mystracal | 🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

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

[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.

[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?

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.

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

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.

[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.

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

You will be different than Cazador though, certainly.

[... Surely?]

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?

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.

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.

[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?

[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.

[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.]

[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.

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.]

[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.

[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.]

[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.

[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.

[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.

I worry far more that you'll one day realize you have no use for me.

[It slips out before Gale can reel it in, a moment of raw injury from a wound reopened; he pulls in a deep breath, the scent of Astarion's freshly washed hair flooding his senses.]

I was never Mystra's equal. I never could be, no matter how much I wanted to prove myself to her. I could have had all the power in the world, and she would have never seen me as anything but less than her. A mortal plaything for the divine, to be tossed aside when she no longer saw value in my existence, in my devotion.

[He pushes that breath out. Under the water, his hand comes to rest on Astarion's knee, his fingers trembling.]

I knew deep down that I would never be a god, that she would never love me as I loved her, but I thought that if she would see what I could do, could understand my potential... she'd keep me. I failed on all fronts. She'd told me to be happy with what I had, and maybe I should have been, but I couldn't be. I couldn't stand the thought that she'd never see me as a person until I had proven myself.

[He finally gets around to his point, his forehead still resting against Astarion.]

I don't want to be less than you in any way. I'd never feel like I was enough.

[Astarion reaches down to put his hand over Gale's without a second thought. He keeps a loose hold on him as he listens, his own expression clouded and conflicted. None of this is new to him. Nothing has changed about the details and particulars of Gale's relationship with Mystra since they last discussed it. Yet hearing it now, in this moment, is like hearing it for the first time. It casts his earlier words in a very different light, pricking at the unease that's settled at the back of Astarion's mind and giving him a clearer picture into Gale's concern.

He curls his hand around Gale's, squeezing in a tight pulse of reassurance. He leans back just a hairsbreadth, enough to look Gale properly in the eye.

You will always be enough for me. I don't want you to ever feel otherwise. What we have isn't about what use I might have for you. I—I don't want to think of you like that. I don't want you to think I might ever look on you that way.

I love you for your heart. For your kindness, your care. You have given me something no one else ever did. You've shown me what it is to love again, Gale. There's no use to that. But it's why I love you.

[An uncertain laugh pushes its way out of Gale's throat as a smile eases onto him; his brown eyes gaze upon Astarion as though he's never heard such professions of love before - and frankly, he's not sure he ever has, certainly not from anyone else.

Of course Astarion wouldn't want to think of him in that way any longer, to consider him solely for what use he has. That was the pretense under which Astarion had first tried to seduce him, when he was only thinking of survival, of his need to protect himself from Cazador.

They are so much more now.

Gale brings Astarion's hand to his lips, pressing it to his face as he bites back emotion. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting to keep it contained. A man of so many words, yet he can't find the ones to express himself in that moment.

And so he pulls Astarion closer instead, one hand still clasping his, the other arm wrapping around him in an embrace.]

[Astarion startles a moment before he slowly puts his arms around Gale in return. He draws him in, pressing his face into Gale's damp hair. He's so unaccustomed to this kind of intimacy, he has to remember what to do with himself.

It's also the silence of the gesture, the sheer emotion he saw in Gale's eyes. He's coming to know how much it means when Gale is without words. He takes the moment to just feel Gale against him, to feel the heat of his skin, breathe him in.]

I'd like it. Being equals. Neither of us above the other. On the same footing.

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