[Astarion does love the sound of Gale's voice. Especially as he expounds upon the joys that Waterdeep has to offer. There's a strange flutter in his chest hearing it, knowing that the city is Gale's home and, should they survive all that lies before them, will be his home. The thought of putting Baldur's Gate and all the unpleasant memories it houses behind him is a very appealing one. He can simply walk away now. He has that freedom. And it's thanks in no small part to Gale himself.
The constant of Gale's idle chatter only makes it all the more obvious when he falls quiet. Astarion finds the wizard's hand with his, threading their fingers together to give him a soft squeeze.]
[Gale gives Astarion a quick glance, one meant to acknowledge his question, but the worry in his brow likely betrays the sudden anxiety he feels as he looks to the grass, only for his gaze to be drawn to the trees. His mind is pulled back to that moment: thinking with his heart instead of his head, he followed who he believed was Astarion away from camp with hardly a second thought, eagerly trailing behind him toward what he hoped would be a romantic moment for the two of them. With Cazador no longer looming over him, Astarion was free to be anyone he wanted, to explore the person he was never allowed to be, and Gale was determined to be there with him along the way as his friend, his lover, his equal.
Oh, but Gale still wanted more, and he'd thought he might have the chance to ask for it; his hand had curled in on itself, holding the simple band tightly so he wouldn't lose it, tight enough to leave an imprint in his palm.
And then, he'd lost it anyway when he'd realized his error, a mistake that might take him to his grave. He'd thought in that moment that Orin attacked him not about the future, but of the present, particularly the immediate threat of his demise. It wouldn't just be his death, or that of his friends and numerous innocents in the city: it was Astarion who Gale worried about should the orb detonate. That would be the end of all of them, but most of all, a man whose life had only just begun - a man he loved, whom he'd promised everything.
Gale had despaired as he'd lost consciousness; his moments of lucidity in the time between his capture and his rescue were filled with pain from her blades, but nothing compared to the fear that tore at his heart. It had seemed so far away last night with his rescue and Astarion's company... but now, standing in the forest where it happened, he feels the disquieted anew, goosebumps rising along his flesh as he thinks once more about how close they came to losing one another.
He squeezes Astarion's hand, still smiling despite the knot in his brow.]
When I followed- well, who I thought was you out here, I brought something with me. I've been working on it for some time, and it's not finished, mind you...
[He releases Astarion's hand and moves away from him, his eyes scrutinizing the ground as he literally retraces his steps.]
I promised when all this was over, I'd ensure you could still walk in the sun.
[Astarion knows that worried look, the distant gaze of ghosts dogging his thoughts. Of course this spot would hold unpleasant memories for Gale, given how recently the events transpired. He waits until Gale turns his back before a sour scowl twists his features. Orin didn't suffer nearly enough for what she did.
But Gale's words quickly snap him out of his murderous daydreams, his attention drawn to the promise in them.]
You--you had something with you that would let me stay in the sun?
An unfinished something, a work-in-progress, but yes. Something that will hopefully help, once all the enchantments are in place.
[He searches the area a moment longer, exclaiming a quiet Ah-hah! when he finds what he's looking for near a tree. He thankfully misses that there's some of his own blood staining the grass nearby, remnants from the blow that rendered him unconscious. The bruise behind his temple, hidden along his hairline, is reminder enough.
Stooping to collect his item, Gale rights himself before turning back to Astarion: between his fingers, he holds a simple ring, half the band made of silver, the other gold - in the Waterdhavian tradition, of course.]
I wanted you to try it on. Make sure it fits before I start layering enchantments upon it. I'd hate to have done all this work only for you to not be able to wear it.
[Astarion's expression immediately perks up once he sees what Gale has in his hands. The proposal was very spur of the moment, but the sight of the ring solidifies it in his mind and his heart. He doesn't know if he's ever felt so full before, so present in a moment. It's not only a promise of his future together with Gale, but a promise that he won't lose what he has at this moment. The chance to feel the warmth of the sun on his face, to see his lover painted in such vivid color. Gale's gift promises him that. His face splits with a wide, genuine smile as he extends his hand to Gale.]
[Gale's expression softens, his smile earnest and warm, his heart skipping as the orb glows gently beneath his fine doublet. He closes the gap between them, letting the thudding in his chest distract him from his anxieties as he takes Astarion's hand and slips the ring on his finger. It's a bit big - almost a better fit for his thumb than his ring finger proper; he reddens as his eyes flick upward to meet Astarion's gaze.]
Apologies. I appear to have overestimated your size, but it's an easy fix, I assure you.
[Gods, what does he even say? His voice feels caught in his throat, overwhelmed by just how much this moment is. How saccharine, how impossible it would have been only a few tendays ago. He pulls his hand back slightly, just to rub his thumb against the ring, watching it turn on his finger. The gold stands out against his pale skin, almost warming its pallid tone. He looks up to meet Gale's eyes, his lips quirking at the ruddy color of his cheeks.]
Well, I can hardly hold it against you.
[In a huff he lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, shaking his head slightly.]
Gods, if this is some sort of delusion, please don't snap me out of it.
[He lets his hand linger around Astarion's, his brow knitting as he pauses, then finally gives voice to his feelings.]
I know we've not known each other long in the grand scheme of things, and were it not for the tadpoles, I doubt we'd have ever met. Certainly not in favorable circumstances, given our respective situations prior to this adventure.
[He imagines a scenario where Astarion, still under the control of his sire, takes him back to Cazador, only for the vampire lord - and Baldur's Gate itself - it meet a rather explosive end. That'd certainly be one way to rid the world of that monster. Their meeting on account of the tadpoles seems a blessing by comparison.]
But through you, I've found a piece of myself that I was missing: someone who sees me as I am, who wants me as I am, and who has given up so much for me. Someone who treats me not as a plaything, but as an equal, and as proven it with his own actions in a way no one else ever would.
[It really should be criminal to be as smitten as Astarion is in this moment. He hardly feels himself for how light his body is, for how much he can't stop smiling. He lifts his free hand to cup Gale's cheek, his thumb brushing that familiar coarse line of his beard. Much less coarse now thanks to Astarion's care. Just as his expression is much less burdened with worry and sadness. It's still so novel to think he could have that effect on someone who truly sees him for who he is. His equal. His wizard. His Gale.]
The poetry of your words are so perfect, every time. It is truly a gift that I found you. One I'll cherish as long as I can.
[He leans in to emphasize the point with a lingering kiss.]
[Gale leans into his hand, his smile widening enough to show his teeth before he meets Astarion in a gentle kiss; the smile softens as they part, a melancholic thought coming to him.]
I'd stay with you for all eternity if I could.
[He pushes that notion away with another kiss, letting this one linger as well.]
[Though never mind details. Sliding his hand into Gale's hair and kissing him in the warm sun of midday is more important now. It's so easy to forget it all when the warmth of Gale's lips are against his.]
[Even the ever-analytical, overthinking Gale Dekarios doesn't ponder the potential details too long as he lets himself be swept up in Astarion's touch. The hand in his hair is encouraging, his own slipping to Astarion's forearms to pull him closer, his fingers dancing across the distance as a breeze hits them both—
And unfortunately, said breeze riles something in the trees; it skitters away, and the ensuing noise of rustling branches and disturbed foliage draws Gale's attention away from Astarion. His body tenses, fingers tightening on Astarion as his pulse quickens, his eyes darting, searching all around them.
He catches himself only a couple of seconds later, but it's enough to make his momentary panic obvious. He swallows; his throat feels tight, thick as he tries to recompose himself, to make light of his trepidation.]
[Astarion can feel Gale's fear as well as he can hear it, smell it. The smell of his blood is an acrid undercurrent on the air that the breeze brings back to his attention as Gale's heartbeat thunders in his ears. Astarion reaches for Gale instinctively, pulling him closer. He knows the feeling all too well.
When the moment quiets, he presses his hand against the center of Gale's back, holding the wizard to him as he leaves a firm kiss against Gale's temple.]
Let's not linger then. The place I need is... It's not far from here.
[Gale's eyes land on the ground, a mixture of embarrassment and shame coloring him as Astarion pulls him closer; at least he feels safe there, though he struggles to reason why he felt so unsafe in the first place. He's being unduly paranoid, he chides internally - practically silly about it. Orin is gone, and so too are most of the Bhaalists.
Still, he likes the sanctuary he finds in Astarion's arms. His heart still drumming away, he brings his attention back to his partner.]
After you.
[He's quiet as they depart, his frustration with himself simmering.]
[Astarion catches Gale's hand in his, pressing the ring into his palm so it isn't lost again. Once it's tucked away, he'll thread his fingers with Gale's to lead him through the streets of the city. He isn't much for conversation as they make their way to a nearby graveyard, his gaze pointedly avoiding any passers by. It isn't until he's led them to a small headstone covered in ivy that he stops, something catching his eye amidst the cracked stone and vines.]
What in the hells...?
[He lets go of Gale's hand, crouching down before the grave to pull at the greenery to eventually reveal the inscription. It's his own grave, the years of his birth and death carved in faded script. But, perhaps more attention grabbing than that is white flower that falls from where it was held within the vines to rest on the ground. Astarion stares at it, not knowing what it means, what to do with it. The flower itself should be familiar enough to Gale, a perfectly preserved blueshine blossom.]
[As Gale walks hand-in-hand with Astarion through the streets, he relaxes, his heart lighter the farther away they get from the former camp and the still-fresh memory of what happened. There's safety in numbers, he considers, the bustle of the midday crowds masking them: no one would conceivably think they were a fallen Chosen and a vampire spawn, two people who were going to help save the world from the Absolute or die trying.
But that's for another day, a day that's coming simultaneously too soon and not soon enough. It's just them for now, individuals who found the world in each other.
As Astarion leads them toward the north side of town, Gale has to admit that while he'd hoped they might find some quiet spot, the graveyard isn't at all where he'd expected to end up. He understands quickly enough though, particularly when he sees why Astarion led them here, his eyes scrutinizing the inscription once it's revealed. Though he's no longer buried there, it's a sobering sight, especially in light of what came afterward.
Gale's gaze is drawn to the flower, recognition warming his heart, cutting a smile across him as he steps up to kneel beside Astarion. As his knee hits the grass, he leans forward to collect the cup-shaped blossom, holding it gently in his palm for inspection.]
Ah, a moonflower, though we call them 'blueshines' in Waterdeep.
[Color dusts along his cheekbones and across his ears as he brushes a finger against the curling petals, his smile softening with a private fondness - one he's not aware isn't so private anymore.]
These are actually quite rare in these parts, but very appropriate for you, if you ask my opinion.
Yes, you were going on about them in your sleep the other night.
[The way Gale flushes and cradles the flower would be an easy distraction in any other situation. But something about the flower, its placement, the half-blurred memories it stirs in him has him on high alert. His gaze cuts across the graveyard, but they're alone in the moment. Besides, the flower was clearly placed there years ago. By someone, or something.]
You didn't put it there, did you? Is this your doing?
[He reaches for the blossom in Gale's hands, taking it carefully. But he holds it less like a treasure and more like a poisoned blade or a lit satchel of smokepowder.]
[And that's all he says in regards to Astarion's initial statement, that smattering of color deepening. Anticipating (or rather hoping) that Astarion might ask for a follow-up, he'd been prepared to launch into an explanation of why he thought they were an appropriate choice; however, his nocturnal lecturing apparently did it for him. Gods, what else has he told Astarion in his sleep without knowing?
Thankfully, he doesn't get to ponder that too long, his eyes following the flower as Astarion takes it before flicking tot he vampire's face.]
This wasn't my doing, no. How could it be?
[But that does beg the question of how such a suspiciously appropriate bloom did make its way to Astarion's grave.]
[He frowns down at the blossom, running his thumb across the edge of one petal. There is a faint hint of the arcane emanating from it, some sort of magic preserving the bloom. Which only means it's near impossible to tell how long it's been sitting at Astarion's grave, waiting.]
I—I hadn't told anyone about this place. I've never even been here myself, not since the night when Cazador killed me and I crawled out through the dirt.
[He flicks his eyes up to meet Gale's gaze, anxiety written across his features, a paranoid worry of just what the flower might mean.]
If it wasn't you—then who? Who in the hells would have done it? What were they trying to achieve?
[Gale meets Astarion's gaze with alarm of his own; he tries to subdue it, but it weaves into his brow, manifests by pulling his mouth into a thin line.]
I don't know, Astarion.
[But perhaps they can find out something, if they can keep paranoia from eating them alive. He steels himself with a breath, examining the flower more closely. The magic that imbues the petals is faint, barely strong enough to give them a gentle glow; unfortunately, not enough remains to trace who might have cast the enchantment, and when.]
I'd ask if anyone would have visited your grave to place it, but without knowing how long this flower has been here, that limits our suspects.
I don't know who would have placed it. I can hardly think that anyone who I knew in the city before I died would have cared so much as to make a gesture like this.
[He gestures flippantly towards the flower, like its very existence offends him. His eyes flick back towards the headstone, the letters carved there are chipped and faded, but still legible. For a moment they grab Astarion's attention, rooting his gaze to them as the crease between his brows deepens.]
It—the only other ones who could have...
[His voice trails off as he reaches up to trace the Thorass lettering. 'AncunÃn.']
[Gale's eyes go from the flower in his hand to Astarion's face, then follow them to the letters. Knowing the subject of his family is a touchy subject, Gale hesitates; he resorts to gesture instead of words, placing a hand on Astarion's wrist to give it a reassuring squeeze.]
[The gesture may be small, but it's enough of a distraction to bring Astarion's attention back to Gale. He looks back to the wizard, his expression softening a moment as he slips his hand into Gale's, squeezing in return.]
And to think, I brought you here to carve over that name.
[He makes a huff, letting out a rough breath through his nose. After a pause he speaks, his voice quieter.]
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The constant of Gale's idle chatter only makes it all the more obvious when he falls quiet. Astarion finds the wizard's hand with his, threading their fingers together to give him a soft squeeze.]
What is it that you're looking for, dearest?
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Oh, but Gale still wanted more, and he'd thought he might have the chance to ask for it; his hand had curled in on itself, holding the simple band tightly so he wouldn't lose it, tight enough to leave an imprint in his palm.
And then, he'd lost it anyway when he'd realized his error, a mistake that might take him to his grave. He'd thought in that moment that Orin attacked him not about the future, but of the present, particularly the immediate threat of his demise. It wouldn't just be his death, or that of his friends and numerous innocents in the city: it was Astarion who Gale worried about should the orb detonate. That would be the end of all of them, but most of all, a man whose life had only just begun - a man he loved, whom he'd promised everything.
Gale had despaired as he'd lost consciousness; his moments of lucidity in the time between his capture and his rescue were filled with pain from her blades, but nothing compared to the fear that tore at his heart. It had seemed so far away last night with his rescue and Astarion's company... but now, standing in the forest where it happened, he feels the disquieted anew, goosebumps rising along his flesh as he thinks once more about how close they came to losing one another.
He squeezes Astarion's hand, still smiling despite the knot in his brow.]
When I followed- well, who I thought was you out here, I brought something with me. I've been working on it for some time, and it's not finished, mind you...
[He releases Astarion's hand and moves away from him, his eyes scrutinizing the ground as he literally retraces his steps.]
I promised when all this was over, I'd ensure you could still walk in the sun.
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But Gale's words quickly snap him out of his murderous daydreams, his attention drawn to the promise in them.]
You--you had something with you that would let me stay in the sun?
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[He searches the area a moment longer, exclaiming a quiet Ah-hah! when he finds what he's looking for near a tree. He thankfully misses that there's some of his own blood staining the grass nearby, remnants from the blow that rendered him unconscious. The bruise behind his temple, hidden along his hairline, is reminder enough.
Stooping to collect his item, Gale rights himself before turning back to Astarion: between his fingers, he holds a simple ring, half the band made of silver, the other gold - in the Waterdhavian tradition, of course.]
I wanted you to try it on. Make sure it fits before I start layering enchantments upon it. I'd hate to have done all this work only for you to not be able to wear it.
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Would you like to do the honors?
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Apologies. I appear to have overestimated your size, but it's an easy fix, I assure you.
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Well, I can hardly hold it against you.
[In a huff he lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, shaking his head slightly.]
Gods, if this is some sort of delusion, please don't snap me out of it.
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[He lets his hand linger around Astarion's, his brow knitting as he pauses, then finally gives voice to his feelings.]
I know we've not known each other long in the grand scheme of things, and were it not for the tadpoles, I doubt we'd have ever met. Certainly not in favorable circumstances, given our respective situations prior to this adventure.
[He imagines a scenario where Astarion, still under the control of his sire, takes him back to Cazador, only for the vampire lord - and Baldur's Gate itself - it meet a rather explosive end. That'd certainly be one way to rid the world of that monster. Their meeting on account of the tadpoles seems a blessing by comparison.]
But through you, I've found a piece of myself that I was missing: someone who sees me as I am, who wants me as I am, and who has given up so much for me. Someone who treats me not as a plaything, but as an equal, and as proven it with his own actions in a way no one else ever would.
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The poetry of your words are so perfect, every time. It is truly a gift that I found you. One I'll cherish as long as I can.
[He leans in to emphasize the point with a lingering kiss.]
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I'd stay with you for all eternity if I could.
[He pushes that notion away with another kiss, letting this one linger as well.]
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[Though never mind details. Sliding his hand into Gale's hair and kissing him in the warm sun of midday is more important now. It's so easy to forget it all when the warmth of Gale's lips are against his.]
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And unfortunately, said breeze riles something in the trees; it skitters away, and the ensuing noise of rustling branches and disturbed foliage draws Gale's attention away from Astarion. His body tenses, fingers tightening on Astarion as his pulse quickens, his eyes darting, searching all around them.
He catches himself only a couple of seconds later, but it's enough to make his momentary panic obvious. He swallows; his throat feels tight, thick as he tries to recompose himself, to make light of his trepidation.]
Perhaps we, ah. Ought not tarry here.
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When the moment quiets, he presses his hand against the center of Gale's back, holding the wizard to him as he leaves a firm kiss against Gale's temple.]
Let's not linger then. The place I need is... It's not far from here.
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Still, he likes the sanctuary he finds in Astarion's arms. His heart still drumming away, he brings his attention back to his partner.]
After you.
[He's quiet as they depart, his frustration with himself simmering.]
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What in the hells...?
[He lets go of Gale's hand, crouching down before the grave to pull at the greenery to eventually reveal the inscription. It's his own grave, the years of his birth and death carved in faded script. But, perhaps more attention grabbing than that is white flower that falls from where it was held within the vines to rest on the ground. Astarion stares at it, not knowing what it means, what to do with it. The flower itself should be familiar enough to Gale, a perfectly preserved blueshine blossom.]
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But that's for another day, a day that's coming simultaneously too soon and not soon enough. It's just them for now, individuals who found the world in each other.
As Astarion leads them toward the north side of town, Gale has to admit that while he'd hoped they might find some quiet spot, the graveyard isn't at all where he'd expected to end up. He understands quickly enough though, particularly when he sees why Astarion led them here, his eyes scrutinizing the inscription once it's revealed. Though he's no longer buried there, it's a sobering sight, especially in light of what came afterward.
Gale's gaze is drawn to the flower, recognition warming his heart, cutting a smile across him as he steps up to kneel beside Astarion. As his knee hits the grass, he leans forward to collect the cup-shaped blossom, holding it gently in his palm for inspection.]
Ah, a moonflower, though we call them 'blueshines' in Waterdeep.
[Color dusts along his cheekbones and across his ears as he brushes a finger against the curling petals, his smile softening with a private fondness - one he's not aware isn't so private anymore.]
These are actually quite rare in these parts, but very appropriate for you, if you ask my opinion.
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[The way Gale flushes and cradles the flower would be an easy distraction in any other situation. But something about the flower, its placement, the half-blurred memories it stirs in him has him on high alert. His gaze cuts across the graveyard, but they're alone in the moment. Besides, the flower was clearly placed there years ago. By someone, or something.]
You didn't put it there, did you? Is this your doing?
[He reaches for the blossom in Gale's hands, taking it carefully. But he holds it less like a treasure and more like a poisoned blade or a lit satchel of smokepowder.]
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[And that's all he says in regards to Astarion's initial statement, that smattering of color deepening. Anticipating (or rather hoping) that Astarion might ask for a follow-up, he'd been prepared to launch into an explanation of why he thought they were an appropriate choice; however, his nocturnal lecturing apparently did it for him. Gods, what else has he told Astarion in his sleep without knowing?
Thankfully, he doesn't get to ponder that too long, his eyes following the flower as Astarion takes it before flicking tot he vampire's face.]
This wasn't my doing, no. How could it be?
[But that does beg the question of how such a suspiciously appropriate bloom did make its way to Astarion's grave.]
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[He frowns down at the blossom, running his thumb across the edge of one petal. There is a faint hint of the arcane emanating from it, some sort of magic preserving the bloom. Which only means it's near impossible to tell how long it's been sitting at Astarion's grave, waiting.]
I—I hadn't told anyone about this place. I've never even been here myself, not since the night when Cazador killed me and I crawled out through the dirt.
[He flicks his eyes up to meet Gale's gaze, anxiety written across his features, a paranoid worry of just what the flower might mean.]
If it wasn't you—then who? Who in the hells would have done it? What were they trying to achieve?
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I don't know, Astarion.
[But perhaps they can find out something, if they can keep paranoia from eating them alive. He steels himself with a breath, examining the flower more closely. The magic that imbues the petals is faint, barely strong enough to give them a gentle glow; unfortunately, not enough remains to trace who might have cast the enchantment, and when.]
I'd ask if anyone would have visited your grave to place it, but without knowing how long this flower has been here, that limits our suspects.
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[He gestures flippantly towards the flower, like its very existence offends him. His eyes flick back towards the headstone, the letters carved there are chipped and faded, but still legible. For a moment they grab Astarion's attention, rooting his gaze to them as the crease between his brows deepens.]
It—the only other ones who could have...
[His voice trails off as he reaches up to trace the Thorass lettering. 'AncunÃn.']
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And to think, I brought you here to carve over that name.
[He makes a huff, letting out a rough breath through his nose. After a pause he speaks, his voice quieter.]
Do you think it could have been them?
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Are they from Evereska, by chance? If I recall correctly, that's where blueshines are usually cultivated for export.
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I think so. Unless I've completely lost my mind, which is certainly a possibility after two hundred years.
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