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"The One That Got A Thay: A slow-paced enemies-to-lovers tale featuring a bitter Archwizard of Thay and his nemesis, a pure-hearted, muscled berserker," Astarion reads aloud, chewing his curling lip with a fang before whirling around and thumping the book against Gale's chest. "This is right up your garden path, wizard. Please, no need to thank me so thoroughly. You're welcome." he declares, delighting in Gale's exasperated expression.
It wasn't a new expression - the wizard had been wearing it ever since the rogue read the words "Elminster's Library" on the placard aloud and pivoted to peer at him with a diabolical look on his face, only to lever the door, already pre-picked, open with a raised pale eyebrow. The painstakingly slow creak of the hinges had Karlach, previously surly with worry at Tav signing her soul away, folding with laughter.
With Tav's self-assurance rumpled by Karlach's fervent anxieties, further crumpled by the Emperor's immediate interrogation in which by some miracle she'd managed to hide their possession of the Orphic hammer from the illithid in her mind, their de-facto leader had grumbled they ought to swing by camp and grab Lae'zel, speak with Voss first before veering off to explore. The rogue derailed a rather straightforward plan with a mischievous, "oh but it'll be just a tiny peek.", flashing not-so-innocent eyes, citing Mamzel's missing librarian and the aversion Gale's keening knees would have to climbing the flights of stairs a second time, should they come back later. Gale elected not to remind the vampire he could cast fly, if needs be, because in his heart of hearts, he knew the vampire to be up to something.
Astarion was as concerned for Tav as the rest of them, if not more-so, having been her lover until some point in the Shadowlands. The wizard didn't know the specifics of how or why it ended between them, wouldn't pry. All he knew was that it was for Astarion to volunteer such personal information and at some point in their journey, he'd gotten to better know the vampire's quirks, cues, realised the mild animosity between the vampire and himself had never truly been wholehearted. He also knew that in this instance, poignant red meeting his own mystified brown, that he would cave to whatever chaos or scheme the vampire was concocting- the purpose of which Gale suspected was to lighten the mood of Tav and Karlach.
Gale's speculations on Astarion's tenderness was something he would never breathe aloud, yet he could not help but ponder them. The rest of them sans Wyll and Karlach had, in truth, no idea what to expect of the Hells outside of the harrowing glimpses they'd gotten of Avernus from the nautaloid. Karlach, who had been refusing to even think about returning to the Hells to fix her engine, suddenly demanding passionately they rock up the Raphael's Hellish House of Hope for Tav, all swords and spells blazing? The implications were profound.
Then there was Astarion. Gale had tensed at the rising emotions and as his eyes flittered about restlessly to accidentally catch Astarion's, he saw a mirrored flash of anxiety, deep-seated concern, peeking through the cracks in a well-worn mask.
Thus, as Astarion had backed into the room without lifting his gaze from Gale, tugging the wizard along by the corner of his cloak, Gale knew he would weather what was to come and do so willingly.
"Most gracious of you," Gale inclined a head with tongue-in-cheek sincerity. "I assume upon my reading, you will want a thorough analysis of the inevitably unviable use for some of the spell work? Unless, of course, the author has pulled the very spells themselves out of their arse - and to that I will hopefully marvel at their creativity. All new spells start with the imagination, after all."
"Ooh, brilliant actually, please! You'd do that just for me? Pay extra attention to the smuttier chapters, don't be shy." Astarion chuckles, taps the book against Gale's chest a few more times, prompting the wizard to take it. When he does, the vampire executes a most curious action of pinching Gale's chin before he turns to busy himself pawing through the next awaiting bookshelf, gloves long pulled from dexterous fingers so he could swiftly flip through pages.
Gale blinks, baffled, doesn't much mind the laugh that escapes Karlach from where she was previously gushing over how soft the bed looked. Nor does he mind the huff of amusement from Tav by a dresser, a scarce letter she'd found held loose in her hand.
"I must say, it's a decent attempt at recreating a generalised library. The most unbelievable part of all this however is that Elminster would have decently organised shelving." Gale ponders, finding the whole set-up rather ridiculous but slightly curious. "His workspaces are as notoriously cumbersome and eclectic as his speech."
"So it's not a bit of a stretch to assume he'd like a good shag against a bookshelf?" Karlach asks between snickers, a mischief in her to rival Astarion's.
Astarion elbows her lightly, his grin all teeth with fang. "Over a desk..." he adds and she snorts.
"He's over a millennia old, I presume it isn't," Gale grimaces, squints between them. "By the Gods, you two, he is - was - my mentor. Have an iota of mercy," Astarion promptly attempts to open his mouth, but Gale, professional windbag, is more determined not to let him get a word in edgewise, "We digress far from the true matter at hand. Any word on the Stern Librarian?" Gale calls out to Tav, who was turning over a piece of paper in her hands and squinting at it as if she couldn't read.
"Maybe." she rumbles. "But I've never read handwriting so bad." she squints, pulls the paper to the tip of her nose, slowly pulls it away.
"Look at the pair of you, all Camber Fosrick, focusing on the silly stuff while Karlach asks the serious questions." Astarion quips, eyes lighting up at the title of another book and Gale is astounded at the speed in which Astarion's nimble fingers make for the spine.
The irony of the vampire always moaning about Gale focusing on robbing books, ink pots and quills instead of the more valuable stuff like gold, jewels and whatnot is not lost on Gale. Oh, if Astarion could see his endearing self as Gale was seeing him now...
Endearing? The adjective gives Gale pause, although there's nothing at all untoward about the thought, he feels vaguely winded... which would probably be all the stairs catching up with him.
"Told you lot I'm not just a pretty face and a gorgeous great-axe." jokes Karlach, flexing muscles, then knocking on her noggin as if she doesn't believe it. Gale would protest her disbelief yet Astarion beats him to it, a vague threatening note to his tone that pulls a puff of amusement from the wizard.
"You are all that and so much more, darling. Next time? Say it like you mean it." he chides and gets a two fingered salute for it.
"Roger, ya dodgy codger." she beams splitting at him and gets an amused little pout in return.
"Question, who in the Hells is Camber?" Their odd Drow friend interjects, continuing to squint as if she was reading bad hand writing. Gale reckons she remains a touch sensitive to light.
"Actually, now that I think about it," Karlach scratches her chin, peering around the room like the answer might reveal itself. "I haven't a notion either."
"A rather silly cogitator in a crime series so terrible it's honestly rather good." Gale explains, laughter filling his chest. "Although I'd hesitate to go so far as to call him a detective. More slap-stick comedy than cutting-edge mystery." Tav and Karlach nod along and Gales eyes shift back to Astarion. "You've read some Lodevin Parkar, Astarion?"
"I'm 200 years young, Gale, and then some. It's hardly a long read." He answers, pauses, the open book flopping around in a flippant hand stilling with the rest of him. "Well, maybe for Firegirl."
"Oi, Fangs!" Karlach protests. "You know what word the Wiz let me in on the other day? Defenestration. You know what there's plenty of in here?" she threatens in good faith, the vampire's tinkling laughter only making her, Tav, smile more, "Windows! I'll do ya a favour and let you take your bloody pick of 'em."
Gale's chest is too warm, too tight, at the sight of Astarion waggling a potion of feather-fall in Karlach's face, so he turns away before he can outright simper and frighten them all with it, ambles towards a corner in which he suspects there's real spell scrolls poking out among decorative trinkets, thinking back to Karlach's white lie about not being able to read shortly after Elminster had first delivered the news that Mystra wanted him to detonate the orb. A heartfelt offer of an ear or two followed by arguably the bigger bombshell at the time, even though Gale had been certain he'd seen her read things prior, had said as much.
A distraction tactic, she later confessed, and every single one of his dear companions had played along.
In the corner of his eye, he spies Tav holding up two different harnesses to her deceptively burly frame, both much too small, wondering if either-or would be Lae'zel's cup of tea. Being a wild magic sorcerer, she was actually as clumsy as Gale in melee, albeit considerably more charming with it.
Even Tav, the stoic, sceptical sorcerer who was softer than she let on, played her part. Lae'zel turned out to be a bloody superb actress. A Githyanki has no weaknesses, the Gith had declared upon accolades, before offering to do her best impression of Astarion.
Wyll, Shadowheart, Halsin, Hells, even Minthara, who they'd saved long after the fact and as paranoid as he was to think of her lest she appear before them with a radiant smite coupled with a fun fact about Menzoberranzan and Men Like Gale. All their trails and tribulations, idiosyncrasies and disagreements, he has never been so glad to have met them, to live another day alongside them and he wonders where wouldn't he go for them? A trip to the Hells was no large bother if it meant-
"Gale?"
Gale flinches, turning around to find Astarion much too close, peering at him. Over the vampire's shoulder, Tav and Karlach are now having a hushed heart-to-heart considerably less animated than the interaction on the balcony previously. Gale strains his ears, hears an "-and I'm sorry." and "I didn't understand-" and "-so killing him isn't enough, I thought-" and "we'll make this right-". Ah. Good.
The wizard clears his throat, looks down at the unravelled scroll of misty step in his hand, blinks away the mist in his eyes. "Yes?"
"Gods and Hells alike, your face. Stop it?" The vampire wrinkles his nose, swirls an accusatory finger before Gale's own nose. "Must you?"
Gale laughs, his chest feeling no less tight, nor his throat, "You'll need to elaborate, I'm afraid."
"The big doleful eyes, the soggy doe squint. I fled those two for getting maudlin and now you're looking at me like that. I'm left wondering..." Astarion bemoans and Gale thinks his eyes are tricking him, spying a quiver of concern and the end of the unfinished sentence dancing across the rogue's ethereal face. It's gone as quick as it comes with the lopsided quirk of a lip. "Perhaps it was the rack of different kinds of tickling quills that pushed you over the edge? I imagine this is an affront to your sensibilities."
"Keep imagining. And what on all of Toril do you mean by "a rack of-"? Actually, you know what? Never-mind. I have a fair idea." Gale shakes his head, deciding not to ask further about the latter, instead wanting to ask Astarion about the formerly unsaid, what he had been wondering before the switch-a-roo in tone. "And to your first question, I must do such horrendous things with my face. You won't like my reasoning, I'm afraid." Gale smiles. "Too maudlin."
"Ugh, go on then." the vampire rolls a wrist, and Gale feels tender warmth spread in his chest, across his cheeks at the mining look in red eyes, so different to the hard-rock they'd both been to each other in their earliest days. It is a great challenge to refrain from pondering the softness among all of Astarion's sharp edges, especially because Gale rather likes to.
He's lovely, the enigma that Astarion is, solved or unsolved, known or unknown, and the wizard is suddenly very aware of his beating heart.
"Ah. Well, to keep it concise. You, all of you, are quite... wonderful. That's all." Gale divulges.
"That's all?" Astarion sounds surprised.
"That's all." Gale's lip quivers at Astarion's not-so-subtle suspicion.
He would say more, get poetic with it, enjoy indulging but knows Astarion enough now to know anything a tad more direct might have him gliding for the door, or even a window.
So he rolls the scroll of misty step back up again, fastens it and holds it out for Astarion to take if he so wishes, alongside two black diamonds he'd swiped from under Raphael's nose and a copy of A Hunter's Piercing Gaze he'd found in this very room, the book small, thin and entirely about the colour of Drizzt Do'Urden's eyes. It wasn't much, still, Gale knew Astarion was quite the fan of the ranger from their previous literature swaps and the patterns, preferences, of Astarion's pilfering fingers in Gale's own pack.
Astarion's eyes flicker down and back up, his eyes once again shining with the unaddressed, is quiet for a while before moving to take the proffered items, except the tips of his fingers settle upon Gale's and stay there. Neither of them move and Gale must truly will himself to stop himself from levering away, not because the contact is unsettling, but knowing how Astarion likes his space-
The vampire leans in, face somehow both confrontational and gentle, voice low, gingerly inquisitive.
"I wonder..." Astarion says carefully, slowly, the way he holds Gale's eyes making the world disappeared around them. "... When Raphael claimed we'd have no choice but to take up his offer once we ran out of options, when you went and reminded him of your orb," he falters and the silence between them is unbearably loud as Gale waits with bated breath, wants to slap himself silly for noticing the flow of Astarion's own breath against Gale's skin, his chin, his lips just-so, as he talks, the absence of it when Astarion stops to swill his next words. "... what was that?"
Short, curt if not for the roving wide-eyes. Complicated.
"I..."
Astarion is unwavering in his attention. Gale's tongue and heartbeat is heavy under the relentless.
He hadn't expected, didn't expect...
Gale wets his lips, knows Astarion can hear, never-mind see, his bracing inhale.
"... I thought it would be pertinent to remind him, in a hypothetical sense, that it is technically one of our options, a worst case scenario, a means to encourage him to be tad more forthright about his ambitions."
Astarion red eyes rake over his face, a single finger absently drifting back and forth, grazing the wizard's knuckles repeatedly. Another tensile stretch of silence.
"So a worst case scenario, not first case scenario?" Astarion presses with cracks in the mask, working his nails into the cracks in Gale's own. Gale is barely able to stand it.
"I'd like to live, if that's all the same to you. I'd also like all of you to live." Gales answers honestly, then murmurs, "I swear it, Astarion."
Astarion eyes remain searching, persisting in finding a lie where there isn't one. Just as Gale is about to ask what this is, feeling nails curl and press into his skin gently, the vampire harrumphs, pulls away with stern but satisfied eyes, takes the items with him.
"Good. Don't make me think otherwise again." then he says softer, agonisingly so, "I don't want to think about losing any one of you, in any shape or form."
And as if the conversation had never happened, the shadows, purged, lift from his face.
"It looks like my secret is out, then." the vampire chimes, flipping open the book with renewed vigour, an interested hum.
Gale is flailing in confusion, trying to remember what exactly had been going on just before Astarion had hooked and reeled him in. "About Drizzt? I unfortunately must break it to you that it never really was," The wizard says, eventually remembering the book, then testing the waters, he adds, "You know, there's a few great works, official and unofficial, on the supposed goings-on of Jarlaxle in Luskan. I can't help be considerably more intrigued by his wiliness-"
"Oh shush," the vampire holds up a finger, commands silence with a look, which Gale is not one to cave to except now it's his turn to struggle getting a word in edgewise. "Don't you even dare try that with me. The closet is glass, Gale. Not once have I found a Jarlaxle exclusive within your travelling library."
"Correct me if Im wrong, is this somewhat an indirect admission of theft?" Gale teases.
"Was that somewhat a direct admission of daftness? Once upon a time I was a magistrate." The vampire jabs a finger into Gale's sternum with flashing eyes and a smirk. "Granted, I don't remember much but it doesn't take a genius to know being a nosy Nancy isn't a crime."
"No, I suppose it's not." Gale agrees. "A bit belated but you should know that what is mine is also yours. Anything you fancy, Nancy." He throws it between them, hopes - but does not pray - he doesn't come across too saccharine.
"Oh you sweet Sally, you, but it's much too fun stealing from under your nose, paper or otherwise. Maybe one of these days you'll figure out how to thwart me." Astarion retaliates blithely and before Gale can rejoice at the confession, Astarion shoves another book he'd pulled from absolutely nowhere between them. "So, do you know The Butler's Cane Has A Knob On The End?" he asks with barely restrained glee.
Across the way, Tav and Karlach share a dubious look between themselves at the two tucked away in the corner of the room bantering, bartering, bickering and in Gale's case, blushing just ever-so-slight.
"Bagsy not breaking up the Book Worms with the bad news about Fionn." Karlach says, "Haven't a clue when they happened, but I haven't the strength to pull them apart. You'll have to do it, soldier." she turns large pleading eyes on Tav. "Just look at them. Poor blokes don't even know."
Tav smiles as she and Karlach watch the two chuckle over another raunchy tome, Gale claiming whatever one they were looking at, Shadowheart and Wyll had confessed they both loved it to him in total confidence, putting stress and volume upon the 'total confidence' bit. Astarion, with his keen eyes, flips to the absolute worst paragraph deliberately, judging by the way he throws his head back in shameless laughter and Gale beams into his knuckles, hiding the brightness of his smile.
"Will do, soldier." Tav says, "And you're right, you know? What you said earlier." The large seldarine Drow sets a firm hand on Karlach's broad red shoulder, thumbing the warm scars and vents affectionately. "You, I, them, all of us... These Hells, we will face them, we will survive them, we are stronger than we know."
The Book Nook, Karlach calls it, their little corner in the Elfsong. It has spread among the others.The pair of them play it down, how breezily they chop and change certain belongings. What's a few books between friends? The casual exchange of literature? If any of the rest of their party showed genuine interest in a tome recommendation or two beyond merely attempting to wind them up, Gale would happily provide with the same candour, is what he says. It is also what Astarion says about Gale's candour.
Gale falls asleep with a book square on his face, sleep-talking between the pages as Astarion commits the silly sight to his memory, a comfort to him on longer, quieter nights. He has nothing better to do as the rest of their companions sleep and he doesn't feel like mingling with the drunken regulars and strangers downstairs, is the rationalisation.
Astarion might slip from his bed more often than not, reach over the wizard and pluck the book from a sleep-rumpled brow, bookmark it with something so Gale doesn't lose his place, usually using something odd that Astarion himself has stolen. An enchanted ring for casting, a bushel of herbs for brewing, a decorated dagger for cutting the meat on the nights the kitchen had closed, just so he can delight at sluggish cogs turning behind sleepy eyes the next eve Gale decides to pry the pages open. It is strange how Astarion likes those brown eyes turning on him in realisation, appreciation, twinkling in fondness. More often than not, they do.
When Cazador is dead, Gale continues to heat Astarion's blankets each night after his cyclical bedtime stretches to prevent muscle cramps, fights valiantly innate biological exhaustion just to listen to Astarion's pondering a moment longer, rolls on his side and reads out his current page at Astarion's request, sometimes whole chapters if the writing is riveting enough. Cazador is dead and Astarion continues to wake from short trances riddled in nightmares to dancing lights already cast, chasing the shadows away.
Another book abandoned to dreams, splayed pages open on a chest rising and falling, this time. When the vampire stops himself short of brushing brown tangles of hair from a face contented in sleep, visions flickering under eyelids, a whisper of "sweetest dreams" catching in his throat, he half-wants Gale's eyes to flicker open and see exactly how Astarion looks at him when he thinks no one can see.
When all that remains is the brain, the realisation that this is much more than literature is a gentle caress. Strangely, it doesn't make him flinch away.
For the first time, Astarion wants to lean into it and feel.