When We Were Stars

by Aldaphrodite

Summary:

Gale Dekarios is four years old, which is a very fine age for having important thoughts about magic and sandwiches. He lives in a rather small but very cozy house in Baldur’s Gate with his mother, Morena, and a tressym named Tara, whom he had summoned all by himself on a particularly curious afternoon.

One day, when the sun sat just right in the sky, and it was warm enough to wander, Gale decided it was an excellent day for a walk. But then, further along than he usually went, Gale found a new house. It was very big, with a tall stone wall all around it. The sort of wall that said someone important lives here. He found a small opening at the bottom of the house where some bricks had fallen out.

And in that opening, there was a room below, lit by a single lamp on the ceiling. A basement. And in the middle of the basement, cross-legged and perfectly still except for his hands, sat a little elf.

This was very curious to Gale, because there were no baby elves in Baldur’s Gate.

Chapter 1: Four

Gale Dekarios is four years old, which is a very fine age for having important thoughts about magic and sandwiches. He lives in a rather small but very cozy house in Baldur’s Gate with his mother, Morena, and a tressym named Tara, whom he had summoned all by himself on a particularly curious afternoon.

 

It’s worth noting that Morena did not approve of the new addition to the household. But Tara seemed very real and quite determined to stay, so Gale considered the matter settled.

 

The house had crooked stairs and a window that caught the sunset just right, turning the sitting room into a sea of gold every night. Gale always thought it looked like the kind of light you could swim in.

 

Most days, Gale spent his time practicing very small spells, like making his toys float (they never floated for very long) or changing the taste of his porridge (it was always still porridge, unfortunately). Morena always watched him with a fond smile that seemed to say you’re growing faster than I’d like.

 

In the afternoons, Tara would sprawl in a sunbeam, wings stretched out. Sometimes she would even grant Gale the honor of scratching her tummy. Gale was certain their days would stay golden forever. The world was a very good place indeed.

 

One day, when the sun sat just right in the sky, and it was warm enough to wander, Gale decided it was an excellent day for a walk. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular, sometimes the best walks were the ones where your feet decided where to go before you did.

 

He passed all the usual things: House Devir’s Orphanage flower boxes spilling over with marigolds, the cobblestones that wobbled if you stepped on them, and the shop with the jars of sweets in the window that seemed to wink as Gale walked by. Maybe he took one.

 

But then, further along than he usually went, Gale found a new house. It was very big, with a tall stone wall all around it. The sort of wall that said someone important lives here.

 

From somewhere beyond that wall came a sound. Not a cat sound, not a grown-up sound either. But the soft sound of another child.

 

And there, tucked between two great stones at the bottom of the wall, was a hole. Just the right size for a boy of four years. So through Gale went.

 

The garden inside was very neat. He followed the sound to the far side of the house, where he found a small opening at the bottom of the wall where some bricks had fallen out. 

 

And in that opening, there was a room below, lit by a single lamp on the ceiling. A basement. And in the middle of the basement, cross-legged and perfectly still except for his hands, sat a little elf.

 

This was very curious to Gale, because there were no baby elves in Baldur’s Gate. Elves grew up in faraway colonies, and sometimes the grown ups came here for business jobs. But here he was, big, pointy ears and all.

 

The elf had hair like a cloud, and pale skin to match. He wore very nice clothes, and was playing alone, arranging small wooden animals into neat rows, saying something to them Gale couldn’t quite hear. 

 

Gale pressed his face right up to the opening until his head was through. “Hello!”

 

The elf’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide, and as golden as the sunset spilling into his home every evening. For a moment, Gale felt as though a piece of that light had gotten lost down here.

 

“I’m Gale,” he said, because introductions were very important and ought to be given right away.

 

The elf put down the wooden horse in his hands. “I’m Astarion,” he replied. His voice was soft, like he was not used to speaking very far.

 

“What are you doing down there?” Gale asked, leaning closer so he wouldn’t miss a single word.

 

“I live here.”

 

Gale frowned. “Little elves don’t live in Baldur’s Gate. They live in-“ He waved his hand vaguely. “-you know, elf places. Forests and trees. Magical deer.”

 

Astarion only gave the smallest shrub. “Well I do.”

 

This seemed suspiciously like the end of the matter, but Gale wasn’t done with him quite yet. “Do you want to come out and play?”

 

Astarion’s eyes flicked toward him in a way that said the answer was yes, but then shook his head. “I can’t come out. My door is locked.”

 

“Oh,” Gale said. That was a problem. But then a new thought arrived- a bright one. “I’m magic,” he declared, chest puffing the tiniest bit. “I’ll lift you out through this hole.”

 

Astarion tilted his head. “You can do that?”

 

“Of course,” Gale said, the way only a four-year-old could be certain of things. “I make my toys float all the time.”

 

“You don’t look very magical.”

 

“Well, watch this,” Gale said, planting his hands on the stone around the hole. “I’m going to count to three, and then you’ll be out. Easy as pie.”

 

“I’ve never had pie.”

 

Gale’s mouth dropped open. “Never?”

 

Astarion shook his head.

 

“Then we’ll definitely get you out of there. Everyone should have pie.”

 

And for the first time, Astarion smiled. A quick thing that warmed the gold in his eyes.

 

“All right,” Gale said. “Here’s the plan. When I say go, you have to want to float. That’s very important. You can’t just stand there.”

 

Astarion tipped his head, in a way that made Gale think his ears were far too big for him. “I do want to float.”

 

“That’s good. Magic listens better if you’re helping. I think.”

 

He took a deep breath, and muttered the same words he said to his toys. Some from a spell book, some he made up himself. 

 

Astarion stared up at him, fidgeting with his hands. 

 

Gale pushed his magic forward with all the force he could muster. And-oh!-it worked! Astarion’s feet left the floor, slowly and carefully.

 

“I’m doing it!” Gale laughed. “You’re really floating!”

 

Astarion’s eyes grew even wider. “I am! I’m floating!”

 

“Just a little higher,” Gale urged, his hands starting to shake.

 

But just like his toys, Gale could only hold the spell for so long.

 

“Wait—don’t—!” Astarion started, but then—thump!—he landed back on the basement floor.

 

“Ow!” He exclaimed, rubbing his elbow. “You dropped me!”

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Gale protested quickly. “I did my best. That’s what counts.”

 

“Well your best isn’t very good!”

 

Gale’s face scrunched into a frown. “That’s rude—“

 

“Gale!”

 

A familiar voice rang through the air. It was his mother, and she was calling in the particular way that meant you are in trouble.

 

“Oh no,” Gale whispered. “She sounds cross.”

 

A moment later, Morena was easing over the wall with a huff. “Gale Dekarios!” She grabbed his elbow and stood him to his feet. “You know you are meant to be home by sunset. And you do not wander past the shops! What are you doing here?”

 

“I made a friend!” Gale said quickly. “Look—“ he pointed to the hole.

 

Morena frowned, but she bent down to peer inside. Astarion was standing just below, hands held together in front of him. 

 

“Oh gods,” Morena murmured, her voice catching as she placed a hand over her heart. “Look at you… oh—“

 

Gale glanced between them. “His name’s Astarion. He’s an elf, but he lives here instead of in the elf forests. Isn’t that funny?”

 

Morena didn’t answer. She stared at Astarion for a moment longer, before huffing shortly and leading Gale back to the wall. “Come along, Gale. We should not be here.”

 

“But—“ Gale began, looking back over his shoulder to the hole. “We were going to play! He’s never had pie!”

 

“Now, Gale,” Morena said, steering him firmly along.

 

Gale watched the hole as long as he could, until the wall rose between them, and he heard the faintest, “goodbye.”

Notes:

Hello AO3 fwiends, sorry I fell off the face of the earth this summer, anxiety things ✨

I really love writing, and I want to write for myself. I have attempted writing this concept before a few years ago, but I am a better writer now and I think I can do it more justice. So if you feel like you’ve read this before… no you haven’t

I hope you enjoy if you want to stick around for a long ride 🤍

Chapter 2: Five

Gale did not forget about Astarion, no matter how many times his mother said, “Don’t go back to that house, Gale Dekarios.” Mothers said many things, of course. Like “Don’t put frogs in your pockets” and “No. You cannot eat the jam out of the jar.” But this was one thing Gale found particularly impossible to obey.

 

So, on every walk, his little feet took him (quite on their own, really) to the big stone wall, and through the hole, and around to the little gap that looked down into the basement. And every time, Astarion was there. 

 

Sometimes Astarion was reading a book that looked much too large for him, and sometimes he was drawing little shapes in the dust. Sometimes he was simply waiting, ears twitching the moment Gale peered through.

 

They talked about all sorts of things. Gale told Astarion about the wobbly cobblestone on the street, about how the stray town cat had six kittens, and about how Tara brought a mouse into the home that got lost in the attic. Astarion listened, tilting his head just so, and gave Gale stories of his own about the books he read, the games he invented for his wooden animal toys, what the world looked like from his one, small window.

 

And Gale practiced. Oh, how he practiced. His toys floated for longer now, a whole ten second, sometimes even fifteen, before plopping back down. He could make his shoes hop across the floor, and once he even managed to lift his porridge above his head (though it ended with porridge all over his hair, which his mother did not appreciate).

 

By the time Gale turned five— which, everyone knows, is a very wise and grown-up age indeed— he felt quite ready to try lifting Astarion again.

 

So one sunny afternoon, when the sky found the same gold as Astarion’s eyes, Gale pressed his palms to the stone around the hole and said with great authority, “All right, this time it will work.”

 

Astarion clasped his hands together, standing very straight and polite. “If you drop me again, I shall be very cross,” he warned.

 

“I won’t drop you,” Gale said. “I’m older now. And wiser.”

 

He muttered his spell-words, scrunched his face, and pushed. And after a moment, up Astarion went! Slowly, carefully, but steadily this time. Until his head reached the hole, then his shoulders, and then his whole self, tumbling into the grass right beside Gale.

 

For a moment they both just sat there, blinking at each other with wide eyes. Then Gale grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “I did it! I really did it!”

 

Astarion let out an unrestrained giggle, his eyes looking every which way with the slightest twitch of his ears. “I’m out! I’m really out!” He said, breathless. And then, after a small pause. “Now, what do we do?”

 

Gale decided, quite rightly, that the best thing to do was to show Astarion the entire walk. After all, if you had a friend that had never been outside before, you must introduce him to all the important things straightaway. 

 

So off they went, side by side. Gale pointed out the flower boxes brimming with marigolds. He showed Astarion the wobbly cobblestone, and they both took turns stepping on it while it clacked up and down like a see-saw. He stopped at the sweetshop window, closed this time, so Astarion pressed his nose against the glass to see the rows of jars.

 

Everywhere they went, Gale noticed the grown-ups staring at them. Staring at Astarion, really. But Gale figured this was perfectly natural, since Astarion was probably the first baby elf they had ever seen. And his ears were rather big.

 

So Gale didn’t mind, and neither did Astarion. Astarion laughed when Gale hopped across the crooked paving stones, and Gale laughed when Astarion tried to mimic him and slipped just a little. They laughed together when the sweetshop owner shooed them away for breathing too hard on the glass, and again when the stray cat chose to follow them for a whole street. 

 

If Astarion noticed the looks or the whispers, he didn’t show it. He simply tilted his head, like everything was brand new to him. Gale supposed it was.

 

And to Gale, this was new, too. Because everything was always better when you had someone beside you to see it.

 

By the time their grand adventure of a walk had come to its happy end, Gale and Astarion found themselves once more in front of the big house with the big stone wall. 

 

And there was the little hole, waiting for them.

 

They stood side by side, gazing at it with the sort of thoughtful silence that only comes once you’ve realized you thought a lot about the first half of the plan, and not so much about the second half.

 

“I didn’t think about the putting you back, part,” Gale admitted, scratching the back of his head. His hair was all ruffled from the day’s running, and his cheeks were pink. “But I suppose it must work the same way as the coming out part, don’t you think?”

 

Astarion tilted his head. “You floated me up,” he said carefully. “So… you could float me down again.”

 

“Of course!” Gale said, puffing out his chest. He could do this. He was five-years-old. An entire hand. “That’s exactly right. Easy as pie.”

 

So Gale crouched down, palms pressed flat against the stone and squeezed his eyes shut until his face went very red. He muttered all the spell words he knew, and then pushed with every bit of magic he could muster.

 

It was working. It was really working.

 

But Gale was tired. Magic was heavy work, and his arms trembled, and his head throbbed. And right at the very end, when Astarion was only a little hop away from the ground—plop!—down he fell with a soft bump.

 

“Oh no!” Gale cried, his hands flying to his mouth. “I’m sorry! Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

Astarion stood and brushed dirt from his sleeve. Then he looked up with the smallest of smiles. “Not a bit. I’m quite alright.”

 

Gale let out a long breath, his shoulders drooping. “Good. Because I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

 

Astarion clasped his hands together and tilted his head just so, until his ears flopped that tiny bit. “You’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you?”

 

Gale’s whole face lit up. “I will,” he promised, and his promise was as certain to him as the golden sunset filling his sitting room every sunset.

 

And then, they both smiled. One above the hole, one below. Like they had invented the very idea of friendship. 

Notes:

Thank you for your patience 🫶🏼 moving a bit slower these days and work was going crazy. Updates should be more regular now 🥰

Chapter 3: Six

Gale visited Astarion day after day, week after week, until whole seasons turned themselves over. They grew taller (though Astarion not by much), and together they filled the afternoons with secret meetings.

 

Every day, Gale slipped through the hole in the stone wall, pressed his palms to the opening in the house, and with a red face and scrunched up nose, floated Astarion up and out of the basement. And every evening, before his mother would be expecting him back at home, he floated Astarion back down again. 

 

Gale got better at it, too. At six years old he could keep Astarion hovering almost as steady as one of his toys, and sometimes even spin him a little, which Astarion found both thrilling and highly undignified.

 

One afternoon, after they crawled through the hole in the wall, Gale noticed something new. 

 

A fresh sign had been posted, with very hostile black lettering. 

 

Gale tilted his head, reading it aloud slowly, “Tres…pass…ers… will be… prosecuted.” He wrinkled his nose. “Prosecuted means punished. But the first word…”

 

Astarion, standing at his side with his hands folded most politely, frowned. “Pross…what does it say again?”

 

“Prosecuted,” Gale said. “Haven’t you been learning to read?”

 

Astarion’s eyes flicked down, and he scuffed his shoe against the ground. “Well it’s not like I get schooling,” he muttered. “I’m teaching myself. I can read plenty of words. Just not… big ones.”

 

“Well, I am top of my class,” Gale said, puffing his chest a little. “I could teach you.”

 

And Astarion smiled, just the littlest bit.

 

“Anyway,” Gale said, waving the sign away. “We’re not doing anything wrong, so that sign doesn’t mean us. Even if it did, a sign wouldn’t stop me from seeing my best friend.”

 

At that, Astarion’s ears twitched just slightly, and his smile widened.

 

They walked farther on their walk now, their legs longer and steps braver. On this particular day, their feet carried them all the way to the edge of Baldur’s Gate, where the lines of trees started.

 

The forest. Tall and green and humming with secrets.

 

“Look,” Gale said, pointing to a wooden sign nailed to the first tree. More hostile black letters. Gale read them aloud slowly. “Beware… Owlbear… I’m the area.”

 

“Owlbear!” Astarion’s eyes lit up, wide and round. “A real Owlbear?”

 

“Maybe,” Gale said, shifting foot to foot. “Or maybe it’s just a pretend story the grown-ups say so children don’t wander off.” He tried keeping his voice steady, but there was an odd flutter in his chest. Owlbears were quite fierce after all—claws and feathers and teeth all mixed up together.

 

Astarion was already crouching, a loose curl falling over his face as he pointed at the ground. “Look, Gale! Tracks!”

 

And sure enough, pressed into the soft ground, were big clawed feet, bigger than anything Gale had seen before.

 

“That could be anything,” Gale said quickly, clearing his throat after his voice wavered just a touch. “A big dog. Or maybe two big dogs. You never know.”

 

Astarion’s head snapped up to him, mouth curving wide. “Well let’s find out!”

 

Gale’s heart did a little flip. Because of course Astarion would say that.

 

So they continued. Gale’s shoes started to squelch in the mud. His mother would be so cross about washing that off. Every step deeper into the forest felt darker, the trees getting closer together. 

 

Astarion dropped into a crouch again so suddenly that Gale nearly tripped right over him. 

 

“What?!” Gale whispered, his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

 

Astarion pointed at the ground. “Look, there’s two sets now! The big feet we saw before, and then these. Even bigger!”

 

Gale peeked over his shoulder. The new tracks were bigger and deeper. So deep that little pools of water formed within them. He swallowed.

 

“I don’t think we should keep going,” Gale said, his voice shrinking down to just a whisper by the end. “They could be, well, hostile.” He said Hostile very seriously, the same way his mother spoke it to him.

 

Astarion looked up at him. “It’s alright if they’re hostile,” he said. “You can protect me. With your magic.”

 

Gale blinked. “Me?”

 

“Of course you,” Astarion said, springing up to his feet. “You’re a magician. You float me every day. You can handle a silly owlbear.”

 

“The correct term is wizard,” Gale said, lifting his finger. He then brought that finger to his chin, “But I am rather magical. And I don’t have anything better to do today.”

 

“Exactly!” Astarion said, plopping his hands onto Gale’s shoulders. “Then it’s settled. We’re brave, we’re clever, and we’re together. Let’s find it!”

 

And with that, he turned and marched ahead, leaving Gale to hurry after him, trying very hard to ignore his shaking legs. 

 

Round and round in circles they went, because that’s what the tracks did, looping this way and that, crossing over themselves. Astarion crouched often, pointing with delight, while Gale followed, trying very hard to look like he knew what he was doing.

 

He did not know what he was doing.

 

They had been at it long enough that Gale noticed the light was changing. The golden glow that meant “all is well” was rapidly slipping lower in the sky. He thought of his mother’s voice when he came home too late, how sharp it would be. She would be very cross indeed.

 

And then another thought pushed into his already busy brain, would Astarion’s mother be cross too? Gale frowned, trying to picture what she might look like. Surely, everyone had a mother. But he realized, quite suddenly, Astarion had never mentioned his, and Gale had never asked.

 

“Look!” Astarion cried, pointing ahead.

 

Gale jumped nearly a foot in the air. “What!” He squeaked, heart hammering. Then, very quickly, he cleared his throat, puffed up his chest, and tried again. “What, uh, what’s there?”

 

Astartion’s eyes practically sparkled as he crouched again, fingertips brushing the ground. “The tracks, Gale. There’s a third one now!”

 

Gale leaned over reluctantly, peering at the mud. And there it was: another footprint. Larger. Deep enough to swallow his whole hand.

 

“A third owlbear,” Gale said flatly. “Great.”

 

“It must be the daddy,” Astarion said with a grin. He spread his arms out as wide as he could. “It’s so big! Come on!”

 

And before Gale could remind him that three owlbears—big, bigger, and biggest—seemed like rather too much for one evening, Astarion was already marching ahead again.

 

Gale sighed, glancing back at the swiftly fading sunlight. Then, with a little shake of his head, he hurried after, muttering to himself, “I suppose I’ll have to be brave for just a little longer.”

 

So they continued on. Again. And though Astarion marched first, even he began to slow as the night sky darkened the forest. Gale wished, with all of his heart, that he was at home instead, tucked into bed with his blanket pulled up to his chin, Tara purring at his shoulder, the world quiet and safe as it should be. And then he had what he thought was a very clever thought: perhaps Astarion could come to a slumber party. Gale had never had a slumber party before. The other children at school weren’t half as nice as Astarion. They didn’t laugh at his jokes, or listen to his stories, or believe in his magic the way Astarion did. Yes, a slumber party would be much nicer than wandering after owlbears.

 

But before he could say so, Astarion froze. 

 

“Look!” He whispered sharply, pointing.

 

And there, just a little ways ahead, was a small shape, with feathers and round eyes.

 

“A baby owlbear!” Astarion breathed, eyes wider than Gale had ever seen. “Gale, look! It’s the baby!”

 

Gale’s heart did a full somersault. “I think I just remembered something I need to do tonight,” he said quickly, taking baby steps backward. “So we need to go now.”

 

Astarion frowned at him. “We can do it tomorrow. Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

 

“No, no, tomorrow will be much too late,” Gale insisted, waving his hands. “It needs to be done tonight. Right now, in fact. Immediately.”

 

But Astarion shook his head. “I’ll just touch it. And then we can go.”

 

Before Gale could tell him that was not very clever at all, Astarion stepped forward, creeping toward the baby, closer and closer, until he leaned in, and—

 

Snap!

 

The baby owlbear clamped its beak onto one of his enormous elf ears. And Astarion let out a wail so loud, Gale swore it shook the forest.

 

“Astarion!” Gale shrieked, his whole body jolting. Panic flooded through him faster than he could think any thoughts. He thrust his hands forward, magic sparking through his fingers in a scatter of tiny fire bursts. They fell right to the ground, sizzling out immediately.

 

But it was enough. The scream and the sparks, the baby owlbear let go and bounded off into the dark, crashing through the bushes.

 

Astarion clutched at his ear, tears streaking down his cheeks, blood shining red on his fingers. With a sob he sprinted back to Gale, who took his hand with no hesitation.

 

“Come on!” Gale cried, his own eyes wide and breath coming fast. And together they ran, hand in hand, back toward the forest’s edge and the safety of the city.

 

By the time their feet hit cobblestone again, both boys were panting, red in the face, tears on their cheeks. And just in front of them—

 

“Gale!”

 

It was his mother, rushing toward them, her skirts gathered in her hands. Her face was red and wet, her eyes wide. The moment she reached them she pulled Gale close, clutching him so tight he squeaked. 

 

“Oh thank the gods,” she breathed into his hair, then held him back at arm’s length to look him over. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere, Gale Dekarios!”

 

Gale squirmed, ears getting just as red as his cheeks, pointing his finger sideways. “I was just—well, Astarion and I were—“

 

Only then did Morena’s eye catch Astarion, standing off to the side, hands clasped in that same polite way he always did, shifting from foot to foot.

 

“Oh, Gale! You drug Astarion into this?” Morena gasped.

 

“Me?!” Gale cried. “It was his idea! …Mostly, his idea!”

 

Morena frowned very sternly at him. “You know better, Gale. He does not. He is not like us.”

 

Then, she looked softly to Astarion again. “Oh, sweet baby,” she cooed, seeing the blood on his ear. “You poor ear, come here, let me see.”

 

“He’s not a baby!” Gale burst out, stamping his foot. “He’s just as old as me!”

 

But Astarion only shrank back, his ears drooping all the way down, eyes darting between them. Morena reached out to take his hand. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

 

“No!” Astarion cried suddenly, startling them both. He whirled and dashed to the nearest tree, wrapping his arms tight around the trunk, pressing his face against the bark. “Father says never to go with other grown-ups. They’ll take me away!”

 

Morena froze, her hand still suspended in front of her. Then she slowly lowered herself into a crouch. “Oh, darling,” she murmured. “I can’t leave you out here alone. You’re hurt, and it’s getting dark. I’ll take you back to your father. You can trust me.”

 

Gale looked from his mother to Astarion, and felt a brand new feeling, something he didn’t quite know, but it felt something like worry.

 

At last, Astarion’s arms loosened from the tree. He looked at Morena’s hand, her eyes, and though his lips pressed tight, he reached forward and set his small hand into hers. 

 

“There now,” Morena said softly, giving his fingers the smallest squeeze. “That’s better. We’ll see you safely home.”

 

And so they walked, one of Morena’s hands wrapped around Gale’s, the other around Astarion’s. Gale glanced sideways more than once, his mouth twitching with thoughts he didn’t know how to say yet. He liked that Astarion wasn’t crying anymore, but he didn’t like the way his friends shoulders were curled in, or how his big ears drooped low.

 

It was not a long walk to the house with the high stone wall, but it did feel farther than usual. They walked past the hole, straight to the grand steps in front.

 

Morena rapped politely at the door. It opened slowly, and with a deep sigh. A very tall elf stood there, pale as a candle, but eyes as red as blood. 

 

Astarion startled and darted behind Morena’s skirts, clutching at the fabric with both hands. 

 

Morena smoothed a hand over his hair. “I found him at the city’s edge. He was hurt.”

 

The elf’s red eyes flicked over her, then down to Gale, making Gale flinch the slightest bit, then finally back to Astarion peeking out from behind her legs. His lips curved politely.

 

“You have my thanks,” he said, extending a pale hand with long, sharp fingernails. 

 

Astarion hesitated only for a moment before slipping out from behind Morena and taking his hand.

 

The door closed with a soft click, Astarion disappearing behind it. Gale blinked. His chest felt very tight, and he thought to himself this didn’t feel very much like a happy ending at all.

 

The walk home was very quiet. Gale trudged along beside his mother, kicking at little pebbles they passed. And then, when they turned onto their own lane, Gale noticed. His mother lifted her free hand and brushed quickly at her cheek. It was a motion so small he almost thought he imagined it. But no, her fingers came away damp.

 

She had been crying.

 

Gale bit his lip. He wanted to ask, why are you crying?, but his throat closed up and he didn’t. Mothers sometimes did things you weren’t meant to understand, and maybe this was one of them.

 

When they stepped into their house, everything looked just like it always did. The crooked stairs, the warm rug, the table waiting for supper. But Gale felt different, like he had stones in his chest.

 

He curled up on the rug by the hearth, pulling his knees to his chest. Morena moved about the room, busying herself with things that didn’t need doing. Gale watched her in silence until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

 

“What did you mean?” He asked quietly. “When you said he’s not like us?”

 

She stilled, before setting down the cloth in her hands and sitting beside him. For a moment she smoothed her skirts, and took a deep breath.

 

“That man, Cazador Szarr,” she said at last, her voice very soft, “he is very, very powerful. More powerful than you can imagine, Gale.” She sighed. “And Astarion… Astarion is not going to grow up like you. Or like other elves.”

 

Gale blinked up at her, his brows drawing together. “But why not?”

 

Morena’s eyes glanced toward the window, then back at him. “I don’t know what Cazador wants with him. But he has a plan for him. And there’s nothing we can do about that.”

 

Gale’s throat tightened. He clutched at his knees and shook his head. “But he’s my friend!”

 

Morena shook her head, eyes watering up again. “He’s not your friend, sweetheart.”

 

“Yes he is!” Gale snapped. “He laughs with me, and we walk together, and he is! He’s my best friend!”

 

Morena’s voice shook. “You can’t see him anymore, Gale. Do you understand me? You can’t.”

 

Gale’s chest burned. “That’s not fair!” He cried, leaping to his feet.

 

“Gale—“ she began, but he didn’t stay to listen.

 

He bolted to his room, his little feet pounding against the floor, and slammed his door shut with all the force he could muster. Gale flung himself onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. Hot tears spilled freely down his face now, and his shoulders shook. He didn’t understand. How could his best friend, his only friend, not be his friend at all?