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Gale had no idea how he had ended up in the Blushing Mermaid.
Admittedly, this was a lie, he knew perfectly well how he had ended up here, but the situation was so improbable he had a hard time believing it.
The picture was the following: Gale, a young wizard who had barely reached nineteen, a fresh graduate of the Blackstaff Academy, the most prestigious magical school of Waterdeep. As a prodigy, one whose talent was even recognised by Elminster himself, he had passed with flying colours. And he knew it wouldn’t be the end. The direction of the Academy, which was made of a few Chosen of Mystra, had their eyes on him, he knew that. Just like he knew the gaze of something greater was over him every time he called upon the Weave, and had been watching him for a few years now.
He and the other graduates had been offered a trip to the destination of their preference. The choice had finally landed on Baldur’s Gate, for some reason that Gale did not even attempt to decipher. Gale had never been especially close to his counterparts, too focused on his personal work to mingle with his peers, but so far the trip had been surprisingly enjoyable. They had explored the city, mainly, and stopped at various shops and libraries to explore their stock of magical items and tomes.
They had parted ways and agreed to meet at the tavern later in the day, to properly celebrate their graduation, but Gale was currently alone and starting to wonder if the others had maybe stood him up.
Which was why he was currently brooding in a corner of the room, drinking absentmindedly from a glass he didn’t know the contents of, reading from a book he had bought earlier in the day. He should leave, he knew. There was no point in staying here if the others weren’t going to come at all, but he couldn't help but stay with the hope they were just late, that they hadn’t completely ditched him.
“Well, that’s a sight you don’t see every day.”
The words tugged Gale’s attention away from the book and he raised his head. There was an elf in front of him, with hair as white as the moon and pale skin that complemented it perfectly. His features were sharp, just like the smile that stretched his lips, and he was watching Gale with an odd gleam in his eyes, dark rubies reflecting the low light of the room. He was objectively beautiful.
Gale raised an eyebrow when the words registered, confused by what he had meant. The man pointed to the seat next to him with a questioning glance and he nodded. The elf sat with a drink of his own and elaborated. “People don’t usually frequent these kinds of places for the quiet required to read a book. Especially not with the kind of drink that you have. I’m intrigued, I must admit. My name is Astarion.”
It took Gale a few seconds before finding his voice, which the other definitely noticed, but he chuckled softly and closed his book before answering. “I’m Gale. And I did not come here with the intent of reading, but it just happened that the people who were supposed to join me never really arrived.” He scowled at this, before simply sighing. It wasn’t worth getting angry over.
“I could be your company for the night, if you’d have me.” The elf proposed, that same charming smile never leaving his lips - widening even. It was awfully distracting, paired with those red eyes. The wizard couldn’t tell if they were natural or not.
Gale hesitated, understanding clearly the implied offer. He had never been one to partake in such activities, too focused on his studies, on the ever-growing power inside him, to allow himself such distractions. But on the other hand - he was alone, reading in a tavern, with a drink he didn’t even enjoy. Maybe a change of pace wouldn’t hurt. He had tried to leave his comfort zone by agreeing to go with his fellow graduates, and while that ship had sailed, another just had moored.
“Buy me a few drinks first,” he agreed, a tentative smile on his face, “and then we’ll see.”
He felt a bit self-conscious about it, having absolutely no previous experience on the topic. But, from the knowing look Astarion gave him, it didn’t seem that his inexperience was too blatantly on display - or at least, it didn't put Astarion off. The man’s smile simply widened, like a cat who caught the mouse, and he got up to bring them both some more drinks.
Gale watched him walk, watched the way his hips swayed with each step, grace dripping from every movement. He wondered briefly why such a beautiful man would choose someone like Gale, but said man came back before he could ponder too much about it. “Here you go,” he said as he put the drinks on the table and pushed one towards Gale, “a favourite of mine. You definitely should try it, it’s the best thing they serve.”
Gale grabbed the drink and took a cautious sip as Astarion sat next to him, keeping enough distance between them to seem innocent, but staying close enough to not leave any doubt about his intentions.
Gale winced when the alcohol burned his throat. It wasn’t something he was really used to, but it seemed today would be a day for discoveries. He caught Astarion’s smirk in the corner of his eye and pouted even more. “Don’t you dare laugh. I don’t usually drink such cocktails.”
The elf chuckled, and the sound was heavenly in Gale’s ears. “I suppose you don’t have the look for it, no. Mind tell me how you ended up here all alone, darling?”
So Gale started to talk, without really meaning to. He talked about how he was a graduate and bragged about his talent, explaining how he would, with time, become the greatest wizard in all of Faerun. He talked about his trip here, and Astarion asked how he was finding the city so far. So he explained the thoughts that went through his head when he’d been exploring earlier, but that he wasn’t comfortable enough to share with the rest of the group. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Astarion, the man seemingly always finding the question to ask to send Gale on another tangent. He felt a bit guilty about monopolising the discussion like this, so he made an effort to ask more about the other.
Astarion was a bit secretive at first, barely saying anything about his life in the city, but slowly opened up as the time, and drinks, passed. He was a magistrate in the city, apparently, which confused Gale even more because why would a magistrate be here, at his side? He also lived in the palace Gale had caught a glimpse of earlier, with his family - who he didn’t particularly enjoy the company of. He had implied that he would bring Gale there later in the night, and Gale had flushed at the thought, but simply smiled and answered with a cheekiness he didn’t know he had, “You’ll have to work a bit harder for that. Don’t fear, though, you’re on the right track.”
Later, Gale suggested that they both go back to the room he was renting instead, which was much closer than the palace. Astarion had insisted on having them go back to the palace, and Gale didn't push further.
As the hours went by and they chatted more and more, Gale relaxed. The alcohol helped, obviously it did, but mostly the fact that Astarion was no longer a real stranger, a nameless person who would take his virginity before disappearing never to be seen again. Of course he was still quite enigmatic, and Gale was pretty sure Astarion was half lying about most of the life he was sharing, but there were fragments of information he caught here and there that Gale managed to weave into a picture he most definitely liked. A sharp mind and a sharper humour. A love for learning. A softness for cats.
Gale knew he was being a hopeless romantic right now, but he couldn’t help but wish to see Astarion again later, take him on a date maybe. He knew how the night would end for both of them, but maybe it didn’t have to be the end. Gale was convinced that Astarion had chosen him randomly, that the man was simply looking for a distraction for the night, but his sharp smile had undeniably softened as they kept talking and Gale was, foolishly maybe, hoping it meant Astarion was having a good time as well.
Their eyes kept meeting with more and more heat behind them as the evening went on, their hands slowly moving towards each other, knowing smiles and flirting words easing their way into their conversation. There had been a few touches already, a hand brushing against Gale’s thigh, another pushing his hair out of his face. Each and every one had left him with a blush on his cheeks, which seemed to have greatly amused his companion. Gale had wanted to reciprocate a bit, the alcohol coursing through his veins giving him a courage he never would have found at any other time, by moving a bit closer to Astarion. But he was then completely lost as to what he was supposed to do. How does one even begin to charm the person they’re going to spend the night with? But he didn’t want Astarion to feel like Gale was taking everything Astarion was giving without offering himself in return, so he tried his best.
In the end, he had just said so out loud. Astarion had smiled - a stretch of lips that seemed more honest than most of his actions during the whole night - as he assured him he would have ample time to learn. And Gale felt like this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. So, naturally, with his cheeks red from both alcohol and bashfulness, he quietly asked if he could kiss him.
Astarion had seemed genuinely surprised by this, but quickly found his smile again and purred as he leaned closer, “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”
It was Gale’s first kiss, and it was everything he had dreamed of and more. Astarion’s hand was cupping his cheek as Gale put his hand on Astarion’s arm. It was soft, chaste almost, tender. When the kiss broke they didn’t move, their breath mixing and their lips so close they were almost brushing against each other, tension filling the air between them, the anticipation of more.
They quickly moved back against each other, Gale trying to replicate Astarion’s movement with obvious enthusiasm but lacking any kind of experience to back it up. It all accelerated from there, each kiss becoming more intense and deep, lips and tongue meeting with a passion that seemed to only intensify with every new contact. They had both leaned against each other, moving the chairs they were sitting on in the process, their sides pressed together.
“You learn quickly,” Astarion purred between kisses as he properly turned to face Gale. His lips were red and wet and Gale wanted to devour them with his own. “You’ll be a master in no time.”
“I have the most talented teacher,” Gale answered with a cheekiness he had found surprisingly easy to muster. “And an enticing reward for it too.”
Astarion slipped from his chair and stood in front of Gale, hand extended in his direction, eyebrow gracefully raised. “Is it later yet, darling?”
Gale grabbed the hand, a smile stretching his lips, and let himself be pulled into Astarion's arms for another kiss. “I think it is, yes,” he rasped against him, pressing his lips against the other’s for a small peck before adding with a mischievous tone, “Take me to your palace, lord Astarion.”
Astarion didn't need more confirmation than this, it seemed. He dragged them both out of the bar and into the dark streets of Baldur's Gate, his hand never letting go of Gale, who certainly wasn’t complaining. Astarion was even more beautiful in the night, it seemed, the low light of the moon making his white hair almost shine. Gale was nothing but a moth, unable to do anything but watch the glimmer in front of him and desire it all for himself, hungrily and selfishly. How could such a beautiful man even think about setting his eyes on Gale? Either way, the wizard would make sure that Astarion wouldn’t ever regret his decision.
Gale had assumed he would feel anxious during the trip, but there was nothing but excitement in his mind, - the exhilaration of novelty and the deep belief that Astarion, if his behaviour during the night told anything about him, would take good care of him. And by the Gods, did Gale want to reciprocate as much. The more they progressed through the city, the more heated each press and kiss became, and Gale was starting to doubt they would even reach the palace.
But, halfway through, something changed. Astarion seemed to be the one growing anxious, for some reason, and Gale was starting to wonder if the elf truly wanted this. He had said that he didn't especially like his family, so maybe this was it. Maybe he was simply scared of being caught bringing someone into his home. Or maybe he simply didn’t want it anymore, which was enough of a reason, really. Gale was about to voice his thoughts when the palace appeared in front of them, even more grand and imposing up close. It was almost menacing like this, in the darkness of the night, looming over them both. Like a monster ready to devour him whole.
Before Gale could say anything, he was slowly pushed against a wall, Astarion leaning against him with one hand still holding Gale’s, the other coming to rest on his cheek. They had pushed each other like this a few times already, more in jest than real desperation, but Gale was surprised to find that there was something new in Astarion’s gaze, something more tender, something that looked dangerously genuine.
He forgot how to breathe for a second, as Astarion kissed him. It was nothing like the ones they had shared until now. Incredibly softer, more delicate, as if Gale was a gift, something to be thanked and worshipped. He whined softly as his hand went toAstarion’s hip and he answered in kind, trying to convey the genuine affection he felt towards the elf. It was too early to be admitted, but Gale could easily imagine himself falling hard for this man, if time and effort were put into it. Hopefully Astarion would be open to such an idea.
“I loved this evening in your company, darling,” said Astarion once the kiss broke. His thumb was slowly caressing Gale’s cheek and he could only lean into it, bubbling happiness in his chest. His eyes were staring into Gale’s with a tenderness Gale hadn’t expected.His tone was calm and soft, barely more than a whisper. It was for Gale’s ears alone, a secret to be shared between them. “I wish it could have lasted longer.”
But there also was something odd in Astarion’s voice too, and Gale frowned when he realised it. He put his free hand over the one on his cheek, and gave Astarion's other hand, still laced with his own, a gentle squeeze.
“What do you mean?” He asked, voice as low and kind as Astarion’s had been. “We could still go back, should you wish so. We could spend the rest of our evening talking instead of… you know. I wouldn’t mind, genuinely.”
In a moment of bravery, he turned his head and slowly kissed the palm that was against his cheek. Gale admittedly had no frame of reference about what was accepted or not between people who were technically strangers, but the way Astarion’s eyes softened and his expression became fonder quickly silenced any doubt he might have had.
“I know,” admitted Astarion, looking at him as if he was looking at a most exquisite jewel. But there was something else here, something more bitter, sadder - resigned even. Gale had no idea why. “I know you wouldn’t. Which is why you shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have…”
There seemed to be a lot going on in his mind, but whatever it was, it was a mystery to Gale, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to decipher. Astarion seemed to have regrets, that much was obvious, so Gale moved a bit. The hand that was covering Astarion’s fell back at his side, and he let go of his other one. He pushed Astarion away, slowly, but kept his expression sweet and honest. “Let’s just stop here, alright? I won’t claim I understand what is happening, but if you do not want this anymore you need not to hide it from me.”
Astarion made a half choked noise in the back of his throat, but let himself be pushed away. He sighed and let his head fall backwards, eyes closed, as he seemed to consider his options. Gale patiently waited. He was feeling completely out of depth here, having no idea what could have caused such a reaction with Astarion. He had seemed so eager, earlier, and so regretful now. Gale quietly wondered what could have changed.
Astarion turned his head towards the palace, and seemed to spot something there - Gale could see him tense. He tried to turn his head towards the place but couldn’t find anything, his painfully human eyes not made to see much amongst the shadows of the night, the faint glow of moonlight not enough to do much more than prevent him from tripping on any obvious obstacle. But whatever Astarion had found seemed to have decided him, as he turned towards Gale with a new resolve in his dark pupils.
“I want you,” he said in a low and sultry voice, “more than I have wanted anyone in quite some time.”
The words hit Gale square in the chest and lit up a flame there, that went down, down, until it reached his crotch. The promise felt real, honest. Just like the soft kiss he had been offered earlier. Gale felt himself melt at them, and even more when feverish lips were pressed once more against his own. Whatever had been through Astarion’s head was now gone, it seemed. Not that Gale would complain, far from it, considering he was being kissed senseless, Astarion’s hands moving all over him. He was everywhere, everything, and Gale could feel his brain turn overload at the amount of sensory information it was receiving.
“Gods…” he breathed out when Astarion moved to let him breathe. “You’re incredible.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Astarion chuckled, “And I have a lot more to show you darling. I can’t wait to taste you.”
The words made Gale flush and press himself even more eagerly against the body that was already so temptingly close to him.
But Astarion moved away, and walked towards the palace once again. He didn’t hold Gale’s hand this time, noted the wizard with a pang of disappointment that was quickly drowned by the arousal rising through him as they approached their destination.
Astarion pushed the door open with ease, doors that apparently had been left unlocked, which seemed like quite the reckless choice but who was Gale to judge? They slowed down as they walked through the corridors of the place, and Gale took some time to take in everything that was surrounding him. The place was luxurious, as much as one would expect of a palace this size, with a red soft carpet under their feet and imposing golden chandeliers above their heads. Just breathing the air felt like inhaling opulence. Gale felt a lot more self conscious all of a sudden, surrounded by such lavish wealth.
They entered an even more opulent room, which looked like a ballroom repurposed into a dining room. A long table stood on either side of it, surrounded by chairs that looked as comfortable as expensive, which was to say, very. The red carpet they had been walking on kept going, and wound its way up several steps before finishing at a throne.
There was someone sitting there.
Astarion stopped, and so did Gale. The man sitting on the throne was an elf too, but that was the only similarity he shared with Astarion. Where Astarion’s hair was white as the moonlight, the man’s was the exact opposite, as dark and cold as a starless night. Where Astarion’s gaze was soft and mischievous, the man’s was stern and emotionless. Gale dared to throw a glance at Astarion, whose eyes were transfixed on the mysterious stranger.
Astarion looked terrified.
“You are late boy. You missed dinner with your siblings,” said the man, his voice frigid and his tone irritated. Gale saw Astarion flinch in the corner of his eye and he frowned. What was happening?
“Master, I-” started Astarion, but seemed to think better of it and stopped, lowering on his knees and staring at the ground. When he talked, he sounded almost dead. Defeated. “I apologise.”
Something akin to dread started to fill Gale’s bones. Master? The terrified word and the obvious act of submission were both starting to paint an image Gale utterly despised. He knew slavery was not technically illegal here, but his Waterdhavian heart screeched at the mere idea of it.
He thought of Astarion’s sweet words, his round eyes, his delicate touch. He thought of the regret in his voice, of the fear. Gale didn’t know why he was here, but he was starting to get an idea. Had Astarion been coerced into this? It seemed more and more likely. Rage rose through him at the thought, a tidal wave of anger and resentment towards the man sitting on the throne. Slavery was an abomination, an atrocity that no one should abide. Astarion didn’t deserve such fate, nobody did, and Gale swore to Mystra herself that he would put an end to this right this instant.
His first plan was to simply incapacitate the man, freeze him on the spot or maybe knock him unconscious, until he could find some authority in this city that would have enough a benevolent heart to put such a monster of an elf behind bars, at the very least, or to death in a best case scenario. In a matter of seconds he turned towards the slaver, eyes hard and determined. Gale was a prodigy, and that despicable man would quickly understand exactly how much.
He met the elf’s dark pupils, and something shifted inside of him.
As the Weave flowed out of the tip of his fingers, a breath was enough to change his spell. Magic had always been exceptionally responsive to Gale’s wants and needs, and it took him barely more than the flick of a finger to distort the Weave around himself, concentrate it into a single point and launch a Disintegrate instead of the Hold Person he had meant to use.
Gale could not give a rational explanation to the change, only that he knew in his bones that the man in front of him was dangerous and that Gale could not allow him the time to strike, not even once.
The power surged out of his palms with ease, fueled by his pure contempt for the dark haired elf and hardened by the need to destroy as quickly as possible. A green beam of unadulterated power soared through the air ready to decompose the slaver into nothing more than a pile of ash.
But before the spell could land Gale was pushed, making him lose his footing and miss his target. He turned towards Astarion, dread filing him as he realised he had lost the advantage of surprise, and was met with two bright red eyes. “What are you doing?!” He hissed, fear and unease mixing into an ugly mass of anger. He was already gathering the Weave around him for another spell, as quickly as he humanly could, although he wouldn’t be able to cast another Disintegrate so quickly. “Can’t you see that I’m helping you Astarion?! I’ll kill that master of yours! You won’t have to be a slave anymore!”
The man rose from his throne, with a smile that Gale promised himself to rip off his face. When Astarion tried to move towards him once more, Gale quickly cast a Thunderwave to push him back, not wanting to take any risk. He had no time to interrogate the white haired elf about his motive.
With each new second that passed Gale felt more and more that there was something deeply wrong with the man he was trying to kill, and that only reinforced his resolve. The stench of blood and death stuck to his skin, with such an intensity that Gale could smell it from where he stood, several steps away. And there was something in his eyes, in his gaze, that made Gale feel small and fragile. Like a prey animal stupidly trying to face the apex predator bearing down upon him rather than flee as he should.
Gale felt the air fill with static, felt his hair stand on end. The counterspell was cast before the slaver could amass enough power to call lightning upon him, and Gale made sure to not give him a second of respite before casting Blight in return. The necrotic power from below accumulated into his hands and mercilessly assaulted his target, a bolt of darkness flying between them.
Gale knew the spell had hit, had felt it in his bones. And yet the slaver looked barely hurt, a scrape here, a dark spot there, nothing like the gaunt appearance he should’ve had after the strength Gale had put into his spell. The necrotic power was supposed to drain his strength and energy, and yet here he was, barely affected.
Two things hit him at the same time. The first was that the deep feeling of wrong he was getting from the slaver was very much not from his imagination. The man was an undead, although Gale had yet to determine which, which was why he hadn’t suffered much damage from Gale’s magic. The second was much more physical, as Astarion rammed into him with what must have been his whole body strength, sending them both to the ground.
Gale grunted as he hit the hard and cold floor, Astarion’s hand in his hair forcing his head to take the blunt of the damage, slamming his forehead on the ground. Ears ringing and head spinning, it took a few seconds for his vision to clear. Gale tried to get back up, but he quickly found that he was very much unable to move, someone holding him. There were voices around him, but Gale couldn't focus on any of them, the ringing in his ears drowning everything out.
When he managed to get some control over the perception of his surroundings, Gale was on his knees, a hand holding both of his arms against his back and another holding his hair, forcing his head to the side, baring his neck. There was something sticky and wet flowing from his forehead to the rest of his face, flowing along the curve of his nose, into his eyebrows and eyes, along his cheek.
Astarion was in front of him, on his knees with his hands on his thighs, his bright red eyes staring at Gale. He was impassible, his face a blank slate that revealed neither thoughts nor feelings.
Gale's sluggish brain took an embarrassing amount of time to reach the conclusion that if Astarion was in front of him, then the slaver must be the one holding him. By the time he tried to struggle against the one holding him still, there was breath on his exposed neck and something sharp scraping his skin.
Then pain.
Piercing and coursing through him, stabs of cold doing nothing to anaesthetise the agony that ripped through his throat. The grip went deep and Gale felt like his neck was going to be torn open.
He wept, probably. He screamed, definitely.
The bite - as he finally realised it was a bite, there was a vampire behind him, there was another in front of him, he had red eyes, had never showed his teeth nor let him feel them and had skin cold as death and how did Gale not realise sooner?
The bite did not relent one bit. If anything, it went deeper and deeper, blood flowing out of him with each beat of his heart, which pulsed stronger, faster as it realised less and less of his precious lifeblood was reaching it. There was no stopping what was coming.
Gale’s awareness started to fade. The pain dulled as quickly as his mind faltered, as quickly as his vision was filled with black.
The only light in this darkness, this terrifying fall, was the shine of the two bright rubies in front of him. A cold, harsh gaze devoid of emotion, that stayed completely still as Gale ultimately lost consciousness.
Gale Dekarios, beloved son and young prodigy, died far from his home and far from his family. All will remember him with love and tenderness as a bright soul gone too early.
Gale opened his eyes and awoke in a jolt. He would have been ready to dismiss everything that had happened as a twisted nightmare, were it not for the pain still coursing through his body - and the fact he was in a cell.
The place was dark, a few lanterns allowing him to map his surroundings but not providing enough light to exactly map where he was. He tried to stand up, and was almost surprised to see that he could.
Hand shooting to his neck, Gale felt the tender flesh of a barely healed wound there. It was painful, but he relished in it. He was alive.
By the Gods above, he was alive! He couldn’t believe it.
The realisation made him almost giddy, and he decided to look around himself with more attention, trying to find a way to escape his prison. He was alone in his cell but he could hear whispers on the other side of the corridor, behind bars that looked identical to the ones depriving him of any liberty.
“Hello?” He called for them, hands grabbing the bars and quickly realising that he wouldn’t be able to unlock them with a simple Knock, as the shimmering guarding spell pushed against his fingers.
There was a long silence after his word and for a second Gale thought he would be ignored. Finally, someone answered him. It sounded like a man, neither young nor old. His voice was raspy and low.
“Don’t think about escaping. It won’t happen. And you don’t want to be caught trying, trust me.”
Gale blinked in surprise, not expecting such a cold answer. Before he could say anything, another voice rose through the air. It was another man, who sounded much younger.
“Gondlemead could have worded it better, but he’s right. Better get used to your fate, because we won’t leave this place until Cazador decides that we can. And he won’t.”
“Cazador?” Asked Gale, confused. “Oh. The vampire. He almost killed me. But why-”
“Almost?” The word was a sneer, from the one apparently named Gondlemead. “You’re dead mate. He killed you. You’re one of his spawn now. Which is why you’re never getting out of here.”
Gale froze. That couldn't be true. Could it? Him, dead?
He raised a trembling hand against his chest, looking desperately for the beating of his heart, for a proof that would invalidate this man’s affirmation.
He was met only with silence.
The hand moved to his neck, to his wrist. None of his arteries were pulsing anymore. And when Gale forced himself to stop breathing, he felt no need to open his mouth and inhale. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, one minute, two minutes.
Gale was dead. Or rather, undead, which was probably even worse.
His jaw was hurting, he had realised but ignored, and when he finally ran his tongue against his teeth he could feel his canines protruding in a way they hadn’t before. Pushing his tongue against them, he knew immediately how sharp they had become. The teeth of a predator. Of a monster.
His skin was cold as well. Incredibly cold. How long had he been dead for? A day? A tenday?
Gale was dead.
The cold, harsh truth sent him to his knees, curling in on himself, his arms cradled against his chest in a mimicry of comfort.
It was hard to imagine the implications of it all. An eternity in the darkness. A life sustained on the blood of others. Was that really the future that awaited him?
A sob shook through him, and he did his best to quiet it. He wanted to pretend he was mourning his lost humanity alone, but he guessed the other two people already knew what was happening. Maybe even more than two, since he had no idea how many prisoners there were in the cell in front of his own.
As he hid his face in his hands, Gale could feel cuts in his skin and ran his fingers over them, on his lips and chin, long and deep. He hadn’t even felt them. Another irreversible change to his body, it seemed. How much more was he going to find?
It took him a few minutes to regain some semblance of control over himself. Pointedly ignoring his hoarse voice, he asked, “Why are we in cells?”
His best guess was that it was a temporary measure, because what use would a vampire have for his spawns if he put them in cages? Gale supposed the slaver, Cazador, wanted to make sure they were obedient before letting them into the wild. It would make sense. He doubted the vampire would've been able to live in a palace of this size if every citizen in the city knew of his condition.
“You won’t like the answer,” said the younger one, whom Gale didn’t know the name of. His tone could only be described as pitying. “You probably won’t believe it either. At least not for a while.”
“Stop beating around the bush Wensleydale,” cut his cellmate. “We’re cattle. We’re never getting out of here because the only reason we’re here in the first place is to die for Cazador. He has this ritual, or something. He rants about it sometimes, when he comes here. Or when Godey does. We are bound to the fucker, and we will die in his name when the time comes. We don’t know much more.”
Gale could hardly believe anything he was hearing. A ritual? What would Cazador win in sacrificing his spawn? It simply didn’t make any sense. He refused to believe it. He refused to accept that he was going to stay trapped here until that slaver decided it was time for him to die, again. Gale would not be livestock. He clung onto his resolve with as much strength as he could muster. It was the only thing preventing him from breaking down into a thousand pieces.
“Are you two alone in your cell?” He asked instead, keeping his doubts for himself. There was no point in sharing them and antagonising the only two people able to give him some kind of information.
“We aren’t. There are two others, but they both went nonverbal some time ago. We won’t die from starvation, we either go mad or shut down. You won’t ever find anything to eat here so at some point, it simply becomes too much. The ones who go mad get a cage of their own, down the hall. You can hear them scream, sometimes. The others stay in the communal cells.”
A silence, in which Gale tried to absorb everything that had been told to him. It was all so much and the only thing he wanted to do in response to it was curl in a corner and cry until his body, his dead body, had no tears to shed anymore.
He was supposed to have a whole future ahead of him. He was supposed to come back from this trip, get his diploma and become a researcher. A teacher, maybe even.
A Chosen of Mystra, too. He had known, of course he had known.
It was all so unfair. Why him? All he had wanted to do was have some fun. Explore fields that had been neglected before.
Rage and despair fought inside him, battling in a way that only made him want to cry even more. Astarion had sought him out for this exact purpose. It had always been his plan. And here Gale was, a fool, a damn imbecile, thinking it had been true. That the smiles sent in his direction were genuine, that the kisses they had exchanged maybe could have meant something, one day. What an idiot.
In the end rage prevailed and Gale rose from his sitting position on the ground. He still had his magic. He could still get out of here. He could. His power quivered under his skin, desperate for an outlet. And he had one just in front of him, did he not?
Knock was his first try, but it obviously proved to be unsuccessful. The cells were enchanted, probably linked to a magical artifact keeping them locked, if Gale had to guess. Not that it mattered. No enchantment was completely unbreakable, and it seemed that Gale had nothing but time.
His power lashed against the glowing spell in his bars, a tsunami of power crashing against an impenetrable wall. The recoil almost sent him backwards, and he had to bite back a snarl of frustration. Every warding spell had a limit, a certain amount of power it could withstand before ultimately breaking apart. All Gale had to do to reach it was unleash his magic towards it until it broke.
It took Gale hours of work to feel the first hint of a weakening in the spell. By that time he was completely out of energy, but could feel the barest thread of hope uncurl in his chest. It wasn’t impossible. He would get out of here. The other two people in the cell facing his hadn’t said anything about his attempts, which he was certain they found futile. But it didn't matter.
Gale would get out of here.
The next few days were spent the exact same way. Sleep, wake up, use all the magic at his disposal to break this damn cage, fall unconscious due to the magical exhaustion, repeat. No matter the hardship, it was paying off and Gale could feel more and more acutely the damage he was doing to the bars, could feel them rattle and shake under the assault of his power, getting more and more brittle with every new hit. It was only a matter of time.
When he felt a crack in the enchantment keeping him prisoner, Gale could have cried in relief. A tenday of effort was finally paying off - or at least what he had estimated to be a tenday. Sweaty and weakened, he smiled more broadly still. Hunger was starting to gnaw at his insides, and Gale knew that he would have to hurry and break those bars before he became too weak. Each restless slumber had restored less and less energy, the hunger choking him.
He decided to stop for the day and sleep. Not that ‘a day’ meant much in his current predicament. He had no idea how much time had passed between his… death and the present moment. Either way, he would need his strength to leave. He doubted his captors would let him escape the place without any kind of resistance. Gale could only hope that it would be nighttime, or that he could at least find a place to hide until the sun sank below the horizon. He had admittedly not given much thought to his plan past the ‘breaking his cage’ part.
Gale fell asleep with dreams of freedom in his mind. He awoke to a voice that tensed his muscles and forced his eyes to open.
Cazador was in front of his cell, looking most displeased.
“Thou art not to use any magic,” he said and the words felt like hot iron on Gale’s mind, branding him with a rule that would never be broken ever again. It was absolute, it was defining, it was unequivocal. Gale felt his will bend and his body following suit.
The enchantment within the bar dissipated in front of him and Cazador stepped inside of his cell. Gale had only one thought. He wanted, he needed to kill this man. But when he called upon his magic to do so, only silence answered. He froze and tried again, but the singing of the Weave had quieted in his ears and nothing answered him. For the first time in his life, Gale was alone.
He felt like crying. The only thing that prevented him from doing so was the immaculate rage he felt at the sight of the man in front of him.
He launched himself at him, but felt himself freeze before he could take more than one step. Every cell of his body was fighting his mind, or the other way around maybe, and he could not move, could not act on his murderous thoughts.
“Kneel,” said the vampire, and Gale had no other choice but to obey, his knees hitting the ground before his mind even registered the order that had been given to him.
“You shall never leave this place,” he continued, like a promise, like a threat. And for the first time, Gale believed it. He was never going to be free from this, was he? "Before all else, you will learn what you are. You are what you have been made to be - a piece in my game, a cobblestone in my path to greatness. You exist to die, and nothing more. Any more foolish resistance, any more impudent disobedience, will be punished. You will learn this lesson now."
Gale screamed as Cazador willed his words into existence. For hours and hours, his body was torn, his flesh slashed, his mind assaulted. And when the vampire grew tired of Gale’s screams, a mass of bones took his place, starting everything all over again, except it seemed this one was never going to tire.
When it ended, Gale was nothing but an unresponsive mass of flesh on the ground. Everything hurt. His body had become a canvas of pain while his mind had been drowned by his own screams.
That day, he thought, Gale Dekarios truly died. Deprived from magic and mind, there was nothing left of the bright boy who had entered the city. Just an empty husk who had carried hope for greatness one day, not so long ago.
It took a long time for his body to heal. It was impossible to tell how long. Seconds and days were merging into an uncountable mass of time, raw and terrifying in its unfathomability.
Gale, in his despair, called to Mystra. He kneeled and prayed for days and days straight. He frantically tried to call upon his magic. He prayed even more. Only silence answered his desperate calls. He cried and cursed and begged, but after an eternity without any answer, he resigned himself to his fate. He was alone.
New spawn were brought into the cells, sometimes by Cazador, sometimes by Godey. When they did, Gale’s muscles would freeze, just like all the other spawns, and he would be unable to do anything but watch in silence.
Gale remembered the first time it had happened. The first spawn put in the cell with him had been a young human barmaid, who had been charmed just the way he had, except it had been by a brown haired tiefling. She had gone through the same reactions as he had, so he had tried to help. Offer her comfort. Offer her a shoulder to cry on, when the reality would ultimately sink in. She had been good company, all things considered. They had talked, for a while. Invented a life where they weren’t here. Imagined a past, or a future, where life was good. Where they were free.
The Hunger had taken her fast. Too fast. Only a few dozen or so cycles of rest and waking and she had been weakened to a point Gale had yet to reach, despite being here for much longer than her. It took less than fifty more rests for her mind to break and attack him. He still remembered the feeling of her fangs in his flesh, relentless, and he still remembered the feeling of his nails breaking her skin, plunging into the frigid flesh. Deeper and deeper until she wasn’t moving anymore, because it was him or her and his instincts did not give him any choice.
The next rest, she had been taken away and her screams of anguish and despair mixed into the symphony that was coming from the room below.
With time, Gale got used to the darkness. He got used to the loneliness - being surrounded by empty husks was hardly company. He had tried to create some bonds with the people surrounding him, but had stopped when a fifth spawn fell into madness. It simply wasn’t worth it.
Gale got used to a lot of things. The Hunger was not one of them. It had devoured his insides first, and when it was done had turned on his mind, slowly eating away pieces of his sanity.
There was already so little of it left. Sometimes, in the darkness of his own mind, he found himself asking questions he no longer had the answers to. Who had he been, before he became an empty shell, a body with no soul nor mind? Before he became nothing more than a receptacle for the hunger? He had been a student, that much he knew. He had loved learning, he was pretty sure. He had a bright future in front of him, he thought.
There was only one thing he remembered vividly from Before. Two bright red eyes, shining like rubies under hair of the colour of the moon. The cause of his torture. The cause of his pain.
The Hunger was overwhelming and it was Everything. It clouded his mind and senses. How many times had Gale dreamed of devouring the people surrounding him? Of plunging his teeth into their flesh, despite knowing fully well he would find none of the sweet liquid he was so desperately craving?
It was all he could think about. Every waking moment was nothing but a haze, eyes staring into the nothing in front of him, mind painfully blank as his body’s screams for blood killed any thought he could have had.
One day, a rat managed to enter the cell. The spawn had torn through each other for it until there was only one left. It hadn’t been Gale, who had ended up on his back with his throat ripped open and a gash across his chest.
No blood had poured from either of those wounds.
Time passed.
Gale - if there even was a Gale left - stayed undead.
He had long lost the hope of getting out. He had long lost the hope of drinking blood.
The Hunger was all the only thing left in him. Gone was his mind, gone was his soul.
A few more rats wandered into the cells. It was rare, and Gale, weak and famished after all this time, had never gotten any of them.
He had stopped hoping for those too.
Time passed. It was impossible to tell how long he had been stuck in this hell. Had it been one month? One year? One decade? One century?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything.
Except the Hunger.
The Hunger would never leave, his ever present companion.
It defined him more than his name or his appearance ever could hope to.
Retreating into the depths of his mind was usually the best course of action he could take, and it was how Gale would pass the time. There, hidden beneath the darkness of his own thoughts, he could pretend he wasn’t famished. He could pretend there was something more than skin on his bones. He could pretend he knew what blood tasted like. He could pretend he was free.
He could just stop thinking, too.
It was the easiest way.
One day, when he was thinking, someone came into the dungeon. He, and the other spawns in his cage, had long stopped trying to see who it was. They all knew the answer already.
Cazaor was not alone, this time. Usually, Godey being here meant you needed to retreat into the darkest corner of your cell, and hope his gaze wouldn’t land on you, but today, it wasn’t Godey. Gale didn’t know who those people were. Six humanoids. Six spawn. They followed Cazador inside the lower chamber, where the rabid spawn howled their pain. But, as usual, all mouths were forced shut when Cazador was here.
Gale closed his eyes, and stopped thinking. He was becoming more and more aware of his body, and that never ended well. Usually with him plunging his sharp nails-turned-claws into his dead skin to avert the overwhelming urge to tear through his cellmates.
It was a miracle he had never lost himself to the Hunger. Sometimes, he wished it could just take him. It would certainly make things easier for him. Most of the time, he was grateful he hadn’t. He could hear the screams of those gone mad.
Gale froze. Someone else entered the dungeon.
The smell hit his nostrils before the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Blood. Fresh blood coursing through veins. A beating heart. Pulsing flesh.
Blood.
Hunger roared inside of him, never asleep but never as awake as it currently was. He could feel everyone stir around him, all the spawn reacting in the same way he was. Baring fangs, growling throats, grumbling stomachs.
There were three mortals in front of his cage.
Gale had to fight the desperate itch to throw himself at the bars, to extend his arm and try to grab the Blood standing on the other side of it. He saw the other spawns inch closer.
Hungry. He was so Hungry and there was Blood. There was Blood.
He took one step. Another. He saw a spawn launch themself at the bars, arms sticking through them in a desperate attempt to grab one of the mortals on the other side. A second one did the same thing. It took them a few seconds to admit defeat and step back.
Gale almost followed suit, but he stopped in his tracks.
Two bright red eyes, shining like rubies under hair of the colour of the moon. Cold and unblinking eyes that stared at him as he died.
“You,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper after so much time of disuse, scraping his vocal cords in the most painful way. “You. I know you.”
White hair that shone in the low luminosity of the night. Cold hands holding his own. Colder lips kissing him softly.
“You were the one from the tavern,” he recalled, assaulted by memories he did not remember living, by a life he thought he had all but forgotten. “You smiled and joked and got me drunk.”
Those red eyes stared back at him. They met the pure hatred in Gale’s own, and he took sick pleasure in seeing the man flinch. Oh, how much Gale had dreamed of this. If only these bars were not in the way. He would bury his fangs in the man’s flesh. He would make him pay.
“You- no. You’re dead.” The white haired elf answered. He sounded fragile. Gale craved to see him shatter in front of his eyes.
“I am. You killed me,” he accused, with all the resentment he could muster. He wanted so badly to scream. He wanted so badly to shout and break this damn cage and make him pay. He would not. He still remembered the pain when he tried to do so.
“Gale.”
The anger melted away. The name was uttered like a prayer, like a reverence. There were other people around him, but Gale could only watch those red eyes.
“You remember me.”
He supposed he should feel some joy at the idea. Some anger, too. But there was nothing. There was nothing left of Gale anymore. He was just a shell wearing his skin. He was exhausted.
“You were handsome,” continued the man. “Passionate. You’d never been kissed.”
He never had, had he? He tried to remember Before once again, but it came up empty. The only phantom lips he could feel on his own were Astarion’s.
Astarion.
That was the name of the white-haired, red-eyed elf.
Astarion.
“You taught me how,” he answered, softly. He’d had fun that night. Hadn’t he? What had they talked about? He remembers smiling and laughing. He remembers walking on the streets. He remembers dying. “And then you destroyed me.”
A rage he had thought dead was rebirthed anew. How dared he show his face here? How dared he act all soft and hurt, as if he was the one who had been stuck inside a cage for all this time? When he had been able to walk in the streets, to charm people into eternal damnation?
A scream tore its way out of his throat, as he threw himself at the bars of his cage, thoughts of pain and gore raging in his mind. He wanted to tear Astarion apart, to make him understand all the suffering Gale had gone through.
It didn’t last long. He quickly fell to his knees, his energy spent. He was so tired. What was the point? Gale would die here anyway.
Astarion talked to one of the mortals with him. Gale didn’t listen. He couldn’t bear to. The Hunger was back, stronger than ever. He had been thinking for too long. He had been too aware of his body. He needed to stop. He needed to retreat back into his mind. Or he’d lose himself. Lose the last part of his sanity he had left. He couldn’t afford to.
“How long?” The question left his lips without him even realising it. But once it was out, it was the only thing he could think about. “How long have I been down there?” He repeated after Astarion’s confusion. He shakily tried to get back up, using a strength he didn’t have anymore, and somehow managed to reach a standing position.
He had tried to keep track of the days at first. Counting his rests and assuming his internal clock was still based on a twenty-four hour system. He had thought it would keep him sane, give him something to do. He had quickly stopped. What point would there be in counting how long he had spent in this hell? It was useless, and did nothing but hurt him.
Whatever the answer might be, he knew it was going to hurt. The realisation of all that time lost, it couldn’t be anything if not painful. Not that it mattered. There was very little in Gale’s undeath which was not painful.
“One hundred and seventy years. You were one of my first.”
But when the number hit him, only then did he truly grasp how much. One hundred and seventy years. It was two lifetimes. Two lifetimes spent rotting inside a cage like some animal.
His knees hit the ground before he realised he was falling, all strength leaving him. “My family…” he found himself whispering. “My friends…” All those people he had forgotten but hoped to see again all the same. His mother - had forgotten her visage, but never her warm presence. Tara, his best and only friend, whose voice he couldn’t quite recall, but had always kept her love close to his heart. “They’re all gone…”
All because of Astarion. Another wave of that burning anger rose inside of him. He had long stopped feeling angry over his fate, numb resignation much easier to live with compared to a targetless anger. With a target, however? It was much more sustainable, he found.
“You took them from me - you took everything from me!”
The flinch it provoked was even more satisfying this time and being able to bite back after so long -to finally inflict his misery upon someone else- brought a deep sense of delight.
The woman next to Astarion, a Githyanki, hissed that they needed to go. Another of Astarion’s companions, a dark skinned tiefling, nodded, although he looked more contrite about it. How nice it must be for them to walk freely in the world. To never have known the pain of imprisonment.
How nice indeed.
Astarion looked like he was going to say something, but Gale beat him to it. His tone as cold and biting as he could manage, he took all the rancour he could feel inside of himself and poured it into his words with an energy he didn’t have anymore.
“There’s no escape. No escape for us, and no escape for you, Astarion!” The pointed finger in Astarion’s direction forced the elf to take a step back, and Gale relished in it, anger twisting his features, transforming him into the monster he was inside. “This nightmare never ends and it’s your fault. You did this, damn you! I damn you to the Hells, I damn you to misery!” He tried to keep going, tried to discharge all the pain and hatred he had accumulated amongst the years. He could see his words hitting true, and he desperately wanted to keep going but his body was taking over his mind and another wave of fatigue hit him. “I damn you - damn you…”
Gale fell on his knees once more.
Everything was hurting. His mind, his body, his soul. He couldn't take it anymore.
“I’m going to kill Cazador,” he distantly heard Astarion say. Part of him wasn’t even sure if it was real. If his broken mind wasn’t simply making him hear what he wanted to hear. “I’m going to kill him and free you. And free all of you. You’re… you’re right. It is my fault.”
Gale closed his eyes and didn’t answer. There was no use. Cazador had full control on them all. He would never be killed, and they would never be freed.
His brain shut down, like it would do from time to time. Gale did not try to fight it. Best was to simply let go, close his eyes and wait for a better time to come. A better time that would never arrive.
He opened his eyes when he felt something break inside of him. Like a cord, taut for centuries, had finally given out.
Like his mind was his own once more.
Frozen in disbelief, Gale did not dare to move. He felt movement around him, and he assumed others didn’t share his fears, but what if it was all a test? He did not want to repeat what he had already been forced to endure. He would not be able to.
He stayed still for a moment, and only dared to move when the door of the cage opened. Others walked out.
They walked out of the cell. They stayed outside. No one appeared to punish them.
Gale got up and took an hesitant step. Then another. A third one. Fear was drowning him, but he had to keep going. He couldn’t give up on this chance.
Gale stepped out of the cell that had been his home for the past hundred and seventy years. He did not die on the spot. Cazador did not appear to torture them all.
Gale was free?
The trip to the Underdark had been long and arduous. Many spawn had to be incapacitated as their thirst threatened to take control of them when they stepped out of the palace. The ones who were able to stand the Hunger carried those who weren’t. Gale had been part of neither group. He had simply walked, mind blank.
He simply couldn’t fathom liberty.
They had walked for nights on end. There had been no cells to restrict their movement. Still no food, still slave to the everlasting Hunger, but free nonetheless. He couldn’t understand it.
When they reached the Underdark, the six spawn guiding them let loose the metaphorical leash they held, and the spawn scattered everywhere. It was a massacre, as much for the spawn than for the local wildlife. The weakest were killed, as was to be expected. The stronger got to feed.
Gale tasted blood for the first time in his undeath. It was sticky and lumpy but also sweet and savoury and it was so incredibly overwhelming. But the second it reached his palate he growled like an animal and drained his first prey, and at least a dozen more afterwards before he finally felt that the Hunger was receding, for the first time since his transformation. It took him a dozen more prey to finally feel like he was maybe going to be okay.
Gale stayed where he was, kneeling above a creature he did not recognise, drenched in blood. The Hunger was gone.
The Hunger was gone.
Gale stayed completely still for hours on end. His body felt warmer, almost to the point he felt like burning. His mind was clearer, the constant headache he had learned to accept as an inherent part of his new unlife completely gone. When he clenched and unclenched his hands he was surprised to feel no pain at all, fingers moving easily at will rather than being stiff and weak.
He still had no beating heart nor need to breathe, but he felt less like a rotting cadaver and more like a person. What a wonderful feeling that was.
He came back to the settlement where he and other spawn had decided to stay. It wasn’t much, it was barely anything really, but the mere fact that he wasn’t confined to four walls was pure euphoria. He assumed others felt the same.
He learned that the spawns who had lost themselves to the Hunger had been killed. It made sense, there was no saving them. It was probably a mercy to put an end to their suffering. He also learned that a few hundred had died to the dangers of the Underdark, too weak to fight back against the prey they had tried to drain.
There were still thousands of spawn swarming the place. Gale tried to talk to them for a bit. It seemed the older ones were all trying to act as if they hadn’t been put in a cage for decades. They mostly failed. The younger ones seemed to do much better, enjoying to the fullest their reclaimed liberty.
As for Gale, he made sure to always occupy himself. Despite now being able to think without being on the verge of losing himself at each new thought sprouting in his mind, he’d rather just do his best and move on. Some things were simply not worth reminiscing about.
A few months had passed, and Gale had been able to gain some weight thanks to the constant access to food he had, now carrying a little bit more than skin pathetically hanging from his bones. It had felt odd, for a while, to not feel the constant Hunger looming over him. It had accompanied him for so long it felt strange to be rid of it.
Gale did not miss it one bit. The fear of having it all taken away from him was sometimes all he could think about. He had drunk himself sick a few times, when the fear had become too much and he had tried to hoard as much blood inside him as he could, leaving him in a lethargic state, vulnerable in the middle of nowhere. When he had slowly dragged himself back to the settlement a few hours later, he’d felt nothing but shame and disgust at the realisation of what he had become.
Gale did not think about this either.
Gale was sitting on the edge of the settlement when Astarion approached him. He had known the elf had been in camp and he had done his best to ignore him, not trusting himself to not attack his executioner on sight should he come across him.
Astarion sat next to him, and stayed silent. Gale did the same, not eager to discover what the other spawn wanted with him.
The silence stretched for a long time before Astarion sighed and turned towards him. “I’m sorry, you know.”
Gale blinked, and threw a withering glance at the spawn next to him. Was this really all he had come here for? Pointless excuses? “I hope you don’t expect me to forgive you.”
“I simply thought you would appreciate hearing it,” Astarion answered. His expression was carefully blank, and when Gale met his eyes for a second he was back on his knees, with teeth in his neck and terror in his heart. Except the eyes weren’t shining anymore. And Cazador was dead. And Gale was free.
Gale pointedly kept his eyes forward after that, not meeting Astarion’s stare. He simply wished the other would go away, but he didn’t.
“Aren’t you angry?” Astarion asked after a few more minutes of silence. There was something odd in his tone. Gale did not care to find what it was.
“I’m furious. I hate what I’ve become. And I hate you for being the cause of this condition.”
Astarion flinched a bit, and Gale was disappointed at the lack of satisfaction it sparked within him. At least Astarion would leave now, he thought but was quickly proved wrong. Instead, the elf turned and went on his knees, facing Gale. “Don’t you want revenge?”
Did he want revenge? Maybe. But in a rare moment of honesty, Gale could admit to himself that he was simply so tired of it all. That all he wanted was to close his eyes and forget everything.
“You said it yourself,” continued Astarion after Gale’s obvious lack of reaction. “It’s my fault you’re here. I lured you into the palace because I thought you’d be easy prey. And you were. You followed me so eagerly.”
This time, it was Gale’s turn to flinch. He wanted to cover his ears and block everything out, to keep those cruel words from reaching him, but he found himself frozen in place. Astarion kept going, voice low and harsh.
“I still remember it all. The way you smiled. The way you kissed. You were so excited for me to touch you, to devour you. It was so pathetic. It was just a game and you-”
Gale’s mind was devoid of any rational thought as he threw himself at Astarion and punched him in the face. “Shut up!” He screamed, face deformed by anger and hatred as his sharp nails cut across the elf’s skin, drawing out crimson liquid. Everything he had been through, every day of rot and torment, it all converged into this moment. He held Astarion down by sitting on his stomach and drew blood from his flesh, again and again and again. His rage was blinding, it was all he could feel, all he could think about.
Astarion did not lift a finger to defend himself, and that only made Gale angrier. How dared he come and taunt him but not do anything to fight back? He put his palms on Astarion’s chest in an instinct he had long lost, and he let go.
Electricity ran through the elf’s chest as Gale cast Shocking Grasp.
And Gale froze.
He could feel the Weave around him. He could feel it sing in his ears. He could feel his power dance beneath his skin. It felt so familiar and yet so incredibly foreign. Like an old friend he couldn’t remember anything about, neither name nor presence or face, and yet had missed so intensely all the same.
How could he have forgotten this feeling?
All the fight disappeared from him as a sob shook his body.
He had forgotten the Weave. He had forgotten the one thing which had always been at his sides, his ever present companion.
He curled on himself, his clenched fists hitting Astarion’s chest without any strength behind them. He wept.
He lamented for a life he didn’t have anymore. He cried for a family that he would never see again. He grieved for the loss of his humanity. He wailed for the magic he had thought gone forever.
He cried, and cried and cried. Until there were no more tears to shed. And yet, the echoes of anguish in his mind he felt he would never be rid of shook his body all the same.
Only when he substantially calmed down did he feel Astarion’s arms around him, holding him loosely against his chest. He was silent, and covered in blood from the wounds Gale inflicted on him.
He looked heartbroken.
Gale said nothing. His body still shaking with sobs, he simply moved so he could circle Astarion with his own arms, and hid his head in his neck.
Astarion tensed for a second, before slowly rubbing his back. “I’m sorry,” he said once more. He sounded close to tears.
“I know,” answered Gale, quietly, faintly. “Me too.”
They stayed a long time like that, on the ground. Mourning what had been lost. What could have been, too.
“I should never have brought you to the palace,” added Astarion, later, his expression hidden from Gale’s eyes. “You didn’t deserve it. I just… I was too weak to defy him again. I was scared.”
Gale remembered his own pain. Cazador only tortured him once. He wondered what kind of treatment Astarion received, seeing the man everyday.
“I understand,” he simply said, because he truly did. “I… You were imprisoned, just like I was.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. Gale wasn’t sure he could ever forgive him. Maybe one day. In a year. In ten years. In a century. When he would have spent more time free than trapped. “I’m sorry for attacking you.”
Astarion chuckled. It was a wet and sad sound. “I wanted you to. I sought you out for that. I… I wanted punishment, I suppose.” He paused, before adding, lower. “I thought… I thought you’d want to get back at me.”
A shake of the head he knew Astarion would feel rather than see. “I think I’ve had enough violence in my life. Please don’t do that again.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry.”
Gale felt the arms that surrounded him squeeze him a bit tighter. He relished in it. When was the last time he had allowed himself to feel so close with someone?
He had to refrain himself from chuckling when he realised his last friendly touch had come from Astarion too.
“Why did you come to me?” He asked quietly after yet another moment of silence. “I’m certain there are quite a few people that would want to get back at you.”
“...You deserved closure. After you, I made sure to not give my conquests anything they could get emotionally attached to. I… I saw the way you looked at me that night. I thought it could help, if that boy managed to have his revenge.”
If Astarion had uttered those words a hundred and seventy years earlier, Gale would have most certainly felt mortified. Today, he only felt weariness.
“I’m not him anymore. I doubt there is anything left of him. I doubt there even is a ‘me’, sometimes.”
Gale felt Astarion shift from under him. He slowly pushed Gale away, breaking their embrace, and sat up while encouraging Gale to do the same. Once they were both sitting, Astarion offered his hands in front of him, for Gale to take. Gale only hesitated for a second before accepting the silent offer. Touch, he had found, seemed to calm him. He wasn’t sure if this was a conversation he could have without a warm presence at his side.
Astarion was not warm. Gale also had no warm memories of the man either, only fragments of a past long gone. And yet, there was something reassuring in his presence. As if Gale, after being nothing but a forgotten shell of centuries, was finally seen.
“I know how you feel. Trust me, I know. But I promise you there is still a you. You’ll just have to find him again.” Astarion was staring at him, Gale could feel it. His own eyes were on their linked hands. “It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But you will find him. And you will learn to love him once more. You’re more than what Cazador transformed you into.”
Gale felt incredibly small, all of a sudden. Silent tears he didn’t think he still had in him started to roll down in cheeks. Astarion said nothing, and Gale was grateful for it. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispered, voice croaking under the assault of emotions.
“I’ll help you,” answered Astarion, immediately, without as much as a millisecond of a doubt. Then, more quietly, he added. “If you’ll have me. Should you wish for me to go, I will. You’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want to.”
Gale took some time to think about it. He knew Astarion meant every word. But, in the end, there was very little to think about.
He slowly nodded, his eyes full of tears meeting Astarion’s soft gaze.
“I’d like that, I think.”
Astarion simply smiled, a miniscule thing but a smile all the same. They both stayed silent after that.
Gale’s eyes fell back on their linked hands. The path in front of him was long and arduous, he knew that. He would trip and fall and there was no guarantee he would ever reach the end.
But he wouldn’t be the only one walking it.