Chapter Text
Gale and Astarion were having a day of rest at the camp, while Tav and the others got up to who knows what. Something something Laezel found the Crecé and now her and Tav were off exploring. There were thudding explosions in the distance. Everything was fine.
But Gale realized, looking up from his tomes, that the view outside the abandoned temple of Lathander was spectacular . By forces either natural or magical, a great canyon had been carved, leaving pillars for the sun to slowly cast magnificent displays of light and shadow throughout the day. No wonder a temple to the sun god had been built here. Such a shame it had been abandoned, but the constantly upheaval of Faérun was rather cruel at times. Beautiful sights like these often went unappreciated.
Gale decided he would commit the image to the page. Now, Tav was their chronicaller, a foppish bardic girl who often spent nights scribbling in her books and humming tunes out on her lute. But Gale was no slouch when it came to the finer arts. His medium was just a mite bit more magical.
He drew the weave to a piece of parchment, using the same tricks one would use to make a minor illusion. Then he just… smudged it a bit. With charcoal and ink. It was a bit like tracing over reality. “Image bashing,” they called it at university, but he was old enough and spent long enough in the heavens that he assumed that slang had moved on without him.
Of course the day was long and he couldn't do that forever. So once the magnificent view was committed to paper, he looked about the camp.
And he saw Astarion was reading a book.
He read while standing. Book flipped open in one hand, the other caressing his chin. He paced as he read, in a small circle in front of his tent. And as far as Gale could tell, he was actually reading.
Gale smiled. He set aside his things and walked over to Astartion’s tent.
He said, “Never pegged you for a scholar, my vampiric friend.”
“Ha ha,” Astarion laughed flatly. “I’m bored . What else is there to do in this godsdamned camp?”
Glae glanced around. The other two men seemed to be keeping themselves occupied. Halsin had transformed into a cat and was wrestling with Scratch and the owlbear cub. Did they ever give it a name? Anyway. Wyll was, well Gale had seen him climbing trees, doing pull-ups. Now from the sound of it Wyll was jumping from branch to branch while flourishing his rapier at leaves. And was he… practicing quips?
“Well, seems our erstwhile companions are keeping active,” Gale said. “I’m sure Halsin or Wyll would be up for a spar, if you need the exercise.”
“I don’t exercise, if I can help it,” Astarion asserted. “Breaks are a thing to be savored. Thus,” he lifted his open book. “And thus,” he reached for a wine goblet set on a rock and emptied it down his throat.
“Well! I suppose I’m much the same. Being a wizard and all that.” Gale leaned to the side, trying to catch the book’s title. “What are you reading, by the way?”
Astarion tilted the book up, and Gale read the title with increasing incredulity.
“‘The Time of Troubles : The Fall and Rise of Faerun’s gods…’ It’s not a Volo title, is it? Wait, hang on… Is that the one by Heterodites the Elder? That’s not even a narrative accounting!”
“Pure fact,” Astarion said flatly. “Dry as a bone.”
“Why Astarion!” Gale cried, grinning. “I never took you for a lover of history!”
Astarion gave his high tittering laugh, and Gale knew he had done something wrong. It was like Astarion had slammed on a mask, his previously quiet and contemplative look replaced with one of violent mirth.
“You know, Gale,” Astarion shot, grinning with his fangs bared. “Do you think me some lover of lurid romance? That I cannot bear to read non fiction lest it be punched up by some puerile bard?”
“Now hang on,” Gale said, raising his hands defensively. “I know I’ve caused offense, and I wish to say that I am sorry for that. It’s just not every day I encounter a fellow lover of the classics.”
“You’d think you’d learn to appreciate a fellow when you find one, not insult them,” Astarion shot, still grinning wickedly.
“Yes, yes, you’ve all the right to dig at me,” Gale said. “Can we set my moment of foolishness aside for a moment? It feels like it’s been half an age since I’ve had a proper discussion over a good book.”
Finally, Astarion’s smile faded. Instead, his eyes flicked up and down Gale’s body, expression stone cold. What Gale would give to know what the man was thinking at that moment.
“Frankly… I would rather not,” Astarion said.
Gale was surprised. “And may I ask why?”
“I read for much the same reason I drink,” Astarion said, lifting his glass. “To not think anymore. And a… ‘discussion’ would require far too much thinking on my part.”
Gale didn’t quite know what to say to that. It was so diametrically opposed to his own voracious reading habit. He read to engage with the world, make it richer and more varied. To partake in reading as if it were a soporific no different from alcohol…
He felt a twinge of something for Astarion. Sorrow? Pity?
They weren’t close, Gale and Astarion. They had barely even met a week ago. Gale wasn’t one to pry, nor even to offer an unconditional helping hand as Tav would. But he could already sense in Astarion a pain much deeper and darker than his own troubles.
So, his companion being little more than a stranger, he offered the only small comfort he could.
“Well… alright. But I’ve got a goodly collection of books in my tent,” Gale said, motioning over his shoulder. “And Tav keeps picking up random books as well. If you’re in need of a good, ah… distraction. I have some recommendations.”
“I just might take you up on that,” Astarion replied. “Not like there’s a library to peruse, out here in the woods. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
Gale smiled and nodded. Then, he laughed, a joke coming to mind.
“But no Volo!” Gale said.
Astarion laughed as well. “Gods no! Did you know, Gale?” He grinned in a conspiratorial way. “He left an entire stack of his books here after Tav’s impromptu surgery. All signed.” He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. “We should have let the goblins eat him.”
Gale couldn't help but laugh as well. “As if we’d be free of Tav’s rival so easily!”
“Uhg, they’re rivals ?” Astarion gave a disgusted look. “Don’t belittle our precious Tav like that. She’s much better than that fop.”
“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear that.”
“I know! I should tell her…”
Gale returned to his tent, and when he looked back at the pacing vampire, he was captivated. Astarion’s face had fallen back into a quiet contemplative look… and Gale couldn’t stop staring. It was his focus, Gale decided. The peace in that expression. Like watching the man sleep, his expression fully at rest.
Gale decided to try and draw him as well, smudging Astarion’s sharp features in charcoal and ink.
Perhaps they were just two lonely souls, both seeking to fill a void left by the scars of their old lives. But perhaps it was just something like a happy accident. In each other, they had just found something strange and complimentary.
They were often brought on adventure together, and often camped together. They were rarely separated. They exchanged books, and despite Astarion insisting he preferred otherwise, Gale could easily pull the man into conversation. Astarion eventually joked that they both just loved the sound of their voices too much.
While it was Tav who defended Astarion from the drow hemo, and while Gale did also invite Tav to enjoy the illusory scenery before his supposed demise… Gale later invited Astarion. A friend closer even than Tav. And when Astarion pressed for a more intimate relationship, Gale accepted, and crafted a much more lurid and ethereal experience. Almost as if he had been thinking about spending that time with Astarion for a long while.
This is not a story about how Gale and Astarion fell in love.
This is a story about how Astarion decided to become a magistrate.