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It all started with a simple picture. Gale had been cleaning some rooms of his tower recently, using the energy that sprung through him as the short and cold wintery days let place to the soft warmth of early spring. The sky was clear and the windows wide open, letting in the distant sound of waves crashing against the coast and the salty smell they carried with them. He’d been living in this tower for almost fifty years now, and never would he tire of it. Each wave had its own melody, each breeze its own fragrance, and each new day was different from the last.
As he listened to his husband’s voice in the background — who was currently arguing with Tara, by the sound of things — Gale knew immediately to whom he owed his thanks for such happiness.
His relationship with Astarion had been a rocky one, knowing lows and highs before settling into their current bliss. They had met with a tadpole in their head, and what had seemed to be an impending doom. Their travel into the wilderness of Faerun had started with hostility, two fiery souls whose behaviours and past experiences had clashed harder than they should have. Gale had thought Astarion to be too prideful and full of himself, while Astarion had deemed Gale boring and exasperating.
Their sharp jabs hadn't hold any kindness in them at the time, and yet had become a reassurance all the same. In the constant fear and stress, they held a familiarity that they both ended up taking comfort in, much to their respective surprise. And when Gale fell to his knees — the pain of the Orb eating him from the inside becoming too much for him to hide — Astarion had been the first at his side, and the first to give up his highly valuable items to appease the ever-present hunger.
Everything had changed after that day, as Gale saw in those ruby eyes an understanding he had never witnessed in the past. Astarion knew hunger — Gale hadn’t been blind to the particular condition of his travelling companion — but Gale only realised then that Astarion knew hunger. The deep feeling of need that scraped your insides until the wall between your body and your soul crumbled, until that same feeling kept devouring you, again and again and once there was nothing left of you, it would keep taking more, for that hunger would never be satisfied.
Gale had offered his blood, then, but it had been tainted. Thankfully, Astarion hadn’t interpreted this as an assassination attempt but rather as the peace offering it had been. Gale had been grateful for that.
When they had entered the Underdark, they had been cordial. When they had exited it, they had been friends.
Under a sea of shining stars, Gale had proclaimed his wish to live. Under a sea of purple magic, Astarion declared he wanted to love.
The road to Baldur’s Gate hadn’t been easier but somehow they had managed. They had discovered a new sense of liberty, hidden in each other’s arms. They had discovered a new way to live.
They had killed Cazador Szarr. Astarion had freed himself of the shackles of his master. The scars, both physical and mental, would stay for years but he now had time to heal.
Pushing Gale down on the same dirt that had seen him rise into death, Astarion had reclaimed a part of him Gale knew he had thought lost. Gale had never been prouder of him.
Then Gale had been the one to face his past. The Orb was a key to a power Gale would have held, should Astarion want him to. But Astarion had declared to love the human version of him and how could Gale have ever tried to disagree when Astarion held such a loving gaze in his eyes?
Meeting Mystra had been terrifying. Gale could only look back fondly on the memory of the first time he had properly stood against her, and her will.
Facing the Absolute and its Chosen had felt like the end — although whether it was the end of their adventure or their lives had been hard to distinguish at the time. But as they had done so during their adventure, they had all pressed on. Faced the Nether Brain and, with Orpheus’ help, defeated it.
Then Gale had gotten on one knee. Dramatic as it was, the fear he had felt at that moment competed with the one he had felt against that gigantic brain. In the deepest part of his soul, Gale had known that Astarion loved him more than anyone had ever loved him. But he hadn’t known if he was loved to the point of settling down.
He had been.
Their wedding had been small and private. After everything that had happened, after everything they had gone through, they wanted it to be done as soon as possible. There hadn’t been many people — Morena, Tara and the members of their party that were still in Faerun — but it had been perfect.
Gale remembered it as if it was yesterday. Astarion, in a white costume he had himself embroidered with silver threads, had been radiant. The moonlight shone into his hair and reflected on his pale skin, creating a halo of silvery light around him. He had been the prettiest person Gale had ever laid his eyes upon, even if Gale had this exact same thought every morning, when he woke up to red eyes and smirking lips that leaned in to kiss him.
Gale’s own costume had also been retouched by Astarion’s talented hands. The purple threads had danced across his chest and arms, swirling and flowing like the magic Gale was used to have dancing around his fingers. Astarion had asked him to channel the Weave for it, to have it as faithful as possible.
The picture Gale held between his fingers was of their kiss in front of the altar — although there hadn’t actually been an altar to kiss in front of. Most of the churches in Waterdeep were dedicated to Mystra, and the few that weren’t probably would not have accepted to receive him, discredited Chosen that he was. Shadowheart had been the one to preside the ceremony, and their ‘altar’ had simply been the sand they were standing on, the waves that lapped their feet. In retrospect, neither him nor Astarion would have it any other way.
At the time, Gale had almost expected Astarion to give him a passionate kiss, but the one they had exchanged had been incredibly sweet and loving. They had shared a thousand more since, but Gale would always remember the one that sealed their future for the better.
Their wedding night, on the other hand, had been incredibly passionate. However, that soft feeling of love had never left them, even to this day.
Gale looked at the picture with more attention now, focusing on the details he might have forgotten along the years. It had been more than half a century since that day, after all. For example, Gale had forgotten how he used to have his hair — simply put back, a sharp contrast with the man bun he had found much more comfortable for the past few decades. His hair had also been shorter than he remembered it to be.
Gale’s eyes trailed along his past self face. The sharp lines of old age that cut his face were absent at the time, and his hair had been a light brown that had long faded to ivory — today, his hair was as white as his husband’s. Another stark difference would be the absence of a cane near him. Years on his knees at Mystra’s altar had taken its toll, and soon after his fiftieth birthday a cane became necessary if he wanted to actually move around.
He had been quite handsome when he was young, he had to admit it. There was no mirror around at the moment, but Gale already knew what he would see in his reflection, every little change that came with age. He wasn’t bothered by it. Most of the time.
Astarion, on the other side, was beautiful. But more than that, he was eternal. His beauty was that of the purest diamond, made to last forever, never to dim. Gale could spend hours — had spent hours — finding the most poetic sentences to describe it, and it would never be enough to do it justice.
For the first time in decades, Gale wondered what Astarion saw in him.
He didn’t doubt Astarion’s love, not one second, but he did wonder what his husband thought when he woke up to his side in the mornings.
Gale’s beauty had long washed away, that was for certain. And yet, Astarion still looked at him as if he was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. How could he, when Gale was little more than wrinkles and joint pain these days?
As if hearing his internal turmoil, Astarion’s arms surrounded Gale’s waist and pulled him against him. His vampiric husband put his chin on Gale’s shoulder and Gale could only lean into him, the habit trained into his bones after decades of performing it.
“You’ve been staring in silence at that picture for the past ten minutes and are thinking so loud I could hear you from the next room darling,” Astarion said softly, his words music to Gale’s old ears. “Mind sharing your thoughts?”
Gale smiled softly. Astarion knew him better than he knew himself most of the time. “I found a picture of our marriage,” he said after a small second of hesitation. “I suppose it got me nostalgic.”
Astarion shifted a bit and raised his head, looking now at the picture Gale was holding. “Hmm, I see,” he said, even though Gale could already tell Astarion had no idea what he was supposed to be seeing. “Look how good we looked,” he added just after, and Gale could hear the smile in his voice, even if he couldn't see it.
“Indeed…” Gale said, before trailing off awkwardly. Thankfully, Astarion was patient. They hadn’t kept anything from each other in a long time, and Gale was not going to start now. It had been a struggle, at first, to be so honest with each other but they had both wanted this to work, and had been both willing to put in as much work as was necessary. “I have changed, haven’t I?” he said in the end, more quietly than he had intended. Gale could almost feel Astarion frown behind him.
“I suppose you have,” he said slowly, almost cautiously, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Gale sighed and turned his head to plant a kiss on his husband’s cheek. “Of course… but that’s not what I meant. I… My face is full of wrinkles, and I have more and more trouble walking correctly as the years go by. My back hurts more often than not, my vision is getting blurry, my hearing is slowly dwindling. I’m ageing, while you… You’re as beautiful as the day we met.”
This time, Gale felt Astarion tense against him, felt the way his grip strengthened around him. The silence that followed his sentence was longer than he had hoped it would, but as heavy as expected.
As it stretched, Gale felt like he had to add something. “I don’t doubt your love, I never will and you know that, nor do I doubt your judgement. If you still see that man within me, then I will not oppose it. I… I suppose I simply don’t understand it.”
This time, Astarion let go of Gale and walked to be in front of him, before putting his hands on Gale’s waist and pulling him in again, earning himself a surprised chuckle as he did so. He inspected Gale’s face for a second, before one of his hands went to cup his cheek. Gale smiled softly, and Astarion did the same in return.
“Your face might have changed, your body might have aged,” he started, quiet but absolute, “but your smile remains the same. It brightens the room, make me feel warmer than the sun. Your laugh still makes my insides melt. Your eyes make me want to do anything. And your mind… Gale, my love. Your mind has always been my favourite thing about you, and it hasn’t changed a bit. You have aged, yes. But you are still the man I married in all the ways that matter.”
And how could Gale ever try to deny it, when faced with such adoration? He didn’t need a tadpole or a spell to know that Astarion meant every word, every syllable he had just uttered. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to contain the surge of emotions inside of him, and cold lips pressed against his forehead.
Gale smiled, but before he could say anything, before he could thank Astarion, his husband spoke up once more. “Sometimes, I would love to see the years appear on my skin like they do on yours,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.
This time, it was Gale’s turn to stare at Astarion. His own answer was evidence in his eyes, but just as Astarion hadn't minded sharing his, Gale would make sure his love remembered how loved he was. “Your smile is wider than when we met and your laugh is lighter. Your eyes are as red as ever, but your gaze has settled. Your sentences and vocabulary started to somewhat match my own, and you spent nights devouring books you used to hate. Astarion, you have changed more than you seem to think you have.”
Astarion sighed softly, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips this time, looking both relieved and strangely proud — although Gale couldn't tell who Astarion was proud of. “We have grown old together, my love. If you want my unbiased opinion, it has only made us more beautiful.”
Gale laughed quietly in agreement. How foolish had he been to ever doubt that Astarion would see him as anything less than perfect? The man Gale was today was only here because Astarion had been here for him, and vice versa. They had shaped each other into the most perfect version of themselves. “Then let us see how beautiful we can get, shall we?”