Archive of Our Own

Astarion should have known something was going to go wrong from the moment they entered those accursed sewers.

He personally blamed the Emperor’s voice in their heads for distracting him. Sure, the ilithid was a source of great power (a power that Tav seemed to be unfathomably immune to the allure of), but Astarion would be lying if he said he cared much about the minutiae of his everyday life before his current situation. Though granted, the loot in his hideout was almost worth the githyanki horde they’d had to fight on the way in.

But it definitely hadn’t been worth the rats.

“There’s a passageway over here,” Shadowheart had said and Tav had looked at her like she had just declared her undying devotion, like they had ever since the cleric had decided to emulate Astarion’s own white locks and had rebuked Shar. It would be cute if it weren’t overly saccharine and just a tad revolting.

Karlach had hefted her axe. “I’ll go first. Who knows what waits on the other side?”

Hopefully not more rats, Astarion distinctly remembered thinking with a suppressed shudder. If he went another 200 years without seeing another accursed rodent, it would be too soon. “Lead the way, my dear.”

Which was how Astarion found himself in a foul-smelling and dimly lit storage room. It would be full of paltry loot and rotted food if previous experience was anything to go on.

Tav removed her hand from her shortsword when it became obvious they were alone. Why she even had the thing was a mystery. Astarion could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her use it over a good Shocking Grasp. But it seemed to offer them some security, and who was he to fault that?

“Let’s split up and look for anything valuable,” she said, though they all knew the offerings would be slim.

The others began to go through the piles of crates stacked against the wall. Astarion moved to join them, then paused. Maybe it was his heightened senses or maybe it was just the fact that he was closest to the exit, but there was something just beyond the edge of his hearing. After another second, it became clear.

There was someone- or something- running in their direction.

“Heads up,” Astarion said in a low voice. “Someone is coming our way.”

The others immediately snapped into a battle formation behind Tav, weapons and spells at the ready.

The smell didn’t hit Astarion until the footsteps were almost on top of them. Blood.

But not just any blood. Thick, acrid, foul-smelling blood, blood he would know the smell (and, thanks to one memorable evening, taste) of anywhere.

Gale’s blood.

“Wait-” is all he managed to get out before the door burst open.

And indeed, Gale of Waterdeep stood before them. It was obvious even at first glance, though, that something was deeply, terribly wrong. He was out of breath, which alone wouldn’t have been concerning, given his admitted lack of athletic prowess. But the look of terror in his eyes removed any doubts that this was an ordinary, if somewhat out of character, jog.

The worst of it, though, was the blood. Gale was covered in it, from the soles of his stylish boots to the trim of his beard. It splattered across his face like he had decided to wash himself in it. And, as far as Astarion could smell, it was all his own.

Karlach gasped softly, and Shadowheart automatically readied a healing spell in her hands. Even Tav had noticeably blanched.

Astarion, though… His first urge was to run to Gale’s side and check his wounds, to run past him and utterly destroy whatever it was that hurt him. Which was ridiculous. They were lovers in the most physical sense of the word, it wasn’t as if they had an emotional connection that warranted such an overreaction. And Gale certainly could handle himself.

But still, all that blood… It was almost enough to make Astarion’s stomach twist, and not just from the putrid smell.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that something was off about this entire thing. If Gale was in trouble, why didn’t he send a spectral image of himself to warn them? Where were the other members of camp with him? Were they already dead? Or was this something else entirely?

Astarion’s intuition rarely failed him, so he silently slid a dagger out from his sleeve and gripped it tightly in his hand.

Just in case.

“Is that… Is that truly you?” Gale asked between gasps, eyes darting about but refusing to land on one person in particular. “I thought I might never see you again.”

Astarion might have interrupted to ask who exactly he was talking to, certainly because it wasn’t like Gale to be anything less than specific and not for any reasons related to his pride, but the wizard held a hand up to silence any questioning.  

“No… You need to leave. Put enough distance between yourself and that monster.”

“Gale, you’re hurt, what happened?” Tav asked, her face pinched with worry.

He looked at them with something like incredulousness. “Orin happened.” Then he shuddered. “She snatched me up, from our camp. Brought me down here to her… her temple. A Blaalist enclave.”

Tav flinched, but Astarion continued to stare. The words were right, the inflection was right, but something… something was nagging at him.

Gale continued on, slipping into something of a ramble. “How long has it been? A tenday? Longer? I can’t even tell. She did things to me… Such awful things. Even I don’t have the words. She… She took things from me. She let me run. She likes the sport of it… Told me I could earn back what she cut off. My trophy, she said, if I could outpace her…”

Tav had covered her mouth in horror at this point, and even Shadowheart looked disturbed. Astarion, though, narrowed his eyes. Orin didn’t seem the type to let her prey run, even if it was for the fun of it.

“Look, you can’t fight her,” Gale said, looking directly at Tav now. “She’s too strong. Turn around. I’m done running. I’ll buy you what time I can.”

Ah, there was the self-sacrificing attitude he was so used to from Gale. But it didn’t seem to fit him right. There was no mention of the orb, no appeal to his goddess, nothing of the sort. It was like he was a puppet of himself, saying lines that had been whispered in his ear.

No, he realized with dawning fury, not a puppet. A double. A doppelganger.

Astarion was moving before Tav could respond. In a second, he was across the room, pinning Gale to the wall with a knife to his throat.

“What,” he said, lips curling into a snarl. “Have you done with him?”

“Astarion!” Tav barked, clearly caught off guard.

He ignored them and pressed the knife closer to Gale’s flesh. “Answer the fucking question.” He lowered his voice. “Orin.”

Somebody behind him inhaled sharply, but Astarion was too busy watching the cruel smile spread across Gale’s face.

 “Does it bother you, little spawn?” he- no, she- asked, tilting his head as much as the knife would allow him. “Knowing I took him from under your nose? That I bled and carved and filleted him until his red painted the room? That he screamed for you to come save him until he couldn’t scream anymore?”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” was all Astarion could growl, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. She was lying. She had to be.

“Gale” laughed, though it sounded nothing like the laugh Astarion had grown used to. “If you do, I promise you you’ll never find him. He’ll die alone, in delicious agony, and you will have to live the rest of your life knowing you could have saved him from his fate.”

Astarion glowered. It would be so satisfying to kill Orin right here and right now, to rip that Netherstone right from her dagger, but it would seal Gale’s doom. Once, he would have categorized it as an acceptable loss, but now he found himself hesitating. Not in the least because he wasn’t sure if he could slit her throat while she still looked like him, wasn’t sure if he could see the light fade from Gale’s eyes at his own hands.

Gods, what was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him at all. Had he really become so sentimental after sleeping with someone for a few months?

“Astarion, enough. Let her go.” Tav said, and it was not a request.

For a long second, Astarion considered disobeying. He could find a way to make Orin talk, just give him enough time.

Then with one last snarl, he took a step back, removing his dagger from her jugular.

“Good boy,” she crooned, and it was only Tav’s hand on his shoulder that stopped him from lunging at her again.

Then Gale’s neck did something Astarion never wanted to witness again, and with a sickening crack and a glimmer of red, a pale woman with long hair and blood-colored armor appeared before them.

Orin’s smile hadn’t faded all the while. “Now, if you ever want to see your handsome wizard again, you’ll do a little favor for me.”

“What do you want?” Tav asked warily.

“Kill the lording. Bring me his Netherstone. Then I’ll release him, hale and hearty. If you try to find him, though…” She narrowed her eyes. “You will never find what is left of him. His kind die so easily, after all.”

“Anything you do to him, I will do to you tenfold,” Astarion bit out, surprising even himself with the venom in his tone. Tav tightened their grip on his shoulder but said nothing.

Orin laughed again. “I look forward to it, pet.”

Then with a twist of her ring, she was gone.

It was evening by the time they got back to camp.

Tav grimly gave the bad news to the rest of the party, but Astarion’s mind was elsewhere. Usually by now, Gale was cooking something Astarion wouldn’t eat but would lightly critique nonetheless, though the wizard took it in stride. The camp seemed as cold and dead as the cooking fire, the silence where the typical chatter would be deafening.

When Tav was done, Astarion mechanically made his way to the empty tent next to his own. It looked as if Gale had just stepped out for a few moments, with books left open and scrolls half-written.

Slowly, deliberately, he began to dismantle the tent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wyll step forward, but stop when Tav muttered something to him. Good. The last thing he needed right now was platitudes, no matter how well-meaning.

Astarion placed the tent and its contents within his own. It was impractical, but he could see the outraged look on Gale’s face if he returned only to find his precious books ruined through improper storage.

He didn’t bother to join the camp for dinner or anything that came afterward. Instead, Astarion shut himself in his tent and busied himself in doing anything but thinking. He sharpened his daggers. He restrung his bow. He adjusted the straps on his armor.

No matter what he did, though, the nervous energy never dissipated. He was left with the vague unsatisfied need to do something, anything. He had half a mind to go hunting, even though he had just the day before and had been feeling rather sated before the events this afternoon ruined everything. At least it would be something else to focus on besides the empty space next to his tent.

Eventually, Astarion had to admit he was getting nowhere trying to distract himself. With a groan, he laid down on his bedroll. Maybe in his trance, he could take his mind elsewhere.

The trance, however, was hard-pressed to come to him. Astarion stared up at the top of his tent, but his eyes refused to grow heavy, and the cold seemed determined to seep into his bones without the warmth of another person lying next to him.

This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he and Gale had slept together every night, and even if they had, it shouldn’t matter. They weren’t partners in the daylight. They weren’t star-crossed lovers from Shadowheart and Wyll’s trashy romance novels or anything of the sort.

They had great sex together with relative frequency and that was it. So why did Astarion feel like a vital part of him was missing?

He forced his eyes closed and did his best to ignore the feeling of phantom hands in his hair and phantom lips against his neck. Just because this was a relationship that he could count on lasting until the next morning didn’t mean he should be broken up about this. It was inevitable, really, especially with Gale’s predilection towards self-destruction, that something like this would happen. That was the cost of the life of peril and heroics Tav seemed insistent they live.

Orin’s words wouldn’t leave his head. Astarion had been too focused on trying to solve the memory of Gale’s odd behavior that he hadn’t reacted to what she was saying while pretending to be the wizard, but now her false pleas kept echoing. What did she take from him? Was she telling the truth, or simply trying to get them to lower their guard? Where was he now? Had he… Had he really screamed for him?

That couldn’t be true. Astarion couldn’t imagine his name on anybody’s lips as a cry for help, even if he was probably the closest to Gale out of everyone in the camp in every sense of the word. She was simply taunting him, trying to provoke him into recklessness. And, he admitted begrudgingly, it had worked. If Tav hadn’t been there, he probably would have slit her throat the moment she dropped her disguise. Where had that anger even come from?

And what if she wasn’t lying? a treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispered. What then? After all, all that blood had to come from somewhere.

Astarion could picture it all too clearly, Gale cold and alone, noxious blood pooling beneath his expensive robes. Would he be afraid? Resolute? A prayer to his goddess on his lips? Would it even matter once Orin started cutting away at him?

And what of the orb? Would Gale be tempted to trigger it, to bring the whole place down on their heads? Astarion, who quite liked living, thank you very much, hoped that he wouldn’t. For purely selfish reasons, of course.

That was assuming that Orin didn’t carve it out of his chest.

There was something like bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought. Enough. Enough. Astarion pressed his eyelids together hard enough that all he could see was red. He needed rest. They would figure out a plan of action on the morrow, one that hopefully involved murdering an untold number of Bhaalist initiates. That would be enough to keep his mind busy.

Eventually, Astarion drifted off, his dreams haunted by flashes of purple and the faint smell of rotting blood.

They didn’t form a plan to save Gale that next morning, though.

Instead, Mizora came waltzing into camp and announced that Wyll’s father was sentenced to die soon unless they did something about it. Wyll, of course, signed his soul away (again) for the information, though Astarion failed to see what the man had ever done for him beyond disowning him. But he supposed it wasn’t his place to comment.

With the location of Gortash’s fortress in hand, Tav made the executive decision to make pursuing Duke Ravenguard their top priority. Astarion, of course, objected, pointing out that it was unlikely Orin would keep her bloodlust in check for very long. But he was overruled by the rest of the party, who seemed keen on making his hair greyer somehow.

Gale better appreciate this when he gets out, Astarion thought sourly. Never let it be said I didn’t stick my neck out for him.

At least Tav chose him to come along, which meant he was able to distract himself with slaughtering fish people and guards alike while an alarm blared loud enough to deafen him and they were all under threat of being blown up at any moment. It was almost fun.

And it was nice to see Tav tell Gortash to fuck off, while they were at it.

Wyll’s reunion with his father in the submarine left something to be desired, but at least the Gondians were properly grateful, even if they couldn’t save them all. They didn’t have any reward money, of course, which was mildly annoying, but Astarion supposed Tav’s philosophy on being a hero didn’t entail much reward money anyway. Which was a shame, but one he had at least gotten used to.

Back on land, Wyll was finally able to connect his tadpole to his father’s and show him everything that he had been unable to say all those years ago. The change in Duke Ravenguard now that he knew the truth was immediate. Father and son were reconciled, and Astarion found himself almost touched. Almost.

He slipped into his trance that night certain that now that this little diversion was done, they would surely make their way to the sewers and find Gale.

Of course, the next few days were frustratingly devoid of any mention of the wizard, much less any search for his whereabouts. Instead, they traipsed up and down the Lower City, stopping murders and rescuing children from hags and talking to strange cats. It was as if Gale had winked from existence and Astarion was the only one cursed to remember him.

At least Tav was sensible enough to avoid Cazador’s palace for now. Astarion didn’t think he was in a good enough headspace to face his former master at the current moment. Not that he thought he ever would be, but being distracted around Cazador would only result in death, and that was if he was lucky.

He pushed down any thoughts that whispered that if he were to ascend, he would want a particular person by his side.

Thankfully, Tav also included Astarion in her group as she left camp each morning. He didn’t know what he would do if he was left with nothing but time on his hands, and they probably sensed it too.

They had just defeated the doppelganger assassin that afternoon, saving a rich clothier who actually knew how to reward them for their heroics. Everyone was exhausted and went straight to their tents, with Wyll, who had stayed behind that day, volunteering for the first watch.

Several hours later, Astarion found himself where he had started the night, lying on his bedroll and staring at the tent’s ceiling, his trance eluding him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Orin’s smile twisting on Gale’s face and the blood splattered across it.

Why Gale? Why had Orin taken him, of all people? If it had been Lae’zel or Halsin or any other party member, Astarion probably would have been a normal level of perturbed, but he wouldn’t be losing sleep over it like he was for Gale. But no, Orin had to take the one person Astarion couldn’t seem to get out of his head now that he was gone.

It wasn’t fair. Astarion was used to unfairness, but this seemed an extra level of cruelty inflicted by the gods. Not that he would wish himself to be in Gale’s shoes for a second, but Astarion knew pain. He could handle it. Gale, on the other hand…

He wondered if the gods would listen now if he prayed, or if they were still laughing down at him.

Astarion couldn’t sit here any longer and wallow in the horrible images his mind decided to conjure up like a sorcerer’s party trick. Neither Cazador nor Tav could command him to do anything. He was a free man, and he was free to take matters into his own hands.

Silently, with practiced precision, Astarion put his armor back on. He hid as many daggers on his person as he possibly could fit and slung his bow over his shoulder. He stuck a few containers of Drow toxin into his pack as well. The harder he hit, the quicker he could get to the wizard.

The camp was quiet when Astarion slipped out of his tent. If Wyll was still on watch, it would be easy enough to slip by him and into the city.

When he glanced by the fire, though, Tav was sitting there instead. Her back was to him, and she seemed to be absorbed in writing something in a small notebook. Poetry, probably. It was one of the few things they and Gale had bonded over. She obviously hadn’t heard him exit, which was all the better. He wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about his destination tonight.

He made it about halfway through camp before a clear voice halted him in his tracks.

“Where are you going?”

Astarion didn’t look at Tav. “Hunting, darling. Surely you understand.”

“In your full armor?” they asked, and he could feel her eyes on him.

Astarion turned over his shoulder and flashed his winningest smile. “It’s Baldur’s Gate. Sometimes the prey bites back.”

“Which is why you’ve never worn your armor hunting here before, of course.” Tav deadpanned. She shifted so there was space next to her by the fire. “Now, how about you take a seat before you give me whatever other bullshit excuses you’ve concocted.”

Astarion’s smile turned sharp. “You can’t stop me from leaving.”

Tav tilted their head. “No, I can’t. But I can try and talk you out of whatever stunt you’re about to pull.”

Astarion gave a short laugh. “You can’t do that either, but I applaud you for trying. Now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

He began to walk away again, but he could hear Tav rise to her feet.

“This isn’t going to save him, you know.”

Astarion stopped again. “…I beg your pardon?” he asked, though he knew full well what she was talking about.

“Gale,” Tav said, and Astarion couldn’t help but flinch. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it isn’t going to get him back.”

“At least I’m doing something,” Astarion snapped, turning back to look at them. “I refuse to let him rot in a Bhaalist cell while we dillydally our days away up here.”

Tav held her hands up in a placating manner. “Listen, I understand your frustration. I really do. If Orin had taken Shadowheart, I don’t know what I’d do with myself either.”

Astarion scowled. “This is different. You and Shadowheart- Gale and I aren’t like that. Not like you two are.”

Their eyebrows shot up. “What is he to you then?”

“I-” Astarion had to physically slam his mouth shut to stop the words that his treacherous mind supplied. I need him. “He’s a reliable and powerful companion. I trust him in a fight.”

When Tav looked at him expectantly, he sniffed. “What? The fact that we’ve been sleeping together has no bearing on the situation.” There was no point in trying to conceal it. They had never been particularly quiet. Then again, neither were any of the other couples in camp, so Tav didn’t really have a leg to stand on there.

“Right,” Tav said slowly. “Which is why you’re risking everything to sneak off and save him instead of waiting until we have more intel like a sensible person.”

Astarion just glowered.

They sighed. “Look, you don’t have to be in love with Gale. That’s your business. But you know he’s in love with you, right?”

All of Astarion’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s true,” Tav said.

“That’s… impossible,” Astarion said, a lot quieter than he intended.

Tav gave him that infernal pitying look, the one she pulled out every time anything to do with his past came up. “Is it? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It would be hard not to, actually.”

Astarion’s mind went from standstill to overdrive. Gale wasn’t exactly the most subtle individual on the Faerün. So if what Tav said was true, then how hadn’t he noticed? Surely he would have picked up on it if Gale had started looking at him like Tav looked at Shadowheart. Right? “That hardly seems relevant. Everybody looks at me that way.”

Tav snorted but pressed on. “He didn’t blow himself up because you asked him not to. That’s not for nothing. He certainly wasn’t about to listen to the rest of us, that’s for damn sure.”

“I was simply trying to avoid getting blown to smithereens at the time, my dear,” Astarion said. “I assure you it was nothing like that.”

“It was for him,” Tav said pointedly. “He loves you more than he loves that bitch of a goddess, I’m certain of it.”

I think I trust you more than Mystra at the moment, Gale had said to him, the shakiness of his hands betraying his fear, but there was something soft in his eyes. How had Astarion not seen it before?

Fuck. Maybe she was right. This wasn’t good.

Astarion made a frustrated noise and did what he did best: deflected. “What do you expect me to do with this information? Even if it’s true, it doesn’t get us anywhere. He’s still gone, and you and I are still just standing here talking about it."

Tav stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “I just want you to be honest with yourself about how you feel. I think it would go a long way to clearing your head and stopping you from doing anything irrational.”

“My head is perfectly clear,” Astarion lied.

Tav didn’t say anything, just let the silence grow between them.

It forced Astarion to confront the question that had been gnawing at him head-on: why was he willing to burn down this gods-forsaken city, tear it apart brick by brick if it meant saving Gale?

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense. Yes, he enjoyed sleeping with him and could provide good backup in a fight and a secure place in the group, but this went beyond that. Astarion certainly didn’t feel the same way about the rest of his compatriots.

He thought of the night they shared together in the Weave after the Tiefling party, the soft smile on Gale’s face. About the night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, when Gale thought he wasn’t going to live to ever see the daylight again, and the weight of his head on his shoulder as they stared up at the sky. About the moment when he nearly lost him to the demands of his goddess, ready to sacrifice himself for the greater fucking good.

It shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, somehow, it meant everything.

Which shouldn’t be the case, unless…

Unless…

“Oh shit,” Astarion said out loud.

Tav’s expression changed to one of sympathy, as if he looked as shocked as he felt. He probably did, if he was being honest. “That’s probably the best way to put it.” Astarion hadn’t processed that they had moved forward until they put a hand on his shoulder. “You should probably take a seat. You look pale, even for you.”

He laughed humorlessly but allowed her to guide him to a spot next to the fire. She sat down next to him and watched him silently, waiting for him to speak.

“I… This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Astarion said, staring into the fire. Gale was supposed to be a mark, an easy way into the group’s confidence, and a way to have a little fun while doing so. “There were never supposed to be… feelings… involved.”

Tav grimaced. “Tricky bastards, feelings. They always seem to come around when you don’t want them to.”

Astarion felt something like despair claw at his throat. “And now he’s gone.”

“Hey,” said Tav in that firm, leader-y tone. “We’ll find him.”

“Oh, yes, we’ll just take out an entire factory of metal monstrosities, kill the Chosen of Bane, and find our way through an entire half of the city’s worth of sewer systems. And that’s assuming Orin doesn’t decide to just kill him first,” Astarion said snidely.

“You seemed perfectly willing to do so alone a couple of minutes ago.”

Astarion shot them a look. “And I still will if you turn your back, darling. But even I know things look bleak.”

Tav exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow we’re going to the Steel Watch foundry. We’ll take it step by step from there. Until then, I don’t want you going off on your own, understand?”

He bristled. “You have no control over me.”

She looked tired all of a sudden. “Maybe not, but all the same, I’d prefer you didn’t anyway. I don’t want to lose both you and Gale in one swoop.”

Astarion glared at Tav for another moment, then let his shoulders slump. They were right. He may not understand all of their ways, but Tav took care of their own when it came down to it. That included Gale.

And himself, strangely enough. He’d never had someone care enough to try and save him from himself, but Tav was consistently doing just that. The debt he owed her must be insurmountable.

“Fine,” Astarion said shortly. “But if anything happens to him, on your head be it.”

“Fair enough,” Tav responded. Then, quieter, “It’s scary, isn’t it? Having someone to lose.”

Astarion stared at his hands, clenched in his lap. Terrifying, he thought, but said nothing.

Even now, showing such weakness was unacceptable.

He stayed like that with them for a long while, watching the fire burn and, when Tav produced a bottle from their pack, passing it back and forth. It was terrible, even worse than the horse piss they’d had at the Tiefling party, but it was alcohol nonetheless. He wished he could get stupendously drunk, enough to dull the ache in his chest, but it was probably better this way. Less likely that he’d say something about his recent revelations that he’d regret in the morning.

Eventually, though, when the bottle was empty, Tav sighed. “You should get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. And besides, Lae’zel’s watch is next. I doubt she’ll be as comforting as I am.”

Astarion grimaced and stood, turning to face Tav. “I… Thank you.”

He didn’t have it in him to elaborate, but she seemed to catch his meaning. “Don’t mention it. Can’t have one of my best fighters get killed on me. Don’t tell Lae’zel I said that.” Her tone was joking, but her eyes were serious. “And I mean it, Astarion. We’re going to save him.”

As he walked back to his tent, Astarion could almost start to believe them.

The next few days were a blur.

True to her word, Tav planned an assault on the Steel Watch Foundry, aiming to take out those bothersome Watchers and leaving Gortash wide open for extermination. When the party got there, they- or Astarion was, at the very least- to find the sparks of a Gondian uprising that only needed their arrival to break into an inferno. Most of them weren’t fighters, and many of them didn’t make it out, but Astarion was silently thankful nonetheless. It seemed that their little side trip to Gortash’s fortress did more than reunite Wyll with his father.

It took a long and bloody battle, and Astarion never wanted to see a piece of polished steel for the next several lifetimes, but they eventually made their way through the factory to the mechanism that controlled the Steel Watchers. With the help of the name of a Gnomish god and an ancient, blind Gondian, they were able to destroy every Watcher in the city and escape with only the tips of their hair singed.

Astarion would be cutting out blackened bits for the next day, but it was worth it to get one step closer to their ultimate goal.

Of course, Astarion was less pleased with the deranged note Orin somehow managed to leave in their camp, coated in blood that thankfully smelled nothing like Gale’s. But it implied he was still alive, at least. That’s what he told himself as he shoved the paper into the fire and imagined it was the pale woman’s head.

The next on their list was Lord Gortash. Astarion couldn’t honestly care less about the man and his iron rule. Oh, sure, the man was a complete tool and dressed the part, but besides being the Chosen of Bane and holding the Netherstone they needed to get to Gale, he was outside of Astarion’s capacity to give a shit.

Then again, seeing the fury in Karlach’s eyes as she confronted Gortash stirred something in him. Maybe he really was growing to care about these people, even the ones he wasn’t currently struggling with his emotions towards.

Dammit all, he really had gotten soft.

They managed to defeat Gortash, not an easy feat through a combination of Bane’s meddling and those fucking bomb-throwing machines he had seen fit to install in every corner of the room. But eventually, the self-styled lord was just another corpse in front of them.

Karlach’s anger was almost enough to burn the entire building to the ground. Eventually, though, after a few words from Tav, she seemed to come to grips with what had been done to her and her own mortality. Astarion said nothing, but quietly, he admired the way Karlach was able to face down her death and keep fighting until the end. He wondered if he would have the ability to do the same if their roles were reversed.

As Astarion pilfered Gortash’s safe, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Tav took out a dagger and with quick, practiced motions, removed one of his hands. When he questioned her on it later, she simply shrugged.

“We’re going to need one for the Murder Tribunal. Might as well take it from the Archdouche himself. It’s not like he needs it anymore.”

Astarion vaguely remembered mutterings of said Murder Tribunal in the papers they found when they were chasing down Orin’s assassins but figured it to be the ramblings of a group of lunatics. The whole thing was far too tacky to be real. “That’s the angle we’re going with for Orin? Really?”

Tav sighed deeply. “Look, I don’t like it either. But we need to stay in Orin’s good graces if we want to get Gale back in one piece.”

He had to resist the urge to slip off again the moment they stopped paying attention to him, but deep down, he knew they were right. Even with all his stealth, Orin would be expecting them. She’d have her dagger buried in Gale’s heart before he could even get close.

So Astarion reluctantly stayed with the group the next morning as they headed to Cadulhallow’s Tombstones. He had no idea what they would face there, but he doubted it would be pleasant. He had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for a reason. It was a strange sensation, knowing that this all was for another person.

But, he had to admit, not entirely unpleasant. It gave a nice sense of purpose to what he was going through that he had lacked in all his suffering before.

It wasn’t hard to find the secret passageway into the bowls of the city where the tribunal was to take place. The hallway was guarded, of course, but somewhere during the investigation of the murders happening in the Lower City, Tav had learned the passphrase to gain them entrance without a fight.

The moment the doors opened for them, all Astarion could smell was blood. All types, all sources, it was nearly enough to make him stagger. What a waste. All those years, eating nothing but rats, and these people apparently just spent their free time fucking bathing in it.

He was looking forward to killing all of them.

That plan changed slightly when he realized who was sitting on the throne in front of them. Fucking Saverok, of all creatures, somehow alive and in the flesh. And apparently related to Orin in a rather grotesque fashion. Astarion would have felt sorry for her if he was another person entirely.

The whole tribunal was a rather sordid affair. Tav remained stoic and surprisingly business-like the entire time, given the monster they were facing and the appearance of Gortash’s shade. She evidently felt that playing along was the best way to get to Orin, which Astarion was thankful for, even if the others seemed to disapprove. One wrong word and they all could be slain for the murder god- Gale included.

Of course, that all fell apart once they went to the next room. That godsdamned elephant was being held there, and Saverok demanded they slaughter it to complete the tribunal. Tav, the fucking bleeding heart, refused.

Astarion was about to slip his dagger out and do the deed himself, consequences be damned, but Saverok wasn’t apparently one to take no for an answer and called for their deaths.

They were tied up fighting for a while after that, so it wasn’t until Saverok was cold on the floor and Valeria had flown off that Astarion was able to fully process what had happened.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath of the bloody air.

Then in a fluid moment, Astarion turned on Tav, pinning them against the wall. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he hissed.

Shadowheart immediately leveled her spear at him, while Wyll’s eye darted back and forth between them, clearly trying to ascertain if he should interfere. They both backed off, though, when Tav put a hand up.

“Astarion, can we please talk about this like adults?”

“The time for civilized discussion is long past,” he bit out. “Did you really just choose an elephant over him?”

Who he was referring to didn’t need to be said. “I wasn’t going to let an innocent creature die by my hands,” she said, infuriatingly calm. “It wasn’t a choice between them. It was a choice to save as many people as possible.”

Astarion scoffed. “Save people? Can’t you see that you’ve condemned him to death?” He had to choke the last word out. Gale was dead, Gale was dead because they couldn’t control their hero complex for five minutes.

“We don’t know that. Once we’ve rested up, we’ll take to the sewers, and I swear to you we won’t stop until we find him.” Tav’s expression softened. “I swear it.”

A lot of good that would do when Gale’s throat had already been cut. But maybe, maybe they could get to him in time.

Astarion had never been one for hope. Why would he? Cazador had carved it out of him. There was no reason to hope for something better because it would never come.

But with Gale… Things had been different. He looked forward to their time spent together. He could envision a future where that continued indefinitely. It was a minuscule hope, maybe, but it was hope nonetheless. Astarion refused to give it up.

And he knew that if their roles were reversed, Gale wouldn’t give up hope for him.

So he took a step back from Tav. “Fine,” he said in a low voice. “But if he’s dead because of you, I will rip your throat out myself.”

Shadowheart made a low noise, but Tav steadily met his eyes. “I would expect nothing less,” she said simply.

Astarion turned and stalked away. It would be a long time before he would get the stench of blood out of his nose.

The door to the Bhaalist Temple was entirely conspicuous, once they finally found it.

Really, Astarion thought this thing was supposed to be more discreet. Nothing screamed “murder cult” like a giant skull doorway. Then again, the Bhaalists were never ones for subtlety.

Thankfully, the door responded to the same passphrase and Tav’s affirmation that they had indeed completed the murder tribunal. It opened without protest to a stairway descending down into a large cavernous space.

The first thing that hit Astarion were the screams, echoing from every corner of the cavern. He strained his ears trying to make out Gale’s voice among them in vain. It was enough to set him on edge, and he kept his hand firmly on his sharpest dagger.

There were corpses and parts of corpses scattered everywhere, some with what seemed to be ritual significance and others just haphazardly. Instruments and devices of torture lay around every corner, covered in dry and wet blood alike. Astarion did his best not to picture the wizard strapped to any of them.

“Focus up,” Tav muttered, glancing at him.

Astarion’s lip curled. “Speak for yourself, darling.”

Tav huffed, but as they rounded a bend, her eyes grew wide. “There, I can see them!” she whispered.

Astarion nearly shoved them out of the way to take a look. Sure enough, below them was the center of the chamber, in the center of which was a dais.

On that dais was the prone form of Gale of Waterdeep.

Astarion inhaled sharply. “What are we waiting for?” he hissed.

Tav was frowning. “Easy now. We need to be cautious here.”

Astarion rolled his eyes but let her lead the way until they were standing on the central platform.

In front of them, Orin the Red was standing over Gale, her Netherstone knife pointed at his heart.

Astarion couldn’t tear his eyes away from Gale. His eyes were closed, and he looked almost as pale as the vampire himself. For a horrible second, Astarion was certain he was gone. But…

It took a few moments to be sure, but he saw it: the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. It was faint, but it was there, which meant one thing:

Gale was still alive.

Astarion’s dead heart skipped a beat.

“Gortash’s killer approaches,” Orin rasped, a faint smile on her lips. “You knew the Murder Lord could not be denied his meat.”

Tav crossed their arms but remained silent.

Orin inhaled deeply, her face contorting with sudden fury. “But Saverok’s crimson was not yours to spill. He was mine. You had no right to take him.”

Astarion could have strangled Tav for that one Why did no one bother to listen to him?

Orin’s eyes drifted past Tav and onto Astarion. His fingers twitched towards his blades.

“Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save?” she said in her light, mocking tone. “Only the blades can offer salvation.”

With that, Orin raised her dagger high, ready to plunge it down into Gale’s chest.

“No!” Astarion heard himself cry, but Tav was already stopping him before he could lunge forward any further.

“You said Bhaal wanted us to fight,” Tav said cooly. “He will reject this offering.”

Bless Tav and their golden tongue, because Orin actually paused. “You do not lie, underling,” she said, rising until she was standing on the dais. Her naked feet stepped over Gale and down the steps, until she was in front of them. “It is your blood I am destined to spill. Your death spit will stain these walls, little lamb.”

Tav didn’t flinch as Orin came right up to them.

“Your murder should have been exquisite,” she seethed. “A crypt-born effigy to greet Bhaal’s bleeding dawn. And now it will be nothing.”

The stones around them began to glow in a red circle. Tav ushered them backward quickly, and for once, Astarion didn’t argue. “Come to me, Father,” Orin called. “Set my flesh to your unholy purpose!”

Her body began to contort, a black, almost liquid magic surrounding her. Gale, with all his knowledge of the Weave, probably could have told him exactly what it was, but he remained next to lifeless on the slab.

All Astarion knew was that when the magic fell away, Orin’s form had changed. It was a grotesque sight, all terrible teeth and claws and wings. Clearly, it was formed with one purpose and one purpose only in mind: killing.

“Astarion!” Tav called, already readying a spell. “We’ve got this! Protect Gale!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Astarion raced forward until he reached the dais, sinking his daggers into the first cultist that dared approach him and depriving them of their lifeblood.

From there, it was a simple matter of pacing around Gale’s unconscious form, stabbing any cultist stupid or brave enough to get near between the shoulder blades. It was almost fun in the way most combat was if it weren’t for the stakes that were usually absent from such fighting.

Gale still hadn’t stirred through the entire fight. Which meant one of two things in Astarion’s mind. One, that she had drugged him or otherwise put him to sleep through magic. The other was that she had done something more permanent in order to make sure he would still technically be alive but never able to wake up. For the sake of his sanity, Astarion hoped it was the former.

There was a boom, then a hideous shriek and the smell of ozone and burning flesh. He realized with a start that Tav had summoned a bolt of lightning and struck Orin with it, full force. She staggered forward, screaming in a disturbingly human voice, then collapsed, growing still.

Astarion was too distracted by the sudden flush of triumph to notice the chanting cultists break their trance and advance on him, weapons drawn.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the sudden stab of pain in his right arm. As he cried out and looked over, he realized with a shock that one of the cultists had planted their own Murderous Cut into his flesh.

Astarion acted on instinct and slammed a fist into the face of the cultist, then finished him off with a quick stab of the dagger in his left hand into their eye. From there, it was quick work between the four of them to end the lives of the remaining cultists in the chamber.

As the last one fell, Astarion sheathed his daggers and clutched his arm, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Gale,” he breathed, and quickly made his way to the wizard’s side.

He was deathly still, and Astarion felt his heart sink. No, no, this was not happening. He refused to lose him now, at the end of the road, when he finally knew how he felt about the other man.

Astarion gently pushed the hair out of Gale’s eyes with his good arm. “Come back to me,” he whispered. “Please, please, I can’t lose you too.”

“Astarion!” Tav called. He turned in time to see something glitter through the air towards him.

He caught it and examined whatever it was in the low light. With a lurch, Astarion realized it was a key. It must have been on Orin’s body.

“Try this,” Tav said, giving him a nod.

With a breath he didn’t have to hold, Astarion searched the dais for a keyhole. After a tense moment, he found it: there, on the shorter side beneath Gale’s head.

He inserted it and twisted, praying to every God he knew the name of that it would do something.

There was utter silence for a second. The entirety of Faerün seemed to hold its breath.

Then Gale’s eyes slowly, surely blinked open. “A… Astarion? Is that… is that really you?”

Astarion could have sobbed with relief. “I’m here,” he whispered, not trusting himself to say anything more. “I’m here.”

Gale managed a smile, and oh, if that didn’t hurt more than the knife wound in his arm. “Thank the gods,” he mumbled, struggling to sit up. “I thought… I thought…”

“Shh, it’s ok,” Astarion said softly, trying to imitate how Tav was with the victims of the various horrors they had come across during their travels. Why did he have to be so godsawful at this?
“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He turned before Gale could respond. “Shadowheart, a little help over here!” Astarion called, wincing at the shake in his voice.

Shadowheart looked up sheepishly from where she was tending to one of Tav’s wounds and rushed over. She took one look up and down at Gale, whom Astarion had helped to his feet, albeit unstably and with the support of his shoulder.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she said matter-of-factly. “We need to get him back to camp as soon as possible so I can heal him fully.”

Astarion swallowed and looked back at Gale, whose eyes had closed again and whose breathing was labored. “Alright,” he said, because what else was there to say?

Shadowheart took Gale’s other side, and together they managed the arduous journey back to camp. Every step felt like it took an age, and the throbbing in his arm didn’t help matters either. But eventually, finally, they managed to stumble across the threshold to where they had set up their tents the night before.

The rest of the group swarmed around them, eager and concerned at the same time, and seemingly overjoyed that Gale was back alive. Astarion hadn’t forgotten how none of them had insisted to Tav that they rescue him sooner than they did. Hypocritical bastards.

He almost didn’t notice when Shadowheart shot him a questioning look, and he realized he had completely missed what she said to him. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked where I should put him. We don’t have time to put up his tent-”

“Mine,” Astarion rasped, “Put him in mine.”

Shadowheart shot Tav a quick look but relaxed when they nodded their head. “Alright,” she said slowly. “But I’m going to need space. No coming in until I’m done.”

“Fine,” Astarion said, gritting his teeth. “Get on with it, then.”

He helped Shadowheart maneuver Gale into his tent, then laid him down on his bedroll. Then he was unceremoniously kicked out of the tent, leaving him to sit outside and worry.

Someone came by and healed his arm, either Halsin or Jaheria, Astarion wasn’t sure which. It didn’t really matter. It took away the one distraction he had as Shadowheart worked, so he wasn’t exactly grateful.

At one point, Tav came and sat with him, and no amount of glaring could get her to go away. They were probably there just as much for Shadowheart as for Gale, but she was there, Astarion begrudgingly acknowledged. That counted for something.

She kept looking at him like she expected him to say something, but Astarion remained silent. If she wanted a thanks out of him, she was a day late and a copper short. He wasn’t as easy to forgive as other members of the party. Oh, he'd still follow them until the end of this bloody mess, but it didn’t mean they were going to be all buddy-buddy. The time for that had passed.

Astarion’s fingers were drumming impatiently on his leg when Shadowheart finally emerged from the tent, looking exhausted. They both immediately rose to their feet.

“How is he?” Astarion asked, trying and probably failing to hide the depths of his concern.

“He’ll live,” Shadowheart said, swaying slightly. Tav quickly supported her, frowning. Astarion bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything stupid. How badly was Gale hurt for Shadowheart to be so drained? “He’s sleeping it off and should be for a while. But his body is healed.”

The implication that his mind might not be hung heavily over the three of them for a moment. Then Tav shook their head. “Come on, my love, let’s get you some rest.” They ushered Shadowheart away, looking back and nodding towards the tent where Gale currently slept.

Astarion took a deep breath and pushed the flap of the tent aside. Just as Shadowheart promised, Gale was there, eyes closed. He looked healthier than when Astarion last saw him. There was color in his cheeks again, and his breathing was more even.

He silently thanked Shadowheart for her skill in healing, then, belatedly, the gods (minus Mystra, of course). Astarion supposed he had called on them for help in saving Gale, so he figured they deserved at least something, however small.

Astarion took a moment to rearrange the pillows and cushions across from his bedroll, then unceremoniously dropped himself into them. Gods, what a week. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and let the trance take him, but that would mean he might miss Gale’s awakening, and that simply wouldn’t do.

Instead, he chose one of Gale’s books at random, still in a pile in a corner of the tent, and let the magical theorems it contained wash over him until his mind was suitably soothed.

They were safe, at least for now, and that was the important part.

Gale didn’t awaken until far after nightfall.

Astarion was still reading a particularly dry text when he realized that Gale had started to thrash. He had enough nightmares in his time to recognize one when he saw it, so he immediately threw the book aside and hurried to Gale’s side.

“Gale. Gale!” Astarion called, shaking his shoulders in a way he hoped wasn’t too jarring. “Snap out of it!”

Gale gasped awake, clawing at the air in front of him. Astarion caught his hands in his own and squeezed them tightly. “Stay with me.”

The wizard blinked a few times, brow furrowing. “Astarion…? What are… What are you doing here?”

“This is my tent,” was all Astarion could think to say.

“Oh,” Gale said. Then the past week seemed to catch up to him, and Astarion watched as Gale visibly curled inward on himself. “Oh.”

Astarion felt a wave of fury wash over him. At whom, he wasn’t certain. Orin? Tav? The entire fucking universe? Probably all of the above. Gale was so self-assured, so grandiose, so ambitious, that to see him made small like this was a travesty. He deserved better. He always did.

He didn’t realize he was scowling until Gale flinched. Astarion cursed silently and carefully schooled his features. Gale had just spent a week among the enemy. What he needed now more than anything was a friendly face, even if that face was Astarion’s.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion said, taking a deep breath to keep his voice even. “How are you feeling?”

Gale was silent for a long moment, so long that he was beginning to think he hadn’t heard him. Then he exhaled through his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you do that before.”

Astarion blinked. “Hm?”

“Apologize,” Gale said, using Astarion’s hands to pull himself upright. “To anyone, really.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that. “There’s a first time for everything, darling.” He was obviously dodging the question, but why?

Then it hit him. “You think I’m a doppelganger?”

The look in Gale’s eyes was hollow, his posture tense. “I sincerely hope not. Especially of you of all people. But I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Astarion in that moment considered learning a Reanimate Dead spell from Shadowheart so he could kill Orin again.

Instead, though, he squeezed Gale’s hands again. “You have a tressym named Tara. You have a mole on your lower left back. When you were five, you set your mother’s favorite curtains on fire practicing a spell, and blamed it on a neighbor. She doesn’t know the truth to this day.”

Gale actually managed to crack a smile at that one. “I have reason to suspect she has a good idea I was lying about that.” The tension drained out of his body, and he collapsed into the vampire. “Oh, Astarion…” he mumbled, burying his face in his shoulder.

Astarion couldn’t tell if it was Gale or himself that was shaking. It was entirely possible that it was both. “Fuck, Gale…” he said, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

 He half expected Gale to flinch away from him. Astarion knew that he always hated being touched after an indefinite period of torture. But Gale seemed to need the touch, to crave it, as he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a long while, and Astarion savored the sound of the wizard’s heart beating strongly, the feel of the heat of his skin. Things he never thought he’d experience again. Things he should have cherished all along.

Eventually, though, Gale pulled away enough so they were facing each other. “How…?” he began, then had to swallow and start again. “How long has it been?”

Astarion glanced away from Gale’s gaze. “A week,” he said flatly.

Gale closed his eyes. “A week,” he repeated. “Gods, it felt like an eternity.”

He had to bite back his anger. “Yes, well, if I had been in charge of the group, you would have been here six days ago. Trust me, I did my best.”

Gale opened his eyes, frowning. “I’m sure Tav had their reasons-”

“Don’t take her side!” Astarion snapped. “She almost got you killed!”

Gale looked stricken, and Astarion had to look away again to stop himself from getting angrier. He didn’t get to sympathize with Tav when Astarion was the one who had to suffer without him.

He started when a hand hesitantly touched his cheek and turned his face forward. “I’m sorry,” Gale said softly.

Astarion scoffed. “Don’t do that. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

It was silent for a few moments. Then Gale spoke up. “I- While I was gone, did she…?” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Pretend to be you?” Astarion asked, pursing his lips when Gale nodded. “She tried for about two minutes before I- we found her out.” He didn’t need to know all the details of that little interaction.

Gale blinked in surprise, and something unreadable quickly flashed across his face before it vanished. “Really? You could tell?”

Astarion felt himself shrug under the weight of Gale’s gaze. “She’s a good actress, but she isn’t that good. It wasn’t you, and it never would be.”

“I see,” Gale said quietly. Then, “Thank you.”

He shifted uncomfortably. Astarion never liked playing the hero and accepting gratitude wasn’t something he had a lot of practice with. “Don’t thank me, darling. I barely did anything.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Gale said, frowning. “I have the distinct feeling that I’m only alive and in one piece because of you.”

Well, he had him there. “It doesn’t matter. You would have done the same for me.”

Gale’s thumb stroked his cheek. “Of course I would, but it matters to me. It matters quite a deal, in fact.”

Astarion took ahold of Gale’s hand, the one currently on his cheek, and carefully lowered it to his mouth. Any other mortal would have tensed, expecting the vampire to bite open their veins and drink them dry. Gale, though, all he did was watch, an aching tenderness behind his eyes.

He turned his hand over so his palm faced down and slowly pressed a kiss onto each knuckle. Gale sucked in a breath, and Astarion’s eyes flicked to his face. Their eyes met, and the air around them felt electrically charged, like Gale was charging a Chain Lightning spell.

One of them was going to break first. And it was Gale, of course it was, because Astarion had two hundred years of hardening himself so he wouldn’t break in just that way. “Astarion, I… I have something I need to tell you.”

Astarion sighed softly, pressing one more kiss to his hand before returning it to its owner. “Go ahead, my dear.”

“When I was in that cell,” Gale began, like he was choosing every word with extraordinary deliberateness. “I had a lot of time to think. About my life. My priorities. My regrets. Gods, so many regrets,” he added, looking very tired.

Then he shook his head. “But that sort of thing will help a man come to realize what’s important to him. And to my surprise, it sure as hell wasn’t Mystra.”

Astarion smiled viciously. Those words couldn’t be sweeter than if Gale had cast a Charm Person spell on him. Serves her right.

“Which led me to my next revelation,” Gale continued, twisting the rings on his fingers in what Astarion knew by now to be an anxious habit. “I had spent so long denying it to myself because I thought I would hurt you if I acted upon it. And nothing scared me more than that. You deserve the world, and I didn’t want to be another thing tying you down, or worse, somehow coercing you into doing something you didn’t want to do. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Gods, the thought-”

He's rambling, Astarion thought with no small amount of fondness. Then he realized what exactly he was rambling about and froze. “Gale. The point, if you would?”

Gale started. “Oh. Yes. Of course,” he said, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. “The point, Astarion, is that I love you, and I realized I didn’t want to die without telling you that.”

Astarion was thankful he didn’t technically need to breathe because he was certain his breath would have stopped by now. “Oh,” was all that made its way out of his mouth.

Somewhere, Tav was definitely laughing at him. Damn them for being right so fucking often.

The wizard shifted. “You don’t have to say it back, of course. I understand if you don’t feel the same. I don’t blame you, honestly. I just hope we can still be friends. I’ve certainly had fun with you over these past several weeks-”

Astarion shut Gale up in the best way he knew how.

He leaned forward and kissed him.

Sure, they had kissed before, but that had always been in the throws of passion, and there was always something hungry, desperate about it. This kiss was nothing like that. It was soft and sweet and loving in a way that should have been sickening to Astarion. Instead, though, he found himself cherishing it. It was a wonder that he never thought he’d be granted, that had almost been ripped away from him.

When he pulled away, Astarion traced the lines of the orb tracking down Gale’s cheek. “You utter fool. You think I don’t love you too?”

Gale stared at him like he had just said something that was utter nonsense, or perhaps something utterly profound. “You… You do?”

Astarion snorted. “Trust me, I was just as surprised as you are.”

That brought the smile back to Gale’s face, and oh, how he’d missed seeing that smile. The fact that it was directed at Astarion made it all the better. “Astarion…”

“Yes, yes, I expect you to write volumes of poetry on our love and how incredibly beautiful I am, understand?” Astarion said, but the haughtiness in his voice was undercut by the smile that was growing on his own face as well.

“Who says I already haven’t?” Gale said, eyes twinkling.

Astarion feigned outrage. “And you haven’t shared them with me? For shame, Gale Dekarios.”

Gale looked around the tent, eyes alighting on the pile of books Astarion had stored for him. “Hm, maybe when my tent is back together, I can take a look and see what I can find.” He looked back at Astarion. “For now, though, I just want to be with you.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Astarion said. He gently helped Gale lie back down on the bedroll, but this time Astarion lay beside him, wrapping his arms around the wizard’s frame (much thinner than it was a week ago, Astarion noticed with a brief spasm of rage before forcing himself to calm down for Gale’s sake).

He planted a kiss on Gale’s neck. “Go to sleep my love, I’ll be here when you wake up. And for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Are you sure?” Gale whispered. “That might be an awfully long time.”

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Astarion said soothingly. “I love you, Gale.”

“I love you, Astarion.”

In the morning, they would have to face the world and all that came with it.

But for now, they had each other.

And that was more than enough.