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Gale managed to sneak away from the camp during the first wisps of low light under the setting sun, the forged path in front of him just barely visible in the low light of the evening - though he had to squint his eyes unnecessarily hard to make out the wet sand and reeds to trudge through.
He could hear the distant bellowed laughs of his…well - Companions? Friends? He still couldn’t decide what any of them were to each other - around the campfire, their crows of nightly entertainment slowly fading into the night as Gale worked his way farther and farther from their camp, a long towel gathered in his arms, pressed against his chest as the cool water of the stream slowly pushed at his ankles as he began to trudge through wetter sand.
It had been hard as of late to find a suitable spot to rest and bathe, privately that is. No matter how much he insisted, somebody would find a way to wash off at the end of the day as soon as he had begun to gather his soaps.
No matter. He would rise early in the morning, soft brown eyes slowly sweeping the camp for any sign of movement before gathering his lightly scented soap that the druid, Halsin, had given him after the party with all of the tieflings displaced from the Grove. Told him that he was covered in dirt and blood - the circumstance being a given after the fight that the goblin camp leaders had put up.
Padding down to the stream just on the outskirts of the camp, he began to let his guard down just a bit, relishing in the sights as the sun had slowly begun to rise, coating the area in a light just warm and bright enough for him to begin to see the outline of his own hand in front of him.
Just as he had begun to undo the lacings to his shirt did Wyll call out from his tent, laundry flakes and a wicker basket held against his hip. With a small groan and apprehensive reluctance to now bathe, Gale greeted the warlock with a small smile and bade him a good morning - after all, the sun would shine and the next part of their unlikely adventure would continue. If he would be going out, what was the point of scrubbing off all of this dirt and dried blood anyway? More would replace it in time.
So here it left him after the long day of the party’s travels to the Creche - muscles weighed heavily with lead, the dark circles under his eye practically carving themselves into his face permanently, and with enough dirt and sweat coated on him to make each movement feel grimy and gross.
Gods, did he miss the bath tucked into the corner of his tower in Waterdeep. Big enough to fully stretch out, a large enough window to stare out across the harbor at sunset, water enchanted to always be the type of warm he desired, a stool placed once out of necessity but left out of habit with light red wineglass stains marked onto the wood. He missed it all.
It was hard to ruminate on what he had lost since his unfortunately unwilling removal from Waterdeep, each memory of what he missed carving an uncomfortable longing in his chest, right underneath that blasted orb. A nice bed, his collection of tomes and books, enough wine to last him a century. His tressym’s company. His mother’s cooking.
It would seem this would have to do, for now.
Gale shrugged off his robes, folding his pants and the heavy purple fabric and resting them along the shoreline along with the clean clothes that had dried from his laundry endeavors earlier. He hadn’t needed to bring his quarterstaff anyway with the conversations between his companions not so far away sending enough of a warning to any intruder or attacker.
He slowly waded into the water, the wet sand underneath his feet sinking slightly each step he took, until the water reached his mid-thigh. He couldn’t see any other place along the winding stream where it went any deeper - not that it would be much better submerging his full body under the too-cold-for-comfort water.
Running the bar of soap collected in his hands along the expanse of his body released a weight across his shoulders he didn’t even understand he was carrying, the grime and the blood slowly melting off his body with each pass. He sighed exhaustedly, slowly picking at the dirt that had accumulated underneath his nails over the past couple of days along the road to the Gate.
Slowly relaxing his full body into the water, a shiver ran up his spine as the nape of his neck hit the cold expanse of the stream, his hair wetting and sticking to his skin as he sat up. Running the soap through his hair felt therapeutic, rinsing out the grease and grime that had stuck there for days, returning his head back underneath the water muffled the sounds of life around him. The gentle breeze cascading through the reeds and river grasses along the shoreline, the sway of the trees and the rattle of the leaves, all numbing to a quiet background white noise certainly unable to reach his ears.
All of it, all of it, the simple minstrations of just cleaning himself quieted the never-ending flow of worry in his head; about the unwelcome visitors that had burrowed their way into his companion’s skulls (himself included), about the subtle ache of the orb right underneath where his heart should’ve been beating lest the damned thing had not made the expanse of his chest a permanent home, about leaving Tara without much of a warning, about his dear mother who must be worried sick about him. All of the thoughts that caused the subtle beat in his chest to pick up the pace, to leave an ache right underneath his sternum, slowed to a gentle background thrum if only for a little while.
Unfortunately the one train of thought a little self care could not deafen was his own ruminations of a certain pale-skinned elf, damn him.
Maybe it was unfair to curse him so soon - wasn’t his fault for the wizard’s thoughts so traitorously drifting towards him like a discarded leaf left to the unpredictability of the river’s flow. If only Halsin could hear him now, using colorful language gifted by the Oakfather himself to describe his delicate observations of their companion.
Or was it his fault?
Gale understood well the tricky games that Astarion had been playing as of late; the gentle art of seduction coming to the elf like his own spells fell from his lips - second nature to the both of them, seeing how easy it was for him to drop heated comments and sly flirtations, knowing just how easy it was for a simple cantrip to erupt from his fingertips.
At first, he believed the elf to be doing so for simple fun, just to see the wisps of his cursed tattoo-like mural on his upper chest connected to the tear-like marks underneath his eye glow a gentle purple tone, or perhaps to see the more telling observation of his traitorous blood rising to heat his cheeks and his nerves choke his usually-witty replies in his throat.
But as their shared days went by, Gale could begin to tell it wasn’t just petty fun he was having - Astarion enjoyed it. And damn it all, Gale did, too.
He enjoyed the small conversations they held together in the morning, Gale barely awake to offer more than a few choice words in reply to Astarion’s flirtations that like clockwork started as soon as the sun rose, coffee mug held close to his lips.
He was awake enough, however, to notice how the elf gently let his eyes flutter shut when he believed nobody to be watching him, letting the sun’s warmth warm his cold skin, relishing in the light it provided.
He enjoyed when the elf talked to him late at night - though at first nothing more than silly remarks or asking about each others days, it slowly evolved into tentative asks about Gale’s favorite books, how he liked his tea to be made - all small, personal things about himself he would’ve guessed Astarion would never care in a million years about. He, of course, was happy to oblige. Any literary writings worth reading. He had said. Herbal, with a dash of milk.
It unnerved him in the beginning, how close he seemed to be trying to get, though it had slowly melted away into an appreciation that somebody cared. It had been a long while since the feeling of being wanted so nicely had been bestowed upon him from those other than his mother and his cat - and what a slim list that was.
A muffled noise snapped Gale out of his trance-like state with his head underneath the water, the wizard slowly sitting himself up in the stream, the water just underneath the bottom of his ribcage, hair now sticking to the back of his neck.
His eyes swiveled across his surroundings, searching for what had startled him from being drowned by his own thoughts, the now-present thrum in his chest possibly even skipping a beat uncomfortably as his eyes reached what had made the sound.
“Astarion?”
The elf swiveled towards him slowly, hands raised in a hasty surrender as his gaze followed the sound of the wizard’s voice down to where he was sitting in the stream.
“Ah.” Astarion tentatively crept towards the edge of the stream, eyes flickering only momentarily to the wizard’s discarded robes on the ground, seemingly unfazed by him only in his boxers sitting by himself, his state quite akin to a sopping wet cat left outside in the rain. “I didn’t see you there.”
“The elf with darkvision did not see me here?” Gale asked, a gentle tease lightening his tone. “I find that hard to believe.”
Gale attempted to meet the elf’s gaze, the warm feeling garnered by meeting him before the two had to return to camp slowly replacing itself with abject horror as he realized what Astarion had seen to shift his behavior so suddenly, why the elf was staring not into his own eyes, but right underneath the orb.
If only the elf didn’t have darkvision, he cursed himself for even bringing it up - he possibly would have missed the two gaping scars across his chest, the same purple color spreading across his skin from his Netherese blight - a constant reminder of what he had done, and what he had done to deserve this. What he had fought for to deserve this.
“That’s not your orb, darling.” Astarion managed to find his voice, brow knit tightly in an emotion the wizard could not begin to decipher, though the signature sly, encouraging smile was beginning to crawl its way to his lips. “Pray tell, what are those?”
Gale stood up sharply, the sound of the water falling off his body cutting through the silence of his own creation as he stalked towards the elf, fists clenched tightly. He pushed past him, gathering his robes with a huff, pulling out his clean laundry.
“Turn around.”
For a split second, Astarion seemed like he wouldn’t listen, eyes transfixed square onto Gale’s chest with an odd look. Without a word, the elf spun on his heel, back facing the wizard as he gave him his privacy.
With a slight sigh of relief, Gale pulled on new boxers, throwing on a looser garment for a top and pajama pants he was grateful beyond relief to even have had in the first place.
“Are you going to stay hidden behind me forever, or will you talk?” Astarion asked, voice carrying in the opposite direction of the wizard, as his back was still turned to him.
“Why do you need to know?” Gale retorted heatedly, lips pursed uncomfortably tight as the elf turned back around to face him, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the wizard up and down, taking in his stiff stature.
“Forgive my curiosity. This obviously isn’t something you see every day.”
“Obviously not.”
Astarion moved towards him in a slow, delicate manner, hands dancing lightly over his shoulders as his gaze pinned Gale’s, sharp red eyes flickering across his face in an attempt to read any emotion the wizard was too exhausted to repress.
His fingers pinched lightly at the fabric of Gale’s shirt, waiting for a nod of approval from him, a shrug, anything to determine what the wizard was okay with - and with a small sigh, Gale’s eyes met the elf’s, giving him a curt nod.
Astarion slowly gathered the fabric, sliding the shirt up and over Gale’s shoulders as he took the wizard’s form in appreciatively, holding the garment in his hands - too distracted to set it down.
He took a small step forwards as he closed the gap in between the two, reaching his hands up to cup his fingers around Gale’s upper body with practiced care, thumb swiping gently over the deep scar with an appreciative hum, the wizard only slightly recoiling from the touch with a noise of discomfort.
“Sorry. It’s…ah. Sensitive, to say the least. What left of it I can feel.”
Astarion continued tracing the scar with his thumb, albeit lighter as his touch slowly spanned from the center of Gale’s sternum to the thicker, outer edge of the scar just on the inside of his underarm, almost as if he were trying to commit the feeling of the purplish scar tissue to memory. The elf’s eyes were focused on the span of his chest, fingers cold to the touch but somehow still feeling welcoming, as if Gale would be alright if he could just lean into this touch for the rest of his days.
His tender touch finally stopped roaming Gale’s body, his hands still lightly holding onto the wizard’s lower shoulderblades as if letting him go would mean losing him, a flush slowly making its way up his body as he anxiously waited for the elf to say something, anything.
Gale watched nervously as Astarion’s gaze finally reached his own, a tumultuous amount of nerve-induced ramblings dying on his own lips as he tried his best to alleviate the situation with some witty remark or intellectual standoff, yet all attempts at doing so barely escaping his lips as dying whispers.
“Say something. I beg of you.” Gale managed to plead, the pace of the orb in his chest reaching a desperate thrum as he prepared so knowingly for harsh rejection, for a threatening spat, for glowering stares and hateful words.
“You’re beautiful.”
Astarion admitted it so quietly, so unlike the tone he was used to that the simple words had no choice but to rock Gale to his core. His voice had dropped its usually-sultry undertones and knowing drawl, the words falling from his lips coming out hushed - almost in awe - and Gale knew immediately the elf had dropped his facade, his guise, in favor of being completely truthful - absolutely vulnerable - for the wizard’s sake.
Gale leaned into his touch only slightly, a deep sigh he didn’t even recognize himself holding in escaping his lungs quietly, appreciatively. It didn’t go unnoticed by Astarion, as the scars (alongside the orb) underneath his fingertips began to glow a gentle purple, casting just a hint of ethereal light between the two of them, a knowing half-smile from the elf showing just a tiny peek of his fangs underneath.
“I knew who I was for a long time.” Gale admitted slowly, breaking the silence shared between the two hesitantly, as if he was guiding scissors through plastic wrap. “Before my Blackstaff days. Before Gale of Waterdeep. Though she does not believe it - even before Mystra.”
“I still remember the first time I had met her. Still clinging onto Elminster’s robes like I had done my mother’s. I knew who Mystra wanted me to be soon after I learned who I wanted to be.”
Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly, his face shifting akin to one who had just swallowed a lemon whole. Gale knew the caution he had to take, talking about his former lover around the elf - especially knowing what opinions he entailed about the goddess of magic.
“She was one of the firsts, obviously. Who looked at me and saw what I yearned for everybody else to notice. Whether or not that was for her own ambitions, I’ll likely die without figuring out.”
“Her own ambitions?” Astarion asked airily, a sniff of distaste evident from his facial expression - a morph between abstract pity and infuriating rage.
“She wanted a wizard of high renown.” Gale replied softly. “I wanted my body to reflected how I felt.”
“And so it came to be. I studied and studied for years on end, working my damndest on improving my skill to the highest ability I could - and eventually, she took notice. She gave me what I asked for.”
Astarion’s grip impulsively tightened on Gale’s body, fingernails beginning to dig into his flesh noticeably, but not enough to cause any lasting pain or damage.
“She did what I asked, made my body my own. And no matter what I tried to do to repay her for the gift I was given, there was nothing to her tastes. I gave tomes and scrolls, books I had enjoyed from across the Sword Coast, flowers, wines - though I suppose in the end it was all too human for her. Too mortal.”
“So I gifted her my devotion and in turn, she gifted me what she could of hers.”
“That doesn’t explain how you received that orb in your chest.” Astarion pointed out scathingly, though he supposed his tone was not destined to scorn Gale’s ear.
“I did try to repay her on a cosmic level.” Gale sniffed, a small laugh escaping his lips, the reflection of his own folly seeming so insignificant as he retold it as if it were the same aire as a bedtime story. “I learned of a tome; and within it, a gateway to Astral Plane where a final piece of the Weave was locked away after it had been scattered by the death of Mystryl . It would be the ultimate gift, returning the final piece of her magic to her - the ultimate display of my affection. My devotion.”
“I unleashed it and it became my downfall. My heart shut down by a Netherese blight, now consuming the Weave around me. Including the magic I had once held.” Gale reminisced quite mournfully, thoughts drifting as his own fingers brushed over Astarion’s as he idly traced the orb’s sigil.
“Of course I crawled back to her like a whelp - deserved everything she did to me, too. Couldn’t strip me from my magic, nothing was left after I had so foolishly attempted to please her. So she inscribed the orb’s design onto my chest, onto my eye, reopened the thick scars she had so graciously healed until no visible mark was left. Then she, well. Left.”
“She created me and in one fell swoop, she destroyed me as well. The orb, the scars. All just reminders of where I went wrong, and who put me in line. ” Gale lamented as Astarion’s hands dropped from Gale’s chest, his hands now balling into fists.
“She used you. Like a dog.” Astarion seethed - nostrils flared, eyebrows furrowed as he stared into Gale’s eyes with an anger so hot he had yet to see grace the elf’s face.
“She manipulated you into believing she was the only one who could help you, then marking you up like you’re some life-lesson to others like you stupid enough to trust what a god has to offer.” Astarion spat harshly, Gale’s eyebrows narrowing in turn at the burn of his words like a coal gracing one’s tongue, leaving behind a tasteless, burnt sensation.
“I would not go as far as to say that, perchance-” Gale started, temper rising just a bit at the bite of the elf’s words.
“She told you to kill yourself, Gale.” Astarion dropped the infuriated, stocky tone, permeated only by a whisper encapsulating both a indescribable sadness and overwhelming rage hissed between clenched teeth.
“She told me to do so, poised only by the threat of the Absolute-”
“The Absolute is a threat to her.” Astarion continued, not entertaining Gale’s protests for a second. “You are a threat to her.”
“I hardly would consider myself of any threat to a goddess-” Gale scoffed angrily.
Astarion moved quickly, soundlessly, grabbing a hold of Gale’s face with one hand and shifting it up quickly to direct the wizard’s eyes to stare directly into his, Gale shrinking back only just a little bit under the withering glare from the elf.
“You are Gale Dekarios,” Astarion started, the low, threatening rumble of his voice enough to kill any disapproval the wizard had conjuring on his tongue. “And your existence - you merely living, merely surviving not only a bomb in your chest, but a tadpole under your eye? While living with a group of circus freaks? Mystra should be frightened. She should be terrified.”
“This is how I regain her favor. I must.” Gale felt small underneath the scathing look of the elf before him, his hands already meeting each other close to his lap, picking at the skin nervously as their eyes remained locked together.
“We are going to find a way to defeat this elder brain - without you killing yourself in the process.” Astarion said plainly, though angry enough to instill a fear of going against his wishes deep into the wizard’s chest, almost enough to trump the fear he held for the goddess.
“I-”
“Tell me you will not kill yourself for the favor of a goddess who abandoned you, Gale.”
Astarion’s voice was now soft again, a frightened sense of longing hanging desperately in the air between the two. His hand loosened the vice on Gale’s face, shifting his palm to settle for just a gentle cup of the wizard’s cheek, running the cool pad of his thumb across his left cheekbone - wiping tears that had unknowingly fallen from Gale’s eyes, running over the spindly purple sigil of the orb that marked up his face.
“Tell me you have something to live for - show me you have something to live for. I don’t care what it is - your mother. Your cat. Your stupid library.” Astarion had an odd sense to his voice, one that had Gale’s orb thrumming along at a quickened pace in his chest, a now stronger purple hue basking the two of them together. Tinged by desperation, his voice warbled as he pleaded with him, a sound so foreign falling from his lips. “Your stupid books and your stupid tomes and all of your stupid-”
“You.”
Astarion stopped in his tracks, wordlessly staring deeply into the his eyes that still had tears broiling over the surface and spilling out onto his cheeks, tinging his skin with a salty brine that he could already taste on his lips.
Gods, if this was what made him human - the ache of the orb akin to the longing of love in what is left of his heart, the taste of the tears that ran along his cracked lips, the feeling of the salt drying onto his cheeks as he stared right back into Astarion’s eyes.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to give up living if it meant he could never feel this raw emotion wracking his entire body again, if he could never feel the ethereal touch of Astarion’s fingertips along his skin, if he couldn’t smell the river water that stuck to his skin and dried into his hair, if he couldn’t feel the sand under his feet or hear the current of the river sweep away just another leaf in an endless cycle of movement.
“I want to live.” Gale admitted shakily, “I want to live for you.”
Surging forwards, Astarion captured Gale’s lips with his own, muffling out the small groan Gale let out. For a second, it’s all a clash of teeth as Gale gets used to feeling around fangs that seemed to just oh-so love the feeling of his bottom lip captured between them, but it quickly melts into something softer - eyes closed and breath fanned across the other’s face, Astarion’s eyelashes against his cheek, kisses pressed up against his jaw, his neck, in an attempt at just holding the wizard near and dear.
Astarion kisses him frustratedly, with a sense of finality and patient exasperation - that finally, finally, Gale understood how important he was to others more than his goddess, that all it took was a stern talking to, for him to see just how loved he was.
Gale is the first one to pull away, resting his forehead onto Astarion’s - his hands clasped tightly around the nape of his neck, holding him close to keep them, along with this moment, held tightly to himself forever.
Astarion slowly lets go of Gale, sliding his forgotten shirt back onto his body with only a soft look shared between the two. With a sudden gasp, the wizard’s feet are knocked out from underneath him as he’s swept up into Astarion’s arms with a yelp, the elf beginning the walk towards camp wordlessly.
“I-I can walk, you know. We gotta grab my-” Gale said weakly, only having Astarion tighten his grip around his legs and letting out a small, disinterested noise displaying he fully understood, just did not care.
They wordlessly passed by the entrance to Gale’s tent not long after, Gale’s eyes flickering up to Astarion’s as he walked them both into the opening of his own tent. Luckily, everybody had seemed to go to bed awhile ago, saving Gale from the tidal wave of embarrassment he was sure to face when facing the others about this.
“Astarion, this isn’t-”
“Just lay down, darling,” Astarion said quietly, already positioning himself on the bedroll and pulling thick blankets down on top of the wizard’s body, not allowing him to protest.
Wordlessly, Gale sidled up to him, resuming the same position they were just in with the wizard’s hands now wrapped tightly around Astarion’s midsection as he curled into his side comfortably, Astarion’s breath hitting the top of his head.
A moment’s silence passed between the two, Gale taking just a second to inhale the smell of Astarion’s tent, of the books he had piled in the corner, of the river that now clung to his shirt, of the blankets’ warm and cosy though oddly homey smell.
“Thank you.” Gale said, and not a word was spoken for the rest of the night.