to Waterdeep. A white haired elf who was going to be very disappointed to find that not a single soul in that city had ever heard of Gale. One who was going to have wait a very, very long time before getting anything close to answers. An elf who was, hopefully, just going to grab him by the hand and pull him from the rock this time, rather than slapping him first.

Gale snorted at the idea.

Gods, they were both going to be so confused. He wondered if they would ever figure it out, if they’d fall for each other the way he and his Astarion had - then, if this strange alternate Gale would hand over the crown to Mystra and ask for the same boon that he had. 

Not to cure himself of his orb or give him the power of a god. Just a wish - one powerful enough to bend time itself.

With a shaky hand, he lifted his mace over his head and tossed it at the burnt and unmoving corpse. It landed with a sickening crunch and buried itself halfway into Cazador’s torso.

Good enough.

One more spell, Gale thought. Just one, before the lights go out and the curtains draw shut. Just one, to give him a fighting chance.

It’s done - but I’m dying. Find a way out of the city and fast. Not much time.

Chapter Text

When Gale locked the door and walked away, Astarion turned his shiny new toy over in his hands. It wasn’t quite as good as a set of thieves tools, but it would do.

“Is that a good idea?” Aurelia asked, nodding to the pocket knife he was twirling. “If he calls us then you’ll have to use it. Then it might make its way back into the wizard.”

“Darling, surely you’ve known me long enough to know that I always have a trick up my sleeve?”

Astarion sauntered over to the dingy little barred window that looked out onto the street. More and more recently, he’d been seeing surprisingly well dressed urchins scampering around. He was pleased to see that all that coin had gone to good use.

Scanning the darkened road, Astarion caught sight of a flicker of movement in an alley. He whistled. 

“You - yes, you with the fashionable boots, lovely choice, by the way, my dear. Want a job?”

A slight nod.

“I can’t give you any coin just now, but I’m the one who’s been dropping full purses in your boss’s hands for the last few tendays and I’m about to come into rather a large amount of money-”

Aurelia cleared her throat beside him.

“Alright, half of rather a large amount of money. All I need you to do is hold something and then wait around for a little while.”

Those shiny boots slowly walked towards him, on the feet of a shrewd looking tiefling boy.

“That’s a weird request, mister.”

“Isn’t it just. Will you do it anyway?”

The boy shrugged. 

“Alright - but I’ll hound you for coin if you don’t pay up after.”

“I expect nothing less, come closer to the window.” The boy shuffled nearer. Astarion poked the pocket knife through, handle first. “Keep hold of that for me - don’t give it back until both me and my friend here stop trying to break down that door, no matter how many times either of us ask for it - understand?”

“What happens if I do?”

“Then I won’t come into that money and you won’t get paid.”

“What happens if I just run off with the knife? Looks like it’d sell for a pretty penny.”

“Then, when I do come into that money, I shall hunt you down and skin you.”

The boy seems to think it over then shrugged. 

“Fair enough, mister. You’ve got a deal.” He took the knife and stepped back from the window.

“Good lad. Does he feed you, your boss?”

“Every night, we’ve started having feasts each night at the mouth of the Undercity - everyone brings something.”

“Remarkable,” Astarion said. The entrepreneurial spirit of these tykes was admirable. Then there was the tug - more than a tug, really. It was like having an ogre yank you by the hair. “Right, now’s - fuck - now’s when you keep hold of that knife for a while, darling.”

Astarion turned from the window and locked eyes with Aurelia. She was gripping the edge of her cot tight enough to splinter the wood.

“Gale must have found him,” She muttered through gritted teeth.

Astarion’s legs started to move without his permission, approaching the door, trying to pull it open.

He was being summoned, summoned to Cazador’s side, summoned to his aid.

But the door was locked and the window barred. He couldn’t get there - it was impossible.

His body didn’t seem to agree. A flare of pain shot through his body as his legs kicked at the wood of the door. He kicked again and again, even continuing after he felt something pop rather agonisingly in his ankle - beside him, Aurelia started to throw her shoulders against it.

There was an itch in the back of his mind to get the knife from the boy. Before he could try to reason with it, his lips were moving. 

“Give me the knife, boy,” He snarled, his fingers reaching out towards the window.

“No - you said not to. Not until you both stop trying to break the door.”

All movements stilled. Aurelia’s too. Shit, he’d not thought that his body, when not being controlled by his mind, would be so bloody clever.

Aurelia addressed the urchin. 

“There - now give him the knife.”

Astarion could see cogs turning in the boy’s mind. He considered them both and the knife in his hands.

Neither him nor Aurelia moved, they both stood, staring at the boy. He looked nervous and frowned.

“No. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not giving you the knife. You’re being weird and I don’t like it.”

Astarion wanted to sing, jump for joy, and possibly adopt the little shit as his own personal protégé. Instead, his body growled at the child and then started throwing itself at the door once more. 

He felt his own joints start to rip long before he felt a splinter of wood.

“Give me the knife, boy!” He shouted, with a harshness that he’d never have let into his own tone. Astarion could hear Cazador’s voice come out of his own mouth.

“No! I want my money!” Shouted back the child. Astarion made a mental note to reward every mercantile brat that he ever again encountered.

The leash around his mind tightened impossibly - he’d never felt Cazador trying to pull him in so hard. It made it impossible to breathe or think of anything else. Every fibre of his flesh was clawing at the wooden frame, crashing his elbow down on the handle, Aurelia was trying to prise the hinges apart with her nails.

And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. The leash snapped.

Relief and agony washed over Astarion in confusing waves - he gasped for breath and his hands flew to cradle his temples. He felt like he was burning, feeling his flesh peel from his bones.

Then he was alone.

There was no leash, no tug, not even the little voice in the back of his head reminding him of Cazador’s growing number of rules. 

There was just him, alone in his own head for the first time in a decade.

Beneath him, Astarion’s knees gave out and he sank to the floor.

By the hells, Astarion thought, Gale did it.

“He actually did it,” He croaked out. Aurelia was blinking at him dumbly. 

“I really thought that it would take longer.”

“So did I.”

He rose to his feet and tried to shake out his slowly healing joints. With a practised stomp and a wince at the feeling, he put his ankle back where it ought to be and smiled as he thought that it actually may stay there this time - for good.

Astarion turned to the window and smiled as reassuringly as one could with his particular set of gnashes at the tiefling.

“You did remarkably well, my dear. Could I have my knife back now, please?”

“You’ll definitely pay me?”

“Hang around for a couple of hours and I’ll see what I can find for you.”

The boy nodded and poked the knife back through the bars into Astarion’s waiting fingers. 

“Excellent, now we’ll be out of here in a tick.”

He crouched by the door and made quick work of the lock with a grin on his face. He’d always known that he could get this damned door open if he wanted to, but that collar on his soul had stopped him. It had kept him chained up and obedient. Not anymore. 

As the solid wooden thing swung open, Astarion heard a familiar voice.

It’s done - but I’m dying. Find a way out of the city and fast. Not much time.

“No you fucking don’t!” He shouted back down the connection. “Aurelia, find a physician quickly!” Astarion took off running down the corridors towards Cazador’s antechamber.

It took a long time for the wizard’s eyes to start flickering open, but eventually they did.

“Did you honestly think that I was going to leave you there to die and take the entire city with you?”

Gale’s mouth curled up at the corners and he let out a sigh. 

“I hoped that you’d been wrong about you.”

“More nonsense, wizard. You’ve got a lot of talking to do - but also eating. The doctor said you should eat.”

Slowly Gale lifted himself to his elbows on Astarion’s cot. He’d considered putting Gale in Cazador’s bed. It was probably a lot more comfortable, but Astarion didn’t want to set foot in those rooms again. Astarion tossed the loaf of bread that the urchin had procured for him, after being given a shiny candelabra and some jewellery to fence, towards Gale from where he was sat on Aurelia’s bed.

“Thank you - gods, my throat.” His voice was croaky and he reached up to his neck with a shaky hand.

“That’s what happens when you take on a fanged predator by yourself.”

“I think that I did pretty well, all things considered.”

Astarion smiled back at him as he took a weak bite from the loaf. Gale had done improbably well.

He washed down his bites of bread with a few mouthfuls of the wine that Astarion had swiped from the cellar while looking for something with which to reward his new little friend.

“I remembered his collection tasting better,” Gale muttered with a wry smile. Astarion rolled his eyes at the meaningless quip, but with far more hope this time.

“Do I finally get to find out what this has all really been about?”

Gale looked up at him with a delighted grin and nodded. Then he opened his mouth and he just told him. 

None of it made a lick of sense, of course. But at the same time, it all clicked into place.

“Last year, I met someone.”

“Your friend?” Astarion guessed.

“Indeed. He was a magistrate from Baldur’s Gate - or so he told me. In reality, the moment I looked him over, I knew he was a vampire - the pale skin, red eyes, big teeth, not to mention the ethereal beauty and way his eyes lingered on the pulse points. He was really rather terrible at hiding it.”

“Amateur.”

“Quite. It would have probably the worst six months or so of my life, if it weren't for him. We were on the move all the time, sleeping rough, doing battle, and under the constant lingering threat of imminent death. Over the journey, he and I became rather close.”

“Lucky man.”

“I assure you, of the two of us, I was the luckier. Eventually, he told me about his past. He’d spent over two hundred years under the thumb of his sire - suffered through numerous unspeakable horrors. When our adventure took us here, to Baldur’s Gate, we took the opportunity to get revenge. The bastard had been planning something terrible and we put a stop to it. We killed the vampire lord.”

“I didn’t know there were any other true vampires in the city.”

“That’s because there aren’t.”

“Gale, I thought we’d finished with the nonsense.”

“Astarion, when I said that I’d done this before - I didn’t mean that I’d killed a vampire before. There aren’t any others in the city - it was Cazador.”

“You aren’t talking sense.”

“But you know that I’m not lying.”

Thump…thump…thump…

Steady as ever.

“Look, I know this all sounds insane, but trust me when I say that it gets stranger.”

“This is madness.”

“I know. When we finished our quest, did what we came to the city to do, I was offered something - a reward, a boon, if you will.”

“What did you ask for?”

“A wish.”

A wish. Astarion knew about those. When a wizard mentioned a wish, he didn’t mean one you make when you blow out your birthday candles. 

“I wished that I could have been there when my friend needed me most - to prevent the worst of the pain and hurt that he’d gone through. To kill Cazador a couple of hundred years early.”

Astarion’s throat was dry. 

“You wanted to know how I knew your name.”

He nodded. 

“You told me, when we first met. You put out a hand, shook mine, and introduced yourself.”

“When?” Astarion asked, his voice barely a whisper. 

“The year 1492.”

Astarion’s mind raced with a thousand half remembered comments clicking into place. How had Gale known he’d like that wine so much? How could Gale read his face like the pages of a book? All those strange, cryptic sentences - each one was a reference to a life he hadn’t lived yet.

Two hundred years under Cazador’s thumb.

He felt like a broken man after a decade. Astarion couldn’t imagine what two centuries would have done to him. 

“So,” he began, “Your friend?”

“A white haired elf by the name Astarion Ancunín - one who will be very pleased that he saved me from blowing up for a second time in as many years. Thank you for that, by the way.”

You’d get on famously. Though, I’m not sure that Faerûn would survive if you two did meet.

Astarion’s always thought that he’d make far better company than anyone else he’s met - anyone else except, perhaps, Gale.

You know, you sound just like him sometimes

Gale had been lazy with that one. Astarion kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

Astarion, please don’t compare me to that man.

The anger in his voice, the shaking of his hands. The only time he’d seen Gale truly emotional.

I suspect that even my friend couldn’t fault me in this instance - it is rather unique.

Astarion snorted. 

It’s going to be okay, my friend.

“By the hells, Gale, looking back you were hardly subtle.”

“In my defence, it is a rather peculiar situation. You’re the spitting image of him.”

“Well, obviously,” Astarion chuckled. It was surreal. “Though that does beg the question, why were you so resistant to my charms?”

Gale rolled his eyes and smiled, “You may have his face, and I do thoroughly enjoy your company, but…” He sighed, “You aren’t the man I love, Astarion. We don’t have the same history and I know too much about you for us to be on equal footing.”

It made sense. That was the reason, after all, that Astarion had been so drawn to Gale in the first place. He was useful, kind, observant. He knew exactly what Astarion wanted to hear and needed from him at any moment. Gale knew Astarion inside and out. Astarion barely knew anything about him - didn’t even know his last name - but he did know that he wasn’t the sort of man to take advantage of that kind of power. 

He could have had Astarion on his knees in any number of alleys - in his room or on the roof of the Elfsong, in his own damned cot right now. 

But then he wouldn’t be Gale.

There was that stab in his heart again - rejection, sadness, loss. He felt it more keenly than he had their kiss.

“You really shouldn't tell him that I kissed you. I’d be furious.”

“Oh," Gale flapped a dismissive hand at Astarion, "he’ll pout for a few days and bring it up whenever he wants something, but there’ll be no ill will.”

“You’re awfully sure about that, darling.”

“Well, I know you rather well. Speaking of, he made me promise I’d give you this if all went to plan. He also made me promise that I wouldn't read it, so I suspect that it’s a list of ways you can make money - or perhaps a hit list of people who’ve wronged him.” Gale fumbled through his pockets and frowned as he couldn’t find the letter. 

Astarion pulled it from his own pocket and waved it at him. 

“It looked a little touch and go for a moment. I thought I might try and read it before you blew up.”

“Did you?”

“Not yet.”

“Well - go ahead.”

He turned the parchment over. It looked posh. His future self was clearly living a nice life with fancy stationary. In neat and flowery penmanship on the front was written: Little Star

The words took him back. Suddenly a tall elven woman was cradling him on her hip, rocking him from side to side, humming sweetly.

“My little star,” She’d say, ruffling his curls.

His fingers trembled a little as he opened it.

Chapter Text

Astarion,

I sincerely hope that you’re reading this in front of a healthy wizard who has recently vanquished the bane of our existences for the second time. 

I imagine that he probably told you that he’d done it before - which is technically true, but I wonder if he mentioned that last time round he had the help of three other hardened adventurers, our good self included. Probably not. He’s always been an arrogant shite, it’s one of the many things I love about him.

Now, if you truly are reading this in front of him, be careful as you turn the page. Overleaf is a small, folded piece of parchment that will neatly slip up your sleeve. As you flip this sheet, let it do so. Don’t let the wizard see. He won’t approve of its content and, while I made him promise not to read it before you did, he’s too nosy for his own good and will likely (definitely) peek at what I’ve written the moment you give him a chance.

Yes - Gale, I know you. Leave the boy alone, let him have nice things.

Astarion smiled and carefully turned the page, swiping at the folded paper and tucking it into his shirt.

Well done. Now, wait until he’s gone and read it when you’re alone. Commit it to memory. Live by its words. 

If someone told me, even now, that the world was my oyster and the sky the limit, I’d self-destruct in a drug den almost immediately at the overwhelming prospect of making all of my own decisions for the rest of eternity. 

So, I’ve taken some of the burden off you. Of course, you’re very welcome to completely ignore me if you see fit, we both know that you will if a whim strikes - naturally, I don’t advise it, but I know how pigheaded we are.

Anyway, I tell lots of people to get their own damned Gales, but when I tell you I mean it rather literally. Send him back to his portal and back home to me - and if you lay a hand on him I’ll find a way to get hold of my own Wish, hunt you down, and skin you. 

You’ll have to wait for a little while before you’ll find yours, of course, but I’m sure you’ll find some way to occupy your time.

Go spend lots of time in confined spaces, take your shirt off in front of as many people as possible, and be glad that you don’t know what in the fucking hells I’m talking about.

Have a good life, Little Star, for the both of us,

Astarion Ancunín
1493

“What did he say?”

“He told me to keep my hands off you or he’ll skin me - oops.”

Gale snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s all bark and no bite - well, he’s mostly no bite.”

“I’m sure you’re covered in tooth marks under that horrible purple thing.”

“They’re rather visible, actually. I had to buy some cosmetics when I first arrived so you wouldn’t be suspicious.”

Astarion shook his head and grinned. It didn’t feel real.

“You were given a Wish and you spent it on me?”

“I couldn’t help him and, even if I could have, he wouldn’t have let me. This was the compromise. He refused to allow me to do anything that might change his life, risk things not ending up as they did, but I wanted to make sure that somewhere out there, even if it was in another realm entirely, there was a version of him that had his prayers answered, that had been shown the… the mercy and respect that he deserved, even if it was only once.”

Astarion fiddled with the edges of the letter. He felt restless. His older self was right about the self destruction - even just thinking about when he’d read the second letter was overwhelming.

“You must be eager to get started on your new life, but, if it’s not too much trouble, I could do with a hand tying up a loose end before I leave.”

Gale slowly pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

“Is Aurelia around?”

“So - a few things that both of you need to know. Beneath this palace are a set of secret dungeons. In them are all the people that the pair of you lured back here to them for the last few weeks. I’d estimate about thirty.”

“What?” Aurelia asked, incredulous.

“And they’re freshly turned spawn who desperately need a guiding hand.”

“What?” Astarion balked.

“Indeed. Only thirty. That’s quite manageable.”

“Only thirty? Gale, that’s insane.”

The man seemed to stop to think about it and then shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it is actually quite a lot. Last time there were seven thousand, though, and we coped. Aurelia, do you know much about the Underdark?”

“Seven thousand?”

“Are you sure that we’ll be alright down here?” She asked, eyeing the entrance to the catacombs warily. 

“There are plenty of things to sink your teeth into, no sunlight to harm you, and several sentient mushroom colonies who will probably be happy to help show you around - beautiful settlements, truly. Just try not to get on their bad side - oh, and don’t mess around with the forge down there. It really is more effort than it's worth.”

She turned and followed her group of spawn into the distance. Every one of them had looked at Gale with hunger in their eyes as they passed him, before wrinkling their nose as they got close enough to smell his blood. 

Eventually, it was just Gale and Astarion. 

“You knew that he wasn’t killing them?”

“Well, he did in a way. He took their lives from them and locked them up.”

“Why did you stop me taking Sebastian?”

Gale sighed. 

“Because you wouldn’t have gone through with it - now, hold on, I know that you believe you would have but remember that I’ve heard the story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. You would have tried to save him at the last minute and the consequences were… severe and lengthy - and, Sebastian still would have ended up one of them.”

Astarion hesitated, a couple of puzzle pieces clicking together.

“He’s claustrophobic, isn’t he?”

“You’re both far too clever for your own good, you know that?”

“So, this is it.” Astarion shifted his weight from side to side. It was odd to be in Gale’s room at the Elfsong for the first time. Now he knew why Gale hadn’t let him inside.

In the centre there swirled a large purple portal. 

“No chance I could pop through for a quick glass of wine? Walk you home, as it were.”

Gale chuckled, packing up the last of his belongings. 

“Even if the realms could cope with having two of you in the same room, I certainly can’t.”

Then, Gale held out his hand expectantly. Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Fine - you’re the one who introduced me to the stuff.”

He dropped the bag of powder back in Gale’s outstretched hand. 

“Another thing you can thank your elder for - I was horrified when he told me about it. Absolutely despicable stuff.”

“You were the one sprinkling it in people’s drinks.”

“Someone was going to be taken from the city each night. The best I could do was make sure it was someone who’d done a bit of harm to the world, render them so they wouldn’t hurt you, and try to make sure they wouldn’t remember what happened to them. It was effective, but I can’t say that I liked it. My coin purse too, if you don’t mind. You can keep the contents, it’s not legal tender back home anyway.”

Astarion emptied the pouch into his pocket and passed the bag back to Gale.

“Thank you, right - I think I’m about ready.”

“Right.”

“Right… yes.”

They stood opposite each other, Astarion’s hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was incredibly awkward. Then Gale just smiled at him. 

“Come here,” and opened his arms.

Astarion forced an eye roll and tried to move with feigned reluctance into the embrace. If Gale’s face was anything to go by, he hadn’t been fooled - but then, he never was. 

“You’re a very lucky man,” Astarion mumbled into Gale’s shoulder.

“I know. What will you do with your freedom? See the world? Rob all the banks on my friend’s second, secret list?”

“So you did read the letter!” He pulled away and tutted. The folded parchment felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. 

“Of course I did, I truly am too nosy for my own good. It’s a well-known issue.” He lifted a hand as they parted to massage his chest.

“Anything I can do for your own younger self? Any dark days that could do with being prevented? Perhaps ones that end in magic bombs lodged in your chest.”

Gale chuckled darkly, “I’m not sure that you could prevent that if you tried - no, this was a gift, freely given. I don’t expect any repayment or help from you in return. Your life is your own.”

“Really - well, what if I want to visit Waterdeep someday. Any one I should look out for?”

A dismissal was on the tip of Gale’s tongue when he stopped.

“You know, on the spring equinox of 1457, there will be a rather scared and lonely woman in a pinch of difficulty. She’ll be more than a little worried about the prospect of single parenthood, so if you could spare a moment to help her to the nearest healing house, that would be more than payment enough. There was quite the storm that night - a gale, in fact.”

That stabbing sensation in the heart returned. The soft humility in Gale's eyes as he asked for something so small, a pittance compared with what he had given Astarion, was enough to engrave the date in the vampire's mind and soul. The Spring Equinox 1457. Waterdeep.

“Her name?”

“Morena Dekarios.”

“Consider it done.”

Gale smiled softly and nodded, slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped through the portal.

It snapped shut behind him before Astarion had a chance to so much as consider following.

Now that it’s just the two - or, well, one - of us, it’s time you know a thing or two about our dearest wizard.

He’s an idiot.

You probably know that already, of course - I bet he offered to sacrifice himself to kill Cazador without the slightest hesitation. I do hope you talked some sense into him, it’s a skill you will have to use rather a lot, I’m afraid.

You probably also know that he’s far too nice to ask anything of you for himself.

I’m not.

He going to be born in 1457 but I didn’t meet him until 1492, by which time he had already done a series of incredibly idiotic things - things that you are going to stop.

Don’t go and befriend him as a child, he had too many mysterious forces telling him about his grand destiny at a young age. It did terrible things for his ego and it would make things weird when you decide that he’s positively edible - which he is, by the way.

But, you do need to get under his skin before his thirtieth, because that is when he started on his downward slide into idiocy and misfortune. You don’t need to know how or why, I’m not going to give you the power to manipulate him because, unlike Gale, I know that you. would use it and then you would regret it enormously.

However, if he so much as mentions the word ‘Netherese’, slap him. Immediately and without question. Perhaps you can make his mind associate that blasted place with pain and hopefully that will be enough to make him steer clear of it.

That’s my only demand. Beyond that, have fun - the rest of what I enclose are merely suggestions and a few warnings. I didn’t really have to worry about much that happened over your next two hundred years. I was safely tucked up in my cot, or luring innocents to their dooms. You have a few things to be careful of.

If you meet an Ariel Manx anytime between 1332 and 1353, immediately kill her. Don’t worry about why. If you never encounter her, you’ll understand my reasons after approximately ten minutes with Gale and wish that you had.

During 1358, don’t trust anyone. The gods walk among you and they are not pleasant people.

Following on from that, also don’t trust anyone born that year or the next - Bhaal was a very busy boy.

1369 will be a bloodbath. Gale suggested that I warn you to stay indoors. I argue, blood will be spilled, and there’s no reason for it to go to waste - your choice.

In 1391, a very large druid will be fighting an army of Sharrans in Reithwin. He could use a hand.

A young half elf named Jenevelle Hallowleaf will find herself alone in a forest some time around 1450. If you could keep her out of the hands of the Sharrans, you’d be doing everyone a favour - including yourself, in the long run. She was dreadfully dull before she snapped out of all that ‘Lady of Loss’ nonsense.

On Dusthawk Hill, one night in 1481, a young noble man named Wyll Ravenguard will make a deal that he really hasn’t thought through. Again, you’re doing yourself a favour in the long run by helping him wiggle out of it. Maybe brush up on your legalese - and infernal - in advance.

In the Gate itself in 1482, Enver Gortash - an intolerably smug arms dealer and political bigwig - is going to massively fuck over his delightful body guard. You should stop that.

If at any point you encounter the most wizardy-looking wizard ever to wizard who tries to eat all your cheese and talks in riddles (different, far more frustrating riddles than Gale’s) then immediately punch him in the face. He might incinerate you, but it would be worth it. Trust me.

Finally, please see overleaf for a series of business names to look out for - they will be rather successful and are worth an investment. Additionally, the results of various elections in the Gate and Waterdeep over the years, in the event that you manage to find a bookie who’ll take your money.

I recommend making a few copies of this. Parchment doesn’t last as long as you think and something about you tends to make people a bit stabby, especially once you stop trying to seduce them all the time. Blood makes ink run.

That’s about it from me, though a couple of things specifically concerning 1492 before I sign off, darling. 

Don’t be scared of the tadpole. It will give you the chance to walk in the sun again for the first time in centuries, use it wisely. 

Oh, and those weird dreams are a mindflayer trying to manipulate you - make sure the others don’t fall for it this time around, or shag him. It’s more tempting than you’d think.

Have a nice life, my dear, and don’t fuck this up. I nearly lost my Gale for you.

Regards,

Astarion (the elder, wiser, and generally better)

Some Time Later

The Yawning Portal was a busy and crowded establishment. Since Waterdeep was a city filled with arrogant mages eager for adventure and renown, its taverns were full of young berobed apprentices and their not-inconsequential egos. 

One particular ego stood out to Astarion, as he surveyed the crowd. It had been a long time since he’d seen that face, but even after all those years - decades, centuries - he still recognised him in an instant as he walked through the door. His robes were far more fashionable - dark, boring, and completely wrong for his skin tone, but fashionable nonetheless - and his hair was shorter, almost cropped, but it was still unmistakably Gale. 

He crossed the floor of the inn and sat on a barstool by himself, waving to the barkeep who poured him a cup of wine without a word. Gale lifted it to his mouth with a sigh and swirled it, smiling faintly into the glass. He looked like a man who’d been waiting all day for this little glimpse of pleasure - as though the vessel in his hand contained all the joy he knew how to feel.

The Gale who was sitting on the bar stool across the tavern from Astarion looked positively miserable. He looked miserable, lonely, and despairing. Astarion drained his own cup, abandoned it on the table and sauntered over to him, because damned his bloody plan - this Gale was far too miserable to be allowed to remain alone.

“I’ll wager that your cup is filled with Blackstaff,” he said, sliding into the seat beside the young wizard. He turned to look at his new neighbour with a scowl.

Astarion felt his chest clench up with a stab to his cold, dead, heart. He hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to see those honeyed eyes look at him without the familiarity and fondness that he missed and craved so very much. 

But, beneath the scowl, there was something else - a yearning, a desire to reach out and connect. 

Astarion could work with that. It would do. For now.

“Lucky guess,” Gale replied with a nod. 

Astarion shook his head and smiled, “Not at all.”

He watched the cogs turn in Gale’s mind and suppressed the grin that he felt trying to split his face in two.

Oh, Astarion thought, this was going to be so much fun.