🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[mystracal]

tfln | invitations | and there was only one bed | undermountain alurlyath | what could be | blood bond | the price of freedom
it wore his face | dinner with morena dekarios | rediscovery

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[sangwhine]

[Astarion gives a sigh, leaning in to rest his forehead against Gale's.]

No. Not a single one. I called to every god I knew and was met with silence and torment.

[mystracal]

[Gale leans forward to meet him, his jaw tightening, brow knitting.]

Centuries of it.

[Even monsters like Ketheric Thorm had a god answer him. The image of Astarion enduring year after year of torture at the hands of his master, unable to escape, to control himself, to have any agency, all while the gods ignored him... it makes Gale's stomach turn.]

You must understand why I want that crown so badly, why the very thought of it consumes me. What I could do with it, Astarion!

[sangwhine]

Dearest, you needn't explain yourself to me. There are certain things one can only achieve with power. And what power is greater than that of a god?

[There is so much laden in those words. Centuries of hurt, anger, resentment at being so powerless, and the undeniable lust for power of his own, to become greater than the thing that hurt him. He smiles, rubbing his thumbs across Gale's temples, trying a little to bring him back to that relaxed, pliable state he was in before.]

Just think of what we can become. You, a god, and myself, a master of the undead the likes of which this world has never seen.

[mystracal]

[The tension in his brow remains as Astarion draws him back, but his jaw relaxes.]

We. I do like that. You'll be a vampire lord and lover to the sweetest-scented god in all the Realms.

[sangwhine]

They will write ballads about us. Tales for the ages.

[mystracal]

[Gale leans further into Astarion's touch.]

Good ballads, hopefully. Though it does make me wonder what kind of vampire lord I'll be lover to.

[sangwhine]

[There's a crease to Astarion's brow at the question, his hands continuing their work with Gale's hair.]

What do you mean? I'm right here, aren't I?

[mystracal]

That you are, but I've yet to hear a ballad about a kind vampire lord. It's the sort of tale no one has told - yet.

[sangwhine]

My dear, is kindness a word that you would use to describe me? In general, I mean.

[mystracal]

Toward me.

[But that does beg a question Gale, so love-struck, perhaps hadn't considered before.]

Though I suppose others would describe you quite differently.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion traces Gale's jaw with one hand, putting two fingers under his chin to tilt it up.]

You're different. No one else is like you. No one else ever cared like you do. They don't deserve the same kindness.

[mystracal]

[His eyes meet Astarion's, uncertainty coloring them.]

You will be different than Cazador though, certainly.

[... Surely?]

[sangwhine]

I will be greater than him.

[Though he knows that's not what Gale's asking. He pulls his hands away, rinsing them in the water.]

I don't want you to see something in me that isn't there, dearest. The world never showed me kindness. You had your years with your goddess that were full of love, even if the base of it was tainted. I had centuries of wishing for death. Praying for help that never came. Years and years taken from me in exchange for torture and isolation.

So why shouldn't I be allowed to take in return? What kindness do I owe the world that abandoned me to my fate?

[mystracal]

Cazador was your torturer, Astarion. Not the entire world. I can't be the only one who would have helped you if given the chance, if they knew of your suffering. You're not a monster, like he is.

[sangwhine]

It wasn't some knight in shining armor who rescued me, darling, it was a mind flayer. I am only here with you because some other tormentor sought to turn me into a different kind of monster.

The world had two hundred years to help me and I never saw a scrap. Not so much as a single hand extended in aid.

[mystracal]

[Gale falls into a beat of silent contemplation. He wants to argue that others couldn't have known, not when Cazador was controlling him, forcing him to hunt; he wants to ask about his family, if they wouldn't have searched for him in his absence, but he remembers how well that went last time. Not everyone has a loving mother like Morena Dekarios, and besides, the memories have long faded from centuries of torture, with ones of suffering, agony, and degradation being all that remain.

When he is a god, Astarion won't need to fear, Gale tells himself. He won't need to be a cruel monster, lurking in the shadows, seeking only to feed. He'll be something more than Cazador, something new... something good, hopefully. He's capable of it - Gale has seen that for himself. He just needs help to get there.]

I suppose we'll discover together what kind of lord you'll be. Unless you've some idea of what songs they'd write in your name?

[sangwhine]

[Astarion can see the worry in Gale's eyes, the concern. The wish for him to be something better. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Gale has shown him kindness that he never expected. It doesn't feel right to return it this way, but it's all that Astarion's ever known. He reaches out to cup Gale's cheek in his hand, gently brushing a thumb across his cheek.]

Dearest, I don't want to lead you on. I don't want you think I can become something I'm not sure I can be. The world is a cruel place, and until you're able to obtain the crown, to seize your own godhood, I will take every bit of power I can get my hands on to protect you, to protect us.

Let the songs call me ruthless, bloodthirsty. Fear is a lovely way to fend off those who might threaten us. But you will always know my heart.

[mystracal]

[Gale searches Astarion's eyes, fighting with his own morals. What's more important: safety, or the lives of innocents?

Not innocents, Gale justifies in his mind. Just Cazador and his ilk. Surely Astarion can be talked away from being unreasonably vicious as a vampire lord, despite what his centuries of torment have shaped him into. And it's not just his own safety and survival at stake, but that of the city - and most importantly, that of Astarion. To ensure that, what would Gale give? Where would he be willing to compromise?

He leans into Astarion's hand, knowing how desperate he must seem. Now that he's had another taste of affection, he wants it, craves it. It's a sign of his existence, of his value - it means he's worth something to at least one person.

He swallows the knot in his throat.]

I am fully confident in my capacity to reforge the crown for myself, when we manage to get a hold of it, but if I didn't - if for any reason I were unable to attain that godhood, and simply had to remain Gale while you rose to power as a being unlike any we've seen...

[He trails off, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he struggles to choose his words for fear of what the answer might be.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion can see how this upsets Gale, and it gnaws at him. He brings both hands up, cradling Gale's face in his grasp, gentle. He wants to reassure Gale, to set his mind at ease, to promise him that he won't need to worry over what might become of them.]

Then I would protect you, dearest. I could turn you with me, share my power with you. We would have no need to fear anything, ever.

[mystracal]

Turn me?

[And here he was just worried that Astarion would find he no longer needed his human partner - would find a more worthwhile suitor than a wizard with a Netherese orb in his chest and more failure to his name than he'd like. He never even considered being turned.]

I'm not sure how I feel about the idea of being a vampire spawn, admittedly. Even if the lord himself was my lover.

[There's something distinctly uncomfortable about the prospect, something that hits too close to home for Gale. He'd be a lesser to Astarion - never equal in power, in potential, in any measure. It's not a position he's sure he can stand - he certainly couldn't last time, and look where it got him.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion hadn't expected that Gale would so immediately reject the idea. He thought Gale would understand the offer, a chance for more power if the crown was denied to him. It sits ill at ease with him, but he presses more, half to convince himself that it's the right path to take.]

You wouldn't need to be a spawn. I could make you a full vampire under me. And we could utilize your thoughts on protecting yourself from the sun. You would have all that power alongside your natural talents with the Weave.

[mystracal]

[The discomfort doesn't budge from Gale's features. A vampire under him. Would Astarion be able to see him as an equal once turned? Or would he behave in accordance with all he's known for centuries: that those under the lord are beholden to him, bound to serve? While Gale can't imagine Astarion controlling him in that way, the very thought makes his stomach churn, the orb within him thrumming with discontent.

And yet, his heart aches the most at the thought of being discarded should he refuse.]

Let me... consider it, if I may. I'd need to take into account the orb. What may happen with it in such an occurrence.

[That gives him plenty of time to think on the finer details, as well.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion doesn't like that discomfort. In such a short time, he's grown so used to seeing Gale's smile, to seeing the relaxed and charming demeanor he has when he's without worry. Astarion himself wasn't supposed to be the cause of those worries. He brushes his thumbs over Gale's cheeks, trying to soothe his concerns away.]

Gale. My love. It's only a thought if you can't have your crown. I would just want to see you safe. Protected.

[mystracal]

[That touch draws Gale's eyes back; he pushes out a soft sigh.]

Or course. I want nothing but the same for you.

[He leans in to steal a kiss, needing it to steel his nerves.]

You know I'd do anything to protect you. Crown or not, Cazador had better be ready to face a wizard's wrath.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion leans into the kiss, letting his forehead rest against Gale's once he pulls away. He can still feel that faint knit of worry between Gale's brows. It itches at him, lodging like a splinter into his chest.]

I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to fear me, dearest.