Chapter Text
Astarion grinned to himself. The balcony above the ballroom of his new house offered a great view. On the dance floor below him, the upper crust of Baldur's Gate was having a great time. The chandeliers glittered over the dancing couples, gossiping envoys and scheming patriars. Outside, the last rays of sunset were painting Baldur's Gate in warm orange colours. Astarion bought this particular mansion for this particular window that allowed him to see the sun from the safety of the shadows, and he was very proud of it. It was both a practical joke against his very nature and a show of how far he's come. True, most of his new acquaintances among the city's elite couldn't appreciate either, but it was no matter. Taking a sip of red liquid from an ornate goblet, he glanced over his guests with an eye of an experienced host and motioned one of the servers to bring another bottle of champaign to a table where two duchesses were engrossed in conversation with Red Fist officers. His little soirees haven't become the high society's most desired events on their own, after all.
As he observed his guests invigorated by additional libation, a cold, gnawing feeling filled his chest. He scrunched his nose and took another sip. The feeling was distantly familiar, he remembered it from his time entombed and alone, but he felt such an array of misery back then it was hard to categorise. It must have been his hunger getting more noticeable when faced with so many attractive necks. It wasn't like he had any other reason to feel anything but pure bliss.
Thanks to illithids and their parasites, a couple of months turned his world upside down. It still didn't feel like a couple of months, more like a lifetime. Perhaps because to him - it was. What were decades of fear and anguish compared to even a tenday of travelling in the sun, meeting people, robbing people, killing people, and being lauded for it in the end? His grey existence was filled with colours to a point where it, at times, would earn the right to be called 'life'. Yes, there were strings attached: fighting gods and killing devils, avoiding certain death and, most uncomfortably, depending on others, were certainly involved. But the rewards were worth it, hands down, no questions asked.
He even got friends! What a funny notion! Well, some of them were more of acquaintances. He barely got to know Minsc and Jaheira before it was time to say goodbye, but they still ran into each other in the city from time to time, in the case of Minsc – to Astarion's dismay. To his even greater dismay, Karlach was still somewhere in Avernus, accompanied by her personal knight. Although judging by how vulnerable Wyll was in a fight, it would be more accurate to say that he was the one being accompanied. At least those soul coins Astarion kept nicking came in handy – not only the pair could travel easily through hells, Karlach found a couple of imps who could be bribed into delivering messages, so Astarion was perpetually entertained by his friend's tales of their gallivanting crusade for her heart.
Ironically, those on the same plane of existence felt even further away. After Karlach's illustrious exit, the rest of them spent a couple of days fishing in Chionthar for the damned crown, while Astarion was playing fetch with Scratch and Beaky at camp to stay away from the sun and running water. Then Gale left, the Crown of Karsus in hand. Others departed Baldur's Gate soon after. Saying goodbye to Beaky was difficult, the little guy was damnably cute. Astarion fed him a couple of freshly caught squirrels and scratched his belly for a full minute before Halsin took the pets back into the wilds with him (as if anyone could separate the most dedicated playmates in the whole forest). The only goodbye Astarion wasn't sorry about was Lae'zel's departure to fight in a civil war, as it was probably the only thing that prevented her and Shadowheart from eventually killing each other. While Karlach was certainly a delight, Astarion had so much more in common with the snarky cleric. He was looking forward to them being penpals, which would have been difficult had the gith warrior ended up killing her.
A tenday after Shadowheart left with her parents, Astarion received a sending from Gale. He thanked the vampire for his help and company, and informed him that he was no longer either the Chosen of Mystra or an explosion hazard, and that was it. There was no need for more, but Astarion found himself wishing for more. It was all a silly sentiment, of course, but between lanceboard matches and the two of them pouring over the Necromancy of Thay, he probably spent more time with Gale than with anyone else. Hells, when they'd just met, Astarion even tried to seduce him for protection. But the wizard was too busy figuring out his own problems to get into romantic entanglements and couldn't get into bed without a romantic entanglement. In the end, Astarion was glad Gale had too much on his mind to fall for him – he was so much more fun as a friend than he would be as a one-and-done lay. Whenever Astarion recalled the wizard's child-like admiration of every mildly magical phenomenon they came across, his endless descriptions of every subject under the sun, and his hilarious balancing act of being simultaneously appalled and excited by their grim findings, he could almost admit he missed him.
Luckily, Astarion had enough to entertain himself in the months that followed their grand battle to avoid wallowing in loneliness. First, of course, he needed to ensure a comfortable life for himself. He swore to never admit it if asked, but his half-forgotten life as a magistrate actually came useful. He happened to know quite a few old laws that were still in effect and thus could be spun to his benefit. Thus, he pulled up a court case from three hundred years ago, in which a wizard's clone claimed inheritance of his creator who passed on from old age, and another, of a widow claiming custody of her wife's homunculus. Thus armed, he successfully argued that creation could inherit after the creator if no other candidates are present, and laid claim on Cazador's palace. He conveniently omitted the existence of other spawn. After all, he killed the bastard, so what right had someone like Leon (or Petras, for pity's sake) to something Astarion rightfully took and for what he had suffered the most? True, the Gur kids and innocents like Sebastian were just wronged both by Cazador and Astarion himself. But they were all still getting used to free will and managing their hunger, and Astarion judged it was better to let them figure things out on their own and not give large sums of money to people who might be a danger to themselves. As a bribe to his consciousness, he graciously funded the colony's construction works without mentioning the source. He even spent a month in the Underdark making useful introductions to the myconids and some of the more decent druegar.
Naturally, Astarion had no intention to set foot in that wretched ruin after his return to the surface. Not when everything there was either used to torture him, or reminded of that time in some other grievous way. He sifted through Cazador's library, and picked some of the rarer and more valuable books to send to Waterdeep. Astarion still shuddered to think what'd become of him if not for Gale's level-headedness getting through to him at the right moment, so he figured he owed him a thanks. Besides, Cazador would metaphorically turn in his grave if he knew the man who ultimately stopped his ritual got his books. As a joke, Astarion meticulously mixed in some of the more pornographic books Cazador had owned together with the tomes on magic and necromancy, and sent it all to Gale in one cart.
After picking some items and books for himself, Astarion sold the palace to another patriar, bought a mansion in the Upper City and hired some staff. It was a monumental expense, but between his adventuring gains and sale of the palace, he still had enough money to last him a long while, especially if he could stretch his fame as one of the saviours of Baldur's Gate. Even feeding was no longer a problem - a couple of butchers were paid well to supply him with blood, adding anticoagulants to every bottle wasn't that much of a hustle, and if he felt particularly adventurous he would prowl the streets and feed off an occasional ruffian. His once bleary existence was bursting with colour; and it was a shame that something in his nature didn't allow him to fully enjoy it.
He took another sip from his glass and scrunched up his nose. The gnawing empty feeling didn't leave. Astarion took a moment to lean against a parapet and ground himself, cataloguing the things around him. A new house, an exquisite social life, a carefree pampered living – positively, hunger or not, life, or, more precisely, un-death couldn't get any better. He repeated that to him sighed and decided to distract himself by finally descending to his guests and mingling a little. That was where a strange figure in a mask reminding gold filigree handed him an envelope that looked like an invitation. Another party! Perhaps un-death could, in fact, get better!
Life couldn’t be worse. Well, that wasn't exactly true, it could be worse, it was worse when he had a literal time bomb in his chest. But overall Gale was miserable. The graduation ceremony was one of these public events he couldn't avoid showing his face at. He congratulated all of his students, and, grabbing a flute of fizzy wine, was hiding out in the corner, hoping more people wouldn't approach him. The chance was slim. So many still wanted to talk to Gale of Waterdeep, former Chosen of Mystra, etcetera, etcetera. And none of them were even remotely interested in Gale Dekarios, which meant Gale would inevitably find those conversations tedious.
Sure, his return to Waterdeep had some benefits. Settling back into his tower with dearest Tara was lovely, and being hugged to within an inch of his life by his mother when she found out her son was no longer about to explode felt really nice. And the new additions to his library that Astarion had sent were fascinating, even if they needed to be sorted apart from an entire collection of crass pornography. The rogue couldn't live without his petty pranks. But if it meant getting his hands on some exceptionally rare tomes, that was a price Gale would gladly pay. He was also quickly gaining a much more agreeable reputation back at the Academy: if he was known for his preternatural gift and blasé attitude before his folly, multiple colleagues pointed out how much more nurturing to other mages he became, to a point where desperate students would seek him out. If even Professor Dekarios can't help your magic – you're better off as a farmhand, they said.
No, that was all fine, enjoyable even. It was returning to Waterdhavian society that was a real pain in the neck. In his archmage days, he wasn't particularly keen on making real friends – he was mostly concerned with gaining influence suitable for the Chosen of Mystra or securing useful contacts. And upon his return, fresh from months of facing deadly terrors along with some of the most loyal, interesting, and weird people he'd ever met, he couldn't help but find his former circle of acquaintances severely lacking.
Joining Blackstaff Academy removed him from the orbit of some of the most egregious people – those who saw teaching students magic as a lowly pursuit. But some still remained and bored him with their insincerity and conceited attempts to gain favor. He hated to admit it, but he yearned for the simplicity and brutal candor of his companions' banter. Even if it sometimes involved Astarion volunteering Gale to pay in taverns or markets. Simple and comfortable chats about the ridiculousness of modern fashion or Bhaalist books over a game of lanceboard more than made up for it.
But with his perilous journey coming to a close, so did the pleasant company that came with it. Moreover, now that his connection to Mystra in all ways other than for spell casting was severed, he seemingly became fair game for every bachelor and bachelorette in Waterdeep. He had some more direct offers, too, all of which he declined. Sleeping with people without being romantically interested in them still didn't seem attractive. He'd feel like an oddball, but after getting letters from Wyll and reading entire odes the man dedicated to Karlach, Gale felt reassured. Apparently, romance was still alive, albeit in hells, and it made his own decisions to decline casual relationships easier. He also quite enjoyed commenting on the poems and suggesting more appropriate rhymes where he could (which was the original purpose of the letters – Wyll was full of the most exalted feelings, but somewhat lacking in active vocabulary, so he sought the help of the only person he knew who'd help him out without judging).
Just as he stood there, remembering a line that he meant to suggest rewriting and searching for a word to rhyme with 'carmine', someone bumped into him. Gale stumbled, and felt dampness spread across the sleeve of his robe from his now empty glass. Turning his head, he saw a young woman, maybe about 20 years younger than him, but then, one would have better luck guessing a dwarf's favorite gem than a wizard's age. Gale himself neither felt nor looked much different in his 50s than he did in his 30s. The woman was wearing professorial robes, so she must have been another new hire. She had an elven-style braid of luscious brown hair, and her dark expressive eyes contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. The woman blushed very prettily at her misstep, and was in the middle of uttering an apology. So, instead of a grumble, Gale smiled, and cast prestidigitation on himself.
"It's quite alright, no permanent damaged sustained," he said encouragingly.
"Indeed! I'm so very sorry! I'm such a clutz! Where are my manners? I should've cast it myself, really!" She laughed nervously.
Gale found his smile grow wider on its own volition, as he quickly glanced over his new acquaintance.
"You have a bit on your sleeve. Here, let me…" he started.
"Oh, no, no, it's quite alright, really! It's not a problem at all," her blush deepened, and she cast a spell hurriedly, and her "I'm so sorry for almost ruining your robes, these are just a few droplets, honestly!" rung across the hall.
Every single pair of eyes turned to the two of them, scandalised.
"That was Thaumaturgy," Gale whispered sideways, smiling apologetically at the rest of the gathering. "Apologies, everyone… ehm… casting spells after a fizzy drink should be avoided! It might be the last yet the most essential lesson of your student life!"
Several chuckles sounded through the crowd as graduates and professors alike returned to munching on the buffet, drinking and discussing future projects. The disaster over, Gale turned to his new acquaintance who was currently hiding her face in her hands.
"I'm so. Unbelievably. Sorry," her muffled voice came from behind the barricade of her hands. "I must look like the most pathetic wizard alive!"
Gale chuckled. The whole scene really was quite adorable and brought on some fond memories.
"I would contest that getting stuck in a waypoint sigil is a more bizarre way to meet people," he said.
Two fingers scissored, revealing a curious black eye.
"You mean you…?"
"Indeed! Meeting people standing on my own two feet is infinitely preferable. Gale Dekarios, a pleasure to meet you," he said, offering his hand.
"Kressida Arunsun," she gave him her hand, and he momentarily marvelled at its warmth. "From the Arunsuns," she added with a tired sigh, and her pretty face scrunched up in panic. "Please don't tell anyone you've witnessed me mix up my cantrips, or I'll never hear the end of this."
"My lips are sealed," Gale answered, and maybe it was wine's influence, but instead of a handshake, he leaned in to kiss her hand.
"And… don't think worse of me for that?" She asked as if trying her luck, but finally smiling.
"I can imagine old Blackstaff was excused for a blunder or two in his time, surely we should extend the same courtesy to his extended family," he replied and felt warmth in his chest when she giggled at his pun.
Perhaps the banquet wasn't a complete dud. Already deep in conversation about how one's spacial structure changes during teleportation and its influence of teleportation mishaps, Gale barely noticed when a masked figure gave him an envelope…