Perhaps they were paying their respects to a fallen loved one - someone they missed more than you might have anticipated.
[And was that loved one a child? A sibling? A distant cousin? He's almost afraid to ask, and so, he approaches the topic tentatively, ready to back off should he push Astarion too far. This revelation has no doubt rattled him as it is.]
[The questions are helpful, even if Astarion's tone is more biting in his reply. But he still hasn't let go of Gale's hand. If anything, he's holding more tightly now.]
My mother and father. At least one cousin. An uncle. Though his wife's long dead for sure.
[He looks back to the name, seeking answers in it.]
My grandparents weren't...they were elsewhere. I don't know where.
[The fact that Astarion hasn't let his hand go is what reassures Gale to ask more.]
I assume your parents at the very least knew you were here.
[Because who wouldn't tell their parents nearly everything going on in their lives (unless it involves a fragment of corrupted Weave stuck in one's chest)?]
[He scratches at his beard with his free hand, pursing his lips as he thinks.]
We could ask around. Given the vines, their visit could have been a couple of years ago, or a couple of centuries. I doubt there'd be any records going back quite that far, but we'll never know unless we try.
And what if they do? I can't just tell the truth about that sort of thing.
[The uncertainty in Gale's eyes only serves to heighten Astarion's anxiety. He waves his free hand in a nervous gesture, as if it could encapsulate the worry gnawing at his mind.]
And what, pray tell, is a reasonable excuse for finding who left flowers on a grave that's two centuries old?
[He huffs. It's a silly idea. And it's certainly not his own discomfort with the thought of his parents grieving for him, mourning him in this very spot that's putting him ill at ease.]
I'll either look mad or like some sort of criminal.
[Gale would argue that Astarion technically is a criminal already, and likely mad for agreeing to marry him, but decides against it for the time being, given his obvious discomfort with the very notion his parents might have come to Baldur's Gate to mourn him.]
We needn't ask about the flowers. Just if any nearby recall their faces, or ever seeing them. Some inns even keep a record of guests. Perhaps they'll recognize the family name.
And suppose they did, hm? Suppose we track down the record of them, where they stayed and when they came and went. Then—then what?
[He can't keep the hitch in his voice from the last two words. Then what? What happens next? What does it mean? He's spent so long convinced that no one cared for him, no one mourned him, no one answered his cries for help. That when he died he became nothing more than an object for Cazador's use. But Gale and the rest have proven him wrong in so many ways. They've shown him he still has a life that he can live. What if he was wrong about being forgotten as well?
He blinks suddenly, rapidly, trying to chase away the wet sting gathering at the corners of his eyes.]
[Hearing that change in Astarion's voice, seeing the way he fights back his brewing emotions, Gale can't help but want to soothe him; he squeezes his hand again, letting his fingers trace the side of Astarion's chin to draw those crimson eyes to him.]
Then we know who left the flower and when, and nothing more. You'd have to seek them out for any further answers.
[He waits a beat, his gaze not leaving the pale face before him.]
[The gentle touch draws him. He turns to meet Gale's gaze and all his bravado and frustration falls away in an instant. There's so much love in those soft brown eyes that it undoes him. It always does. His eyes flick down, but he tilts his face into the light touch of Gale's fingertips, craving the contact.]
I—don't know if I want to. I don't know. It's been so long...
It has. I can't imagine the thought myself, of discovering someone you believed long gone to be alive. But were it me... I would want to know.
[But Astarion is decidedly not Gale, and doesn't have the relationship he does with his own mother. Morena Dekarios would no doubt want to know, too. If Gale showed up on her doorstep after two centuries of being presumed dead, he knows she'd be thrilled.
And then she'd probably kill him for having not written in all that time.]
You need not decide right now, Astarion. But when we're free of the tadpoles and the orb, we'll be able to go wherever we want. If nothing else, we could take a trip to Evereska, see if they're still alive. And you can change your mind even if we're on their doorstep, ready to knock.
You know me. I want you to have the agency you've been denied for entirely too long.
[He smiles in return, bringing Astarion's hand to his lips for a brief kiss.]
Besides, once all this is said and done, I could stand to experience more of the world. If this adventure has taught me anything, it's that there's much to see beyond my books and the walls of my tower. There's no one I'd rather see it with than you. And who knows what we'll learn when we reach Evereska? There might be even more to your past you discover.
[He leans in, returning the kiss to his hand with a brief kiss to Gale's lips.]
Now, there is still something I came here to take care of.
[With that, he turns back to the headstone, clearing away the last of the ivy before pulling out a small dagger. In rough-hewn characters, he carves out a date beneath the inscription, along with a name. 'Astarion Dekarios 1492-']
There. A fitting start to a new life, wouldn't you agree?
[As Astarion etches the letters into the weathered stone, Gale can hardly take his eyes off him. He'd already been grinning from that kiss, but his expression colors his entire being as he reads the new inscription. His eyes, deep with devotion, glimmer from the awe he feels in his heart.]
A fitting start indeed.
[He leans in for another kiss, this one less brief than the last.]
We'll need finer clothes than these for our wedding, you know.
[Astarion smiles into that kiss, sheathing the dagger so that he can curl his hand in Gale's hair. He returns it with equal adoration, staying close even as Gale breaks it to speak.]
My dearest, I will see you in nothing but the finest that the City of Splendors has to offer.
[He leans forward for another kiss, his tongue darting out for a taste of Gale's lips.]
Now, I believe we had a day of debauchery ahead of us, didn't we?
[Gale deepens that kiss, breathing Astarion in when he gets the chance. He'd consider just staying there to enjoy one another's company, but making out right atop his grave seems terribly gauche.
[Well, Astarion certainly doesn't have any qualms about making out on his own grave, but there are other options available. He moves to stand, drawing Gale up along with him.]
I think there's a lovely bath house calling our names.
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[And was that loved one a child? A sibling? A distant cousin? He's almost afraid to ask, and so, he approaches the topic tentatively, ready to back off should he push Astarion too far. This revelation has no doubt rattled him as it is.]
Do you remember your family? How many there were?
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[The questions are helpful, even if Astarion's tone is more biting in his reply. But he still hasn't let go of Gale's hand. If anything, he's holding more tightly now.]
My mother and father. At least one cousin. An uncle. Though his wife's long dead for sure.
[He looks back to the name, seeking answers in it.]
My grandparents weren't...they were elsewhere. I don't know where.
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I assume your parents at the very least knew you were here.
[Because who wouldn't tell their parents nearly everything going on in their lives (unless it involves a fragment of corrupted Weave stuck in one's chest)?]
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[He shakes his head again, as if he could dislodge his own memories from where they're buried.]
Gods, but they came. That would mean they came here.
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We could ask around. Given the vines, their visit could have been a couple of years ago, or a couple of centuries. I doubt there'd be any records going back quite that far, but we'll never know unless we try.
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[His gaze snaps over to Gale, nervous and worried. His hand twists where it holds Gale's, his whole body coiled tight like a spring.]
At least. Not yet. If we start poking around then people might start asking questions.
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What sorts of questions? Surely they won't suspect a long-dead son-turned-vampire looking for his family?
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[The uncertainty in Gale's eyes only serves to heighten Astarion's anxiety. He waves his free hand in a nervous gesture, as if it could encapsulate the worry gnawing at his mind.]
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I'm sure a skilled liar such as yourself could come up with a reasonable excuse for such an inquiry.
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[He huffs. It's a silly idea. And it's certainly not his own discomfort with the thought of his parents grieving for him, mourning him in this very spot that's putting him ill at ease.]
I'll either look mad or like some sort of criminal.
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We needn't ask about the flowers. Just if any nearby recall their faces, or ever seeing them. Some inns even keep a record of guests. Perhaps they'll recognize the family name.
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[He can't keep the hitch in his voice from the last two words. Then what? What happens next? What does it mean? He's spent so long convinced that no one cared for him, no one mourned him, no one answered his cries for help. That when he died he became nothing more than an object for Cazador's use. But Gale and the rest have proven him wrong in so many ways. They've shown him he still has a life that he can live. What if he was wrong about being forgotten as well?
He blinks suddenly, rapidly, trying to chase away the wet sting gathering at the corners of his eyes.]
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Then we know who left the flower and when, and nothing more. You'd have to seek them out for any further answers.
[He waits a beat, his gaze not leaving the pale face before him.]
If you wanted to do so, of course.
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I—don't know if I want to. I don't know. It's been so long...
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[But Astarion is decidedly not Gale, and doesn't have the relationship he does with his own mother. Morena Dekarios would no doubt want to know, too. If Gale showed up on her doorstep after two centuries of being presumed dead, he knows she'd be thrilled.
And then she'd probably kill him for having not written in all that time.]
You need not decide right now, Astarion. But when we're free of the tadpoles and the orb, we'll be able to go wherever we want. If nothing else, we could take a trip to Evereska, see if they're still alive. And you can change your mind even if we're on their doorstep, ready to knock.
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And you would follow me halfway across the Sword Coast only to see if I got cold feet at the last minute? Truly a man after my own heart.
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[He smiles in return, bringing Astarion's hand to his lips for a brief kiss.]
Besides, once all this is said and done, I could stand to experience more of the world. If this adventure has taught me anything, it's that there's much to see beyond my books and the walls of my tower. There's no one I'd rather see it with than you. And who knows what we'll learn when we reach Evereska? There might be even more to your past you discover.
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[He leans in, returning the kiss to his hand with a brief kiss to Gale's lips.]
Now, there is still something I came here to take care of.
[With that, he turns back to the headstone, clearing away the last of the ivy before pulling out a small dagger. In rough-hewn characters, he carves out a date beneath the inscription, along with a name. 'Astarion Dekarios 1492-']
There. A fitting start to a new life, wouldn't you agree?
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A fitting start indeed.
[He leans in for another kiss, this one less brief than the last.]
We'll need finer clothes than these for our wedding, you know.
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My dearest, I will see you in nothing but the finest that the City of Splendors has to offer.
[He leans forward for another kiss, his tongue darting out for a taste of Gale's lips.]
Now, I believe we had a day of debauchery ahead of us, didn't we?
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A day of debauchery it is.]
Yes, we do. Tell me, where should we start?
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I think there's a lovely bath house calling our names.
Shall we?