[As he flits back toward consciousness, the first thing Gale perceives is the throbbing in his head. For an instant, he wonders if the protection of the artefact has finally failed them, considers these might be his last moments before ceremorphosis; however, the throb emanates again from behind his right temple, and that's when he remembers the blow he took there. The woods near camp, Astarion — no, a shapeshifter in disguise, one he'd recognized for the trap it was all too late. And then, nothing but dim recollections of being moved, words murmured around him, a blade drawn against his skin.
Outside the painful headache, he feels stone beneath his spine, the surface warmed by his body, and the touch of cold hands cradling his face. His eyes squeeze tighter before they open, as though he has to will them to do so.]
Astarion?
[His voice comes out softer than he'd anticipated, croaked, his throat dry. He can make out silver hair stained red with blood, a pale face, those ruby eyes looking at him anxiously, worriedly. He'd worry he was another doppelganger, but a fake would never look at him in such a way, he's sure. No other lover has ever cared for him as Astarion has.]
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Outside the painful headache, he feels stone beneath his spine, the surface warmed by his body, and the touch of cold hands cradling his face. His eyes squeeze tighter before they open, as though he has to will them to do so.]
Astarion?
[His voice comes out softer than he'd anticipated, croaked, his throat dry. He can make out silver hair stained red with blood, a pale face, those ruby eyes looking at him anxiously, worriedly. He'd worry he was another doppelganger, but a fake would never look at him in such a way, he's sure. No other lover has ever cared for him as Astarion has.]