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Life Lived in the Shadows of Death
The first time Astarion wheedled into his tent it was in the dead of night. Gale was thumbing idly through the memoirs of the Archmage Briel, a book he’d call a comfort, frequently turned to in times of emotional distress. The first time he read it was as a child, when his parents denied him a cat. He had been, as children so frequently are, inconsolable. As he’d grown, so had his indignities: the most recent re-read had followed being cast out by Mystra and, as added insult to injury, condemned to death by the orb. Having now informed the camp of his condition, he was once again choosing the safety of his tent and a good book over the heat of the fire, lest they have too much time to look at him like the ticking clock he was.
"There's my little treat -"
A hand in air cut his visitor short. "Save it for your next victim, Astarion. I have no interest in your flirtations, attentions, or anything else you've come here to do or say."
Astarion's trademark purr disappeared. He rolled his eyes and stood in front of Gale, arms crossed. Fine, straight down to brass tacks.
"Charming. I'm not here to seduce you anyway, though it's always an added bonus. As for what I have to say, I think you'll change your tune when I've had my way with your mind, if not your body. I've come to…make a proposition."
Gale said nothing, closing the cover of his book and maintaining his place with his thumb. Interested, but untethered. Astarion took it as a sign to continue.
“The rest of them, out there, they’re not like us - oh, drop your eyebrows and open your ears. They’re not like me, certainly, and I have a feeling they’re not like you either. They want to be heroes. They want to, I don’t know, save refugee tieflings, and dogs, and druids, and probably the world, if they find the time. They’re stupid. Uninspired. They see these tadpoles as a burden, not as an opportunity.”
“I thought you liked the dog.”
“Th-” Astarion stopped short, rage flaring his nostrils. “The dog!?”
Gale raised his hand in mock retreat, finally putting the book aside. Perhaps he had written the vampire off too quickly - what he lacked in charm, he had in cunning. Astarion’s eyes followed it to the side table and he straightened slightly, confidence growing as he realised Gale was now giving him his full attention.
“All I’m saying is: I don’t know when, and I don’t know what, but I know we’ll have some choices to make with regards to our little visitors. The powers they give us, the ways they change us. That orb… I know you told a tale of woe out there, but I smell something different. I smell power. Ambition.”
Gale’s hand went by default to his chest, and the vampire grinned. “I’ve been watching you, Gale. A lot more closely than you’ve been watching me, it seems. If and when the time comes, remember - you’re not the only one who sees a future where you hold the world in your hands. Spare a thought for that, rather than giving it all up so some people you just happened to share captivity with think you’re a good man. I can tell there’s more to you than that. I see you for the man you really are. For what you could be.”
As the vampire finished speaking, Gale realised he had moved towards Astarion, leaning eagerly into the words as if under a spell. Astarion had moved towards him too, close enough to touch, if the mood struck either of them to make the first move. The wizard cleared his throat, an attempt to regain composure, wrest back some semblance of authority. “And just how are you so sure you know me, Astarion?”
“Because,” Astarion said, holding out his hand and letting a locket fall from his palm with a dramatic flourish, allowing it to swing back and forth like a pendulum. The orb sent shockwaves down Gale’s arms, sensing the magic imbued within it. “I know what it’s like. The hunger.”
-----
The Annals of Karsus
Astarion’s next proposition came in the middle of the day. They had reached Baldur’s Gate with the Netherbrain front and centre of their collective consciousness, and with Ketheric Thorm’s netherstone promising more to come. After a visit to Sorcerous Sundries, the rest of the group had continued on into the city, with the wizard returning to their rooms above Elfsong Tavern to devour everything he could from Lorroakan’s pilfered treasure.
Without warning, Astarion was suddenly on the bed beside him, resting his chin light as a whisper on Gale’s shoulder, eyes scanning the page. Shock hit Gale like a thunderwave, the power in the orb flaring in response. Slamming the book shut, he turned quickly to face his favourite intruder.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a man in my condition - I could have levelled the city!”
Astarion lay back on his elbows, crossing his legs and smiling. He had stopped by Gale’s tent many times since his first visit, though Gale rarely returned the favour. His attempt at retaining the upper hand. Astarion saw through it, and indulged him, against his better judgement. There was something about the wizard that continued to intrigue him, and with every passing day he looked more and more like the road to freedom. An initial uneasy camaraderie had given way to a bizarre, almost animalistic level of trust as the two spent clandestine nights in each other’s company, bonding over a lifetime of striving, denials, hunger, ambition, rage. The versions of themselves that lived after sunset, behind dropped tent coverings, were antithetical to those that fought alongside their gallant campmates after dawn broke.
“I didn’t even do any sneaking - you were too preoccupied to notice. Buried in your new trinket.” Astarion patted the mattress beside him and Gale laid back, gently pressing his shoulder into Astarion's. It was a position they found themselves in often, dancing close enough to intimacy to create a gentle hum of electricity, but never closing the gap. Astarion put his lips almost to Gale's ear.
“What have we found?”
“We?”
“I’m hurt. I’ve come to think of us as a “we” - we’re certainly not a…” he gestured to the other beds with faint disgust. “They”
Gale hummed, enjoying the thought. He had been Chosen, once, and cast out as a reward for seeking to rattle the chains that bound him. Had he ever really been a "we", even then? Had Mystra ever thought of him as more than a puppet? With Astarion, he could speak freely, and be spoken to freely in return. There was no pretense. They could be bare before each other, allowing their weaknesses and strengths to flow together, be reforged as something else, a seed that would grow. “An increasingly easy partnership to be sure.”
“I’ve found it very easy. You’d find it easier if you stopped pretending to be good.” He allowed his knee to drop, brushing his thigh against Gale’s. It would be much easier if he could just seduce the wizard to get him on-side, but sadly he was proving far too intelligent to fall for it. Though, Astarion would admit only to himself and only if he let his mind wander, after two hundred years of sexual service, touch that went nowhere and happened only when he wanted it to was oddly comforting. He always took the lead in their little encounters, but that was fine. He wasn't serving Gale by seeking him out. He was serving himself, and ensuring Gale remained within his orbit.
The wizard wanted to be a good boy, to serve a master. He had however, shown his hand, as so many do, when it came down to saving his own skin. Service to his goddess stopped at suicide. Self preservation won out. Astarion had gone to his tent that night while the others turned their faces away from what had almost happened. He spoke his honeyed words, let the wizard self-flagellate, and eventually led him towards the truth. Now the only master Gale served was the one they shared - ambition. Power. Hunger.
"My suspicions were correct," Gale started, bringing the vampire's wandering brain back to the present. "The brain, the stones - it's all linked to Karsus. The crown is Netherese magic, with almost unlimited potential. If I returned it to Mystra-"
"You'd be a bigger idiot than I thought possible. She makes you weak, Gale. She wants you weak."
Gale turned to Astarion. He was unsure, but his eyes made clear what he needed to hear. "What would you have me do?"
"Could you control the crown? With the stones?"
"I … I believe I could."
Astarion raised his hand to Gale's cheek, fingertips tracing the blue veins that ran from his below his eye to where the orb lay. He held his hand there, flat against the wizard's chest. Gale shivered, only in part to because of the coldness that radiated from the vampire's fingers. A warmth began to spread in his abdomen. He felt like he was signing a contract he couldn't possibly begin to read.
Astarion locked his eyes to Gale's, and in a low murmur, a seduction with two centuries of practice behind it, purred: "I believe you could too."
Gale's eyes lit up like fire, and Astarion lightly placed his lips against the wizard's neck, feeling the thrum of his blood. Gale let out a steadying breath, and did not move away. Good boy. Astarion broke the embrace first, laying back fully as Gale returned to the Annals like he was starving. I thought you liked the dog, indeed.
-----
The Scroll of Vellioth
The third and final proposition was the first Gale initiated, and the last that was required. They had infiltrated Szarr Palace and made their way to Cazador's underground rooms, learned of this 7000 spawn. Through the tadpole, Gale could feel the desperate scramble in Astarion's mind, despite his purpose having been so clear before arriving within the walls.
Gale had watched Astarion's panic rise in steady increments, due, he knew, to his humiliations being laid bare. In the vampire's darkest moments, in his tent, alone together, Gale had seen the same look in his eyes. He could usually wipe it away with either a flippant comment or a meaningful promise, depending on Astarion's mood. Now, with Cazador, the ritual, 7000 spawn, and ascension on the cards, Gale had an underlying fear that Astarion was going to make a mistake.
As the others left the last of the private rooms and headed to meet Astarion's fate, Gale began to read the scroll of rules Cazador had inflicted upon his errant children. His pause seemed to give Astarion the same, and the vampire stopped at the door, turning towards Gale.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough. To complete the ritual."
Gale crumpled the parchment in his hand, letting it fall to his feet as he crossed towards the Astarion. This, he knew, was not the time for the softly spoken wizard that did the pale elf's bidding. Gale grabbed Astarion's upper arm, fingers digging in as the muscles beneath them tensed.
"You are more than strong enough to complete the ritual. They," he cocked his head towards the open doorway, "Will tell you it's a mistake. They will make you weak. They want us weak, remember? They want you to remain a spawn forever, and let the promise of ascension slip away from you because they cannot comprehend that power can be righteous, and earned. They think that somehow seven thousand starving spawn released on the world is justice for two hundred years of your torture."
He could see uncertainty in Astarion's eyes. The flayings and the putrid rats had worked in keeping him under Cazador's thumb so well that even in the face of certain victory, he remained scared to claim it. Gale pulled him closer, nose to nose, and looked into his eyes.
"Together, Astarion. That's a promise. The Crown of Karsus. A Vampire Ascendant. Think of what we could do. What we could change. A crown for your head, a crown for mine. Two kingdoms, shared. We would be Gods together."
Gale closed the gap between them, leading for the first time, lightly brushing his lips against Astarion's and eliciting a hitching sound from somewhere deep inside the vampire's chest. The pale elf's eyes remained unfocused, as if he was looking both through Gale and inside his own mind. The parasite twitched. He was making a decision. Gale needed to end this.
"To never feel the hunger again. To walk in the sun. To live without fear. To have power in its purest form."
Astarion seemed to return to himself piece by piece, his eyes shining like Lathander's light on Gale. He dropped his chin, bared his fangs. A predator again. He covered Gale's hand with his own and nodded.
They headed out without another word, and without another word Gale let Astarion into his mind to carve the infernal contract into Cazador's back. Without another word, Astarion ascended, and as he thrummed with power, the orb thrummed in return. When the ritual was complete, without sparing a glance at the other companions, Astarion turned to Gale. They didn't need to make a plan. They didn't need to speak another word. What was to come had been in the making since the first night Astarion sauntered into Gale's tent.
The stones were next, then the Brain, then the Crown. No one left to stop them. An army of spawn at their feet. Both could feel the next few days click into place, followed by the next millennium.
Gods. Together.