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Even the now-familiar creak of the penultimate stair sounded weary, as Gale climbed haggardly to the top floor of the Elfsong Tavern. He'd usually skip the step out of habit, but this time he didn't even have the energy to wince at the noise. He felt like he already needed another bath, despite how little dust he could have conceivably accumulated since scrubbing a bucket's worth of viscera from his skin the previous day.
The overworked hinges screeched as he pushed the door shut behind him and leant against it for a second. "You and me both," he muttered.
With a groan, he pushed himself upright again and began trudging towards the cubby he shared with Astarion. He couldn't believe it was possible to ache so much and still remain standing, and the only reason he directed his feet onwards was for the guaranteed company and bed at the end of the room, rather than curling up alone there and then on the cold hard floor.
He'd expected the room to be quiet, he and Astarion the only ones of their unlikely company still in Baldur's Gate without people to seek out or business to attend to; even Scratch and the owlbear cub had been smuggled out of the city walls by Shadowheart and her parents for some much-needed fresh air and exercise. He had offered to go with Astarion to find his siblings, but, quite understandably, Astarion wasn't ready to start a new phase of his life yet. He'd barely started this one, finally free of Cazador and the tadpole but no longer protected from the vampiric curse.
Even so, the silence was eerie after the bustle and clutter he was accustomed to, and he felt a pang of emotion as he passed Karlach and Laezel's bunks, who they'd barely had a chance to bid farewell as they left. It had all happened so fast. He made a mental note to prepare a Sending to his mother, and Tara if he didn't cross paths with her soon; but for now, like Astarion, he just wanted to rest without being questioned and begin to process- well, everything.
He rounded the corner and was surprised to see Astarion hadn't moved an inch since he'd left earlier, even though he'd no doubt recognised Gale's footsteps approaching the Tavern, or at least his huffs and groans as he persevered up the stairs and over to their cubby. Not for the first time, he wondered if Astarion, in his covert ways, really did want to devote his time to someone who veritably clanked with every movement. As if hearing this, Astarion turned his head from facing the wall to peer over his shoulder at Gale.
"Did you do it?" he asked softly.
Gale gestured towards the edge of the bed questioningly, and Astarion looked to the empty space and nodded, shifting onto his back to see Gale better. Gale sat heavily with a final groan and braced for a snarky comment, but only saw the side of Astarion's lip quirk, any amusement not reaching his eyes.
"Yes, I did. On both counts." Gale let a heavy breath out, loosening his chest and shoulders with a smile. "The Crown is with Mystra now. As is," he pulled at his lapel to show his unblemished chest, "the Karsite Weave."
Astarion raised his eyebrows at that and sat up. He reached out a slender finger to trace the old path of the orb scar, now only soft, warm skin. "Can you feel anything?"
"No. One wave of her hand and it was… gone. Just like that." He sighed. "I feel lighter, unburdened. But not for the knowledge that she could have rid me of the orb at any point in my suffering." He glanced around at the space they'd shared with their companions. "Not again will I so readily yield my devotion to a deity."
Astarion huffed. "So she doesn't want you back as Chosen, I gather."
Gale tilted his head as he looked back at him. "I didn't give her the chance to offer or deny it. I thanked her for the gesture in return for the Crown, and returned to this plane. It was all very courteous. You'd have hated it."
Astarion's face softened. "So that's… that's it. It's done. We're free. Of the tadpoles, and me of Cazador, and you of your bitch goddess." He caught Gale's warning look and rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look! She's the one whose first impression on me was condemning you to death."
"Need I remind you that we met with your knife to my throat?"
Astarion shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his legs. "I suppose not."
Gale felt that something was off with Astarion, but struggled to say whether this was an expected reaction to the absurd litany of events in the recent past, or to something else as yet unbeknownst to him.
"Love?" He inquired softly as he used the tip of his finger to gently nudge Astarion's chin upwards and search his eyes. They darted away briefly before meeting his gaze, though Gale felt the jaw tense under his finger before Astarion pushed his wrist away. He was starting to feel concerned; Astarion hadn't offered a single teasing quip or flirtation since he'd walked in the room, as well as his evident discomfort and stilted answers. "What's on your mind?"
He was thankful they'd grown close enough that he could even ask such a thing and expect a sincere answer more often than not. It was - and continued to be - hard work, but Wyll and Karlach had knocked some sense into each of them about trust and reciprocity. Astarion had stopped defaulting to deflection and innuendo as an answer to everything, and Gale was learning to trust that if Astarion had a problem and expected Gale to do something about it, he would tell him, and any deeper probing into their psyches could wait until everything was “less of a clusterfuck". Nevertheless, Gale's curiosity would still itch inside him when something was going unsaid; still a common occurrence.
As such, it came as a surprise for Astarion to take a forced breath in, consciously relax his shoulders, maintain eye contact, and say, "I started thinking."
Gale blinked as he bit back the urge to tease that it was about time, and instead began to process what Astarion could mean by that. Thankfully, Astarion continued before he could begin hypothesising on the terrible thoughts he could be having about what he really thought of Gale and that he didn't want to see him anymore and-
"About what happens next. The two of us, being together."
Gale still couldn't place where the discomfort was stemming from, and whether he should be bracing himself for it, but willed himself to say something; if only to put less pressure on Astarion to carry the conversation. "Well… I'd like that- if it's amenable to you?"
Astarion blinked this time. "Of course it's amenable to me, you oaf. I wouldn't be here otherwise."
"Oh. Well, that is most welcome to hear."
Astarion rolled his eyes again and continued, "I mean 'next' as in… life. I've never had a future to make plans in. I've only ever known survival. Coping with the present, and ensuring I'm more valuable alive than dead." Surprisingly, his eyebrows furrowed and he sniffed. "Not that I was ever permitted to die. Not by Cazador, not by tadpole, not by that decrepit old scribe-"
They both looked around the room then, both realising for the first time that Withers wasn't present.
"Huh. Fancy that. Perhaps the Dead Three needed a stern talking-to."
"You were talking about not dying?" Gale ventured, attempting to nudge them back on track.
Astarion sighed. "Yes. That particular trait I have. Unlike some people."
"You mean me? Are you… accusing me of being mortal?" Gale paused, still unable to make sense of it. "What does this have to do with us? It's not as though you can’t indulge in the pleasures of the flesh all the same."
"Darling, don't be disgusting. And it's not a you problem, anyway."
"Astarion, I can't conceive what would make you think otherwise, but I have no qualms whatsoever about being with you, mortal or not. It wasn't your fault you were turned, and your life-"
"Do shut up, Gale. Trust me, I am well aware that anyone on Toril would be blessed to have me. I am nothing if not a catch!" He patted his curls as if to emphasise his point. "But I'm thinking more long-term. When I continue to not die. And you… you won't. Not die, that is."
He took a breath which shook minutely, and fixed his gaze at a point across the room, bracing his hands in his lap. "You know, I've never had to face mortality, unless you count the moment I was turned." He let out a quiet, but bitter, laugh. "And now there's you, and I'm haunted by it. This, us, however long we string it out for, will only ever be temporary for me," another sniff, and this time a single tear escaped and Astarion rubbed it away frustratedly, "but it might not be for you. Do you know how much that terrifies me?"
He turned his gaze back to Gale, looking fraught with worry. Gale smiled and reached for his hands, and when Astarion loosened to allow him to take them he brought them to his mouth to kiss the back of each.
"Oh, Astarion, love. That's what's bothering you? How long has this been on your mind?"
Astarion scowled. "I don't know. Not very. Everything has been happening so fast, and now it isn't and- well, it's not like I spent my evenings pondering the mortality of any stranger with a godsdamn worm in their head! We were all more focused on dealing with them before death or ceremorphosis won out – not to mention nearing Baldur’s Gate and Cazador. I had been a mite preoccupied with those imminent perils," he scoffed, "but then, in the mountains, that old fogey came on holy orders to demand your sacrifice."
Gale shifted uncomfortably, but decided it wasn't a wise time to defend Elminster or his actions. He squeezed Astarion's hands gently and let him continue.
"Suddenly I found I worried about the thought of losing one of the few people I'd ever grown to… like," he sniffed and frowned, as if to hide his lips from quivering, "not to mention the risk to myself being caught in the blast radius! You wizards can be so bloody inconsiderate! The looming threats of the Absolute and Cazador were already quite sufficient. Thank the gods I saved the day and talked you out of it, darling."
Gale spluttered incredulously. "What do you- it was my own decision!"
Ignoring him, Astarion carried on. "I saved us all from your martyr complex, twice now, I might add, and each time we immediately had some other impending problem to face, and it never occurred to me to ponder on the future when we were doomed in the present."
He sighed and looked earnestly into Gale's eyes. "But now they've gone- and eternity is stretched out in front of me for the first time in my memory. When you left today, and everything went quiet - I've never been alone with my thoughts without having to focus on surviving. I can't help recalling all those moments I hadn't given much thought at the time. How you dying by the orb could have only shortened your whole life by my age when I was turned. Ketheric, a half-elf, needing to use the Nightsong's power to prolong his own life - Gale, I'm probably older than him, and Halsin even more so - he's barely begun his midlife crisis - so even if I wasn't undead I'd be facing such a short future with you. I remember every time you went down in a fight and could have lost you if we'd had one less spell or potion of healing. Your damn joints are disintegrating as we speak! And with Elminster," he sneered, as Gale suspected he would each time the name left his mouth, "perpetually showing his wrinkled visage, a walking advertisement of human mortality- and then we were on that damn brain, and you looked so small, and I couldn't get to you through everything going on, and I didn't know if someone was covering you-,” his voice broke, and now there were tears running freely down alabaster cheeks.
"It's terrifying to have things - people - that I'm afraid to lose, let alone one so easily endangered," his voice cracked and he dropped to a whisper, as if the words could bite him. "You're human. So… fragile. The time you have left is a blip on my lifespan, and that's providing you don't slip on an errant peel or-"
Gale had heard enough to understand and didn't want to let Astarion tangle himself up in his fears any more than he had already. He gently shushed him and wiped tears from his face with one warm hand, while shifting the other to cover both of Astarion's hands between them. The elf was breathing heavily even though he didn't need to at all.
"Shh, shh, Astarion, love," he took steady breaths, until Astarion's slowed down to match. He asked gently, "You haven't met many wizards in your time, have you?"
Astarion sniffled and furrowed his brow. "Of course not. You mages aren't - or weren't - my usual crowd. Too tricksy to be an easy target." He managed a sly smile. "Not that it stopped me from picking you up, I suppose."
"Hey, now!" Gale raised a finger in disagreement. "Let's not forget that I suspected your sanguine predilections from the start. And, fortunately for both of us, you never tried to lure me to a threatening mansion in the middle of the night, or I certainly would have proven tricksy! On the contrary, it happened in the daytime and you actually tried to leave me at camp." He smiled and gave Astarion a peck on the lips. "But I digress. My love- do you actually know how old Elminster is?"
Astarion's face fell again at the reminder and he answered dourly. "Horrifically so. One foot is firmly planted in the grave, but he's a child by elven standards." He laughed hollowly. "A mere babe to an immortal," he finished with disgust.
Gale was pained to see the torment Astarion had been inflicting on himself, and regretted not pushing his exhausted limbs even further so he could have been back sooner. He cupped Astarion's face and wiped a stray tear with his thumb, smiling wryly. "I did tell you about his doddering old man act, and must admit I didn't expect you to be so easily taken in by it." He put a finger up to quell Astarion's budding retort before continuing. "If memory - and my arithmetic - serves, he has 1,280 years to his name."
Gale noticed that Astarion looked especially sweet when stunned by a nice surprise, with just the very tips of his sharp canines peeking out below his top lip as his mouth hung open.
"Granted, in his case it is in part due to Mystra's interference," Gale clarified, and held his index finger up as Astarion frowned again, "but we wizards do possess a dastardly combination of vanity and power, and there are a number of methods at our disposal to extend our lifespan. A trifle for one with the power of an archmage or Chosen of Mystra - such as I did and will again possess! Of course, the official purpose of these powers is to dedicate one's whole self to mastering the myriad complexities of magic and the Weave, and wield it in aid of the advancement of civilisation on Toril and beyond; not something easily done within a millennium, when the gods themselves rarely invest in mortal affairs."
With some visible effort, Astarion regained his composure and found his voice. "Well, this does change things. If only I'd bothered to learn what an archmage was sooner, I would have thrown myself at you much earlier."
Gale chuckled and held his arms open for Astarion to press forward into him and bury his head in his shoulder. Gale turned his head and kissed the soft curls brushing his face. They stayed in the cuddle for a few moments, enjoying the relief from aching joints and existential dread, until Astarion drew back suddenly with his eyes narrowed accusatorily.
"Are you telling me that you're allowing your joints to creak and pop by choice?" He sounded scandalised.
Gale laughed again as he realised his oversight. "I know I called it a trifle, but it is very complex magic, and not to be used lightly. Besides, I still have yet to restore my capabilities to their previous levels." He winked. "You've seen but a mere fraction of the powers I'd curated prior to my folly and the tadpole."
Astarion chuckled breathlessly, another reaction Gale rather hoped he could elicit again. "I suppose I underestimated you, wizard."
"Don't worry. I'm used to it. And I certainly could get used to this kind of appreciation from you."
This time Astarion raised a finger to tap Gale on the nose. "Don't get cocky now, dear. My new aim for the foreseeable is to make you regret ever telling me how powerful you can be. Speaking of," he leaned forwards again, to nuzzle at Gale's throat, "you smell divine without that thing rotting you from the inside out, darling."
Gale clutched his chest in mock horror. "My sincerest apologies for making you wait a mere second longer than needed before sampling a prime Waterdhavian delicacy!" He placed the back of his palm over his brow, putting on a swoon. "Please, oh creature of the night, slake your thirst on my lifeforce! After all, I have plenty to spare," he concluded with a teasing grin.
Despite Astarion rolling his eyes at that, there was an eager glint in them that Gale loved to see. They shifted around each other on the lumpy mattress until Gale was lying on his back with his feet raised on a pillow, arm around Astarion, who curled up along his side.
Astarion snickered. "I've never had such an elaborate setup for a meal. You must be gourmet."
"Only the best for you, my love."
Astarion kissed him on his temple, then his lips, then his cheek, and finally his neck. "Ready for me, darling?" he asked, and Gale nodded as he wondered if they were both as nervous with anticipation as the other. Astarion leant in, and Gale winced at the sharp rip of pain, followed by-
"AGH!! What in the hells is that?" Astarion spluttered as he launched himself upright, trying to wipe Gale's blood from his tongue. "Why is it so… lemon sour? Eugh!"
Gale tried to keep a straight face but seeing the reaction made him snort out a giggle. He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Prestidigitation - I'm sorry. I couldn't resist!"
"Tricksy mage," Astarion grumbled with narrowed his eyes, still grimacing from the taste.
Gale held both his hands open in the air in placation. "Go ahead. I promise, no more tricks."
Astarion's eyes glittered in the low light as he said in an even lower voice, "Well, for now," and winked as he wiped up a bead of blood with his finger and braced himself for a tentative lick. As soon as his tongue tip brushed the drip, Astarion gasped. His eyes widened and his pupils blew so much that his red irises nearly disappeared between black and white circles. Without further hesitation, he threw himself down, sunk his fangs back into the wound he'd made and groaned at the taste.
Though his bones still ached with fatigue, Gale felt awfully smug for the rest of the evening.