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The lower rooms of Moonrise are filled with life, cultists bustling about like it’s a perfectly normal place, not the stronghold of an objectively evil cult which is infecting people with mindflayer tadpoles. Un-tadpoled traders display their wares, unconcerned with the hovering risk of cult assimilation. In their defense, they don’t know how the cult assimilates people. It’s a pretty reasonable place to be selling at, if you think the worst you’re at risk of is a bit of rhetoric. Rhetoric you can defend against, tadpoles? Not so much.
They have work to do, an artifact to collect, people to kill, but they also need to know what they’re up against. It’s reconnaissance, what he’s doing, not loitering. It can’t hurt to have a more thorough look around, there must be something interesting hidden away somewhere that they can find.
And what he finds in the kitchens is certainly interesting.
It’s disturbing to see how the woman in there is controlling the gnolls. Removing their agency, using them as puppets. Rewriting them into something else. It’s uncannily familiar to Cazador’s compulsions. How your mind is your own, until it isn’t. Snatched away with the flick of a finger. Just playthings, an amusement.
He feels his own tadpole twisting in his skull, how it longs to reach out, to join in. In the gnolls’ minds, he feels her clumsy hands, her tenuous grip, how she shoves and pulls and rearranges them. She has the power, yes, but she does not have the control, the finesse. Compared to Cazador’s compulsions, this is the work of a fumbling child.
Snipping the connection is trivial.
Getting to see the gnolls turn on her is satisfying, too, a catharsis one step removed. It’s not his puppeteer being torn to shreds, but it’s a puppeteer, and that’s quite nice all on its own. The world would be better, is better, with fewer of those around. More minds left whole.
Her blood stains the floors, the gnolls muzzles, their fur. It runs out into the dirt, and he doesn’t grieve it, doesn’t feel the usual twists of hunger when he looks at it. He’s finally well fed. His companions have made sure of that. Have offered him that. He doesn’t understand why they would, why they care, but he is grateful.
There’s gratitude in the gnolls’ eyes when they turn to him, blood still dripping from their snouts. He’s not used to doing things others are grateful for. Things that help. It’s not… horrible.
They move closer to him, not threatening, just curious. Examining him. He allows himself to reach out in return, to pat one of them on their shoulder. The fur is coarse, rough, but it’s not too bad, the skin underneath radiating warmth. It gives him an approximation of a smile, the impression a bit ruined by the sharp teeth and the blood, but the intent is there. They seem nice, in a bloodthirsty way.
When he turns he sees his companions still standing in the doorway, sharing confused looks. They keep looking from the disemboweled woman to the bloody gnoll that he just pet. They look a bit confused, but not angry, not distrusting. They trust him to have made the right decision.
And he did. That’s odd.
“The gnolls won’t hurt anyone else.” He takes a moment to consider his own words. “Well, no one but the cultists, and that isn’t too big of an issue. They can have that.” It’s not like it’s going to affect them. If anything, it makes their job easier. They’re going to have to kill everyone anyway.
They share another look.
“I guess they can…?” Shadowheart sounds very doubtful. “Are you sure that was… the smart thing to do?”
He scoffs. “They were slaves , I wasn’t going to just leave them. ”
“Astarion… you haven’t cared about slaves before.” She sounds hesitant now, her face twisting in concern. “Are you… is something going on?”
That hits him like a slap to the face. He hadn’t cared. He’d been so angry, so scared, when they first met. He hadn’t had the time nor the energy to care for someone else. To bother with someone else’s plight. He- he’s different now. Huh.
He finally feels safe enough to care about someone else.
Isn’t that something.
Huh.
Well, that’s enough thinking about his feelings for today. Off we go.
“Maybe I just think it would be easier to defeat the rest of them if we have men on the inside? Huh?” He does think that, too. He just had ulterior motives of wanting the woman puppeteering them to die a gruesome death as well.
Gale’s smile is stupid soft. “I’m sure.” His voice is so gentle and affectionate, as if he saw all of what went through Astarion’s head, as if he knows all of what he thought.
He can’t look at him. He can’t. In one quick movement he puts his hand over Gale’s face, covering his stupid smiling mouth. “Yes. Shut up.”
He feels his huff of breath against his palm. “As you wish.” It comes out muffled, Gale making no attempt to move his hand, still just smiling like an idiot . He’s just standing there , letting Astarion do this.
He can’t deal with this right now. It’s too much. “I’m leaving!” He says the words as he storms out, not entirely sure where he’s going, but preferably somewhere where he doesn’t have to confront his feelings. None of his companions stop him, letting him shoulder past them through the door.
He gets an entire two rooms before stopping dead in his tracks. Something in there smells rancid . Worse than the rest of the tower. Worse than the necromancer’s rooms. It almost knocks him down, stinging all up his nose, making him feel nauseous in a way vampires really aren’t supposed to.
He’s not sure if he can throw up from anything but eating human food. He’s not excited to find out, but the smell might make him.
He’s still standing there, frozen in place, when his companions catch up with him, ambling along. It’s funny, how they took him fleeing as an invitation to follow. It’s even funnier how he doesn’t even mind . He wants to be angry. He should be. He’s not , and so he’s angry about that instead.
Gods, he cannot be bothered to handle these feelings right now.
He tries his best to breathe through his mouth, as if that would help. With how thick the stench is, it just clings to his tongue instead, lingering, sharp, horrible. It really just makes him want to claw his tongue out.
He is seconds away from just turning and leaving. Heading back to camp. Letting the others handle this without him. They can do that. They’ve got Shadowheart with them, she can handle any lying they might need on her own.
The others have spread out through the room, looking around. Off to one side Gale has started talking to some potion trader, probably saying something really smart about portions or something. He can’t hear over the stench. He’s always saying something smart, though. When he’s not saying something completely idiotic. He usually just says the stupid things to Astarion though, like I’m sure , As you wish , You are still you, even with your scars, If you would have me . He’s stupid and he says stupid things and the way they make him feel is stupid .
Both Gale and the trader look over to him, she’s saying something, probably something about him, and Gale waves him over.
He should have left when he had the chance. It smells even worse over there.
He walks over anyways. Against his will. He is very mad about this. He just- Gale asked him to be there. He can suffer through it for a bit. For him. He’s not a monster .
As he comes closer, he hears her more clearly. “Please, you think someone in my line of work wouldn’t recognize a vampire spawn when they see one?”
Well, that’s not encouraging. He wasn’t expecting to be found out. Hopefully she won’t send a troupe of vampire hunters after him, they really have enough things to deal with right now.
Standing next to Gale, the horrible scent is so cloying he can barely even think. It’s sitting in the air like a physical thing, and as the woman moves, he can tell it’s coming from her .
She adopts the body language of a merchant, slipping into it like a coat. “I trade in blood, and the potions that can be wrung from it. I’m more than happy to make you one, if you’d honor me with your blood.” He can see the cogs turning behind Gale’s eyes at her words, how his curiosity is swelling. He’s going to do it, if only to see what will happen. “With one drop, I can brew a rather potent potion for you. The rest, I keep for myself.”
Gale, predictable as he is, holds out his hand. “Sounds interesting. Let’s do it.” Astarion wants to grab him, pull him back. Whatever this is, he does not trust this woman. But he has done enough good deeds for today, thank you very much. He hasn’t come to terms with his previous one, and he’s not about to add more fuel to the fire, no thank you. Gale can make his own poor decisions.
The drow smiles. “Just a little prick and it’s all over. Close your eyes.” Gale, the idiot , does it, leaving himself entirely defenseless. He’s lucky Astarion is there to make sure this lady doesn’t do anything weird to him. She collects it in a vial, tucking it into her pouch before turning to her alchemical equipment. The blood she actually uses for the potion is nothing but what remains on her blade. It seems to be quick work, making this potion, less advanced alchemy and more just… stirring the knife around in a premade mixture. She pours it over into a potion flask and turns back to them. “There we are. All of your very best traits in a bottle. Use it well.”
She hands it to Gale, who takes it with an excited gleam in his eyes. He thanks her, and goes to turn. Astarion turns as well, happy to get away from her as soon as possible.
She lets them take two steps before interrupting them. “Although perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss: your vampiric friend.”
He doesn’t want to be there. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He doesn’t want to think. The smile he plasters on his face hurts. “Don’t worry, we’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.” He doesn’t want to bite. All he wants to do right now is throw up .
Her smile sends shivers down his spine. “Oh, I’d prefer if you did.”
He is going to throw up, actually. He doesn’t care if it’s not possible. He’s going to make it possible. The thought of her blood in his mouth is disgusting enough to invent new rules of physiology.
While Astarion is fighting to keep his dinner where it’s supposed to be, the trader turns to Gale. “I assume he belongs to you?”
Had he had any space left inside of him for indignation he would have just left then and there. He’s used to it, though. He’s been property for two hundred years. There’s no reason that should change now, even with the tadpole. Even with the better treatment he has received. He’s still a thing. A more cherished one, yes, better taken care of, better fed, but what he is is still the same. A belonging.
Gale’s offended noise is nice to hear though. “Excuse me?” His voice is sharp. “He’s his own person.” All of the usual warmth is absent, his tone like ice.
The drow just chuckles. “I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable.” He did believe that, yes. He had forgotten himself. Imagined himself to be more than he was. It’s good to be reminded, reminded of his place, lest he forget himself again. He can feel her eyes on him like a physical thing when she turns back to him. “Do you have a name, spawn?”
The commanding tone is so familiar that his body acts without his input, the answer tumbling from his mouth. “Astarion. But hold on-” He might be a thing, but he’s not her thing. She can’t order him around.
“Good.” Her voice is like honey, if honey was disgusting and poisonous. “Now, Astarion. I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.” Her head tips down, letting her look up at him through her lashes. She flutters them slightly before tilting her head to the side, baring her neck.
“I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?” Even his companions had only offered to keep him fed. None of them wanted to . Why would- What?
She leans in, the stench of her, of her blood , he realizes now, wafting over him. “To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death? Yes, I want it.” It’s- she’s aroused by it. He’s heard that some people are, but it feels… gross. How she demands it. How she sees him as a thing to fulfill her fantasy. How she referred to him as property. How she assumed it was her right. “I’ll even compensate you - a potion of legendary power that forever increases the strength of the one who consumes it.” Her smile is sharp, and she turns to address Gale. “It’s not for sale.” She turns to Astarion again, looking almost coy. “But it’s yours if you bite me.”
He feels sick. “I will have to decline.” Even if he will have to, he doesn’t want to. He wants to make his distaste clear, even if it will result in punishment. He’s not hers to order around.
She rears back. “Excuse me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you’re squandering it.” Her flirty tone slips away, and she ends up sounding like a spoiled toddler.
He can feel the strain in his own voice when he replies. “I gave you my answer.” He feels empty. He knows it isn’t enough. His opinion has never mattered before. Why would it now?
She whirls on Gale, glaring at him. “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”
He’s ready to be ordered. To be told to bite her. To power through the disgust and nausea and just get it done. It’s easy, to retreat a bit further. To leave his body behind. He doesn’t need to be there for this. He almost startles when Gale steps forwards, getting between him and the drow. “He said no.” He can’t see his face, but he can hear the glare. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”
She tuts. “How very disappointing.” She turns away from them, ignoring them completely, like they’re nothing but bugs to her now that she can’t get what she wants from them.
He feels disconnected from his body. He walks away more by the grace of Gale grabbing his arm than by his own power. The other man is pulling him out, past the rest of their group, through the doorway. He pulls him all of the way out of the tower, Astarion following limply behind, tethered by the hand on his arm.
On the bridge, he slows to a stop. He’s still holding his arm. “Astarion?” Gale’s voice is soft. Cautious.
He’s still not really back in reality. Gale helps though. “Mhm?”
“Are you okay?” He’s still speaking so softly, like he’s afraid he’ll break him. He won’t. He can take a lot. It’s okay.
“Mhm.” He is just as okay as he’s used to. He might have had a period of better, of thinking he could be a person, but that’s okay too. He’s back to normal now.
Gale turns to face him fully, grabbing his other arm as well. “Can you look at me?”
Oh. He’s been staring at the ground. But he can follow orders. “Mhm.” He looks up. Gale looks scared. That’s not good. He shouldn’t be scared. Is Astarion doing something wrong?
His hands squeeze on Astarion’s arms. “You’re really far away right now. Can you come back to me?”
Can he? Where is he? He doesn’t know. It’s all been so much. He doesn’t want to deal with it. He can’t deal with it. It wasn’t an order. He doesn’t have to come back.
He shakes his head.
Breath explodes out of Gale. “Okay. That’s okay.” He drops one of Astarion’s arms, dragging his hand over his beard. He looks so worried. Maybe Astarion did the wrong thing by saying no. He doesn’t know if he can come back right now though. He’s never been ordered to do so. Cazador thought it was funny to keep using him when his mind left.
Gale reaches out to touch his shoulder. “Do you want to leave?”
He does. He wants to leave. To be somewhere else.
He nods.
Gale lets the hand still on his arm slide down, passing his wrist, and grabs his hand. It’s warm and soft. That’s nice.
It’s odd to be led away by his hand. He feels like a child. He doesn’t feel like complaining. It’s easier like this. If Gale let go, he’s not sure he’d be able to find his way back right now. Not to camp. Not to his body.
They walk like that all the way back to camp, Gale leading, and him following like a lost puppy. Gale keeps walking, into the camp, past the tents, and into his own, taking Astarion with him. He’s not sure why they’re going in there, but whatever Gale wants, Astarion will give. Being Gale’s is much better than being Cazador’s. He doesn’t want Gale to be disappointed in him, upset with him. He doesn’t want to be thrown away.
The tent is nice. Comfortable. It has pillows and books. He likes those.
Gale turns around, studying him. He takes a moment, looking as if he wants to say something, before he sighs. He puts his hands on Astarion’s shoulders, pushing down gently. “Sit.”
It’s a simple order. He can do that. He sits.
Gale sits next to him, once again grabbing his hand. It’s still nice. He doesn’t ask Astarion to do anything else.
They sit.
After a while Gale picks up a book with his free hand, propping it open in his lap. He clears his throat, and then he starts reading, reciting the words out loud to Astarion. It’s something about magical theory.
He lets Gale’s voice wash over him, the words unimportant. It’s really nice. It’s safe. It’s Gale.
He can feel himself coming back. Drawn in by Gale’s voice, crashing towards reality like a ship bearing towards a siren’s call. He might break upon the rocks, but the draw is too strong. He feels he would be okay with breaking apart at Gale’s feet. He might already have.
Gale keeps reading, keeps talking, and Astarion doesn’t want to interrupt him. He’s so tired. He’s still not really there. Gale hasn’t told him to do anything else, hasn’t told him how to be of service. He doesn’t know what to do. Lost, confused, tired, he just lays himself down, resting his head against Gale’s hip. He can stay there until he’s told what to do. The other man doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, but he drops Astarion’s hand in favor of petting his hair.
He closes his eyes and just exists.
After what might have been an hour, might have been two, might have been eternity, Gale puts the book down, voice quieting. The hand in his hand stills. “Are you back with me?”
He thinks he is. This was a nice place to come back to. “I think so, yes.” He turns his head to look up at Gale. Everything is still a bit soft at the edges, but he’s there. “Thank you.”
Gale smiles, soft and blurry. “Always.”
He might actually believe it.
He’ll take the time to actually process all of these feelings at some point. Later. Not now. Right now his head still rests on Gale’s leg, and he still hasn’t been told what to do.
He’s okay for now. He’s good. He’s safe.
Gale keeps petting through his hair. He really is treating him like a cat. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No.” He really doesn’t. He’s not sure what happened, either. Everything was just… a lot, for a while, and he had to go somewhere else. Somewhere where he wasn’t a thing to be traded, where his body wasn’t a resource under someone else’s control. He’s really happy that Gale didn’t decide to share it with that drow woman. “You- You’re a better owner.” Gale is. He’s so nice. He lets him do so many things. He takes care of him. He feels more like a pet than property. Maybe that’s why he’s a cat now.
The hand stops dead. “I don’t own you. Nobody owns you.” Gale almost sounds horrified. The woman’s words echo through his mind, through the haze. I’m sure he really believes that. Maybe Gale wants him to believe that? Is it more fun for him like that, if Astarion keeps up hope? He doesn’t want Gale to leave, to give him away, to throw him out. He wants to stay.
“Of course you do. You’re just… nicer about it.” Gale is so nice about everything. He’s okay being owned, if it’s by Gale. “I’ve never been treated this well before.”
“Astarion. Look at me.” Gale grabs his face, forcing eye contact. “You are your own person. You are a person . You have been horribly mistreated, for a really long time, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t.” His voice is hard. Not cold though. Even now, it’s warm with some emotion Astarion can’t name.
“But I-”
Gale looks like he’s about to cry. “No one is going to own you ever again, okay?” The hands on his face are shaking.
He can’t believe it, not really. Being a thing is so deeply ingrained in him that it might never leave. But he can try. If Gale wants him to, he can try. If that is Gale’s order to him, he will do his best to fulfill it. “Okay.” His voice is small, weak, but Gale’s responding smile is bright. The unshed tears glitter in his lashes.
“Thank you.” His voice is shaking as he says it, but he looks happy. He holds Astarion’s face for a few more seconds before releasing him back to his spot resting against Gale. He pets through his hair again. “I swear it to you. No one.”
Reality is harsh. It hurts. But this? Here with Gale? It’s so achingly soft. He can try being a person. In here. With him. For him.