Work Text:
Astarion tries to get along with Tara. Truly, he does—for Gale's sake if nothing else—but what can he do when the stuck-up tressym hates his guts?
He doesn't expect anything as deep as friendship, but surely two fully grown sentient creatures can manage a cordial enough relationship to keep the peace.
At least, that's what he thinks until Tara singes his curls with a damned firebolt. Maybe Astarion cast the first firebolt, but it was only to fend off another bout of the tressym’s destruction.
It's been like this since Astarion and Gale arrived at his Waterdeep tower a few tendays ago, after a handful of grueling months of helping Astarion’s fellow spawn establish a colony in the Underdark. Gale speaks so highly of his furry, winged companion that Astarion was excited to meet her. Right up until it actually happened, when she hissed (hissed!) at him and proclaimed he stunk like death.
Which he does not, of course. Astarion takes great pride in not smelling like the corpse he is. Not that the comment hurt or any such nonsense. It was the principle of the thing, even if she did apologize later in front of Gale.
Astarion would have let it go. He's grown as a person since gaining his freedom and subsequently wrangling thousands of vampire spawn that hate him; it turns out that sort of thing requires a lot of patience. They could have moved on—the three of them settling into peaceful cohabitation—if Tara didn't keep at it.
It was subtle at first. Leaving dead animals at the foot of his bed. ‘Accidentally’ walking right in front of his feet and tripping him. Hopping in his lap—which delighted Gale—and kneading him with far too much claw.
Astarion tried to ignore it; to focus on figuring out what he wanted to do with himself and spending time with Gale. Until his belongings started to go missing.
Astarion spent the entirety of one morning digging through his wardrobe in search of a missing shirt. It was one of favorites, in part because Gale had offhandedly mentioned he thought it looked nice. Not that Astarion would admit it aloud. He never saw it again, though he thinks he saw tattered strips of similar-looking fabric in a nearby bird's nest.
The quills from the desk Gale set up for him were next. Then his favorite hairbrush. Astarion finally caught her trying to lug away an entire embroidery project, and chased her away from his room with fangs bared and a smattering of elvish curses. He had to patch up tears from little tressym teeth after that.
Perhaps the most frustrating part is that Tara acts perfectly civil whenever Gale is around. Or at least more subtle. Whenever Astarion tries to spend time with Gale, she appears to sit in Gale's lap. When tears appear repeatedly in the black-out curtains Gale hung throughout the tower,
Tara pleads ignorance or accident and offers to fix them up with a quick mend spell. Nevermind the fact that Astarion is left trapped in one part of the tower by the sunlight until Gale arrives home to rescue him every time. Not to mention the ridiculous reasons she's come up with to interrupt them whenever Gale offers to feed him.
If Astarion cared less about Gale, he would've already turned Tara into a snack. That's the crux of his problem. For the first time in as long as he can remember, Astarion has somewhere that feels like home. He has a friend, who sees him as a person and cares for him just because he can.
Aatarion has always had a soft spot for the wizard. They bonded over books and wine. Worked together to sate and hide their peculiar hungers from the rest of their companions. Then, after the brain fell, Gale offered to go with Astarion to the Underdark. Even now Astarion can't fathom why Gale would go out of his way to help him when he had a home and family waiting for him in Waterdeep. All Astarion knows is he did, and that he worked patiently by Astarion's side until things were settled.
That time together did something strange to Astarion. Softened him. Filled his heart with a warm fondness for Gale he doesn't quite know what to do with. Then Gale invited him back to Waterdeep when he very easily could've left him behind in the Underdark, and that only made things worse.
Astarion wants… something more from Gale. At least he thinks he does. When they read by the fire, or he sits on the counter while Gale cooks, or they share a bottle of wine on the balcony, he wishes he could be closer. Wonders how warm Gale would feel if he pressed his hand to Gale’s chest, like he did months ago when Gale showed him the orb. Thinks about closing the distance between them and kissing clever lips. Feeling the scratch of Gale's beard against his cheeks.
Wanting isn't familiar to Astarion yet. It feels dangerous, like passing his hand over an open flame. There are certain things he's safe to want: a hobby, a home, friendship, and even warmth that comes freely and without consequence. Other things remain unknown. Astarion hasn't found the limit yet. How much more can he ask for before he gets burnt? Or worse, until he accidentally extinguishes the candle and loses all the warmth he's managed to scrape together.
Tara is Gale's dearest friend. Astarion can't risk upsetting him by bringing up their disagreements, let alone actually do anything to defend himself against Tara's menacing.
This afternoon is the closest Astarion has come to actual retaliation, and it was more to get Tara to drop his project than an actual attempt at revenge. Explaining to Gale why they’re both singed when he comes home tonight is going to be difficult. Part of him worries Tara will finally come clean about her hatred and Astarion will be promptly asked to leave.
He should’ve just let Tara run off with the stupid robes. In the heat of the moment, though, he couldn’t let them go. The delicate, shimmering constellation embroidery took several painstaking hours and more frustration than Astarion would normally put up with, but they were Gale’s favorite set. When he lamented needing to repair them with a mending spell more and more often, Astarion offered to patch them up properly. He wants to show Gale he’s worth keeping around, and—fine—maybe he wants to see Gale light up at the finished project. All that effort would be wasted, though, if he let Tara shred them into nesting material for the birds.
No good deed goes unpunished, Astarion supposes. There isn’t much to do now but finish up the robes and wait for Gale to come home. Maybe they’ll be enough to keep him from getting kicked out.
Astarion instinctively tenses when he hears the soft padding of paws coming towards his room. Stashing the robes out of sight, Astarion hurries to his feet and glares at Tara as her floating mage hand opens the door for her. This is why cats shouldn’t have opposable thumbs.
Tara holds her head low, ears flattened. The end of her fluffy tail is blackened and she smells like burnt fur. A surge of guilt hits Astarion and refuses to dissipate, no matter how hard he tries to remind himself that it’s her own doing.
“Mr. Ancunin,” she starts, “I am afraid I may have sorely misjudged you.”
What?
Astarion eyes her warily, waiting for whatever revenge she’s plotting to be revealed.
“I must admit, I have been a terrible towermate and egregiously unladylike to you since your arrival,” she continues. She almost looks contrite—or as close as a feline face can come to it—but Astarion is not so easily fooled. “I’ve been quite put out by your treatment of Mr. Dekarios–”
“If you’re here to gloat, you can save your breath,” Astarion interrupts, trying not to fidget with his hands. He refuses to let slip how afraid he is—if nothing else, he will keep his dignity. “You win. Gale will have more than enough reason to send me packing when he comes home and sees you.”
“Mr. Dekarios will not be sending you anywhere, and I do not want you to leave.”
“You have a strange way of showing it,” Astarion snaps. Tara sighs and sits in front of the doorway.
“You care deeply for Mr. Dekarios,” she says. A statement, not a question.
“He’s my friend,” Astarion confirms hesitantly, unsure where she’s going with this.
“That’s all?”
“I don’t know. He’s only the first person I’ve ever cared for. Helped me secure my freedom. Keeps me sane while I figure out what to do after two hundred years of pure shit. Is there a title for that?” Astarion hisses. In the best of times he has no interest in discussing his mess of feelings. What right does Tara have to ask?
“You love him,” Tara answers the question he meant to be rhetorical.
“No,” Astarion replies immediately.
Astarion isn’t capable of it. Vampires are awful, soulless creatures, if popular opinion is to be believed. Even if it’s not—if his undead heart once had the ability to love—it has long since been ripped from him. Bled out slowly through centuries of open wounds and tears wept.
Another sigh, and Tara stretches out her wings for a moment before flopping onto her side. It’s startlingly catlike, and he has to hold back a giggle at the absurdity of the situation. He’s feuding with a tressym, for gods’ sakes.
“Human courting rituals are ridiculous. I tried to tell Mr. Dekarios to bring you a pigeon as a token of his affections, but goodness knows he never listens to me.”
“His affections?” Astarion asks, despising the hopeful lift in his voice. Neither that nor the fluttering warmth in his chest lead anywhere good, not when he has no idea what he’s doing.
“Mr. Dekarios is very fond of you. It pains me to see my dear human hurt because of it. I tried to help out at first when he refused to act, but when you rebuffed the offerings I assumed you were not interested in courtship with him.”
“Hold on a moment. Offerings?” Astarion interjects. “You mean the dead animals you left?”
“Of course,” Tara sniffs primly. “I may have tried to encourage you to leave after that. Please understand, you’ve already dragged my poor Gale into that wretched, sunless place. To have him return so forlorn over your apparent disinterest simply would not do.”
None of this makes any sense. Sure, Gale blushes when Astarion flirts with him, but that’s because he’s shy. Other than that, he’s never given any indication that he might feel something more for him. Tara must be wrong. Yes, she’s Gale’s oldest friend, but she’s also a tressym, and she clearly doesn’t understand how this works.
“Mr. Dekarios has been through enough. He deserves a mate that will cherish him,” Tara continues. “I didn’t realize you’ve been working on a courting gift for him. I came to apologize for my false assumptions and assure you that your gift will be well received.”
“Courting gift?” Astarion blinks at her, thoroughly confused. Part of him expects to wake from a trance at any moment to find this whole strange conversation is a dream. Then, it occurs to him that she’s referring to the robes. “They’re not…”
Astarion starts to deny it, but trails off. Are they?
It’s not like Gale asked him to do the embroidery. Astarion just thinks it will be nice to do something special for him. Not because he expects anything in return—certainly not courtship—but because Gale would do the same for him. Astarion likes seeing him smile, seeing him happy. As more than a friend, admittedly, because seeing Gale like that makes the stubborn affection rooted in his heart bloom into something even softer and warmer. It’s unfamiliar, both exhilarating and terrifying.
Godsdamned feelings. Astarion hates this.
But if Tara is right—which Astarion doubts—then Gale feels the same. The possibility is somehow more terrifying than Astarion's feelings alone. What is he supposed to do with this?
“Is that all?” Astarion asks. His head is spinning; all he wants is to be alone so he can process.
“I suppose so. I do hope we can have a better relationship going forward, for Mr. Dekarios’ sake.”
Astarion says nothing, biting back a quip that it's her fault that they don't get along now as she pads out of his room and shuts the door behind herself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Astarion spends the rest of the day finishing the robes, mulling over his strange conversation with Tara. The more he thinks it over, the more suspicious he becomes.
Tara all of a sudden has a change of heart and reveals Gale has romantic feelings towards him? She probably expects Astarion to confess to Gale like a lovesick puppy. It's a brilliant plan to get Astarion to humiliate himself and ensure he gets kicked out after Gale politely lets him down. Unfortunately for Tara, he's not stupid enough to fall for that.
A knock on his door startles Astarion half out of his chair, right after he finishes the last of the embroidery. He can hear the faint, familiar beat of Gale's heart on the side of the door.
“Come in," Astarion calls without turning around. A little more tidying, and he can hand the robes over to Gale now. Not as anything special, just a token of appreciation. That's all.
Gale's pulse picks up as he comes in and shuts the door behind himself. It puts Astarion on edge. Gale never shuts the door. When Astarion had questioned him on it once, he said he didn't want Astarion to feel trapped. He kept doing it even after Astarion assured him that he didn't mind. Regardless, there’s nothing to do now but stand and face him.
“Hello, darling,” Astarion greets, feigning nonchalance. Gale fidgets with his sleeves—he’s still in his teaching robes—and Astarion resists the urge to brush the stray hairs that have escaped the adorable half-up style he favors out of his face. “How did Blackstaff treat you today?”
“Well enough,” Gale answers, uncharacteristically brief. “Tara… well, she said you have something to tell me?”
That little rat. Astarion knew she was up to no good. Gale practically oozes anxiety, and Astarion holds back a scowl. It’s fine. He can play stupid and talk his way out of this.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea why she would say that,” Astarion lies. “Though I do have a present for you.”
Instead of watching Gale’s reaction, Astarion turns and gathers the robes into a small bundle. Moves within arms reach of Gale and acts like the proximity doesn’t affect him.
“Astarion!” Gale gasps, reaching up to run fingers along the tips of singed curls. “What happened? Are you alright?”
Right. Astarion forgot about that. Gale’s pretty eyes are wide with concern, and he’s dizzyingly close to running warm fingers against his scalp. Astarion swallows hard. Reminds himself what the cost would be, if he closes the distance between them like he wants to.
“I’m fine,” Astarion reassures him. It’s not remotely true, but Gale’s doesn’t need to know that. “Just a slight firebolt mishap.”
Gale frowns, studying Astarion like he might discover some undisclosed injury. It’s infuriating how easily Gale sees through his various masks; Astarion can’t help but feel exposed as Gale levels him with that intense, earnest gaze.
“If you’re sure,” Gale acquiesces, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he runs his hand fully through white curls. It sends a shiver of delight down Astarion’s spine as he instinctively leans into the gentle touch. “Did your skin get burnt at all?”
“Gale,” Astarion breathes. It’s meant to sound exasperated, but it comes out more like a plea. Gods, he feels pathetic. Falling over himself like a fool just because Gale is kind enough to care about his wellbeing. “Vampiric healing, remember?”
“Right. Apologies,” Gale says sheepishly, drawing his hand away. The loss of his touch leaves Astarion colder than usual. “I do hope you’ll be more careful with fire in the future. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Astarion should be used to it. This is what Gale does, even back when they first met. While they were running around trying not to die as they saved the world, Gale fussed over every scrape and bruise. He should be used to it, but he isn’t. The freely given tenderness still shakes him to his core, softens him into a painfully vulnerable thing.
All Astarion can do is nod wordlessly and shove the embroidered robes at Gale, who takes them with a startled expression.
“My robes?” Gale asks as he examines the garment.
“I finished mending them.”
“You did more than mend them,” Gale breathes, eyes fixed on tracing the silver thread that turns the navy robes into something akin to the night sky. For a moment Astarion is worried he’s upset Gale with the gesture, until he looks up at Astarion with damp eyes and a brilliant smile. “They’re stunning.”
One unforeseen side effect of being well fed these days is Astarion’s mortifying tendency to blush. The tips of his ears heat up, and he hopes Gale doesn’t notice. It’s worth it, though, to
see Gale so pleased. Happiness looks incredible on him, eyes sparkling and laugh lines deepening to frame his lovely smile. Astarion is already thinking of what else he can do to get this reaction when Gale pulls him into a hug.
The heat of Gale’s body is startling but magnetic. They’ve hugged a few times before. Not nearly enough for Astarion to be used to the contact, but he settles in after a moment. Wraps his arms around Gale’s waist and tucks his face against his shoulder. Settles into the embrace and drinks in the smell of sandalwood and old paper he’s come to associate with home.
“Thank you,” Gale whispers next to his ear.
“It’s nothing,” Astarion says, and he means it. What’s a few hours of embroidering compared to seeing Gale like this?
Astarion doesn’t want to let go, but he does once Gale starts to pull back. Except Gale doesn’t step back entirely. Instead he lingers, hands resting on Astarion’s upper arms. Astarion shivers under the touch, the intensity of his gaze. What was it that Tara said? That Gale is very fond of him? Astarion wills himself not to get his hopes up.
“I love the night sky,” Gale says softly, like Astarion doesn't already know that. Like he hadn’t purposefully chosen that design. “The cradle of eternity. The timelessness of lovers. The most beautiful of fantasies.”
Gale’s eyes drop to the robes he let fall onto Astarion’s chair in his haste to hug him. Astarion thinks back with aching fondness to the night Gale took him up to the roof of the tower with a bottle of Esmeltar red and pointed out the constellations to him. The low hum of Gale’s voice as he explained the tale behind each of them. The stars held no shortage of doomed lovers, an irony that was not lost on Astarion.
Sometimes he wishes his wizard wasn’t so sentimental. It puts dangerous ideas in Astarion’s head.
“I’m so very glad you came home with me to Waterdeep, Astarion. I’ve been reluctant to do anything that might threaten that, but there is no point in running from the inevitable,” Gale meets his eyes then, and he looks afraid. Astarion blinks at him, simultaneously wanting to comfort and strangle him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Astarion interrupts sternly. Gale gets like this sometimes, morose and self-deprecating. Astarion has no qualms about snapping him out of it. “You’re my best friend. You house me for free in your fancy tower and treat me like a person. You literally cannot get rid of me at this point.”
Gale makes a soft, barely audible noise. Almost a whimper, and Astarion wishes he could hold him again.
“That’s not– you must know that you’re very special to me,” Gale explains somberly.
A frisson of fear runs through Astarion, then. This is where the but comes in, isn’t it? The moment Gale tells him with sad, regretful eyes that he needs to pack his things and go. He’s trying to soften the blow before kicking him out. Astarion’s mind races, trying to figure out what he’s going to say to change Gale’s mind.
“I want to do things properly,” he continues. Is there a proper way to tell the pathetic vampire spawn that’s latched onto you to get lost? Astarion wants to laugh, or scream, or maybe bite him. Instead he just stands there and waits for the inevitable. “I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to say this all better, but it seems words fail me when it comes to you, Astarion. I’m in love with you.”
What?
Gale can’t be serious. It doesn’t seem like something he would joke about, but he must be. Astarion is a vampire spawn. He’s a liar and a thief. Condemned to a life in the shadows with nothing to his name. He still barely knows how to live outside the oppressive control of his former master. Nothing about Astarion is lovable.
“That’s not funny,” Astarion snaps, hurt creeping into his voice. He hates how much it stings. How badly he wishes Gale meant it.
“It’s not supposed to be funny,” Gale frowns, brow furrowed. “I’m serious, Astarion. I’m in love with you.”
“Why?” Astarion asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but it doesn’t make sense. It feels like the sort of trick Astarion is used to, designed to get him to drop his guard. “That’s an objectively stupid thing to do.”
“You can just say you don’t feel the same way. It’s fine,” Gale says softly, and the way his face falls feels like a punch to the gut. “I’ll leave you be. I can recognize when I’ve made an ass of myself.”
Gale tries to pull away, but Astarion reaches for him. Hurriedly grabs onto his sleeve before he can go far.
“Wait, I–” Astarion has no idea what to say. His head is spinning as he tries to process, but the last thing he wants is for Gale to leave. “I don’t know how I feel. I want… I want us to be something more. Something real. But I don’t know what that looks like, or if it’s even possible.”
Gale softens. Slowly, he brings his hand to Astarion’s cheek, as if he might bolt at any sudden movement. Levels those damned puppy dog eyes at Astarion—they work far too well on him.
“I don’t expect you to know, but if you’d be willing to give us a chance…” Gale murmurs, and Astarion aches with the softness of it. With how fond he is of this silly wizard. “We can take this at whatever pace you’d like. Figure things out together.”
“I think I’d like that,” Astarion whispers. He’s unused to feeling shy, but finds he doesn’t mind it too much. “Can I kiss you?”
As soon as Astarion registers Gale’s nod, he closes the distance between them. Gale makes a soft, sweet noise that has Astarion wrapping his arms around him to pull them closer together. Astarion has never felt any particular way about kissing before now; it was always a means to an end. This is a connection. Closeness with someone of Astarion’s choosing. A way to communicate the feelings he doesn’t have words for yet.
It’s gentle and unhurried, and Astarion luxuriates in the slide of Gale’s lips against his. Gale’s hand on his cheek, the other tangled loosely in his curls. The familiar warmth and smell of him, how beautifully alive he is. They eventually have to part so Gale can breathe, but they don’t go far.
“That was a wonderful start,” Gale grins, flushed and a little breathless. Astarion decides he looks quite lovely after being kissed.
“Hopefully the first of many,” Astarion agrees.
He’s about to lean in for their second when the door swings wide open, revealing a guilty-looking tressym.
“Oh! Wrong room,” Tara exclaims. “Silly me. I’ll just get going. You two boys have fun!”
Before either of them can say anything, Tara takes off down the hall. They make eye contact for a moment before bursting into laughter. Astarion rests his head on Gale’s shoulder to try and calm his giggles. Somehow, he doesn’t think his feud with Tara will be a problem anymore.