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“So this is the little lamb that had led my son astray?”
That voice wasn’t the one of that sadistic, cruel skeleton he had been subjected to for who knows how long he’d been down here. His ears may have been ringing but he wasn’t that far out of it to know there was a difference. This new voice held mirth that was unbefitting to his situation.
“And he sings so beautifully, Master,” that damn skeleton remarked. Sighing almost wistfully. Caused Gale’s spine to shiver. Reminding him of the broken ribs, lacerations and the bruising skin that had forced him to ‘sing’ for his tormentor.
Even the pain in his knees from being forced to kneel on this slimy stone floor was a stark reminder.
Suddenly a forceful tug on his hair forced his head up. A sharp sting brought tears to his eyes as the pain rolled down from his head to his spine. His vision still swam from his head being slammed into the brick floor not too long ago. Taking a moment for his eyes to focus on nothing more familiar than cruel, piercing ruby red eyes.
The vampire tsked as he studied him. Gale tried to quell his fear. Mask it as well as Lae’zel could, he hoped. “So unbearably plain.” Saying so as if the wizard wasn’t even there.
“Who…” He rasped out before he gasped at his hair being pulled even harder.
There was a cruel smile on those lips. Like there was a joke that he wasn’t in on. “I did not say you could speak, lamb. Now…what to do with you? I have a million ideas yet,” He shook his head with another tsk, “So little time.”
The skeleton almost giggled excitedly, “Oh I can’t wait, master. Goddey is so adept in these fine arts. I promise-”
The vampire held up his hand, “No.”
His hair was released and he sighed in relief. Though even that was short lived as those cold, icy hands cupped his face. Could feel the claws dig ever so gently into his skin. Reminding him what would happen if he resisted. Gale felt himself shake as he was forced, still, to look into those blood-thirsty eyes.
“No.” He whispered before he traced Gale’s lip with his thumb. He jerked back in reflex but that grip held tight. “When our wayward miscreant returns for his pet, I want him to know that what I did to this pathetic creature was because of his actions. That there are, and always will be, consequences. Sometimes the daft idiot needs a reminder.”
That clawed thumb pressed into his lip to force it to burst. Blood poured from the wound, and yet, the pain was lost with the rest.
Gale watched as the vampire brought his thumb to his mouth and that, for once, made him smirk. His grin only got wider when he saw that pompous face recoil in disgust. The vampire spat out even that small drop of blood right back into Gale’s face. As screwed as he knew he was, Gale couldn’t help but feel proud to have tainted blood. At least the fucker couldn’t feed on him.
It was immediately apparent, however, that the vampire didn’t appreciate it.
Gale cried out as those claws tore through his flesh on either side of his face. “Rotten little worm! Of course he’d bed with any decaying beast that would tolerate him!”
The vampire’s hands were coated slick with his blood as he went out and grasped Gale by the throat. “I was about to turn you into a spawn. Have something in common with my son before both of your imminent demise. But now-” He brought his face impossibly close to his. Felt the cold breath of his words on his lips, “-I’ll just have to keep you entertained myself. Perhaps string you up somewhere pretty for him to find? Force you to watch him be sacrificed so he will always have the knowledge that, until the very end, he did this to you.”
The fingers around his throat squeezed. Forcing him to choke. Gasping for air for a minute or two before he released him altogether. Letting him fall to the floor.
“Clean him up and bring him to my quarters. Make him pretty for me.”
—
Astarion had a thousand different scenarios about what he’d say to Cazador. What he’d do. Ever since he first felt the sun on his face and realized that, for a brief moment, he was free, he daydreamed about tearing his Master apart. Of getting back all of the years that were taken from him. His life.
Revenge in its simplest form.
His friends (gods when was the last time he had those?) had agreed to help him. Be there to assist in taking Cazador down for good. Gale…agreed to help in taking him down. On the condition that Astarion didn’t ascend.
Ascending sounded like the next natural course of action though. Would make it so no one could ever hurt him like Cazador had ever. Again.
But Gale. Oh Gale. The optimistic, charitable fool had convinced him that maybe…he didn’t need to. That once Cazador was gone Astarion could live as normal of a life as he could. Free from fear. No need to sacrifice his blood-thirsty siblings in the process.
And then Gale disappeared.
For weeks he was gone. He went downstairs to bring back drink and…never came back up.
At first, they feared it was Orin and that freakish cult but alas…he wasn’t there. An itchy feeling crawled under his skin. A shiver ran down his back as the next guess to where the wizard was came to mind. And though he wanted to kill that fucker as soon as possible, he didn’t know if he was ready.
But if he had Gale, well he didn’t have a choice.
The longer he went without Gale the less focused he was becoming. His coordination was off, leading to more missed hits with his daggers. His concentration was always lost in the clouds, leading to him missing more traps and nearly causing them to explode into bits. Hells, a basic lock so simple that a child could pick it caused him to break three lock-picks and take a good forty-five minutes to pick!
If his hunch was true –and by the gods he wished it wasn’t– then he knew that his love was in far more peril than any of their companions could comprehend.
And if it was who he thought it was, then he knew this was personal. It was about showing a message.
But no.
No!
He was sick and tired of that bastard stealing anything that brought him joy! That made him happy! It took months and months of being on the road and being distant from Gale and a lot of internal reflection, but it wasn’t deniable!
Gale…Gale Dekarios made him…happy.
It scared him.
Being happy.
It scared him that someone, anyone, could make him happy. For so long he could only trust that life was terrible and so was everyone in it. That no one cared and you could rely on no one. Not to make you happy. Not to keep you safe. The only constants were loneliness and darkness and pain….
And Gale, his beautiful Gale, burst through the darkness like…l-like a wildfire! A beauty so blindingly splendid you couldn’t look away from no matter how much you should. Dangerous if left unchecked, and yet –if what the druids said were true–much needed to keep the health and beauty around it to thrive. To burn away the overgrown weeds that choked out new life from growing: to bring sunlight back to the saplings below who wouldn’t have a chance otherwise.
Gale frustrated him on so many different levels. How much of a know-it-all he was (with a touch of teacher’s pet shining on through when it came to that witch he called goddess). How sometimes jokes flew right over his head or how coy he’d be with a simple gods damn answer. How, despite Astarion’s own coldness and outright hostility, he still gave him a chance….
His stupid, lovely wizard.
And he would do anything to bring him back. Even if it meant facing Cazador when he wasn’t even sure himself if he had the strength to go through with it.
Not finding Gale anywhere in that damn fortress of Cazador’s only made that feeling worse. Though he knew Gale’s blood was where bile came from, he didn’t know at what lengths his master would go to ruin his life. And when he finally saw his master, face to face, it was hard to remember that promise he even made to his partner.
Nearly being sacrificed and all the anger and rage and pain that he’d been forced to hold back for two hundred years came bubbling out, Astarion forgot about Gale. For the briefest moment. Desperate to ascend. A need so great he felt it clawing from out behind his ribs. Snarling and frothing at the mouth to be free.
Yet even his…friends saw reason.
And made him remember his promise to Gale.
A promise kept.
Yet, as he stood in Cazador’s private chambers, he wished he ascended anyway.
His ‘siblings’ knew where Gale was. Of course they knew. They all knew. Didn’t hesitate to tell him where but…was hesitant to warn him what he’d find.
The room was exquisite as always. Satin sheets and lavish, if not garish, paintings that hung on walls decorated in paper. Furniture made only from the best artisans and rugs from far off, foreign lands. A wardrobe that held only the latest and greatest fashions throughout history. Costing more than what even the most elite mortals could afford.
And in the middle of the room was a bed. A bed that had every soft, silky, or plush material possible. A bed that was used for…only one thing.
And attached to that bed -chained up like a common mutt and curled up on the floor- was…his Gale.
He was wrapped in nothing but a simple purple robe. Sections sopping wet with blood that discolored the fabric. His head was bowed. Those long strands of hair that always felt impossibly soft were tangled and matted in blood and…who knows what else. Covering his face.
If it wasn’t for his shallow breaths and the beating of his heart you wouldn’t even know if he was alive.
Astarion briefly wondered if he’d…rather find him dead.
“Gods.” Wyll whispered. Standing in shock next to him.
It seemed like the girls were the only ones who had any grit to them. Shadowheart and Karlack slowly move past them. Karlack looked like she was about to cry but stayed strong. If not for herself, than for their fallen friend. “H-Hey Soldier. We’re here. We’re going to get you out…”
Memories hit him like a firebolt, then. The endless, agonizing hours, days, months of being at Cazador’s feet. Nothing more than a pet to be used till he couldn’t move anymore. Every event, eventually, just merged into one giant mess (Only few ones ever separated themselves from the rest).
Yet there were far too many times he was in a situation like this. Down to the collar.
“Astarion.”
A hand on his shoulder snapped him back to the moment. Wyll stared at him with that sympathetic look that Astarion always wanted to wipe off his handsome face. “We should…go.”
It…seemed they should.
Gale was…on his feet, surprisingly. Arms wrapped around himself as he kept the filthy robe close with a death grip. Karlack and Shadowheart stood close but he noticed they kept their hands to themselves. He couldn’t get a grip on what the wizard was thinking. Gale kept his eyes on the floor. Hair still obscures most of his face. Refusing to look at any of them….
Even him.
Astarion wanted to reach out. T-To touch him or hold him or even just to tell him he was glad he wasn’t dead but…he held back.
Because, in the end, Gale was kidnapped because of him.
This was done to Gale to punish him in return.
It was very much Cazador’s speed.
And he couldn’t hurt him anymore.
With a shaky breath, Astarion just nodded. Leading the ragtag group out of this accursed place. No one willing to say a word. The air far too heavy for conversation. There was no cause for celebration. Cazador was dead but ruins were still left in its place.
—
Gale’s disappearance wasn’t talked about after that.
Everyone figured the wizard would need, well, something after what happened. Either time away from everyone or to be constantly near anybody at all times. Rest at the very least. Give that broken body time to heal properly. Gale was usually open with his feelings and it was something that everybody, himself included, was used to. And he was willing to give him that.
But after a day and half away taking care of some side thing they ended up doing to distract everybody from the horrors of that vampire’s den, they came back to a…well he wouldn’t say to the same Gale.
No.
This was not his normal Gale.
This was Gale…putting on a facade of ‘Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep’.
His hair was back to being perfectly groomed: soft to the touch. His clothes, now new, fit him like a glove. And he was over the hearth cooking them up a meal for when they returned. A smile on his face.
Like how things…used to be.
But it wasn’t….
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. Didn’t brighten his face like it was supposed to. It stretched out the new scars on his face: the remnants of claw marks on either side of his face. His cheeks looked like they weren’t used to the feeling of them sitting on his face. Then there was the way he held himself. Tense and smaller and…nervous.
He looked…like an entirely different man.
Gale greeted them how he used to. Asking them what tales they brought back with them about their adventures today. He even kissed him on the cheek (though it felt stiff and cold somehow?). No one seemed to want to dissuade the uplifting attitude and obliged.
Well. Everyone but Astarion.
Because he knew that things were still wrong.
And it was like this day after day.
Gale refused to go on their adventures everyday. Saying he…just needed to practice what he needed for their soon upcoming battle. At night, when everyone began getting ready for bed, Gale was always the first one in his. Books untouched with his back faced away from everyone. It looked like dust was even beginning to settle on them. Like he doesn’t even touch them when he’s here alone.
And he was…avoiding Astarion.
Not giving him the cold shoulder or anything that, well, he would do. No. Gale would still sit next to him when the whole group ate and give him the courtesy kiss on the cheek every morning and every night. Welcome him back after a long day away. But the long discussions and arguments he had grown accustomed to stopped altogether.
No longer would they stay up most of the night, sitting out on the roof as Gale went on and on about whatever found his fancy that day. Wouldn’t stop and join in teasing each other over something stupid. No more book discussions or even just…reading the hours away in each other’s presence.
Never before had Astarion thought he’d miss something so…so dreadfully plain and boring!
Astarion wasn’t expecting his old Gale back. Not completely.
But he…he missed his warm touch and he…he didn’t know how to get it back. What could he even say? Out of all of them, Astarion had first hand experience. He’d know better than anybody else but…but what do you say?
He’d admit that, rather than resting at night, he’d spend that time with his knees to his chest and just…staring at Gale’s back. Conversations playing in his head yet nothing felt like the right thing to say. Every night he’d attempt to reach out, to even just touch, but quickly retreated away.
A vampire had hurt him. Could a vampire even give him the support he needed now?
Astarion didn’t have long to dwell on it.
Not when it was go time. To be ‘the heroes’ and ‘save the day’ from a gross, giant brian. To free themselves of the tadpole in their brains. To burden him with the death by sunlight once more.
—
A good portion of the city was left in smoldering rubble.
There were countless dead and many more missing. It would take months, if not years, to get the city back to how it used to be.
But they won.
They saved the day.
None of them had perished, luckily enough. Much to his relief. And, most sobering of all, he didn’t have to detonate the bomb in his chest. It still sat in the core of his being yearning, hungry, for what would never be enough.
For a brief moment he thought about it. Letting the little bomb in his chest to make quick work of their battle. They weren’t even losing and yet….
Mystra would be furious with him, as if she wasn’t already.
But who cared what she thought at this point.
Even though he spent nearly his whole life dedicated to that goddess worshiping the ground she walked on, trying to appease and gain her favor, it was never enough. It wasn’t enough to not punish him with the most cruel thing you could place on a mortal: powerful wizard or not. It wasn’t enough to have her second guess what he should do with that punishment, to think how he would feel about it.
It wasn’t enough to have his prayers heard.
Before, when he said Mystra’s name, it felt like she was listening. Rewarding him for being so devotional. Could feel the tingle of magic on his tongue and on his fingertips. Being wrapped in a metaphysical blanket.
But when he was cold and alone and broken…he didn’t feel even a single spark.
It felt like the weave left him entirely.
Gale couldn’t remember if it was magic suppressant cuffs or some kind of drug but…he couldn’t feel it. The weave had left him and…and it was the most terrified he’d ever been in his life.
Mystra had left him.
He’d call out to her. Muttering her name over and over under his breath when he was alone. He thought…he thought they shared enough of a connection, even after his monumental screw up, that she wouldn’t want him to suffer like-like that! But she never came. And with how long it took for him to be found, she never sent anyone his way either.
Time melted together down there and it didn’t seem like Cazador had to sleep.
When they found him Gale didn’t even realize who they were at first. He’d retreated so deep in his mind to escape it all. To think and to feel absolutely nothing. To keep any shred of sanity that clung on.
Ever since then, since he was found, it had felt like he was in a dream. His body wasn’t his own and he had to learn how to puppet it again. To try and find his old self, as it were.
Some days would feel like twelve hours went by when, in reality, it was only two. Or he’d wake up, blink, and suddenly it's dusk of the day after. Time didn’t really matter anymore. He’d try to focus on what was the task at hand: preparing for war, basically. It was the only thing that remotely grounded him.
Even if his magic came out from shaky hands.
But he didn’t have that anymore.
They won.
He should be happy that they won.
Be celebrating with everyone else downstairs. Drinking and laughing and drunkenly singing ballads of their battle that would be sung throughout history.
But there was nothing left.
“Thought I’d find you up here.”
Astarion sat softly next to him. Finally able to come out once the sun set. That pesky parasite was good for something, he supposed, as he saw the vampire look wistfully to the dying rays of dusk.
“Not up to a night of debauchery?” The rogue asked. Throwing his words back at him in jest.
A crack of a smile formed on his face. “No. I feel like I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime.” He couldn’t look at Astarion directly. Deciding to look up at the stars that dotted the night sky.
Because he knew that look his partner had been giving him ever since they found him. It wasn’t pity, like how the others looked at him. It was…knowing. Understanding, he supposed.
Sad understanding.
He could tell Astarion wanted to reach out to him. He wasn’t stupid. The worm on more than one occasion had thrusted the elf’s thoughts onto him with no warning many a time. He knew that…he didn’t know how.
And he couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know either.
“So. Uh, Gale…about-”
Gale shook his head. Closing his eyes with a sigh. “Don’t. Just…don’t, please.”
Astarion huffed. Peaking his eye he could see the vampire pout. Crossing his arms and glaring at the horizon. Tapping one toe of the roof tiles. Seeing him so frustrating at trying to help was…well it was rather funny.
His dry chuckled surprised his partner.
“What’s so funny?”
It was hard, at first, to look at his lover. He assumed if he saw those blood red eyes he would only see Cazador. But the more he forced himself to truly, honestly look at him he realized how…foolish he was. Their gazes couldn’t be more different.
“You.”
Astarion rolled his eyes but smirked, “Oh. Hilarious, am I? Thought you found me crass, darling?”
“I do. I like it though.”
Astarion smiled at him. Genuine and soft and sweet. Took a long time for him to look at him that way. To learn to put the mask away, if only around him. Now, it seemed that that mask was placed on him. As he couldn’t find a way to smile the same way back.
Something in his heart just…made it far too heavy.
Slowly, assuming so Gale could see he was coming, Astarion reached out his hand. Placing those long, cold fingers over his. A jolt ran through him like a spark but he held fast. He didn’t…he didn’t want to keep moving away from him anymore.
“Gale…” Astarion swallowed thickly. Moved his pinky across the top of his knuckles. The way he did when he was nervous. “I don’t expect you to tell me anything about what…happened. It took me centuries to tell anyone, you, and even then, there are still things I hide. But I…I know Cazador and…and…”
Looking up he saw how wet Astarion’s eyes were. How his lip trembled even as he pursed his lips to keep them from doing so.
“I am so sorry my love. So, so sorry.”
Gale wouldn’t know what was the magic word. If there even was one. Or if the timer for his walls held up by twine and a prayer finally struck zero. All in one fell swoop, tears just burst out of him.
He couldn’t even control it. The sobs and the cries he didn’t even know he was holding in were unstoppable now. All of that sorrow he never once showed through rearing its ugly head. Anguish bubbled over like milk on a stove.
Astarion’s arms around him and Gale clung onto him like he was being pulled out into sea. Burying his face into his lover's neck as sob after sob wrecked through his body. Those arms held him fast. Close. Cupping the back of his head with one hand while the other simply held him there.
“I know my love,” He heard him whisper into his neck once his sobs took all his breath away. Leaving him to hiccup and cry quietly into the night. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I was so scared,” Gale whispered into his neck.
“...I was too.”
“You came though…”
“I did.”
He sagged against his love. Feeling a headache coming on as any energy he had left disappeared. He felt his eyes grow heavy, despite himself. Though, unlike that soft mattress inside where he could find little rest, Gale for the first time in weeks felt…like he could.
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me?”
“I promise.”