Chapter Text
“Darling,” said Astarion. “You’re late.”
Gale, who was about five minutes later home than he normally was, gave the vampire the most baleful stare he could manage. The man was lounging on the windowsill in the dark, translucent in the early dusk, with a slight breeze from the open window playing through his white curls. He had a bottle of wine dangling between two fingers, swinging gently as he shifted.
At Gale’s look, he pulled it to his lips and took a deep swig. The effect had worn thin the third time it greeted him upon returning home. By now, the cliché was more amusing than anything else. He was still a terribly beautiful man and cut a striking figure, though Gale did prefer the image he’d cut in the winter, when he’d first moved in. The light from the fire they’d lit for warmth had played over his cheekbones much more gently than the bright white of his enchanted lamps. He’d noticed Astarion less, back then, or perhaps been less willing to indulge himself in that noticing. But repetition did have a way of breeding habits. And it could hardly harm anyone, it wasn’t as though Astarion could read his mind. Not anymore, at least.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “Tara out?”
“Visiting your mother.”
“Delightful.” He set his satchel down on the table and wandered in the direction of the armchair, settling into it with a huff.
“Children misbehaving again?” Astarion drawled, eyes idly tracing along the ceiling. “The offer to bite them still stands, you know.”
He chuckled a little at that. “My thanks, but the situation is well in hand. The threat of imminent detonation appears to be holding the line for me.” He paused. “Did Tara say if she’d be back for dinner?”
“No.”
“No as in –“
Astarion shot him an exasperated look of his own. “No, as in no she won’t be back for ‘dinner’.”
“Just the two of us, then?” said Gale. He tried to remember what food he had left over. Cooking for one was always a miserable experience.
“I’m afraid it’ll just be you. I’ve been craving something a little fresher than what we’ve got squirrelled away in the cellar. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of tucking yourself in. Darling.”
“Ah.” He swallowed a pang of disappointment at that. “Well. I’d better scrounge together something for myself to eat then. Enjoy your, ah, night out?”
“And you’ll just stay here, by yourself. Let me guess, reading essays?” Astarion’s tone was suddenly extremely sharp. He stood and stalked over to Gale, depositing his empty bottle by his chair. “Be a dear, and get rid of that for me.”
“I think you can manage the trip to the kitchen yourself, Astarion,” Gale said, deliberately mildly.
He pouted. “But you’ll be going there anyway. And besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do.”
“It will hardly take you a moment.” He settled back, doing his best to imitate an immovable object.
Astarion scowled for a moment, shifting his weight onto one foot. And then he pasted on a toothy smile. Perfectly charming, and utterly fake. “You know, we could eat together. After all, I’m looking at a perfectly flush source of blood.”
“ That is not on the table, Astarion,” said Gale. This was certainly a new angle of attack for Astarion, and not one that he found himself particularly caring for.
“But I’ve been dying for a taste. And it would be so much more fun for you than sitting around in this lonely, lonely tower, all alone.”
“I said no.” He surprised himself with the bite to his tone. He’d been doing so well, under the unexpected assault. Somehow Astarion still managed to find new weak spots, even when he thought he’d prepared for everything. But there was an easy counterspell to this one. “Besides, you were right. I do have a veritable mountain of marking to get through. I’m not sure I’d be particularly good company. No, you enjoy yourself.”
Astarion dropped the smile like a stone into calm waters, face rippling out into something utterly surly. And then he snatched the bottle back up. “Fine.” And then, dripping with enough sarcasm that even Shadowheart might have been envious, he said, “Have a nice night.” With that, he stormed off, banging the door behind him.
Gale, bemused, sagged back into the chair, breathing in the silence. Mystra above, had this all been a terrible idea. Sure, when he’d invited Astarion to come and live with him, he hadn’t really anticipated certain developments. They’d hardly been friends, besides a mutual enjoyment of picking apart second rate novels that they’d discovered at the Elfsong.
There hadn’t been any attraction there. Not a jot of it, beyond what honesty called for - Astarion had always been an aesthetically pleasing individual - but Gale was someone who wanted romance. Domesticity. Comfort! And Astarion had never been that. Still wasn’t - he certainly hadn’t made himself the easiest housemate. Between the bouts of temper, the constant fights about cleaning up after himself, the sulking in his room - Astarion was painfully far from any fantasy lover he had ever dreamed up. But then he’d wait for Gale to get home, or fix a tear in his jacket (because Mending apparently had no notion of how fabric should move), or sit smirking at the dinner table and needle Tara and do his level best to make Gale laugh so that she’d turn her disapproval on him as well and -
Well. Domesticity. Of an odd, yet increasingly welcome sort.
He groaned before pushing himself upright, and making his way down the stairs to his impressively well stocked kitchen. The bottle had been left on the table, still smelling of the last dregs of wine left in it. He washed it out, and put it with the others for recycling. There was quite a heap growing. Still, that was a conversation for another evening. His cupboards were always well stocked with leftovers, a side effect of the fact he generally cooked for one, and so he kept his life simple and reheated some stew before settling down with a stack of marking and an eye on the clock. It’d do him no good to stay up late, not when he had a 9am lecture to give in the morning.
At about 10pm Tara slipped through the door, hopping up onto the table next to him.
“I take it that he has gone out,” she said, with only a little disdain in her voice.
There wasn’t much point in retreading this ground. “Off hunting,” said Gale, settling back and scratching at her head.
“Hm.” The single syllable was weighty, though Gale could not tell quite what its load was made of.
“Tara,” he said, slightly warningly, and almost despite himself. “He has been behaving himself.”
“Goodness. I shudder to think of what he was like as a travelling companion then.” She flicked her tail slightly, sitting down. “I take it that’s his handiwork?” She gestured with her head towards the bottle, sitting beside a few others by the back door. “I pity the poor wine cellar.”
“He’s coping, Tara. In his own, Astarion, way.“
“And what a wonderful excuse that is. Goodness. Well, you know, I’ve had a few terrible shocks of my own over the past few years. Perhaps I should go and find some pigeons to eat. I’m sure if the postal service complains, I can just tell them that I’m ‘coping’.”
“It’s not like he can go outside!” Gale stood, grabbing his bowl and heading over the tap to rinse it out.
“Because that wonderful lover of his could kill an Elder Brain but baulked at a vampire lord? If they couldn’t tolerate him, I hardly see why we sho-“
The bowl cracked in his hands, as they began to heat up. It silenced her, and him.
He missed Tav, then and there, with a burning passion that scored its way through his insides and threatened to choke him.
“Don’t,” he said, in the end. “Just, just don’t.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Dekarios,” said Tara.
“You know, he hasn’t been able to so much as visit their grave.” He kept his tone conversational. “Not that they’re buried there, of course. But the funeral was held during the day, and of course he’d already fled the city by that point. So, yes, I am aware that he is not always the most ideal of house guests. Gods know that I have had my own difficulties with him. But they would be furious with me if they learned that I’d left him out on the streets to be snatched up by any passing hunter and dragged back to Cazador. They might not have been able to kill that bastard before they died, but they still chose Astarion, while they were alive, Tara, and this is me honouring that.”
Magic wisped out from his fingers, tracing purple along the cracks in the bowl and sealing them up. Behind him, Tara sat in silence. Regret welled up – he was more than aware that he himself had not been the easiest person to live with since Tav and Karlach had died. Before then, even. Frankly, he had never been particularly easy to stomach in large doses. Not as Gale of Waterdeep, chosen of Mystra, not as Gale-the-Walking-Talking-Explosion, and not now as Gale Dekarios, professor of conjuration who knew the person who saved the world before they died.
There was a spike of pain in his hand, and he looked down to see blood beginning to spot along his palm where the sharp edges of the broken bowl had cut it as they shifted. He set down the now-fixed crockery, running the tap on the slight injury.
“It is your tower,” said Tara, in the end. Her voice was quiet, and as he looked back at her, she was facing the window.
He had, he realised with a swooping feeling, not been kind. “It’s our tower, Tara. And if you truly feel this strongly about him staying here, I will try to find him somewhere else to go. To Lae’zel, maybe. I know she and Shadowheart have kept in contact, and frankly if Cazador can find him on the Astral plane and wrest him away from dragon riding gith’yanki, then I’m not sure why he hasn’t burned my humble abode down around us already.”
“I suppose we can continue to avoid each other,” Tara said. “For now.”
The cut was already beginning to stop bleeding. Just a shallow one, after all.
“Thank you,” he said.
He packed away his marking and carried his briefcase upstairs with him, leaving it waiting by the door for tomorrow, before getting ready for bed. Tara hopped in beside him, curling up as he dozed off to sleep.
Astarion was tucked away in his light-proof room when Gale woke up, and swore violently when he knocked.
“Colloquium this evening,” he said. “If I’m completely honest, I can’t be asked to go to the dinner, so I shouldn’t be back too late.”
Something thudded against the other side of the door. “Bugger off!” Astarion called.
Gale hovered there for a moment. Should he ask if the hunt went well? They did have blood stored downstairs in case Astarion needed it. But no. Never let it be said that Gale Dekarios did not know how to take a hint, and so he left him to his trance and made his way down for breakfast.
His 9am was all but empty, and the few students present were half asleep as he talked them through grounded and non grounded conjuration spells – those which had a vessel, and those which didn’t, respectively.
When he’d told everyone what he’d been up to, at that party Withers had thrown for them all, Wyll had been surprised to learn exactly what he’d been teaching. After all, the Gale he had known had been a dedicated Abjurer. And, in his stories of his life before, he’d told them all about his research into Illusion. But there were mistakes to be put right, and so he had become a conjurer. Someday, he hoped, he would return to calling up images of cats.
They filed out silently once their hour of purgatory was done, leaving Gale to wipe off the chalkboard that was every magician’s delight. He wasn’t sure who was in here next, certainly no one had the room in the next hour as he’d never faced any complaints when he’d run over his allotted time, but given his reputation, it had always seemed wise to leave a good impression on his colleagues.
“You’re quite the teacher, I must say.” He spun at the unexpected voice. There was a tall man – an elf – with long dark hair, sitting in the back row. He certainly hadn’t been there during the lecture, Gale wasn’t quite so unobservant as to miss a new face in a crowd of five people.
“And who might you be?” he asked, keeping his posture relaxed as he mentally rifled through his spellbook.
“Many apologies.” The man smiled, thin lips curving with an uneasy tightness. “Loryn Tarre. A guest speaker at the conjuration colloquium this evening. I was told that I should catch one of your talks, if at all possible.”
He riffled through his memory, trying to come up with a match for the name. It did not ring familiar, though he could hardly claim to know every conjurer in the realm – or beyond it. “Thank you,” he said in the end, though more for want of anything more substantial to offer.
“I must say, it is… admirable for someone of your talents to dedicate yourself to teaching.” Tarre stood, and began making his way towards the front of the classroom. Gale was unsure what to say to that, and so continued packing up. The man passed through the summer morning’s sunlight, hair flickering gold as he moved towards him. “You were Mystra’s chosen, were you not?”
“Are,” Gale corrected, somewhat absent-mindedly. “Sort of.” Then, regretting it, he said, “Though it’s somewhat of a private matter.”
“Of course,” said Tarre. “I can only imagine it would be. You were her lover before, though, or so I hear. Are you still –“
He slammed shut his briefcase. “That is an entirely private matter. A pleasure to meet you, and best of luck with your talk. Good day.”
And with that, he stormed out, leaving the board half wiped and stalked off towards his office. The next few hours were spent in a fit of half working, half staring at the wall and wondering what Tav would have said about his current working relationship with a goddess. It was their voice, after all, that had made him turn down Mystra’s offer of joining her in Elysium. Their instinctive distrust of authority, of anyone in any position of power. Almost as soon as he’d told them the truth about his relationship with her, his folly, they’d immediately started asking questions about how old he’d been when she reached out to him, how old he was when they became lovers, what their relationship had been like. And they’d only glanced over at a clearly eavesdropping Astarion once or twice.
They had killed themself rather than go back to Bhaal.
Perhaps they would have wanted him to make one of his conditions for returning the crown that she never contact him again. She probably would have been perfectly happy to do so – he couldn’t imagine she enjoyed this odd, stilted thing that they had any more than he did.
Or, perhaps, she hadn’t noticed at all. She was a goddess. Things must look very different from her perspective. Not that he’d know, of course.
In theory, he was meant to be writing up a paper on the differences between conjured and illusory sound - subtle, to be sure, but fascinatingly divergent at their fundamentals. With all the experimental side done, there was no reason for actually getting the damn thing into a publishable state to be this painfully reminiscent of pulling teeth and yet, somehow, it seemed the most arduous part of the process.
Giving up, he checked the time and noted that it was 4pm. There was a departmental tea every day, and so he headed for that, nodding at a few of those academics he was on good terms with as he gathered up a scone and strong, black tea before retreating into a corner to eat in silence.
It was hardly the first time he’d done this, and most people at this point knew that he was not much one for conversation when in this sort of mood and so left him alone whenever it wasn’t urgent. Apparently, Loryn Tarre had not got the message. The elf brazenly walked over, settling down in a chair near him.
“I felt that I had to apologize for earlier,” he said, without any preamble. “It certainly was not my intention to come off so forcefully, nor to pry where I was not invited.”
“I’m sure,” said Gale.
“What you and your friends did in Baldur’s Gate was truly remarkable. I confess I found myself a little starstruck. And, of course, it is my field that you have chosen to enter. I am very curious to see what insights you have.”
The man was leaning forward in his seat, almost pushing into Gale’s personal space. His eyes were fixed on Gale’s, and there was something about them that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. They stuck in his mind. Unremarkable eyes, by any metric. What colour were they – brown, maybe?
He shook his head just a little, to clear it. “I was happy to play my modest part. Unfortunately, if it’s heroes you want, you would be better off looking in Baldur’s Gate.”
“Of course,” said Tarre. “But I am, at heart, an academic. I am not sure how much I would have to say to a cleric of Selune.” He sat back, then stood. Somehow it still felt as though he was looming over Gale. “Anyway, with my apologies conveyed, I am sure I will see you at the group dinner.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t tend to make a habit of attending the colloquium dinners.” He smiled as apologetically as he could manage.
“Really?” said Tarre, not sounding all that surprised. “Whyever not?”
Gale picked a crumb off his plate. “It’s nothing all that interesting. I live with friends - my familiar, Tara - and we try to eat together when possible.”
“But surely you must spend almost every day with her!” The elf suddenly stopped, and for an instant looked terribly young, a flush spreading up his shallow cheeks to his high, vicious cheekbones. “I am being far too forward again, forgive me. I had simply hoped to have the opportunity to discuss my talk with you while I’m here.”
An elf as he was, Loryn Tarre was doubtless several decades older than Gale at the very least. And yet, he reminded Gale of nothing more than a graduate student, someone trying to find their feet in an often rather intimidating community of academics. If the man was being invited to speak, he was certainly at the very least established wherever it was he had been plucked from. Probably not hugely eminent, though, given that Gale still found himself unable to place the name. And Gale was, despite all his best intentions, unfortunately a bit of a celebrity in these circles. There was something about the ambiguity of his status in Mystra’s eyes that seemed to fire every single gossip mill in every department common room in Faerun. And, as his mother was prone to reminding him, that did come with a certain amount of responsibility. Besides, Astarion had made it clear he was having the sort of day where he had no desire to see Gale, or even acknowledge that he existed.
“I will leave you to your tea,” said Tarre. “It was a pleasure to meet you, no matter how briefly.”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to miss one dinner with Tara,” Gale said. “And it does save me from having to cook.”
Tarre clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! I expect your honest thoughts on my work.”
“Of course. Now, I’m afraid I really must be getting on.” He stood, gathering up his plate and mug and taking them over to the construct that handled the washing up. It took them from him with an irritated beep and trundled off in the direction of the sink.
Thankfully, his afternoon was more productive than his morning - one of his colleagues came by for a discussion about his research which did get a few of the metaphorical brain worms squirming and by the time he dragged himself down to the lecture hall they used for their monthly colloquium, the faint sense of unease that had dogged the beginning of the day had dissipated, for the most part.
Tarre’s talk was, in a word, fine. Uninspired. He’d apparently been researching using extant intangibles as an anchor for summoning, currently focused on concepts and proper nouns. The idea was highly derivative of an already second-rate paper he’d read in his twenties, though he couldn’t quite recall who by, and if the man wanted to take it anywhere, he would need to talk to a practitioner of divine magic. His ideas were firmly in the practical grey zone of the theoretical binary, but he was clearly coming at them from the arcane angle exclusively. Gale suspected that if the man talked to the right cleric, he’d be directly informed that that was already how they approached summoning and tossed out without so much as a ‘by your leave’.
It was odd, though. The man seemed to be presenting this as though it were all fully novel research. No references, or citations, and no mentions of collaborators of any kind. If this were a student, he would have had stern words for them about placing their research in context, but perhaps Tarre hadn’t realised that there were other people working in similar areas? Strange, though.
It ended, and if it weren’t for the fact he’d already promised Tarre his thoughts, he would have put it out of his mind and marked the man down as an odd, and unpromising voice in the choir of academics along the Sword Coast. Already somewhat dreading having to make conversation with him for the entire evening, he ducked out of the lecture theatre before anyone else and hurried off in the direction of their usual haunt.
The tavern they went to for these things was, in a phrase, cheap and not particularly cheerful. The waitstaff seemed to consider the horde of academics who descended on them once a month their opponents in a battle they could not win, and so could only hope to make as their interminable foes pay as bloody a toll as possible. Their food came intermittently, did not tend to be what they had actually ordered, and any complaints were met with such belligerence that the average attendee, being a group of wizards who had chosen a lifetime of study over power, tended to fade back under the onslaught and meekly accept whatever it was that they had been given.
Gale stirred his cold bouillabaisse somewhat morosely. While he tended to be less elaborate when cooking just for himself, he was certain he could offer a better showing than this back at home. Tarre, meanwhile, seemed to be taking great pleasure in a greasy looking duck confit. And yet, for all his occasional noises of appreciation, his manners remained neat and restrained.
“I was promised feedback, as I recall, Professor Dekarios,” said Tarre, dabbing at his lips with his napkin.
He winced at that. “Gale, please. And yes, I had a few thoughts - let me pull out my notes.” He rummaged in his briefcase.
Tarre laughed. “Then you must call me Loryn, Gale. Am I going to regret asking while sober? No - I’m sure I will. Waiter!” He snapped his fingers.
Gale winced. Tarre - Loryn did not appear to have picked up on the party line of ‘don’t antagonise the goodly employees of the Prawn and Lobster’.
“Ah, there you are. A glass of Berduskan Dark for me, and one for my friend here.”
“Fine,” said the young half orc who was waiting their table. “Anything else?”
“That will be all,” said Loryn.
“Thank you, I suppose?” said Gale, who had not particularly been planning on drinking that evening. It tended to make his inevitable confrontations with Astarion all the more explosive. Still, he’d built up quite the tolerance while travelling; Tav had very much enjoyed evening meals that consisted almost entirely of wine and spirits dug out of dusty crypts. One glass, even of something strong, was hardly going to get him so much as tipsy.
“Of course,” said Loryn. “Now, please, your thoughts?”
“I mean, I had a few notes. Mostly that you’re circling around the realm of divine magic - rooting things in abstract concepts. Maybe something to talk to a paladin about? It certainly seems more analogous to the concept of an oath than channelling magic through theorems and component pouches.”
“An excellent insight,” said Loryn. Gale had thought it rather obvious, if he was being honest, but bit that back.
The half orc came back with their drinks.
“Cheers,” Loryn said, and Gale knocked his glass against the other man’s and took a sip of the deep, tart wine.
“There was a paper, published– what– fifteen years ago about the same topic. I’m stretching my memory a little, I’m afraid, but I do recall it being on a similar theme to what you presented today -” a very similar theme, he did not say - “and it might be very worth your while to track it down.”
“Do you recall who by?” asked Tarre. “I only ask, because I had some work published on these ideas around then, and as far as I was aware, I was the only one in that specific field.”
“No, no I can’t quite remember the name. Maybe it was yours, then.” Gale didn’t think so, he was certain he’d never heard of a Loryn Tarre. Something about the way the man said it seemed forced. Like he’d been taken aback by Gale’s mention of the paper. Odd. He drank some more.
“Perhaps. What an amusing coincidence if so.” Tarre drank as well. “Delicious. Oh, forgive me. I find I need to, ah, relieve myself.”
“Of course.” Gale leaned to the side to let the man slip out, and he vanished off in the direction of the outhouses.
His other neighbour, a doctoral candidate who had been rather unsubtly trying to make eye contact all evening, took the opportunity to ask his advice on her research, which he was all too happy to provide, every so often taking another sip of his drink. He noticed, briefly and out of the corner of his eye, Loryn talking to that half orc waiter. Probably complaining about the food! Talking this much dried out his throat. He grabbed his cup again. Odd - he’d thought it was nearly empty - and took another drink. He’d have to be careful, it was starting to go to his head. After all, his thin and mostly uneaten fish soup was hardly that filling. And then the young woman mentioned her thoughts on summoning versus binding, and he was sucked back into the conversation.
Tarre slid back in, smiling a thin lipped greeting at the student. He didn’t talk to anyone else, instead clearly listening in on their discussion, though without offering anything. When the conversation naturally ended, he caught Gale’s eyes and smiled.
“I was right. You are an excellent teacher. To our students!” He grabbed his glass again, lifting it. Gale resisted the urge to sigh and joined him in his cheers, drinking deeply.
“Although,” he said, lowering his cup, “I hasten to point out that she is not my student.”
“Is she not?” asked Loryn.
“No. But we do try to have a mutually supportive community in the department. Far too few of us for everyone to not know each other.” He drank again, sort of with the aim of finishing the drink, only to note that there was still far more than he had anticipated left.
“Do you have any students?” Tarre glanced into Gale’s glass. “Ah, the wine is running low! Waiter! A top up for both of us.”
“No - no - oh.” The half orc came back over with the bottle and, ignoring Gale, filled both cups up to their brims. “I think I’ve had more than enough.”
“Nonsense,” said Loryn, brightly. “What is it you Waterdhavians say? Bottoms up!”
Increasingly sluggishly, Gale raised his glass and took another sip, wincing slightly at the taste.
“So, students?” asked Tarre.
“Hm?” Ah. Loryn’s earlier question. “No. No, none yet. I mean, I haven’t even had the job for a year yet. And, besides, I’ve no real need for funding. I could never earn another coin for the rest of my life, and spend as lavishly as I could ever possibly want, and still have plenty left.”
Loryn smiled at that. “Ah, the hero’s fortune. I suppose, if it’s just you and your familiar, you must live rather frugally. No extra mouths to feed.”
He bobbed his head a little. “Well, there’s us and - ah.” He cut himself off and drank.
“Us and…?” Loryn prompted.
He winced, and tried to hide it, but suspected he was not entirely successful. “I have a housemate. No one particularly interesting, I just like - like to have someone watching over the place while I’m away, and I do travel more these days.” A slightly awkward lie, but hopefully Loryn wouldn’t call him out on it. He finished the rest of his glass. “I’m sorry, I think I’m a little drunk. I should head home. Apologies, all.”
He stood, waving off the graduate student and a few of his colleagues. Loryn stood as well.
“Goodness. I should have said something. I can hardly let you go home alone in this state. Come, I’ll walk you to yours.”
Gale waved his hand. “No need. I’m sure the walk will sober me up.” Fishing for an excuse, he said, “And besides, I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way.”
“Not at all,” said Tarre. “Where do you live?”
He did not particularly want to tell Loryn his address, but could not think of a single excuse that wouldn’t seem terribly rude. Reluctantly, he gave it.
“Aha! What a wonderful coincidence. I’m renting rooms only a few minutes away, in the Siren’s Lure.”
“Of course you are,” said Gale. He contemplated throwing up, before deciding that it would be utterly undignified. What sort of person got drunk at a department event? How terribly embarrassing.
It was an unfortunately warm night, to the point where the air inside the tavern was cooler than that outside, and the world swam unfortunately as he walked out. Loryn put a hand on his shoulder, and he resisted his urge to shrug it off. It was, unfortunately, rather stabilising.
They walked for a few minutes in silence before Loryn spoke up. “This roommate, will he be at home? I feel rather uneasy at the thought of leaving you alone.”
“What?” said Gale. Then, “No, yes - I mean, he will be. He’s -” and there was a low warmth in his belly at the thought of Astarion waiting to needle him as soon as he got back - “not much of one for going out, these days.”
It was comforting, in its own way. After all, Gale had gone from barely leaving his tower, to roaming the wilds, to having a full time job complete with nine to five and workplace events. Having someone there to welcome him home had become a rather pleasant part of his ritual. Even if the welcome wasn’t always the most, well, welcoming.
“That is good,” said Loryn. He hadn’t taken his hand off Gale’s shoulder.
Gale made a noncommittal noise.
“I feel rather bad now, dragging you away from him,” Loryn continued.
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, I should have told him that I would be home late but he’s probably enjoying having an evening away from my chatter!”
“Nonsense,” said Loryn. His hand squeezed, reassuringly. “You have such interesting things to say.”
“You’re kind to say so.” Gale chuckled, somewhat mirthlessly.
“It’s true.”
They turned onto a more crowded street, so Gale had to raise his voice to say, “Ah, but you’re also a wizard. A true researcher. A seeker after truth, even. My housemate, however, is not.”
“That must be hard.” Loryn steered him off down an alley and onto a quieter, parallel road.
There was something about that which niggled at him. Loryn was a guest speaker, and therefore clearly a working arcanist. He tried to cast his mind back to the talk, had the man mentioned where he was based? Gale couldn’t quite recall. He must have, though.
“Have you spent much time in Waterdeep?” he asked.
“A little, in my younger years. It’s been a true pleasure to return.”
“Of course,” said Gale.
“But your housemate, I have to say, I can’t imagine it being easy for a wizard of your calibre to live with someone who takes no interest in your study.”
“I wouldn’t say no interest,” Gale protested. “And besides, he has other charms.”
“Other charms?” Loryn chuckled.
“I mean - I mean he’s a good -”
“Conversationalist?”
Gale hummed, the memory of Astarion swearing at him that morning coming to mind. “He can be.”
“Ah,” said Loryn. “That sort of housemate situation. I understand.”
“What?” asked Gale.
“ ‘Housemates’ ,” said Loryn. He sounded terribly amused, in a way that felt almost as though it were at Gale’s expense.
The double meaning hit Gale like a speeding carriage. “No, no he’s - it’s not like that,” he rushed to say. “We’re not involved, of that I can assure you. He, well, he lost someone recently. A friend of mine. That’s why he’s staying with me.”
“So he’s just a friend?” That tone hadn’t left his voice. Was it mocking? It was hardly as though Gale had said anything that risible. And then, suddenly, he softened. “I - well. Part of the reason I accepted the invitation to speak is that there was someone I cared for. A ‘housemate’ of my own. But clearly he didn’t feel the same way. He left, without saying a word. I assure you, it’s not your plight that I’m amused by, but my own.”
“Oh,” said Gale. There was such a sudden raw honesty to Loryn that he found himself struggling to keep out. Almost despite himself, he felt the urge to match it. “My housemate, I do care for him. More than I should. I’ve always wanted domesticity, someone to come home to, and while he’s not necessarily what I imagined, it’s - well. It’s complicated.”
“I understand,” said Loryn, deeply, drippingly sympathetic.
“It’s certainly not reciprocated,” Gale hastened to add. “Like I said, he lost someone and besides, I am very much not his type. Nor is he mine. All it is is the natural consequence of two people spending their days in slightly too close proximity. A fleeting thing.”
Loryn said nothing, as they continued on. And then, almost without Gale noticing, they were walking down his street.
“This is -” Gale blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. “Apologies, this is me.”
The muggy night air spun around him slightly as he fished in his pocket for his key. Why was there never a breeze when he wanted one? Finding it, buried beneath several coppers, a spool of thread, an inkpot, and a broken quill, he walked towards his front door, intent on finding the first soft surface and fusing with it for the next stretch of eternity. A hand on his elbow stopped him. Loryn, eyes narrowed in concern, maybe?
“Stay and listen quietly,” he said, though it was rather too loud for Gale’s poor beleaguered ears and he winced back. “I am saying this out of concern, my friend. Don’t do anything rash, don’t harm yourself, or run.”
“Pardon me?” said Gale, who was hoping to go to bed and had no plans to do anything like what Loryn seemed to be implying. “I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here.”
The man ignored him. “Come and see me as soon as you are able to do so discreetly - it is so important to have a confidante all to yourself. Do not mention me to anyone else. I will be around for a few days longer, enjoying Waterdeep.”
“Right. Yes,” said Gale, who had little intention of doing so. He had shared far too much with this stranger already. Then, remembering the importance of manners, he said, “Quite. Thank you. I’m sure I will.” He tried to detach himself from the other man, but he was stronger than his slender elven frame looked and Gale’s wizardly noodles barely seemed to faze him at all.
“This housemate of yours. Tell him how you feel about him. Honestly. Act on it. Tonight.” He was still speaking far too loudly. More quietly, perhaps out of pity for Gale’s growing nausea, he said, “I know how easy it is to lose people. You take your eyes off them for a moment, and they vanish.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Gale, and hoped desperately that Astarion was not listening in to this disaster of a conversation. “No, that would be -”
Bad. Very bad. Going up to Astarion, who still spent plenty of time desperately scrabbling at boundaries to see just what it would be that made Gale turn his back on him. He was very well aware of the fire he would be playing with, handing him something that he could very easily interpret as an obligation, rent, an unpleasant necessity in order to maintain whatever sanctuary he had found in Waterdeep. Or, instead, he might laugh at it, treat Gale’s feelings as a vulnerability into which he could sink his only mostly proverbial claws. Neither outcome was acceptable.
“You know best, of course,” said Loryn, before Gale could even begin to formulate that into a coherent sentence. He released Gale’s elbow, and it swung heavily back to his side. “But think on it. Sleep well, my dear friend.” He reached out and tugged Gale’s jacket straight, before sauntering off down the road.
“Goodnight,” said Gale, only thirty seconds too late. And then, shaking his head again, as though that might make that baffling conversation make sense, he went inside.
Astarion was standing at the foot of the stairs, stock still and facing away from him. He was dressed like he usually was for a night in, a comfortable linen shirt and loose trousers, and it was perfectly warm in there, given the humid heat of the evening, and yet Astarion was slightly, subtly trembling.
“Everything alright?” asked Gale, moving in properly and shutting the door behind him. That earned him a significant flinch.
“It’s fine,” said Astarion. He wheezed in an unnecessary breath, sounding suddenly like he was about to cry. He still hadn’t turned around. “No, actually. No, it’s not fine. Who was that?”
Ah. Gale suddenly felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He really had not wanted Astarion to hear any of what he had shared with Loryn tonight. “A visiting researcher. Look, Astarion, I’m not - that was - I have had rather an unwise amount to drink tonight, truth be told. Whatever you heard, I’m sure we can discuss it in the morning.”
That got him another flinch. “No, we can’t. It has to be tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” He walked further along the entrance hall, lightly resting his hand on Astarion’s shoulder to see if he could turn him around. Under his palm, the man kept twitching, but he didn’t resist as Gale spun him to face him. His red eyes were fixed firmly on the floor and he was digging his thumbnail into the flesh of his index finger.
“It’s - I -” Astarion swallowed audibly, his jaw working furiously. He looked up and away from Gale, blinking as though there was something caught in his eye.
“Did - did Tara say something? I am sorry I’m back so late, and in this state. I should have warned you, I know, but I was caught up in the colloquium dinner, and that man, Loryn, just would not let me get away - why don’t we go upstairs and sit down?” He was rambling, which probably wasn’t helpful, but Astarion allowed him to lead him up towards their sitting room without complaint.
“It’s not that,” said Astarion, once he’d settled him down on the sofa and perched on the armchair opposite him, suddenly feeling extremely sober. Thankfully Astarion seemed content to dig his hands into the plush covering instead of continuing to work at his skin. “It’s - I need to tell you something, and I don’t want to, but I have to.”
His eyes suddenly fixed on Gale’s, face tight and almost pleading.
For some reason, the tableau called to mind that night he’d seen Astarion and Tav talking, Astarion almost shouting as he flirted with them. He’d been blood-happy and yet, then and there, more out of control than he’d ever seen him. Like he’d finally found something good, and had been terrified of losing it.
The Astarion sitting opposite him was perfectly contained, tucked away, without any flailing limbs or lurching movements.
And yet, somehow -
It hardly mattered. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I have to.” There was a vehemence to it, almost furious. Astarion worked his jaw again. “Look. When we met, I thought you were one of the most irritating people I had ever met, and I have met some very irritating people.”
“Am I going to like where this is going?” asked Gale. Then, because it was the right thing to say, he said, “I promise you Astarion, you really don’t need to share this with me. I’m not wholly sure I want you to!” He did. He really, really wanted to know.
“Shut up.”
“Right,” said Gale, and settled back into the armchair a bit, eyes fixed on the vampire.
“You grew on me, I suppose. I mean, the pining after Tav was extremely annoying, but you did back off in the end. And they chose me. I can be gracious to second place, you know.”
There was a moment of silence as Gale let that settle in. “Astarion, I promise you, whatever you heard outside - Loryn had the wrong idea about some things, and I’m never at my most articulate after a few glasses of wine -”
“This isn't about you !” He hissed out the words, then recoiled slightly, as though shocked by his own anger. “For once in your life, wizard, stop bloody talking.”
“I see,” said Gale, who did not see.
Astarion breathed again, shutting his eyes before fixing back on Gale. “I had never been in love before them. Hells, I’d never had a friend - anyone I was at all close to, before them. And then -”
“And then?” Gale prompted, after the silence dragged on.
“Well, I fell in love with a damned fool who saved puppies during the day only to bathe in their blood at night. I used to have to tie them up in case they tried to strangle me in their sleep. It’s not like I ever had any illusions of a happy ending.” Astarion stopped talking then, looking down and audibly swallowing. “And when I came to find you all at the Elfsong, after it was all over, and Jaheira told me that they - what they did, I wasn’t surprised. Because the night before, I told them that they should seize control of the brain.”
“I thought you gave up on that after Moonrise Towers,” said Gale, unable to stop himself from interjecting. He earned himself a glare for his troubles.
“I did. Trust me, I had no desire to get tangled up in the Dead Three, and Tav certainly wasn’t interested. But it would have saved them. They could have lived. Sure, we would all have been a little mind controlled but I didn’t care. Not if they were the one holding the leash.”
“And I suppose you had no intention of ever letting the rest of us know about this little scheme of yours? What, you were just going to hand over our free will to them, no questions asked? Because you were happy to do it, and you’re the only person whose opinion matters!” He was raising his voice a little, and bit it back down. This was, after all, a scenario which had never come to pass.
“Of course I didn’t ask you,” said Astarion, not bothering to look even a mite apologetic. “You would have said no. Anyway, Tav refused, obviously, and so they died like I knew they would, because it was that or spend the rest of their existence under Bhaal’s thumb, and they, and I, would both have rather died than go back to an eternity of slavery.”
“We wouldn’t have -”
Astarion laughed at that. “There was nothing we could have done. What, would you rather they were roaming the Sword Coast, slaughtering indiscriminately? Completely consumed by the thing they feared most? They got a choice, lucky bastard.” There was something deeply bitter in his tone at the end. “But they died, and I ran. Because I was not going back to him. None of the rest of you ever cared much for me. And then Withers invited me to that blasted party of his, and I was so fucking tired of skulking in the sewers so off I went. And you invited me here, and I could hardly refuse. It was go with you, or spend eternity wretched and alone. Hardly a choice at all.”
He didn’t know what to say. Astarion suddenly looked incredibly small, sitting there on that sofa meant for two. He lifted his hand, as though he could reach out between them. Even though the few feet separating his armchair from his friend were enough to render any such motion futile, Astarion curled in on himself and away from Gale.
“Tav broke me, I think,” he continued, addressing the floor more than anything else. “Taught me to care about do-gooding idiots who can’t leave well enough alone, and walk headfirst into danger like the fools that they are. You wouldn’t know a predator if one was staring you in the face, and baring its teeth at you.” He laughed, sounding utterly furious. “But you just had to try and save me, didn’t you? I did not want to start caring about you. I don’t want to care about you. And yet, somehow, I do . Deeply.”
He paused there, again, leaving Gale sitting in somewhat stunned silence. He found himself entirely unsure how the recounting of their backstory had led them here.
“Still not enough,” said Astarion, under his breath. “Shit.”
He couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of that, but it was clear that this was about Loryn, and what he’d implied about Gale’s own feelings. “I - Astarion, what Loryn said, I assure you, I certainly don’t expect you to force yourself to reciprocate or pretend to feel something you don’t. I know how much Tav meant to -”
“Damn you,” said Astarion, though oddly in a way that felt as though it had nothing to do with Gale at all. And then he stood, strode towards Gale on the armchair and yanked him upright, smashing his lips forcefully into his own.
Gale, caught off balance by the sudden tug, stumbled forward into the other man and they both fell, landing on the sofa with Gale straddling a pale, and still shaking Astarion.
“I’m not pretending to feel anything,” said Astarion. “This is - I am being honest, here. I am telling you how I feel. Acting on it.” His eyes bored into Gale’s with a pained desperation that maybe could be someone hoping for a confession to be reciprocated except it was more like begging. Grovelling, even.
He quietly pushed himself off Astarion, settling his back against the armchair so that there were a good few feet of floor between the two of them. He felt, suddenly, deeply nauseous. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s not - I’m flattered, truly, but you seem extremely out of sorts, and I am still somewhat drunk and frankly, very confused and - oh!?”
Astarion stood, suddenly. “I’m going to bed. Let’s never talk about this again.”
“What?” asked Gale, frowning, as the vampire stormed out of the room and away.
He reached up, and touched his lips. This was not how he’d wanted his day to go, at all. And Astarion certainly wasn’t getting away with pretending none of this had happened. He touched his lips again, head swimming slightly, and decided that bed was probably a good idea. This wasn’t what he had wanted, at all. The whole evening had felt charged in a way he was wholly unequipped to deal with.
He knocked on Astarion’s door, as he made his way up. It swung open on its well-oiled hinges, under the slightest brush of his knuckles, revealing an empty room and the thick black hangings that were usually so carefully fastened around the window lest any scorching ray of sunlight sneak in, were instead dangling loosely. The window itself had been left wide open. Easily leaving enough room for a motivated rogue to climb out and away.
It hadn’t - he hadn’t wanted to drive Astarion away. He stared for a while at the fabric flapping in the wind before pushing into the room. No vampire appeared to chase him out with indignant squawks.
“Astarion?” he called out, voice cracking slightly.
He stumbled over to the window, looking out and down the side of the tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of a shock of white hair.
This wasn’t - he - had he done this? He should never have told Loryn any of it, should never have allowed even the faintest suggestion of feelings for Astarion to pass his lips and certainly not in any situation where Astarion could hear. He knew this was highly unstable ground. What an utter fool, what a pathetic wretch of a wizard.
And then seeing Astarion so clearly shaken, so desperately out of sorts - confessing all kinds of things that he’d normally never let pass his lips and he’d let him leave the room without saying a word. Had he given Astarion the idea that he wanted him to kiss him? That he was the sort of person who would demand more and more from him, even when he was clearly uncomfortable?
He stared miserably around the room, as though it might reveal some clue as to where its occupant had fled to. The unmade bed, and half finished sewing projects stared back in mute judgement.
Almost in a stupor, Gale walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. This wasn’t - this was just Astarion being Astarion. Running away. He’d come back once he’d cooled down. They could discuss it, calmly, like the grown men that they were. Gale would have a chance to apologise for - for -
He’d work out what he’d done wrong before he saw Astarion again. He would see Astarion again.