Work Text:
The ruby was a pretty little trinket, understated, not like those eyeball-sized geodes Cazador liked to call jewelry. It was inlaid in simple silver with intertwining swirls like twin waves, and by the time Astarion found it moldering under the grime of ages in that goblin basement, the ring was so tarnished he almost didn’t see it. But still, he had a sixth sense about these things — it was heavy in his palm, of good craftsmanship, nothing some patience and a proper cleaning couldn’t fix. He hadn’t even stolen this one. And Gale’s whinging and fretting were nothing new by now, so how in the hells was he supposed to know? No one else in this world would have dared fault a man for his petty treasures.
“Oh, you’ve done it now!” Gale said. “What if it’s cursed? You can’t just pick up and wear every shiny thing you see. Consider yourself lucky we’ve not been struck by lightning outright!”
Astarion said, “Dear gods, shut up. Do you ever shut up? Once I sell it for a cool thousand, you won’t be talking anymore.”
“You won’t get that far, because it’s bloody cursed!”
“How can you tell, oh wise wizard? Did your magic goddess come down from the heavens to tell you so?”
Gale pointed once again to the book. It was always about a godsdamned book with him. So what did it matter if there was a book? They found those all the time, and every one of them that wasn’t a dead man’s journal warned of a great evil to come or some tragic history of man’s folly, the usual nonsense; if they were lucky, sometimes it was pornography. This one was a note about the power of true love or some other simpering tale, fit for a half-penny drama. Astarion hadn’t bothered to read it all, because he liked the useful items they scavenged ― like gold, or weapons. Maybe a good liquor to kill brain cells before the parasites got to them first.
But Gale kept going on and on about it, as if he’d never just lied to a woman before. “It’s a spell ― a powerful one, an old one ― and now you’ve gone and stuck your fingers in it!”
Astarion sighed. Perhaps if he indulged this, it would go away faster. He should’ve fought harder when Shadowheart suggested they split up. “Fine. So, if for a moment I went temporarily insane and decided to believe you… how, exactly, would it be cursed?”
He picked up the book, which just about sent Gale into another conniption. The letter tucked inside slipped out and fluttered to his feet. When it grazed Astarion’s boot, nothing exploded. Astarion made a show of collecting it, pinching it slowly by the corner as though it would zap him with a shock of disintegration at any moment. Gale rolled his eyes.
The letter said:
To my soulmate:
Woe is upon me, for it is with the blackest yearning in my soul that I offer it to you. Cruel fate has conspired to keep us apart, but I cannot go on existing in this half-state, incomplete without you, for we are but one being torn asunder by the hands of those who would harm us.
I send you this ring, red as your lips, red as my very blood which burns for you always and in this moment, so that you may feel as I feel and touch as I touch; that you may imagine it is our hands and our lips meeting once again in sacred congress by the true light of the moon. Until I see you, I must have you near me, pale imitation though it may be. Pray, do not scorn my fancy. And be patient, for I will find you ― and we will be joined in this world, and still unto the next.
“All that, but he never got around to actually marrying her,” Astarion said.
“For all you know, there’s a spirit out there risen from its grave, come to haunt you for stealing its lover’s ring,” Gale said. “Or maybe it’ll kill you slowly, like a poison leeching away the edges of your soul until you shatter into little pieces and the wind blows you away into dust. Maybe it’ll simply make your hair fall out.”
“Now darling, don’t you know it’s rude to share your sex dreams in public?”
Gale said, “Mock me all you like, but the magic coming off that thing isn’t any back-street good luck charm.”
“You’re only upset I won’t let you eat it.”
“I wouldn’t feed that thing to the orb unless it were the last piece of Weave in the known universe, and even then I might hesitate.”
Astarion scoffed. “When I sell it, I’m not giving you a single gold piece for your scrolls.”
“Do as you like, but don’t come shouting for my help once you start having visions of horrors heretofore unknown.”
“Nothing’s even happened!”
“Yet. Nothing’s happened yet,” Gale said. “And I wouldn’t be so sure. I sense a dread chill coming upon us already.”
“What are you going on about, wizard?”
“You don’t feel that? It’s so much colder in here than before.”
Astarion laughed at the joke, except Gale didn’t join in. He was shivering lightly all of a sudden, pulling his robes tighter around himself.
Astarion frowned. He didn’t feel any different. “…I think all that casting’s got you jumbled up right now,” he said. “Come on ― let’s find the others before you start hearing voices, too.”
As they climbed the stairs, Gale spared one last glance at the place where the ring had been: there was a perfect circle in the dust now, the gray stone floor stark and clean in the half-light.
“We must’ve disturbed it with our footsteps,” Astarion said.
Gale shut the door tight behind them, still shivering.
#
The rest of the day went on as usual, except now Gale had on a thicker jacket. Shadowheart feared he was coming down with fever, so they set up camp early and took advantage of their newfound spoils to trade with some Grove merchants. Astarion treated himself to a dinner of wild deer, and when he returned the group had already gone to their tents.
He'd just been setting up his sleep roll next to the fire when he tripped over a wizard.
“What ―” The sleepy, startled Gale flung a spell at him on instinct, and it took until Astarion had barely dodged the ice knife for him to get his bearings.
“Dear gods, man! It’s just me.”
“Sorry, sorry ― I’m not used to waking outside my tent.”
“What are you doing here?” Astarion asked. “I didn’t take you for the outdoors appreciation type.”
“I think Shadowheart’s right, and I’ve caught something. It was too cold in my tent.”
…And there went Astarion’s peace for the night. Gale of Waterdeep could probably talk even when unconscious. If the gods had mercy, whatever plague he’d contracted would soon spread to his throat.
He did look a compelling sort of pathetic all curled up there, though.
Astarion’s better side won out. “You’d best recover quickly, then,” he said. “If those goblins keep coming at us like they did earlier, we’re going to need a mage.”
“… Are you wishing me well?”
“Go back to bed, Gale,” Astarion said. He made to dust off his sleeping roll, but when he bent down his knees did the strangest thing. “What ― Argh!”
It caught him so off-guard he almost fell forward, but he managed to regain his balance before he could tumble like a fool for all the world to see. Getting himself upright was like unhinging a stuck lever. He felt… creaky.
“Something wrong?” Gale asked.
“No,” Astarion said. Dear gods, his back hurt too. He settled gingerly into the sleep roll. Gale was giving him an odd look. “What!” he snapped.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
Gale tucked himself back under the blanket. For a moment it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he just turned away. Astarion took the ring off his finger and tossed it to the bottom of his pack.
#
The next morning Gale seemed better, if a little pale. They fought a hag and exposed a conspiracy by a faction of Shadow Druids, all in a day’s work. By sunset Wyll was already plotting their attack on the goblin fortress for tomorrow. Gale set up his sleeping roll by the fire again.
Astarion didn’t join him this time. He’d been… off all day, almost as if some weight he couldn’t see were dragging him down, draining him. He’d bitten all the bandits he could stand, so much he’d scarcely gone hunting for dinner, and still the feeling wouldn’t settle. It seemed to grow as the hours passed, a gnawing pit inside him not unlike vampiric hunger ― but deeper, more ancient and more terrible. It hurt. Karlach had told him he looked like shit.
He settled in his tent and tried to trance, though more often than not it was Cazador’s sneer, the cold sharp feeling in his neck that never did quite fade after all these centuries; the bloodstained, rotting wall of the dungeon on the night he’d had the poem carved into his back.
At some point Astarion must’ve drifted off, because when he came to again everyone was asleep. Outside it was dark, still and silent as the deepest corners of the forest. He stumbled out of his tent with a hand pressed his chest, burning from inside.
He staggered forward one step, two. Halfway to the ashes of the campfire he gave up and lay there on the ground, gibbering and writhing, counting down like he’d done so very often. He fought the urge to scream.
Then, all at once, the feeling abated: the bright cutting pain dulled into a throb, ebbing from his chest and out onto his arms, his legs, the tips of his fingers. He could feel it in his hair still, tiny pinpricks warm and raw all over his scalp.
He opened his eyes. Gale was looking down at him, similarly disheveled and glowing purple from the chest.
“What ―” Astarion tried. He lurched to his feet. He didn’t need to breathe. He breathed in anyway. “What in the hells was that?”
Gale didn’t say anything for once. For a moment Astarion thought maybe he’d hallucinated him, and this was how his addled mind had decided he died ― at the hand of his worst companion.
Then Gale summoned a flame. It was only a spark ― a single charm on his index finger, more like a match than a real fire, but it was strong enough that its eerie inhuman light cast them both in blue.
Gale pressed it to his own forearm.
Astarion yelped. To be fair, so did Gale, but Astarion was too focused on the pain and the betrayal to care all that much.
“What the fuck!” he shouted. Then he looked down at his arm. A new, reddish mark in the shape of Gale’s finger marred its pale flesh. “What the fuck…?”
“I do apologize, but I needed to test my theory,” Gale said.
The words took a second to sink in. Astarion looked at the burn on his arm again and pressed on it. He watched Gale wince. “You did this?”
Gale shook his head. “You did this. I told you that ring was cursed. I was merely an innocent bystander caught in the radius of whatever monstrous magic you’ve unleashed upon us.”
“Me? Me? How in the hells was I supposed to know?”
“Because I told you so numerous times.”
“You’re always saying everything ‘numerous times’!”
“And I’m right!” Gale said. “It isn’t my fault you continue to disregard ―”
Astarion cut him off. “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t care. How does it work, and how do we get rid of it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Gale repeated, “I. Don’t. Know! I’m well-read, not a godsdamned seer! It’s clearly linked us somehow, probably to do with soulbonds or some advanced transmutation magic ― it could be a lot of things, but I’m not sure at the moment. All I know is that you are too cold all the time, and it’s unbearable, and I’m going to teach you a warming charm first thing tomorrow.”
Astarion said, “…I what?”
Gale gave him a look as though perhaps the ring had addled his faculties along with everything else. Slowly, he said, “When I hurt, you hurt. When you hurt, I hurt. You hurt all the time.”
Astarion gaped at him. “Is that why my knees feel like utter shit?”
“What?” Gale said.
“Your knees! How in the world do you run about throwing fireballs like that? And the ― the bloody chest orb thing ― Gods! You live like this?”
“You’re one to talk! I think I’ve never been hungrier in my life.”
Astarion wanted to cry a little. He let out a high, frantic laugh. “This is so bad.”
“We should ―”
“We aren’t telling the others.”
Gale said, “What! Why not? They might be able to help us out of our predicament.”
“Think for a second. I know you’re capable,” Astarion said. “If they find out we’re… linked, or whatever, they might think it’s the tadpoles waking up and merging us into the hivemind. Why would they believe you about a ring we found? Lae’zel will skewer you through the eye before you can finish the story.”
“That’s absurd. Do you not think if we act as though we’re hiding something, that’ll be an even greater cause for suspicion?”
Astarion said, “No, because I’m good at lying. We’re not telling them.”
Gale scoffed. “And what control do you have over that decision? As I recall, it’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place.”
Astarion was too tired for this tonight. Slowly, he unsheathed one of his daggers from where he’d stashed it in his boot, twisting it around his fingers. “Well darling, sometimes life is unfair that way.”
“What ―” Gale began, but Astarion pressed the point of the dagger into his own thumb.
Gale winced. “Stop that. What in the hells are you doing?”
Astarion pressed down harder. He felt the sharp edge of the blade pierce his skin, the barely-warm trickle of some other creature’s blood as it left him. Gale had gone a bit pale.
“Astarion!”
Astarion didn’t react. Gale was bleeding too, fat red drops trickling out onto the grass, almost black in the darkness.
“Astarion, stop!”
At last, Astarion pulled his finger off the knife. It was stained now, the same color as that ruby. “Do you see?” he told Gale.
Gale hesitated. Finally he said, “You aren’t foolish enough to hurt yourself for my sake. It doesn’t become you.”
“You’re right. I’m not ― but it just so happens I’ve got two centuries of experience in the matter.” He sucked at the cut for a second. When he popped his thumb out, it was already healed. “Do you know Cazador used to make us pull out our own teeth?”
Gale said, “…What?”
“Oh, yes. He’d hand us the pliers and make us sort them by type. He made a necklace out of my molars. Took a tenday to grow back,” Astarion said. “Sometimes he’d make us take turns whipping each other, and the person who broke down first got sent to the dungeon for a repeat. If we’d displeased him, he’d nail us to the wall by the palms of our hands, and he’d sit there and punish whoever hit the floor before he got bored. Once, he did ‘surgery’ on Petras because he wanted to learn anatomy.”
Gale was gaping at him.
“I’m not a madman, of course. I don’t delight in these things. But surely you can picture it, can’t you?” Astarion said. “The things that hurt you… they don’t really hurt me.”
#
Sleep was pointless the rest of the night. Astarion spent it staring up at the fabric ceiling of his tent, watching the darkness slowly give way to the orange glow of dawn. He rose with the sun and found Gale already by the cooking pot.
“Someone’s eager to kill goblins,” he said.
Gale glared. “Have you come to stick your hand into the fire for a spot of fun?”
Astarion said, “I hadn’t thought of that, actually. Maybe later I’ll try to give Karlach a hug.”
“I don’t understand why you find this amusing! For all we know, if one of us dies…”
“I’m already dead.”
“You’re undead. And you know what I mean!”
“Fine,” Astarion said. “Maybe that druid Halsin knows something. We could try to get him in private later.” Before Gale could say anything else, he added: “We’re not telling the others.”
Gale sighed. “I’m amenable to the Halsin plan, at least.”
“Wonderful. That’s sorted, then.”
Astarion made to leave for his morning hunt. The others were already coming out of their tents. Karlach almost levitated out of hers, still half-asleep but buoyed by the smell of breakfast.
“I still think we need to consider the… death matter,” Gale added quietly.
“It’s easy,” Astarion said. “Just don’t get killed.”
#
Gale followed the plan and was not killed. There were a few close calls ― Karlach almost lost her remaining horn, and Gale took an arrow to the shoulder that Astarion felt all the way across the battlefield ― but they emerged from the fortress bloodied and victorious and with a druid in tow.
That night they drank and danced with the tieflings of the grove. Astarion drained a bottle of wine that tasted like vinegar and felt none of its effects, only the burn on the way down. He’d been waiting for Gale for the past half-hour at a respectable distance, so as not to seem like he wanted to speak with him, but it was almost that long since the useless fool had been talking to Lae'zel, and she was unfortunately drunk enough to indulge him.
Astarion pinched his own leg, hard. Across the bonfire, Gale jumped.
Soon, he joined Astarion with a sour look. “Not all of us have to be miserable just because you decide to be.”
“I’ve done you a favor. She’s out of your league.”
Gale rolled his eyes. “Farther out of yours.”
“You can embarrass yourself later,” Astarion said. “We’ve business to tend to.”
Halsin was off in a corner, dancing far too close with a pretty redheaded druid. Her braid was so long it reached the floor, and when he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, she shook it and gave him those eyes that meant they were about to lose him for the night ― and soon.
They weaved through the crowd, dodging the mad dancing children and colored ribbons and string lights, and Astarion’s head hurt, or maybe it was Gale’s head that hurt, but either way he ended up dizzy. They found Halsin hugging a tree, or whatever it was that druids did.
“Head Druid Halsin!” Gale began. “It is an honor to finally make your ―”
“We need your help,” Astarion said.
They explained the situation as best they could, and Halsin listened with all his sage patience and asked them questions at appropriate intervals, and when it was over he proclaimed: “Have you two attempted to share in the gifts of Silvanus?”
“Seriously?” Astarion said, just as Gale said, “Gifts? What gifts?”
Halsin said, “It is beyond my skill to determine the exact nature of what ails you, but such charms are not uncommon. They all work similarly at their core. And I have found that when two souls find themselves entangled, it is often best to first… bring them together, such that they may come apart without resistance.”
It was a pretty way to say something so low. There was no beauty in it, no matter what god it was under. Astarion’s many lovers had blasphemed by all their names, in the throes of it, but none of them had ever stopped what happened after.
He asked Halsin, “And this works?”
“I can’t guarantee it, but in all my years it seems to be the more reliable solution.”
Astarion gave a single, resigned nod. Somehow, everything in his life ended up here.
Gale, however, was still frowning at Halsin. “Bring them together?”
“Yes,” Halsin said. “Sometimes, pulling in opposite directions only tightens the knot. Like a finger-trap.”
“I see,” Gale said, not seeing at all. “And how exactly are we supposed to bring them back together? Is there a spell for that?”
Halsin smiled. “Many ― though I wager the old-fashioned way will work just as well.”
Gale said, “What? You mean to say there are varying procedures? But then how…? Is it some sort of ritual spell to do with Silvanus?”
Astarion finally took pity on him. “He means sex, you fool.”
“Oh!” Gale went rather red as Halsin chuckled. “I ― Erm… I do not believe we have ― That is…”
Halsin said, “Well, the night is young and the forest is lush. I believe if you two were to slip away under the safety of its cover, the rest of your companions might be none the wiser.”
Gale spluttered. “What, now?”
“With this sort of enchantment, the longer you let it go on, the more difficult it can be to unravel later,” Halsin said. “Of course, there are other things you might try ― I believe the ring must have a partner. The spell in its current state is so old it seems to have become unstable; it has attached itself to any two people nearby, rather than the bearer of the other ring. Perhaps if you were to reunite the pair, it might break the bond. Do you have any leads as to its whereabouts?”
Gale went silent.
Halsin nodded. “I see,” he said. “Well, in that case, I would certainly advise the simpler option. Who knows? It might even turn out to be the enjoyable option.”
Astarion agreed with simple. The other part made him hold back a snort. “Well,” he said airily. “We thank you for your wisdom.”
Halsin wished them both luck before slipping into the forest himself.
Behind him, Gale had already started pacing. Astarion forced on his most charming smile. “So…”
“Absolutely not.”
“But I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I know exactly what it is you’re going to say, and the answer is no. We’d best start finding that other ring.”
“I know I’m not your favorite, darling, but I must admit this hurts ― I assure you, I’m quite good at it,” Astarion said. “Unless you’re scared of orgasms? Do wizards have those?”
Gale went even redder. “Must you be so crass!”
Astarion got closer. It didn’t have to be so bad, really, with Gale. Gale could be attractive at certain angles. He never shut up, but at least he didn’t seem the type to go for anything crazy. It’d probably be quick too, considering that solitary year in the tower.
“Are you scared?” Astarion asked. He knew how to play this game ― the push and pull, the delicate dance between a hunter and his victim. He’d done enough coy little smiles and accidental brushes of skin, enough winks and smirks and practiced lines by now that it was like sinking underwater, a familiar dullness of the senses. He could drift and trust the tide.
“Astarion, this is unwise.”
Astarion hummed. “And aren’t those decisions the most fun?”
If it not for all this, he might have had Gale anyway. He’d planned to, with one of them; he’d given them his best lines and best hair and best looks, and they all pretended not to notice, but they did. They always did.
He would’ve had Gale in this forest. On his knees, to make them hurt later.
“How about this,” Astarion said. “How about I leave you and your sensibilities alone for a little while to get sorted, and then you can have a nice long think about it… and then you come meet me in the woods.”
“That plan rests on the entirely erroneous assumption that I’d ever come meet you.”
“But you will,” Astarion said. “I know you will. And when you do, I’m going to have my way with you against a tree ― just like that one right over there ― and by the time we’re through, you’ll have no thoughts left in that cluttered wizard head of yours to complain about how indecent it all was. It’ll all be over with that pesky ring, and we can go to our tents and never think about it again if you like. I promise we don’t have to cuddle.”
Gale didn’t respond at first, but the silence was Astarion’s element. He knew how to sit in it, how to draw it out and create a moment where there hadn’t been one, how to fabricate temptation. Most people got shy if it went on too long ― but it was at that point precisely when they ought to bask in it. All you had to do was wait.
And then there it was, the weakness, rearing its head: only a second ― maybe less than a second ― but the choice was what mattered. It was Gale stepping closer, Gale’s eyes as they flickered to his lips. Astarion smiled at him. He knew how to use them.
Gale said, “I’ve never…”
“You’ve never?”
“Not like this. Not with a stranger.”
“But we aren’t strangers. I think I know you very well indeed.”
“You hate me,” Gale said. “And I… Well, I don’t hate you. But it’s close.”
Astarion grinned. “That only makes it more interesting.”
They stood there, awash in the silence. Astarion could wait, but Gale was patient, too. Gale’s eyes were the sort of brown that might’ve been unremarkable on anybody else.
Astarion yielded first. “So…”
And at last Gale sighed: a sweet sound, a surrender. He said, “If there must be a tree involved, I’m choosing the tree. I don’t want to find any splinters where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Astarion was already making for the woods. “I can be against the tree, darling. I’m not choosy.”
“And what does that matter, when it hurts us both the same?”
#
Gale was a good kisser, which had to be one of his more annoying qualities.
Naturally Astarion had been against it from the start. No point in drawing these things out, he’d said, not this time. As soon as the tree was deemed suitable enough, he’d gone right for the belt buckle like the gods intended, like the laws of nature dictated for such an encounter. But Gale, damn him, was the romantic type. The type who slid his tongue along Astarion’s lower lip like he was asking for permission, like he was the first to ever think up such a thing. He was unbearable. It was unbearable how Astarion opened his mouth and let him. Gale kissed and licked and sucked a path down his neck, up his neck, a sideways detour to his shoulder ― a diagonal to his chest, why not, as if he fancied himself some godsdamned cartographer ― And Astarion kissed him back. Why had he kissed him back? He kept kissing him.
For once in his life he wasn’t even thinking about his siblings or Baldur’s Gate or whatever far-removed landscape usually got him through it. He wasn’t trying to seduce anybody. Gale couldn’t stand to be seduced, and Astarion couldn’t stand him. Astarion raked his nails down Gale’s back and felt the scratch on his own. Gale groaned. He groaned. He couldn’t tell who was pulling whose hair, but everyone was into it.
At some point they’d even started talking in the middle of the act. Astarion had meant to use one of his lines, but then he hadn’t, because Gale always knew when he was lying.
“So that’s the trouble with you, then,” he’d panted, “you want someone to play the lovesick fool with you. To hold you close and tell you all about how you’re the only one for them. How yours is the best they’ve ever had, and nobody else’s. You’re one of those who thinks you fuck with your heart and not with your cock.”
Gale had curled his fingers against that spot inside him, the one that had Astarion squirming on the ground ― they hadn’t even used the godsdamned tree, after all that ― and said, “And you’re like one of those virgins who think they know it all because they’ve got ahold of an anatomy textbook. I don’t think you’ve ever had a good lay in your life.”
“Oh,” Astarion moaned. “Oh, gods. Fuck you.”
“Other way I around, I think.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“I wanted to suck your cock, but you wouldn’t let me.”
Astarion batted Gale’s hand away. “Get on with it already.”
Gale slung Astarion’s leg over his shoulder, redoubling his efforts. “I’ll do so when I decide it’s not going to hurt me by proxy.”
That had been some interminable ten minutes later. Now Gale was still making good on Astarion’s request. There was a twig digging into Astarion’s asscheek, which they both valiantly ignored. Gale’s back was starting to cramp from it all. The whiplash between those lips and the words coming out of them was disorienting, but not altogether unpleasant.
Gale pressed more of those damnable, heated kisses against Astarion’s ear. “So when exactly is it supposed to start working?”
“It won’t work if you keep thinking about it.”
“What else am I meant to be thinking about?”
“You’re bedding the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“There’s no bed, and that’s subjective.”
“I can physically feel you trying not to come,” Astarion said, which had been meant as a joke, except…
The curse was different. Astarion’s knee kept aching, yes, and there was a bug bite from hell itching on Gale’s shoulder, but beyond that there was more. Astarion could feel… he could feel his own hands, as they slid along the broad planes of Gale’s chest. Not in their entirety, but the concept of them, like the ripples left behind in a lake after throwing a stone. And there were his own thighs, wrapped around Gale’s back, the strange plush tightness against his own. He ran his thumb along the side of Gale’s jaw, through the scratchy curls of his beard.
Gale paused mid-thrust. “Was that ―”
“Yes. I think so.”
Gale took a deep, shuddering breath. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
Astarion said, “Gods, of course you’d like that.”
“You like it too!”
“But you like it more,” Astarion said. “So, come already.”
“I’m not going to until you do.”
“Then we’ll be here all night. As if you care.”
“I care whether it’s you or Auntie Ethel. It’s a matter of principle.”
“It’s principle for me as well.”
“The principle of spite?”
“Superiority.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind about you,” Gale said. He sounded winded from vigorous exercise. “I think I actually do hate you. Rather a lot.”
Astarion mimed a loud, exaggerated moan. “Oh yeah? You mean it?” he said, and then Gale wrapped a hand around his cock, slick with some clever sorcery, and it turned into a real one. Astarion pulled his hair in retaliation.
Gale hissed out, “Fuck.”
Astarion was so hard. Or maybe it was Gale. Whatever. He said, “Don’t swear; it’s weird when you do it.”
Gale’s lips crashed against his.
The whole walk back, they argued over who was first.
#
That night Astarion dreamed uneasy dreams, though they were not his own. He saw the book, so tempting, and then it cracked open and his chest went with it. He was hollowed out, split in two, untethered from his body. It was not his body. He was floating in a sea of stars, and then he was back in the dungeon ― no, a tower. The sun was shining, but he had to stay there. Mystra was angry with him.
He gasped awake, and his lungs burned because he never used them. It wasn’t his heart he felt beating in his chest.
#
Gale didn’t speak to him for almost a tenday after that, but then again he didn’t really need to. Astarion had sworn the next time they saw Halsin he was going to skin him for a bearskin rug, because that little forest adventure hadn’t untangled anything worth a damn; he could still feel every ache and itch and pain that’d ever afflicted Gale’s useless excuse for a mortal vessel, only it was worse now. Their souls weren’t tied so much as braided.
Whenever they stood close enough, they began to walk in sync. Astarion would bathe and see Gale’s reflection in the stream. He dreamed Gale’s dreams and woke up yearning for places he’d never been, missing the sea. A part of him had even started to look at Lae’zel a little bit too long. Gale, for his part, began eating his steak so rare it was almost raw. Whenever he turned a corner, Astarion would catch him high on alert, waiting for an enemy he felt deep in his bones, and three days into the curse he’d barged into Astarion’s tent and wordlessly tossed him a warming charm. Astarion suddenly hated the texture of half his clothes. Gale began to fear enclosed spaces. The tadpoles didn’t help it, but this wasn’t the tadpoles. It was a constant awareness, a part of your skin, like seeing your shadow and having it see you in return. All their companions assumed they were fucking.
… Not that they were entirely wrong.
It was a new kind of shame, doing it because you wanted to. Astarion had meant what he said the first time: he’d had no intentions of repeating the experience. That first night, he and Gale had gone to their separate beds without so much as a glance.
But that was the first night. There were only so many others you could have before it started to seem intentional.
The curse liked Gale, was the thing. Astarion had discovered that in the worst way possible, trudging along the damp mushroom hell of the Underdark, and all of it was Shadowheart’s fault. If only they’d gone the other way, out in the sun like civilized people, it might have been longer. But down in that odious cave there was nothing to eat. Everything was dead or slimy or a talking plant, and even the spiders had poison for blood that melted your teeth if you tried it.
They’d made it almost all the way to Grymforge when it happened: it was the night before they got on that boat. Gale yanked him aside and said, “How long has it been since you fed?”
Astarion wasn’t in the regular habit of listening to the things that came out of Gale’s mouth, so it took him a second to process. “…What?”
“When was the last time you had blood?” Gale repeated. “You’re starving and it’s unbearable. I can’t concentrate on my spellcasting.”
Astarion said, “And what in the hells do you want me to do about that? I’ve already asked all the viable options. No one will let me have a nibble.”
Shadowheart didn’t trust him, and Lae’zel had outright threatened to stake him if he asked. Wyll would have allowed it some other time, but they were low on healing potions; he needed to preserve what little blood he had left after today’s skirmish with a beholder.
Gale held out his arm.
“What are you doing?” Astarion said.
“Solving the problem. Just… go on, before I regret it.”
“Your blood’s awful, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’ll taste it too.”
Gale said, “A burden I’m willing to bear for the moment.”
He continued to stand there with his arm on display like some kind of discount deal at the butcher’s. Astarion was so hungry even the thought of that Netherese swill had his fangs making an appearance, but he pushed Gale’s arm away.
“…Not out here,” he said.
After a brief argument, they crowded into Gale’s tent. It was bigger than it seemed from the outside, crammed to the ceiling with books and quills and broken-off bits of spell components that made the air glitter when you entered. In the corner there was a stack of crates repurposed as a desk. Gale had even gone to the trouble of conjuring a proper bed.
“How in the hells do you pack all of it up?” Astarion wondered aloud, but when Gale began to answer he said, “Actually, nevermind. I don’t care. If I let you start talking, I fear we might wither away.”
Gale glared but took the point: he sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Astarion to join him. “Go on, then.”
Astarion didn’t wait. He sank his fangs into Gale’s wrist and felt it in his own, a warm tingly numbness that spread up his arm and melted into his senses. Above him, Gale gagged a little. “Gods, that’s vile.”
Astarion kept sucking. He drew long and deep, gulping the blood down so fast the sound of it was audible. It was sloppy; he could feel the gluttonous excess of it as it dripped down his chin, the warm moist stain as it set into his shirt collar. Soon his vision ― Gale’s vision ― began to grow blurry, and he pulled away.
“Hells,” Astarion said. His head was swimming, a nice warm swim. His limbs were heavy.
Gale had prepared, though. He took a small red flask from his pocket, and the world sharpened once again as the healing took effect. That strange, pulsing buzz became a pleasant hum.
“Thank you,” Astarion allowed. “I won’t forget this.”
“That was one of the… stranger experiences of my life.”
The bite mark on Gale’s wrist was not quite gone. Astarion could feel the hard, sharp sting of it. In a moment of weakness, his eyes traveled to Gale’s neck.
Gale said, “Is it easier from there?”
Astarion looked away. “It’s all the same. It’s probably... better how we did it.”
He was still hungry. Gale knew it. But that wasn’t what they were talking about. Gale’s heart was beating too fast. Astarion had always been able to hear it, before ― but now he could feel it too. He could feel why.
“Astarion…”
Astarion took Gale’s arm again. He didn’t bite this time. He pressed down on the twin indents left by his teeth. Gale stiffened.
“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” Astarion asked.
Gale said, “…You like it too.”
Astarion pushed him down on the bed.
#
Not that they were lovers, because they weren’t. They met in shadowed corners and made excuses, and they never cuddled after the fact, because Astarion kept his promises. They spent two more tendays in the Underdark and dedicated most of it to proving Halsin’s theory definitively incorrect.
In that time Astarion also discovered many more of Gale’s worst qualities.
For instance, he never did stop it with the kissing. Astarion was the vampire, but Gale kissed like Astarion drank ― which was to say with abandon; with hunger; with all the carnivorous zeal of a creature barred for a century from all he wanted most. It didn’t matter where or why or how inconveniently Astarion propositioned him. One time they really had done it against a tree.
But it wasn’t just the kissing. It was the way he ran his hands through Astarion’s hair after it was over, as if he hadn’t done enough to ruin his curls already. The way he laughed at stupid jokes he found in books and then just had to show Astarion. The way he thanked Astarion for every piece of magic junk he slipped into his pack, even though he always did it when Gale wasn’t looking. He misused every single spell to ever exist for the purposes of sex. His mouth wasn’t good only for talking. After the battle at Grymforge, he’d dragged Astarion into the nearest lockable room and dropped to his knees. He still smirked whenever Astarion came first.
They reached the Shadow-Cursed Lands with Gale well on his way to anemia and Astarion covered in his own bite marks. At long last the party dragged their battered bodies through the gates of Last Light Inn, dreaming of a real bed and a bath. The whole walk there, Astarion had been thinking up things to do to Gale in that bath.
But then of course they’d met that man.
That fake-smiling, witch-worshipping, cheese-eating paltry excuse for a professor in the goofiest hat Astarion had ever seen. The one who’d stopped the burning in Astarion’s chest for the first time in weeks ― and then suggested Gale use this newfound boon to blow himself up about it.
Astarion had enough self-control to wait until after Elminster’s departure, but that was about where it ended. Gale got this pathetic kicked-down forest-creature look about him, as if he were resigned to being put out of his misery.
Shadowheart said, “You’re not going to do it, are you?”
Gale said, “Well…”
Astarion said, “Like hell you will!”
And that was how the others finally found out the whole of it. Lae’zel did in fact threaten to skewer them through the eye until Gale showed her the ring. Karlach and Wyll thought it all very romantic.
But Gale, for once, was quiet. He nodded at their advice and then went to bed early, even when Wyll started to dance at the inn and Lae’zel actually joined him. Later, they met a devil with a quest for them and Astarion didn’t process a fucking word.
“Just go,” Shadowheart told him, after the fourth time she’d tried to say something and he’d responded with, “What was that, darling?”
They were playing a card game Wyll had taught them, and Astarion had already won because he’d been cheating; the rest of them just didn’t know it yet.
“Go where, exactly?” Astarion said. “He’s just in a mood. He’ll get over it.”
Shadowheart said, “You know, this whole time I thought you were ―”
“No!” Astarion said, except it was frantic enough that everyone understood it to mean: Yes, of course. Regularly and thoroughly.
Lae’zel said, “You know, Astarion, in my culture we have a term for that. Zhak v’o’nash duj. Source of my bruises.”
Wyll frowned. “I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
Karlach said, “What? But didn’t he just say it bruises?”
Astarion left them by the campfire. Gale wasn’t in his tent, so he had to suffer the indignity of asking that condescending harper Jaheira about it. When he finally spotted him, alone in some dank corner of that miserable place, he’d had plenty of time to work himself up into a proper rage.
“Astarion,” Gale greeted, with one of those sad, far-off smiles, and Astarion might’ve been tempted to punch him, except that would’ve hurt.
“What do you think gives you the right?”
Gale sighed. “I find this as wretched as you do, but I cannot turn away from duty when my goddess wills it.”
Astarion said, “She might be your goddess, but she isn’t mine. I don’t give a shit what she thinks your duty is. My duty is to live.”
Gale snapped his head up to look at Astarion, all shocked like that, the bastard, as if it’d simply never occurred to him before. For a moment Astarion felt a wave of… something pass through him, an ache deeper than the tightness in Gale’s knees and the orb and the headaches and the bruises.
He said, “Oh, you hadn’t considered that, had you? So godsdamned eager to blow yourself up that you don’t mind who you take with you?”
“Of course I’d never ― You don’t know that’s what it would do.”
“And you’re willing to test that?”
Gale shook his head. “No. No. Only…” he trailed off. “What if it’s not how you think? Maybe it would break the spell, if I’m not there. You’d be free.”
“Or maybe I get blown to smithereens! And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not.”
“Of course not,” Gale said. “You don’t have anything to fear. Not while we’re like this. I promise.”
Astarion knew at once it was true. But none of it did anything to calm the dark roiling thing inside him, the furious sudden image of that ring, so thin and dainty and loathsome. The single, unfortunate coincidence keeping Gale from burning at the altar of someone who wouldn’t even bother to see it.
Astarion said, “And if you find a way to fix it, then what?”
Gale didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
Astarion nodded. He made to leave. “Very well, then,” he said. “I’d tell you it’s pathetic, but I think you already knew that.”
Gale blurted out, “I’m in love with you.”
Astarion whirled. “No you’re fucking not.”
“Astarion ―”
“If you were, you wouldn’t dare stand here and talk about me ‘being free’ of you. As if that’s what I want.”
“You can’t stand me.”
Astarion huffed. “At least that’s something,” he said. “One way or the other. At least you know I’d care.”
#
They met that vile drow a tenday later, stirring a glowing cauldron of gods-knew-what in a rotted corner of Moonrise Towers. Her blood smelled of waste and wickedness, of something deeper than disease. “Araj Oblodra,” she said, and Astarion could feel the way her eyes raked over him, twin worms crawling up the back of his neck. She offered them a potion for a trade.
Gale said no, of course. It was up to Astarion to choose. Astarion declined, and that was that. They made to move on.
And it was just then, just as she expressed her regrets ― as they passed her to leave, and Astarion was giddy and hopeful and light in the chest ― that they spotted the ring.
It was thicker, made of that same fine silver as the one they’d found in the basement. The ruby was identical, a shiny red teardrop glinting by the light of Araj's strange brew. Astarion paused. Gale almost crashed into him.
“You like my ring, spawn?” Araj asked.
“I told you my name’s Astarion.”
She held out her hand for him to see. Her veins were black and green. “I got it from a merchant back in Menzoberranzan. He told me it was charmed, a trinket made from the blood of a faraway soulmate longing for his lost love. Even now I wear it, though I think he was lying. There’s something in it that compels me.”
Gale had gone silent. She smiled and showed it to him too. “I’d be willing to trade it. For a prize.”
Astarion looked to Gale, but he was still transfixed staring at the ring.
Araj said, “You know my terms.”
Astarion steeled himself. He pushed down the disgust, as he’d done so many times before. He began, “… I suppose ―”
“No,” Gale said suddenly. He was firm in it. And Astarion felt warm fingers as they closed around his own. He felt the beating of Gale’s heart in his own chest, saw their shadows as they flickered, and for a moment became one. “Come on,” Gale said. “The others are waiting.”
“Why?” Astarion whispered.
Gale gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I realize the irony inherent in the statement but… Well, you’re your own person, aren’t you?”
#
That night Astarion beelined for Gale’s tent. Everyone at camp saw him do it, but he didn’t even stop to grumble at Karlach’s wolf-whistle. Gale was reading some horrid tome on illusion magic. When he saw Astarion he snapped it shut.
Astarion said, “So what if I believed you?”
“What?”
“The part where you’re in love with me. What if I believed you?”
Gale laughed. “I’d say it’s about time. I think I’ve been in love with you since you told me not to swear.”
Astarion kissed him. It was different this time, unhurried. Gale cradled his face, and Astarion let him. Astarion wanted him to. He ran his hands through Gale’s hair and laughed as he felt it in his own. When Gale pulled away, they pressed their foreheads together.
Astarion said, “I think maybe I’d like it if we cuddled.”
Gale held him tight to his chest. “Whenever you want.”
“Maybe if we only cuddled. For a while.”
Gale kissed him again. “For as long as you like.”
So they did. Gale held him close, and they talked, and they laughed, and they argued over who would be the big spoon. And then just as Gale had started to mumble, heavy with sleep on Astarion’s chest, Astarion said, “Now you really can’t do it.”
Gale laughed. “We’ll still have to find a way to fix this eventually. I’m sick of eating steak.”
Astarion said, “Well, you never know, darling. It could be convenient in the future. If you ever get kidnapped and replaced by a body double, I’ll be the first to know.”
Gale swatted at him, and Astarion said, “hey!” and Gale said, “ow.”
They slept, and Astarion dreamed of sunlight. He didn’t know if it was his, but lately he found he didn’t mind sharing.
EPILOGUE
After everything, Gale held out the ring and Astarion could have killed him. The presentation left much to be desired, if he was honest. It wasn’t even romantic; the curtains were closed. The sun tended to hurt Gale these days.
Still, Astarion gaped at him. He even did the whole thing where he was so shocked he had to cover his mouth about it. He wanted to take a moment to remember the scene, but it was probably best if he decided soon. Going down on one knee wasn’t working for either of them.
In the end he said, “Are you serious?”
“Look, the brain’s destroyed half the city! I couldn’t find another one on such short notice. I promise I’ll get you a nice one in Waterdeep.”
Astarion scoffed. “Gods,” he said. Then: “Oh, fine.”
Gale beamed. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Gale jumped and whirled and took him into his arms. Astarion smiled, despite himself. They kissed a while.
Then Gale said, “Wait…”
“What, don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind now.”
“No, it’s just ―” Gale pinched himself.
Astarion saw him do it. He didn’t feel it.
“Are you serious?”
They tossed the ring out the window.
Afterwards Gale said, “I suppose you were right, then.”
“About what, darling?”
“... He never did marry her.”